#who will win? the muscle woman or the long haired cowboy?

[whos-hotter-jjba]

[wildbornsiren]

Declaration | Rhett Abbott x F!Reader

Declaration

Synopsis: Rhett decides to take things public.

One shot 867 words AFAB/Female reader

Warnings: None. It’s kind of fluffy.

Notes: For the discord crew: @writercole @princessmisery666 @evansrogerskitten Comments and reblogs are so appreciated. Likes are loved. Thanks to @hederasgarden  for the title idea. Thank you so very much for reading. It means the most.  

You count the trailers under your breath, carefully picking your way around in the dark. You can hear celebrations and pre-event rituals all around you, the announcer muffled and garbled from the crappy sound system. You nearly trip over your own feet, muttering under your breath as you reach to pull your phone from you pocket for the flashlight.

A hand closes around your elbow, and you’re pulled between two trailers, colliding with the solid warmth of Rhett’s chest. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Even in the dark you can see the slow curve of his grin, and when his arms wrap around you, holding you tight to him you can’t help but relax into his embrace. “I wouldn’t miss seeing you before you ride.”  

“You’re too good for me.” He murmurs. His scruff scrapes against your neck as he mouths at your jaw. You can smell his soap, sweat, dirt and cheap beer that makes up his cologne when he’s at the rodeo. “I don’t understand how I managed to catch your eye.”

“You underestimate how good you are Rhett.” You tug him in for a kiss. “I wish you could see you the way I do.” He smiles against your lips, and the small gesture makes your heart skip a beat. He tenses when the door to the trailer you’re leaning against opens. Shifting his weight so you’re protected from view you see a woman leave, followed by a man who is doing his pants up.

“You alright there, Rhett?” The other man calls out with a masculine chuckle. “Don’t take too long getting what you need. We’re on soon.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me.” Rhett’s arms brace above you, and you can’t see anything other than the pattern of his plaid shirt. You can hear them walk away, and Rhett’s shoulders relax.

“What do you need, cowboy?” You tease him lightly, grinning when he rubs the back of his neck.

“You,” he says easily.

The subtle switch had been flipped when the other bull rider addressed him. His hands land on your hips, gripping lightly as he backs you up against the trailer again. It’s dark and cramped, and he’s pressed so tight to you. His anticipation to ride was nearly tangible, you could feel the vibration running through him. He’s riding high from his last win, and his fingers find purchase on the soft skin of your sides when his touch slips under your shirt.

“Give me some sugar, darlin’.”

“Here?” You look around, making sure that you’re alone. Rhett’s reputation proceeds him on the circuit, and when he’s home the rumors fly even faster. It was something you argued about early on in your relationship, that he wanted to keep it quiet. He wanted to keep you safe from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

Rhett groans your name like a prayer when your lips land on his jaw, his cheek. “Darlin’,” He shifts your weight carefully keeping you pressed against him. Muscles flex under your hands when they skim up his back. Your lips land on that soft patch of skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sucking teasingly as the skin reddens. His hips rock against you, soft sounds spilling from him as you touch, hand sliding into his hair.

He pushes his hat back with a couple fingers, “Come on now, kiss me proper.”

You pull him down to you and give him what he wants. He’s wrapping himself around you, tongue sliding past your lips, deepening the kiss. Your worry and nerves for his upcoming ride evaporate as the man that’s so engrained in every aspect of your being moans your name against your lips. An alarm on his phone rings, and he’s untangling himself with a frustrated sound.

“I know.” You whisper, hand sliding along his jaw, kissing his cheek again. “I know.” His hand grips his hat, and you can see his jaw working. He drops his hand, taking yours instead.

“I’ll get you back to the main path, darlin’.” His fingers link with yours, and his hand is so warm, and even with that small connection it makes you giddy.

You tug him back into the shadows, the sound of the public louder, but you’re still hidden from view. “I’m proud of you Rhett.” You lean up and kiss him on the cheek. “I’ll see you after your ride.” You grin at him, headed for the stands. He’s a couple of steps behind you, his hand closing around your wrist. He presses something into your hand, and when you turn, he’s walking with one of the other riders.

“Didn’t think that Rhett Abbott would be so fond of wearing that shade of lipstick you left on his cheek.” A woman’s voice draws your attention from Rhett’s back. She’s looking at you with a knowing grin, and she winks playfully. “I’d put that cap on. That boy’s tired of sneakin’ around with you.”

Your heart thumps painfully behind your ribs when you look at the well-loved baseball cap Rhett had placed in your hand. You put it on, feeling your hands tremble a little, wearing it proudly as you head for the stands.

------------------------

Tagging in:  @a-reader-and-a-writer  @hederasgarden    @writercole @evansrogerskitten   @arianna-bradshaw @roses-and-grasses @robertcallsignbobfloyd  @letsfvckingdance @green-socks @skvatnavle @mayhem24-7forever @callsign-phoenix @yespolkadotkitty @princessmisery666   @cowboybarbie @hoe-on-the-range​

[defenderrosetyler]

Short Straw

Prompt from @flamencodiva​ : “Right, who’s drawn the short straw this time?”

Beta: @wonder-cole​

A/N: I love Gen, and I love the couple that she and Jared make, but this is a pure act of fiction and they are not together for the purpose of this fic!!

A/N 2: The song in this fic is Burn it to the Ground from Nickleback.

“Come on Y/N, just go over and talk to him! He’s cute, and attractive, he may even buy you a drink,” one of her friends pestered her. Y/N rolled her eyes as she tugged at her ponytail and tightened it. She’d been keeping her hair pulled back a lot during the Texas heat. She and her friends had been called out to Texas to be extras in the new reboot of Walker the TV show with the one and only Jared Padalecki. Jared was attractive in his previous role of Sam Winchester in Supernatural. For his new role as Cordell Walker, the widowed Texas Ranger? Damn he looked smokin “Drawing of sticks?” Y/N asked.  

Out of the three friends gathered extra straws they had asked for and each took their own, before revealing who had the shorter of the two…. “Right, who’s drawn the short straw this time?” One of the friends said before Y/N’s face lit up bright red. The other two girls giggled, moving to push Y/N towards where Jared had been hiding and not recognized much by the fans in the area. The western cowboy hat was helping conceal who he was. Most Texans had a cowboy hat in this area anyway, so hardly anyone noticed.

Gathering her courage, Y/N grabbed her own brown western hat, swallowed the lump in her throat, walking over toward Jared’s tall shadow. She politely tapped him on the shoulder and he turned and y/c/e met Jareds and Y/n felt whatever words she was going to say to him fall right at the tip of her tongue. His eyes were beautiful, they reminded Y/N of  a mosaic, each sliver of his iris a different color - blue, green, gold, brown. 

“Let me guess, you were the loser of rock paper scissors.” Jared says seeing Y/N in stunned shock and amazement and knew this was common when fangirls approached him. Blinking as she registered what he’d said to her, Y/N nodded embarrassed as her cheeks flushed a bright red color. 

“Is it that obvious?” Jared nodded with a chuckle. 

Of course Jared knew this game. He and former co-star Jensen Ackles, did this all the time; well, in character anyway. Jared and Jensen, aka Sam and Dean Winchester, always won their arguments over a game of rock paper scissors. To which Sam was usually the winner, only on a few rare occasions did the younger brother let the elder win. 

Y/N let out a breath, hearing him laugh, so she wasn’t making a total fool of herself anyway. That was good at least. Rubbing the back of her neck, Y/N tried to feel less awkward. “Can I buy you a drink?” “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jared says, his tone could almost be taken as a flirt. “How about this, I buy you a drink, and you owe me a dance out on the floor?” 

It was a compromise. One all y/n could do in response is nod. She did have a drink at her table, but she wasn’t about to turn Jared down. After looking at Y/N for what seemed like forever, he smiled, placing her order to the bartender. Placed in Y/N’s hand was a jack and coke. Something simple, yet not too strong for her; Thank goodness there were such services like Uber and a taxi that could take her home if she needed it. She sure as hell wasn’t driving after all the alcohol in her system. “So, what brings you to Texas?’ Jared asks, trying to start a normal conversation with Y/N. 

After the first round of drinks were completed, Jared held out his hand for her, leaving the woman to blink as she heard the guitar of a song kicked on followed by its bass. Y/N paled. “Jare, no.” 

Jared laughed as he kept pulling Y/N to the dance floor where there was a group gathering to dance with the tune. She’d had enough drinks in her to definitely not be coordinated enough for this. Having looked up the song when she was on her way down, and the dance, Y/N knew she was in a world of trouble.

Well, it's midnight, damn right

We're wound up too tight

Wasn’t that the truth, it wasn’t midnight, but it was damn near close…. Y/N watched the steps for the first round and tried to talk it aloud to herself. Jared was already in the line and kicking up his leg and clearly having fun.

We're going off tonight

To kick out every light

Take anything we want

Drink everything in sight

We're going till the world stops turning

While we burn it to the ground tonight

Y/N took a deep breath and moved in step with the crowd. The steps weren’t difficult per say, but it wasn’t the easiest thing to do. Thank God her boots weren’t terribly high heeled. Her eyes widened when it came to the kicking portion of the dance, and Jared’s leg went as high as his collar bone. When Y/N tried, all she could do was kick as high as her hips. 

The more turns performed, the more Y/N started to let loose around Jared. On one of the turns, Y/N lost her footing and ended up tripping into the taller man's arms, his muscles holding her to his chest. As he helped her stand, Jared’s lips inched toward hers, pressing against hers gently.

The house door slammed as Y/N was pinned against it. She and Jared had shared a few soft kisses in the cab seat of the Uber they’d ordered, using Jared’s card, as much as Y/N had insisted she pay, since he’d bought most of their drinks. Y/N’s panties were soaked, and she hoped Jared knew it. The man had run his hands up to her legs and had stopped at her knees. Damn her for not wearing a skirt. Then again, with that leg kicking, flashing underwear would not have been the smartest choice.

“Jared,” Y/N gasped and moaned. Jared’s kisses were down her neck and nipping at the flesh of her collar bone, his cock hard against his jeans and clearly he needed attention too. “Shh,” he whispered, kissing her, pulling Y/N with him towards the bedroom. While walking, Y/N tried to tug at his shirt, how the hell did he manage to keep that hat on? Oh that's right, he wore button down shirts. The button down shirt was torn open, buttons flying across the wood floor, causing Y/N to giggle.

Jared sits Y/N down on the bed and makes quick removal of her jeans and her black lacy thong, all in one movement. “Hold on tight baby girl.” Jared says as his Cordell Walker accent kicked in and it took all Y/N had in her to not cum on the spot with his words

Before Y/N could let out her next breath, Jared had her legs over his shoulders, his mouth mere inches away from her pussy, blowing warm air just across her sensitive clit. Goosebumps prickled Y/N’s flesh, causing her to shiver, causing Jared to smirk at her. Moans filled the bedroom as Jared continued to work her clit. “You like that don’t you, you little whore” he says. Fingers curled inside Y/N, looking for that ultimate sweet spot inside her, the spot that would leave her cumming all over his fingers and possibly making a mess of his bedding. Oh well, it needed to be washed anyway.

“Jared, please, don’t be a tease.” Y/N begged, toes curling, back arched up as she let out a breath and came over his fingers. She hadn’t gotten a chance to warn him that she was about to be sent into her orgasm, which Jared seemed to be pleased with judging by the hot ass smirk on his face. 

“I never said I wasn’t going to be a tease baby girl,” Jared smirked as he took his mouth and began to kiss her wet pussy lips. Y/N moaned, gripping and tugging at his flesh. He’d chosen to keep the cowboy hat he'd worn at the bar after removing his shirt and damn, could he look more like a country god? Jared’s kisses were slow and gentle, Y/N didn’t mind slow and gentle. What she really wanted was that hot kind of sex you see in the movies.

“Jared, Oh fuck.” Y/N gasped as he brushed her sensitive clit, his tongue swirled inside her trembling walls as she shook as she came against Jared. Moans left her mouth as a half chant and her panting breath. The taller man didn’t give Y/N a chance to fully ride out her orgasm before shifting his position, his cock hovering at her entrance. There was a moment of him rubbing his rock hard cock against her juices. He let out a moan as he eased inside her, pushing all the way inside her till his hips were pressed against her. 

“You like that don’t you, you little cock slut. You knew where the shorter straw was, you knew you wanted me to take you here and fuck you in my bed and make you scream my name didn’t you?” Jared pants in her ear, tugging at her ear lobe, “You just wanted to be my little whore didn’t you?” Y/N was in a state of bliss, wanting to reply to him. Was he a ‘Sir’ kind of man? Or was he a ‘Daddy?’ There were so many kinks running through her head she didn’t know what to think. He was hitting places inside her she’d never had a man hit before. Then again, Jared Padalecki was a lot thicker and larger than any man she’d slept with. Jared’s movements were as smooth as a choreographed dance. Y/N wrapped her legs around his hips. Attempting if it was possible to send him even deeper inside her. “That's right baby, take all of my cock,” He grunted with each thrust, panting as he pushed himself to the edge. Truth be told, Jared had been rock hard seeing her walk into the bar hours earlier. Y/N’s jeans hugged the curves of her hips, ass, her whole body perfectly. The top she’d worn was low cut, it was clear she hadn’t been wearing a bra, could have worn one but with the size of her breasts? She had every right to show them off. 

The bedroom was filled with moans and groans from both parties occupying the bed. Cries of Jared’s name as Y/N worked through each orgasm. Positions changed every so often, Jared even asked her to ride his cock cowgirl style, to which Y/N had no problem taking his hat and smirked as if she’d been riding a mechanical bull at the bar. Jared’s cock twitched inside her as he was nearing his own orgasm, wanting to paint her walls with his white hot cum he’d been holding back for what seemed almost too long. 

Jared had nearly came in her mouth as she’d sucked him off. On her knees in between his legs, her pussy soaked from the orgasm he’d given her before they shifted to Jared receiving a blowjob. Jared was intent on pushing Y/N as far as she was able to, but she looked like she could swallow his entire length. He’d pushed gently to allow her time to adjust to his size, but holy fuck when she had the ability to push past her gag reflex? Damn it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“You gonna cum for me Cowboy?” Y/N smirked as she noticed Jared’s change in rhythm. He was slamming a lot harder now and yet it was slower for a few minutes before resuming the pounding of her pussy. “Where do you want me, you little slut? Want me to cum in this little pussy and let my cum run down your leg so people know you were just fucked?” Jared pants. All Y/N could do was nod, rubbing her over sensitive clit as she’d cried out his name and pulled his mouth to hers as he cried out her name, warm ropes of hot cum exploded from the tip of his cock. As promised, as Jared slowly pulled back, white cum slowly eased out of her pussy, Y/N tried desperately to keep all of it inside her. His cum was so warm, it made her feel giddy inside. 

Jared moved to collapse on the bed, his breath heaving as he attempted to catch his breath. Both of their bodies were covered in sweat. Once able to move, Y/N moved to spoon herself into Jared’s arms. 

“Best sex we’ve had in a while,” Jared says with a smirk.

“Agreed, stranger foreplay made it more fun. I actually was glad I didn’t wear a dress, if I flashed my pussy to anyone else, you’d have gotten jealous and started a brawl then where would we be?” Jared chuckled and kissed her head, brushing away her sweat soaked hair. 

“Once we’re able to move, I’m making you a large ass breakfast.”

Jared leaned up to look down at Y/N, “Is that before or after I ask you to marry me?”

 Tags:

 @simsadventures​​ @mummybear​ @impala-dreamer​ @holylulusworld​ @snffbeebee​ @saxxxology @akshi8278​​ ​ @deansmyapplepie   @luci-in-trenchcoats @samskia-writes @winchester-fantasies​​ @talesmaniac89​​ @stusbunker​​ @idreamofplaid​ @cherrypiebbyblog​​ @cleighwrites​​ @jxackles​​ @flamencodiva​​ @wonder-cole​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​​ @downanddirtydean​​ @janicho88​​ @lacednleathered​​

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

lay over

Peter Quill x Reader

Prompt: “am i your lock screen?” “you weren’t supposed to see that.”

Requested by: @starlord7555​

Summary: five years after the battle of earth, you are helping run the avengers and find yourself looking forward to every brief visit the team gets from your galactic counterparts.

Warnings: smut, fluff, vaginal sex, oral sex (female receiving), shower sex, unprotected sex, sexual over-stimulation, adult language,

Word Count: 4,099

Got a Request? Prompt List: here

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a/n: full disclosure, I have not proof-read this but I’m too tired to do so and overdue on posting. Enjoy :)

.

“You know, I could spend every day for the next ten years training my ass off, but I still don’t think I’d ever actually win one of these no-powers-allowed fights.” you pointed out jokingly as you pushed yourself back up off the floor, having just been knocked on your ass by Peter Parker. You brushed a few wayward strands of hair out of your face with the back of your hand, and he bounced happily on his heels as the two of you caught your breath. “Not while you’ve got those super-special-spidey reflexes playing in your favor.”

He grinned back at you, one corner of his mouth rising in a crooked, charming smirk. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow and the same was darkening the collar of his shirt and the curls of his hair. The two of you had been sparring for the last hour and a half, and you knew you looked worse than he did.

“No, but it’s cute that you keep trying,” he replied in an easy taunt. His smile widened when you rolled your eyes at him, and he laughed cheerfully before conceding, “Your reaction time is getting better.”

“Thanks.” The two of you began trading blows again, and you flinched away when he landed a hit on your shoulder. “How do they not count as a superpower, by the way?”

Peter shrugged, ducking under a wide swing you threw, using the movement to sidestep and get behind you. You turned quickly on the ball of your foot, catching him by surprise with a spinning kick. ‘It’s not like I can turn them off. Besides, I don’t need them to kick your ass.”

The two of you were dressed for training, and at twenty-one, Peter Parker was a more capable opponent than ever. His shoulders had broadened slightly in the last five years, his muscles more defined and his hair worn a little longer. Still, he had the same almost lanky frame, and the same soft, disarming features he’d had when you’d first met him.

You’d been the same age before the Blip, and he’d been the one to introduce you to Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers before Thanos’ attack after he’d caught you using your abilities at school. Hell, it was his heightened senses that had tipped him off about you in the first place. But he’d disappeared during the Blip and you had remained, aging five years before you got to see him again. It had been more than a little disconcerting for him when he’d returned. Still, despite that adjustment you were as close a pair of friends as ever, and as some of the longest serving members of the Avengers, you spent a lot of your free time together.

You were living at the compound full time, leading the team alongside Sam and Bucky. Peter was attending classes at NYU and still living with his aunt, but he was at the compound at least three times a week, often working out of the labs Tony had set up with him years ago to upgrade and experiment with tech. the only person he might have spent more time with lately than you might have been Bruce.

“Don’t get cocky, web-head.” you snarked back at him as the two of you circled each other slowly, eyeing his movements warily. Peter had been thoroughly beating you for the entire training session, but only just. His heightened reflexes meant that he would always beat you in a fight where you couldn’t use your abilities, but you’d spent the last two months focusing on your hand-to-hand combat with Bucky, and it showed. “You know I’d destroy you in a real fight.”

“Oh, c’mon. We’re like fifty-fifty.” he argued, dodging another kick you aimed at him. It was true; your abilities might make you hard to pin down and give you a definite edge in a fight, but his spider-sense meant he was able to keep up. It also made the two of you a hell of a pair in a battle. “And I’ve got some new tech you haven’t seen yet.”

“Ooh, color me intrigued.”

“I’ll show you la—” he stopped suddenly, straightening and turning towards the windows. “EDITH?”

“Nothing to – A ship has just entered the atmosphere above us.” the A.I. corrected itself midsentence calmly.

“That spidey-sense of yours never ceases to amaze, Pete.” you told him as the two of you moved to the windows. Picking something up before EDITH’s sensors was impressive to say the least. You both craned your necks to watch the sky, and a smile slowly grew on your face as a ship came into a view.

“Did you know they were coming?”

You shook your head, eyes still on the sky. “I haven’t had an alert over the comm system in weeks, not even from Wakanda. EDITH, send a message out to everyone on the current residential list; tell them to expect company when they get home. And contact FRIDAY; I’m sure Pepper will want to bring Morgan by once school lets out.”

“Right away.”

Peter rolled his eyes in amusement as he watched you bounce in place. “You really have no chill when it comes to this guy, you know.”

“Shut up, Parker,” you shot back. “You’re just worried you’re my second favorite Peter.”

You winked at him cockily as his mouth fell open in mock-offense. You pointed finger guns at him, snapping your fingers and disappearing with a muted popping sound. You reappeared in the same second, now standing at the front door downstairs. You could barely make out Peter’s answering bellow as he came thundering down the stairs after you, no doubt exasperated at your sudden teleportation. You heard a dull thump; rather than take the time to walk down the stairs, he’d clearly jumped the rail to the landing below.

“I better not be!”

***

Peter Quill was one of the last to saunter out onto the lawn from the ship, a cocky smirk on the edge of his lips and his eyes squinting against the afternoon sun. The light caught in his hair as he joined the other Guardians on the grass, blonde shining honey gold. He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling a long breath of air of his home planet. His smile broadened as he opened his eyes and caught sight of you, stepping out of the main building, Peter Parker by your side.

You cast a brief glance over the rest of his team, your gaze lingering on Gamora for a moment. She stood beside her sister, her expression a polite kind of friendly. She nodded in greeting when she caught your eye, and you turned gaze back to Quill. “This is unexpected.”

He shrugged a shoulder, stepping forward until he was barely three feet from you. “We were in the area,” he replied easily, and Rocket scoffed beside him, rolling his eyes.

“No, we weren’t.” Drax corrected him, genuinely confused by Quill’s claim. “You said you wanted to see Y/N.”

Quill rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Drax, c’mon, man.”

Your lips quirked to one side in amusement. “You could have let us know you were coming.”

“Why, you got plans?”

Your teeth caught your bottom lip as your smile widened, and you jerked your head toward the man standing beside you. “Peter was going to show me some new tech, but I’m sure he’d prefer Rocket’s opinion.”

The raccoon’s ears flicked forward in interest; his eyebrow cocked. “Yeah?”

Peter nodded, an almost boyish excitement lighting his features. And despite Rocket’s brash, dismissive attitude towards Earth’s current level of tech, he was always more than happy to offer his opinion and advice to your crime-fighting partner – even if it came with a healthy dose of sarcasm and derision. “I’ve been playing with some new ideas, working on my own version of those suspension traps you showed me last time. Wider range, triggered by sudden displacement and reappearance of body heat.”

You smacked his arm. “You sneaky son of a bitch. That’s how you were going to beat me?”

“You and anyone else faster than me,” he shot back with a wink.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Oh, honey. I’m still gonna find a way to kick your ass.”

“Now who’s getting cocky?”

You snickered, shaking your head and turning to head back into the building. The Guardians followed after you, and both Peters fell into step close behind you. “Help yourselves to anything in the kitchen, and you’re welcome to any of the amenities on the grounds. If you need supplies, give the list to EDITH; she can have pretty much anything delivered from the city within the hour.”

“Mr. Barnes and Mr. Wilson are on their way back to the compound now,” the A.I. announced coolly as you came to stop in the foyer. “Dr. Banner should be here by nightfall. I took the liberty of notifying the Langs, but they are currently unavailable.”

“Thanks, EDITH.”

“Mrs. Stark is on her way.”

You turned to Nebula. “I thought you might want to see Morgan. She asks about you whenever I see her.”

The woman nodded, a grateful, awkward smile on her face. “Thank you.”

Quill stepped into your side as the others dispersed, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “It’s so hot when you get all commander-in-charge like that.”

You scoffed a laugh, pushing him away. “Cool your jets, Space Cowboy. I need a shower.”

***

Your breath left you in catching moan as your back met the tiles behind you, melting into a giddy laugh before your lips were crushed in a kiss by the man holding you against the wall. You wrapped your arms around Quill’s neck, one hand sliding through the hair at the back of his head as he slid his tongue into your mouth. His body pressed hard against your own, his naked thigh pushing between your legs to press against your sex.

The hot water hammered down on the two of you, your whole body warm and tingling with his touch. His lips left yours to tease the side of your throat, his teeth grazing against your pulse point and up to your earlobe as his hand slid down over your naked hip, slick with vanilla and jasmine bodywash. He took hold of your thigh, hitching it up against his side.

You moaned again, louder than before, grinding down on his thigh. You grabbed hold of his bicep for leverage, rolling your hips into him. You other hand fumbled down his stomach, nails grazing over his abs before your fingers encircled the base of his cocked and squeezed. Peter grunted against the curve of your collarbone in approval as you stroked him slowly. He palmed your breast roughly with one hand, biting down on your shoulder. “Holy shit, I’ve missed you.”

You smiled, breath catching and head tilted back, your eyes closed against the spray of the shower. You gave his cock a playful squeeze. “I noticed.”

Peter snickered, his laughter catching as you swiped your thumb over the head of his cock. He pinched your nipple hard in response and you gasped, hips faltering for a moment. His lips finally found yours again as the roll of your hips became hurried and more disjointed, your breath quickening. His tongue slid over your own almost languidly, his stubble scratching at your chin. You carded your fingers through his hair and his hand slid back up your side, tickling at your waist before he took hold of you hip again.

His grip was hard, enticingly strong, his fingers digging into your flesh as he forced your movements to stop and pinned you harder against the wall. You couldn’t help the whine of complaint you made in response, and he broke the kiss, chest heaving for a moment as he caught his breath. He paused long enough to shoot you a cocky wink before he fell to his knees in front of you.

Peter pressed a kiss to the skin below your navel, inhaling through his nose to drink in the scent of you before burying his face between your thighs. His tongue curled around your clit and he pressed his forearm to your stomach, hand clutching at your hip, holding you in place as you tried to buck up against his mouth. His other hand travelled up the back of your leg, hooking under your knee and hooking it over his shoulder.

You gripped blindly at the top of the shower partition for balance, your other hand fisting in his hair. Peter hummed against you, hand moving up your thigh to caress your ass. He broke away from your cunt to press teasing, biting kisses to your inner thigh, his hand moving from your ass to roll his fingers over your clit, soaking them in your arousal before burying two of them inside you. He sucked a mark into your thigh, and your eyes rolled back as he returned his talented mouth to your clit.

Peter tortured you like that, fucking you slowly with his mouth and hand until the leg you stood on was shaking and your hand was so tight in his hair your fingers were cramping. You’d come more than once, every high he brought your to only half gone before he began building you to another.

“Pete—fuck, Peter…” you groaned through gritted teeth, moaning when he hummed against you in response. You tugged his head back forcefully, pursing your lips to hide a smile when he grinned cockily up at you, eyes squinting against the spray of the shower. He reached down to fist his cock in his hand, withdrawing his fingers from you to pinch your clit instead. His smirk widened when you jerked in response. “Quill, if you don’t hurry up and fuck me right now, I swear to whatever god you believe in, I—”

Peter was on his feet before you could finish your threat, taking hold of your thighs and lifting you. Your surprise at the sudden shift bubbled out of you in a laugh, and you wrapped your legs around him. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as his hands squeezed your ass reflexively. Peter pressed his forehead to your own, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You know I’m half-god, right?”

“And all cheeseball,” you retorted jokingly, grinning as his jaw dropped in mock offense. You grinned, pulling him into another kiss, the gesture long, languid and yet still almost aching with need. He groaned into it as you reached down to take hold of his shaft, stroking him slowly and shuddering as the head of it pressed into you.

Peter spoke again, his breathless voice teasing, affectionate and cocky. “Just remindin’ you in case you feel the need to invoke a god’s name in the next few minutes or so.”

You smacked his chest, your response melting into a moan that he echoed as he lowered you onto his cock. His lips found yours in a harsh, despite kiss as he began to fuck you in long, steady strokes.

“How are you always so fucking tight?” he muttered, his lips brushing against your sternum. He dragged his face your nipple, stubble grazing along the wet, sensitive skin before he sucked into his mouth. He circled it with his tongue, catching it between his teeth and tugging. You grabbed at his shoulder, your other hand returning to the top of the partition to leverage yourself over him. You pushed your hips into his with every thrust, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing off the tile. “You keep squeezing me like that, sweetness, and I’m not gonna last as long as I’d like…”

You caught his earlobe between your teeth for a moment before speaking in his ear, a shiver running down his back. “I’m not kicking you out right away, Star Lord… you’ll get another go ‘round. Just make this one good.”

Peter growled into your neck, biting down hard enough to make you gasp. He kissed you again, roughly, his hips pounding into yours. Any break to breathe was filled with cursing and grunting moans, almost obnoxiously loud in the steam-filled room. You jerked suddenly as overwhelming sensation met your clit, your body arching into his as your toes curled and your whole body tightened. He’d unhooked the detachable showerhead from above you, turned it to jet and brought it down to your clit, and you could feel his smirk against your lips as you came again.

Each bounce on his cock brought the rush of water back over your clit, and your nails scored his shoulders and back as you clung to him. You released him only to grope at his wrist, urging the showerhead away from you. But Peter shook his head, lips teasing along your jaw.

“Not a chance, sweets.” he growled, his other hand tightening almost painfully on your ass. “You don’t get to stop coming until I’m finished.”

You whined in response, hips seizing as another wave hit you. Peter groaned as you tightened around him, his thrusts losing their rhythm for a moment. You arched your neck back, eyes half closed, and Peter’s lips found your throat once more, sucking a mark into the skin below your jaw. “Fuck, Peter… I can’t…”

“Hold out for me, Y/N.” he murmured back, barely audible over the sound of the water. It was beginning to cool, running too long, sending goosebumps over your over-sensitized skin. Your nipples brushed against his chest with every thrust, your hair slick and sticking to your neck. “I’m so close, baby… I’m so fucking close, baby. God—”

The showerhead clattered against the wall as Peter released it, his hips almost buckling as he finally came, his face buried in the side of your neck. You whimpered, body shaking with aftershocks as he lowered you to the floor, hands pressed to the walls for support, your body held up by his still pressed against yours.

He kissed your cheek, giggling almost deliriously in your ear as the two of you caught your breath. His hands came to rest on your hips, trailing over the skin carefully to your waist. You slung an arm around his neck, pulling him into a kiss, reaching past him with your other hand to turn off the shower. “It’s good to see you too, Peter.”

***

You scrubbed a towel through your hair, sitting at your vanity and watching Peter through the mirror. You’d dressed in a pair of shorts and an old tee shirt, and EDITH had announced that all but Bruce had since arrived at the compound. “So, how far out of your way did you go this time?”

Peter shrugged, nodding absentmindedly along to the music you had playing, his own hair an endearing tangle of still-damp curls. He was stretched out on your bed, a towel wrapped around his waist and his back pressed against the headboard and pillows. He had one hand tucked behind his head, the smallest of smirks on his lips. “A day or two. Maybe more.”

“So, you’re thinking about hanging around then?” you asked, turning around to face him, leaving your towel on the vanity. “You keep doing this and that crew of yours is going to hate me.”

Peter chuckled, shaking his head. “We’re between jobs. We’ve just been paid; they could use a few days leave.”

“And the free room and supplies just made us all the more appealing, huh?” you teased, moving towards the bed.

“And a couple of other things.” he held a hand out to you and you took it, making yourself comfortable and curling up into his side. He draped his arm around your shoulders, and you didn’t release his hand, holding it by your shoulder.

You smiled, but the expression slowly faded into something more somber as a thought returned to you. “So… Gamora…?” Peter exhaled, a crease forming between his brows. “I take it you two…”

He shook his head. “She’s… she’s sticking around for Nebula. And we’re friendly, it’s just…” He sighed, but his voice wasn’t pained like it had been in the past. “Sometimes, she’s so close to who I remember. Which makes sense, I guess. She’s the same person, but… she’s not. Whatever we went through, whatever it is that made the old Gamora love me, she doesn’t have that, she didn’t go through the same stuff. So, she doesn’t see me the same way as the other Gamora did. And she can’t even… she doesn’t know that Gamora. She can’t see what we had. The whole thing is like… she told me, hearing the stories, it’s like I’m talking about somebody else. Someone she’s never met. And she’s right.”

“Peter, I’m sorry.” You murmured, leaning your head against his shoulder. You squeezed his hand gently. “I thought maybe… it’s been three years since you found her, and with Nebula wanting to stay with you guys—”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” he assured you softly, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple before resting his chin on top of your head. “Like I said, she’s not the same. She’s not the person I… my Gamora is gone. And it might’ve taken a while, but I… I get that. It just took me a while to wrap my head around it.”

The two of you fell silent for a while, the weight of the conversation settling over you like a blanket. You played with his fingertips absentmindedly, eyes unfocused.

“You hungry?”

You looked up, offering him a warm smile. “Starved.”

Peter’s face broke into a cocky, teasing smirk. “Yeah, you are.”

You scoffed at him, elbowing him in the side. He laughed, shying away from you, arm withdrawing from your shoulders. “We can order from that steakhouse; get it delivered?”

“Works for me.”

“And you won’t even have to put pants on,” you teased, laughing as he poked you in the side in retaliation. “Is it too early to order? Hand me my phone?”

Peter picked it up from your bedside table, the screen lighting up as he did. You snatched it out of his hand quickly, your cheeks warming slightly. A surprised, smug grin slowly bloomed on Peter’s face. “Am I your lock screen?”

“…You weren’t supposed to see that.” you admitted awkwardly, face flushed. Your background picture was a photo of the two of you that you’d taken on a previous visit; grinning at the camera like fools, caught up in the music you’d been blasting at two a.m. He’d been emulating everything he thought a Rockstar should be, over the top and frankly, adorable. You pushed yourself away from him, moving to clamber back off the bed and away from the embarrassment of being caught out. “It’s not a big deal, I just thought it was a good picture, and—”

He caught hold of your wrist, dragging you back to him. He pulled you on top of him, legs on either side of his, trapping you there with hands on your waist. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me,” he repeated, his expression surprisingly earnest. He released your waist to take hold of your hands instead, enclosing them between both of his. “Come see the universe.”

“Quill, you’re being—”

“C’mon, Y/N.” he insisted, his tone an almost boyish excitement at the idea. “It’ll be great! You and me and the whole universe to see. You’ll love it, I promise.”

“Peter, I—” you struggled to find the words, taken aback by his sudden proclamation. This was something you thought about, late at night when you were too tired to think of all the reasons it wouldn’t work. “I ha-have responsibilities, here. I can’t just—”

“Just think about it,” he urged, his head ducked down to meet yours beseechingly. “We could be like this all the time. We could… we could be together.”

“And… you want that?” you couldn’t help but ask. You knew Peter’s reputation – Drax and Rocket had alluded to it more than enough – and up until now you weren’t entirely sure if you were his only… hell, you didn’t know what to call it.

He nodded, hands tightening slightly on your own. “We fit, you and me.” you swallowed, halfway torn between running from the room declaring your avenging too important and throwing yourself into his arms. “Just… say you’ll think about it? Please?”

After a moment, you nodded slowly, wetting your lips nervously. “I’ll think about it.”

.

.

.

tags: @lovely-dreamer19​ @wittyforachange​ @wefracturedmotivation​ @january-echoes​ @glossyloner​ @capitalnineteen​ @youclickedthislink​ 

If you would like to be tagged in future peter quill stories, or in my marvel stories in general, please send me an ask :) I hope you enjoyed it, and please like/reblog/comment :)

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (End) - Dating Game

Woo Doggy! This has been fun to write and I mean FUN. Having no real holds barred and getting really silly was a lot easier than I expected and I had a great time with this arc. 

One of the biggest complaints in the mobile game fandom is the Main Story offers no love interest for the MC and it trails off at this part as the MC is reduced to a go-fer for every NPC’s sidequest. Well I say NO MORE, you will be quite literally the center of everyone’s attention from here on out.

Cars lined up around the entire block of the street and women were lined up along the sidewalk for their tickets. From 8 to 10 p.m., the busiest time of the night was when the stage was filled with shows by the performers, from ancient erotic dramas like Cleopatra and Marc Antony to Chu Zihang's swordplay; off stage, the guests were already drunk. The guests who came late were often groups of girlfriends who had eaten dinner elsewhere and came to join the singing and dancing party in Takamagahara, the performers had to go over and greet them, there was a shortage of manpower everywhere. Both the escorts and waiters were running to work, Whale was roaring outside the dressing room backstage, like the circus troupe master. 

The message of the Romanceable MC Contest had caught fire and boosted to epic proportions. Princess Night was in full swing and featured all the top names in Male Escort business. Even before they got out of the cars, the women were screaming and taking pictures having lined up for hours.

The  white Cadillac Escalade stretch limousine rolled like an anaconda and reflected the millions of electric lights of the Tokyo night. It took up half the block, but there was space left for cars like this, reserved for the VIPs of the Takamagahara elite. No one could park there on pain of towing and a hefty fine.

A man in a hooded cloak pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. His bright green eyes scanned the crowd waiting outside. He crossed his legs one over the other and leaned back. “What percentage of the fans out there are mine?”

“From the ticket sales it seems that you are about 30% of the crowd today, Master Inoue.” The driver, a veteran and son of drivers, had been there for him since he first made it big hosting the Bliss Hall. This driver was so skilled at avoiding paparazzi that he put him under a lifetime contract. Now he was much older, but his driving was still as sharp as ever.

The man in the back seat was barely visible, dressed in all black and keeping the lights down so that it looked just like an empty limo. He huffed with a slight smirk. He crossed his arms and looked down. “Wow. And I’m supposed to have competition?” 

“You are the top male escort in Tokyo, Master Inoue,” rumbled the driver again.

That sharp green eye flicked up to the rear view mirror. “Second… to the top. If you would, sir. But apparently Ruri Kazama isn’t competing.”

Ruri Kazama. The name was so legendary among the escorts of Japan that they scarcely dared to utter it. Although he rarely appeared outside private showings, the man reigned supreme as the king of the male escort business.

“He’s unlikely he would have been able to respond on short notice, Master Inoue…”

“No one skips the Takamagahara…” He looked back outside, pushing back the thick velvet curtain slightly.

“You’ve skipped it by 3 hours sir.”

“I”m only here to see one woman. There’s no need to see any others or stay here too long. I come here, win her little heart, and leave with my prize money.”

“You’re really not going to entertain your fans, sir?”

He grinned, his radiant and white smile shining in the dark of the limo. “There’s value in scarcity. If I popped up in full all the time, there’d be no chase. And as you know very well, my most excellent driver… It's all about the chase! If you would, please?”

The driver put the truck in park and stepped out in his sharp suit and driver’s hat. He pulled the handle on the pearly side door and opened it.

Shining black cowboy boots covered in sparkling rhinestones stepped down from the limo. He moved as smooth and graceful as a dancer in skin tight leather pants. His black leather jacket was open to reveal his bare chest and sculpted abs. His hair, bleached white streamed from a black cowboy hat decorated with shark’s teeth.

His appearance sparked immediate mayhem, screams, and mad panting. Dozens of hands reached out desperately, stretching their fingers towards him as though they were pulled by an extremely powerful magnet. They were all screaming, “Diamond!”

Master Inoue - or to his fans, Diamond - stood still as a statue, hat tipped over his eyes, listening to their desperate pleas with his eyes closed.

It seemed arrogant, but for him, it was always like this. From the time he was a child, people couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. When they caught sight of his brilliant green eyes they were drawn to him before he even knew the difference between boys and girls. Sitting in the stroller, all he had to do was smile and the women would come and coo and smile and ask, please, can I hold him. Please!

“Please! Hold me, Diamond! Never let me go!”

Diamond lifted his head toward the voice. It was a woman in her thirties, tears in her eyes, begging with the desperation of a leper before Christ. If he just wanted to, he could heal her broken heart. He walked casually towards her and saw her eyes get bigger and bigger and then he took her delicate hand in his and gently kissed it.

The woman, struck with a Pentacostal frenzy, trembled and fell to her knees sobbing in desperation, clutching her hand and rocking back and forth. She would probably never wash that hand again.

The little favor revved the up crowd even more and the bouncers hurried to line up and make a barrier. That kiss was all he would grant. He turned and walked through the velvet rope staffed with burly workers with black masks over their eyes. They opened the doors to Takamagahara and he stepped inside. Immediately, two more workers turned to lead him to the VIP area.

“So who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Deep down, he was quite excited. His clients were usually 35 and older. For thousands of dollars, he would have dinner at a fancy restaurant, followed by drinks in some VIP Lounge. Or he would be asked to clean the house naked. Or pretend to be her boyfriend for the night. There was the common misconception that his clients were old or undateable. But that wasn’t his experience at all.

People who had $5,000 to spend on a naked butler could have anyone they wanted.

And they wanted him.

This challenge was new for him. The club picked his woman and they would be paying his escort fee. 

His only task would be to ‘Love her.’ If she felt that then she would give him tickets. Whoever got the most tickets was the winner. When she picked his ‘route’.

---------------------------

It wasn’t that you got a private party, MC. This was a show.  You were on the floor with everyone else. Rather than sticking to the edge of the crowd you got your table in the shape of a figure 8 in the middle of a raised platform filled with fish swimming about and surrounded by plush red couches in the shape of women’s lips. And already, the bottles were open. 

You’re wearing another dress, not a cheongsam this time. It was a light green satin tube dress that hugged your figure and barely covered anything. Your hair was long and down your shoulders and your make up again was light. For such a simple look, you had spent hours in the spa that day while they made sure your hair was softer than it ever had been. You smelled like lilac and roses. 

A man with short blond hair cropped above his ears, blue eyes and a black shirt so tight it conformed to every muscle in his body yelled above the music. “Where are you from?”

“Uh… Russia!”

“Russia! Woooow! Are you some sort of Oil Baron?”

“Yeah!” You yell figuring nothing you said mattered. They wouldn't remember anything anyway would they?

He flicks his wrist and produces an unopened rose stem, seemingly from thin air and offers it to you. “To me you’re worth more than all the oil in the world. I hope we get to know each other well, MC.”

Below the shirt, He wore pale form fitting jeans that hugged his considerable muscle just like Caesar’s outfit did. But his shoes were casual sneakers without ornamentation.

You accept the rose he offers you, feeling a bit shy.

Another man in a golden blouse that is made of fabric so sheer you could see the belly button piercing underneath, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He puffs out a perfect ring of smoke between his thin lips. “That would be Oil Baroness, Calypso…” He says. “She must have more pull than just money to bring us all to the same table.” His voice was deep and carried through the noise. He pulled another drag and sipped his liquor. But he was looking at you with calculating dark eyes.

A silver coin goes spinning on the table. A man in fiery red hair tied back in a ponytail, puffy red coat and a long chain over his bare chest lifts his chin at you. His eyes are as silver as that coin. “Heads or Tails, MC?”

“What am I betting on?” You ask.

His smile spreads further. “I just said heads or tails.”

“Hey, go easy, she’s new!” The man in the skintight black shirt returns with a bottle of vodka and pours it into a glass.

The redhead slaps his hand over the coin. It’s painted with an elaborate henna tattoo, elaborate, like stained glass. “You’re not going to win by going easy…”

The smell of the vodka is the mix of rubbing alcohol and gasoline. Light a match and it might produce a plume of flame! You lean away, repulsed, but the man next to you brazenly pours himself a glass and downs it. Sighing roughly like he might breathe fire, he grins. “That’s the good stuff! But you must drink it every day right?”

“Yeah!” You take cautious sips but the burn builds and builds until it overwhelms you and forces you to stop and cough into your arm.

Caesar, Mingfei and Chu Zihang were nowhere to be found. It was clear this club was over occupancy and over staffed so there was no rescuing you. All the waiters were running around. From somewhere in the hall, glass breaks.

A finger taps your shoulder. You’re met by a bright green gaze in a pale face.

You flinch as a crown is laid on your head.

“Your Majesty…” The man bows to you.

“Your Majesty!”  They all echo with bows and kittenish smiles. For years, you’d never considered trying to date anyone. You lived like you were preparing for war. Then the war came and never let up. Now, you’re surrounded by men who could honestly be called the handsomest in Tokyo who were placing their hands on their broad chests and bowing their heads in fealty.

Off stage, the women on the floor whooped with delight.

Cowboy hat tipped over one eye, shirtless in his jacket, with a bare hairless chest, the man who gave you the jeweled tiara leaned over the couch. Every muscle stood out in carefully carved relief and your eyes followed them down to where they disappeared below his waist. The elastic band of his boxers peek up from the pants. You’d seen naked people before. But they were all familiar, people you knew and were fine with. This is the first time encountering the bare chest of a complete stranger and he’s so close you can smell his sweat. “Wow…” He says quietly, in a low purr next to your ear.

“I’m sorry?”

“You are… beautiful.” His eyes roamed about your body with a lopsided smile, his eyebrows raising. “I have to say I am caught by surprise.”

If your face gets any hotter it might catch fire.

He vaults over the couch, plops next to you and leans in, filling your vision. He gives a quick wink. “I’m yours for the night.”

“Diamond is always this forward but the truth is, he’s the most inexperienced of all of us.”

Diamond shoots the yellow shirt a glare. “I’m experienced in everything she would possibly want, Armani.”

“Yes, but we must go gently, gently…” The black shirt lightly rustles your hair. “We don't want to scare her off.”

“I’m here to do what she wants me to do…” Diamond waves the other men away before addressing you again. “Well, what’s your name?”

You tell him.

“Beautiful… let me guess? Russian?” His hand crept over to envelope yours in a steady grip. His fingers were so much larger than yours and soft like they were bathed in milk every day. There were no calluses. When Mingfei or Caesar touched you, there were roughened, thick patches of skin from hours of practice at the shooting ranges. His nails were even, shining and unbroken.

He raises your hand to his lips and gives it a small kiss. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. You can call me, Diamond.”

“Okay, Diamond.” You glance up at his eyes. He follows your gaze down when it falls again, trying to hold it as much as possible to the point where he leans over and tilts his head to do so. Every time you look up, those eyes are there, to catch that glance, like a serpent hypnotizing his prey.

He holds your drink out to you and you accept it with thanks.

“Are you cold? I noticed you’re keeping your feet tucked under.”

“Yes, it’s… a little cold.”

He shrugged off his jacket and laid it over your shoulders. It was very warm and you realized that the smell of the cologne he was wearing surrounded you like a thick heavy fog.  You could now see his body in all its glory. You belatedly realize that the observation of your being cold was just an excuse for him to remove one of the few pieces of clothing he had!

His shoulders.. The way his neck curved into them and then down to his back. You’d seen shoulders like his before but for some reason, in seeing someone new, made your eye rest on it that much longer, on the way the muscle hugged his bone . The cold in the room made his nipples stand out and...

“Anything else I can do to make you more comfortable, Your Highness?” He stayed turned to you. The way his abs wrinkled. That little valley on his side that disappeared when it met the leather pants. You were naturally observant. Everything you saw was getting laser etched into your mind. In an effort to stop it, you return to his eyes but even that wasn’t safe. He was so close, you could notice small flecks of blue and gold that enhanced the color. 

“Your eyes are really pretty.” You say this, but it doesn’t sound right even in your own ears. It wasn’t really his eyes you wanted to say something about.

He gives an easy relaxed smile, his eyebrows lift once. “Your eyes are prettier.”

“No they’re not.”

“I think I’m gonna barf. Let a pro show you how it’s done.” The redhead plants one arm between you and Diamond and ignores his furious glare.

His lips were really pink, almost cherry red, but you don’t see any sign of gaudy lipstick that Caesar wore. Everything about this man was gorgeous, even the light smatter of freckles on his nose. And everything about him was natural, save his hair color. The breath from his nose tickles your lips. He’s not backing away, he only tilts his head a bit.

You start to imagine what it might be like to kiss him. He draws a bit closer… closer. You close your eyes and wait. Wait… nothing.

“Can I?” He asks, quietly pleading.

“Uh...huh?” You press the words out from a stomach that was already squeezed tight like a fist.

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind for later.” The redhead pulls back and sashays back to this spot on the couch, giving Diamond a sharp snap of his fingers, just inches on his face. “Get on my level.”

“Alright, Alright, point taken.” Diamond pours himself some vodka.

The man in the yellow blouse, Armani, tilts his glass a bit. “Popularity is just a sign of good marketing and ubiquity. None of us can doubt your social media prowess, Diamond, but this is much higher class.”

He’s then staring at you with a half-lidded gaze. “Perhaps the baroness should accustom herself to someone who has dined with high officials. The ones with real power.”

“Okay…” You whisper, you’re completely captivated, unable to move.

“But that’s boring.” The Redhead sighs. “She needs to have more anticipation and suspense!”

“Your name is Chance because whether or not you’re any good is a complete crapshoot.” Armani sips his whiskey.

“But you could hit the jackpot.” He winks at you. “I’m one in a million.”

A loud popping sound  made you suddenly duck but he held you close. Confetti and glitter rained from the ceiling and cascaded over your skin. You look at your arm and watch the play of the disco lights on the sparkle.

“It’s time to give out Star-Heart Tickets! Who is the Ikemen who’s won this round?!” Whale is still emceeing this event and apparently was watching you. A waiter comes by with a basket full of stars with hearts in the middle.

You look at face after glorious handsome face. They were all leaning forward, smiling, waiting. Off stage people were yelling. Bets were being taken. “Diamond! Diamond!”

“PIck Armani he’s the best!”

“You’ll love Calypso!”

“Go with Chance!!”

“I don’t know…” You say, your voice weak. You look at your glass but it seems like the level has hardly moved even though you already feel dizzy.

“No one!” Whale shouts loudly. 

There must be a microphone because you’re not sure how he’s hearing what you’re saying. A gasp ripples through the crowd surrounding you and they fall to a confused silence. All the men sitting around you sit up straight, their faces each registering different levels of surprise and consternation. Save Chance, who whooped loud. “Yeah! Now this is what I’ve been waiting for! Let the games begin!” He pumped his fist.

Chance makes a mighty leap on the table and stands in front of you, all six feet of masculine bravado. “Let me give it to you straight. It’s true, I’m not always everyone’s cup of tea, I go buck wild sometimes.” He sweeps his arms across the table at the other men. “But if girls just fall into your lap at the first sight, how do you know how to compete? Ya don’t!”

Armani stares up at Chance and slowly sets his whiskey down. The others also suddenly changed their demeanor, grave determination and desire in their eyes.

[harlot-of-oblivion]

🤠OC Questionnaire: Beretta🤠

a.k.a. Cowgirl Vampire Reader from the Tales of Miss Fortune series

Full name

Blythe Bale

Preferred name/nickname

Beretta

Generally referred to as

BB, Miss Fortune 

Appearance

FACECLAIM: Here’s a portrait I made using Artbreeder:

(but @i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate​ photoshopped her green eye!)

SEX: Female.

HEIGHT: 5’7 

WEIGHT: A little hefty due to all the muscle.

BUILD: Toned and muscular thanks to years of fighting wars and winning battles.

HAIR: Long, course, and auburn brown. Her hair comes down past her shoulders. She usually wears it down but sometimes has it in a loose braid with her ever present gambler hat on her head.

SKIN: Brown. Smooth and hard but cool to the touch ever since her Embrace.

EYES: She has heterochromia iridis: her left is russet brown while her right eye is forest green. They always seem to sparkle with mischief and her green eye, also known as her “evil eye”, glows whenever the Beast stirs inside her. Short black eyelashes.

MOUTH: Small mouth with plump lips. Slightly crooked teeth that are perfectly white teeth with very prominent canines that can retract when not feeding. 

NOSE: Small and rounded with a wide bridge and small nostrils.

HANDS: Small hands with medium nails that can extend into razor sharp claws at will. They used to be rough with callouses before her Embrace, but now they’re incredibly smooth and just a little soft.

FEET: Small with wide insoles and short toes. She doesn’t trim her toenails since they’ll just grow back the next night. 

SCARS: She had a scar across her nose when she was alive, but it quickly healed and faded away after her Embrace.

CLOTHES: Her entire wardrobe just screams cowgirl: boot cut jeans, tons of Western style shirts, large belt buckle, long leather jackets, and a few gambler hats. 

OTHER FEATURES: She has vampiric fangs and just an overall air of otherworldliness that everyone notices on a subconscious level.

OTHER NOTABLE FEATURES: To be determined. 

Speech

VOICECLAIM: To be determined.

ACCENT: She speaks with a very thick Southern drawl. 

VERBAL TICS: She has a tendency to use “tsk” a lot when she’s annoyed.

LANGUAGE: She’s fluent in English, Spanish, Gaelic, French, German, Russian, Japanese, and Vietnamese along with some dead languages her Dame taught her.

ARTICULATION: She’s not the most eloquent when it comes to explaining things clearly, and she tends to go on storytelling tangents sometimes.

EDUCATION: She doesn’t use any long and fancy words since it’s more fun to cram a lot of words when she’s running her mouth off.

LAUGHTER: She has two types of laughter: joyful howling and malicious cackling. Her joyful laugh is loud and proud; it’s what you’re most likely to hear if you stay on her good side. Her malicious cackling sounds like death itself; only those who’ve earned her scorn hear its chilling timbre.

GRUMP: Not very often except for when she’s annoyed, letting out a few agitated hisses when she’s hungry. 

BREATHING: She’ll let out the occasional humph and tends to sniff the air whenever she’s tracking by scent despite not needing to breathe.

Mannerisms

FACE: She has a very expressive face but knows how to hide her true feelings behind a disarming grin.

HANDS: She gestures a lot with her hands, especially when she’s welding guns since that always catches people off guard.

LEGS/FEET: She taps her feet and jiggles her leg as if she’s listening to some long forgotten song in her head.

EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS: She’s prone to emotional outbursts whenever she’s on the verge of hunger or enters a fear frenzy. Lots of hissing, growling, and deathly screeching whenever this happens. But she also yips, yells, and yowls along with whatever mood strikes her at that moment.

HABITS: She randomly bursts into song whenever the mood strikes her, and she fiddles with her guns and whittling knife when she’s occupied with her thoughts. She also tips her hat a lot whenever she introduces herself or just as a general gesture of good will.

POSTURE: She tends to slump over a bit while standing, but she'll stand straight and steady whenever she’s shooting her guns.

WALKING POSTURE: She has a very distinctive swagger to her step that exudes casual confidence.

SITTING POSTURE: She crosses her legs and slouches in her seat.

PERSONAL SPACE: She doesn’t have much of a personal bubble, but has no problem letting someone know they’re not welcome within her space. She respects other people’s personal spaces, but has no problems getting into someone’s face when threatened.

SPACIAL AWARENESS: Her keen vampiric senses pick up even the most miniscule details, so she’s rarely taken by surprise.

OTHER: She likes to share very old Western sayings whenever the mood strikes her.

Health

DIET: Blood...mostly human blood, but she’s acquired a taste for demonic hybrid blood recently. She refuses to drink blood from the elderly, children, mages, and abhorrent mortals.

SLEEP: She doesn’t really sleep anymore...more like falling into a state of repose before the first crack of dawn. And she simply animates as soon as the sun dips below the horizon. She doesn’t have dreams while in this state per se; memories of past death and misfortune flash before her eyes repeatedly in the form of dreams. 

EXERCISE: Not much since her muscles will never develop further than what they were when she died. And she can just buff herself with her blood if she needs a boost in strength and speed.

ACTIVITY: She’s a hard worker but tends to laze around until the very last second before getting to work. She only pushes herself past exhaustion if the task is of great importance.

CLEANLINESS: She bathes regularly, especially after certain bloody activities. She prefers a quick shower over soaking in the bath.

ODOUR: She faintly smells of leather, desert rose, and freshly dug earth. 

MEDICINAL DRUGS: No.

NARCOTICS: No.

ADDICTIONS: Besides blood and death? No.

ILLNESS: Besides being a vampire? No.

INJURIES: No.

PARASITES: No.

OTHER: She must have blood every day or else risk succumbing to a hunger frenzy. In this state, she doesn’t care about keeping a low profile and she’ll feed without much thought about anyone’s safety. The only way to bring her out of this state is either waiting it out until she’s well fed, knocking her unconscious, or bestowing Final Death.

Personal

INTROVERT/EXTROVERT: Oh she’s an extrovert through and through! She doesn’t go out of her way to go unnoticed unlike most of her kind; the cowboy boots and gambler hat stay on no matter what! Loud and proud is her personal motto and anyone nearby will hear and see that for themselves.

OPTIMIST/PESSIMIST: She’s a little bit of both; she always hopes for the best but knows that misfortune rears its ugly from time to time.

GENDER: Female.

SEXUALITY: She’s attracted to both men and women so long as they’re outgoing and have a good sense of humor. She prefers women more often than not but she’s had a few relationships with men in the past. And she’s not adverse to other supernatural beings even if it’s taboo within vampire society. She despises anyone who uses magic to manipulate others and will most likely dispose of them before they inflict even more suffering upon the world. 

ROMANTIC: She’s not one for romance but won’t shy away from it either. And she enjoys romantic gestures though she’d never admit it out loud. She was married once before when she was alive but doesn’t plan on remarrying in her new life...and more children are off the table since she’s clinically dead. 

MEMORY: She has a pretty good and very accurate memory, but the memories of her mortal life are starting to get a little fuzzy.

PLANNING: She’s more of a “act now, think later” kind of gal. 

PENSIVE: She pretends to not brood over the past, but she’s guilty of reminiscing over old trials and tribulations that lead her to live such a dark life.

INTUITION: She’s honed her intuition over the years but it’s eerily accurate when death and misfortune are involved.

PROBLEM SOLVING: If they can be solved by shooting them to death then sure! But she’s not above asking for help if that doesn’t work.

GOALS: Her main goal in life is following death wherever it takes her and ridding the world of mages, witches, warlocks, and all other wielders of magic. Her short term goals are taking it easy in between and finding more customizations for her guns, Misery and Woe.

INSECURITIES: She doesn't have many insecurities...constantly being the bearer of misfortune takes a toll on her sometimes. But she hides it very well under her mischievous smirks and rowdy posturing. She rarely reveals her true nature unless forced since most mortals do not take very kindly to vampires. 

ACHIEVEMENTS: She’s proud of her outlaw exploits as Miss Fortune and being well traveled even if it’s because her curse demands to dwell near copious amounts of death. 

ANXIETY: Any notion of anyone figuring out her true nature. Fire and holy places make her really anxious. She’s also not fond of seeing children in distress. 

OVERWHELMED: Not feeding enough causes a lot of stress.

SELF-HELP: She doesn’t until it becomes a nuisance. Then, she just tries to deal with it as quickly as possible.

COMFORTS: Hanging out at a bar with good music will always make her happy...even better with the right company to keep her entertained. She also likes to whittle whenever she needs peace and quiet.  

BAD HABITS: Her constant paranoia is kind of like a bad habit.

PHILOSOPHY: She abandoned all her previous beliefs after her death, but she wasn’t really religious to begin with. She does pay proper respect to the Dark Mother of all Lillum whenever possible though.

TRIGGERS: Fire and terrified screams of children. 

The Past

PARENTS/GUARDIANS: She had a very good relationship with her parents growing up; still has fond memories of helping her Ma with the chores and tending the horses with her Pa. Her relationship with the woman who Embraced her is not as warm though; very austere and aloof but she does show her caring side on rare occasions. 

SCHOOL: She was homeschooled at her father’s ranch and she was a very bright kid. 

ADOLESCENCE: It was difficult since her mother died before she could teach her about the changes in her body. And her father tried his best but he usually just let her figure it out on her own. 

LEAVING HOME: She didn’t leave home until her father’s death. It was heartbreaking since she had to sell the ranch in order to provide for her daughter. 

FURTHER EDUCATION: A higher education wasn’t available due to her social status, but she definitely broadened her horizons soon after her death. 

FIRST JOB: Her first job was cooking and cleaning at local inns and bars. It wasn’t the best job nor was it as rewarding as her work on the ranch, but it paid for the roof over her head and food on her table while raising her daughter.

LIFE EVENTS: The birth of her daughter was one of the happiest moments of her life. She was forcefully recruited as a spy by a mage, which led to her eventual Embrace as a vampire. And being drawn to the Russian Revolution led to saving and Embracing a young woman.

WORST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: Her daughter was on the brink of death due to the meddling of a mage.

BEST DAY OF THEIR LIFE: She made a blood bond with her rowdy cowboy.

LESSONS: Those who wield magic bring nothing but trouble and should be dealt with immediately. Sometimes you get and sometimes you get got. If it doesn’t seem worth the effort then it probably isn’t.  

LOOKING BACK: If she could replay her life and do something different, she would try her damnedest to keep her father’s ranch and raise her daughter in peace away from another man’s war. 

Relationships

FAMILY: The only family she had growing up was her Ma and Pa. They made a living for themselves on her father’s ranch raising horses and tending to their own modest farm. She would’ve been an older sister but her mother and baby brother both died during childbirth. 

Her Dame, the woman who Embraced her, is more like a strict tutor than a mother but that suits her fine. She’s much closer with her older “sister” and they traveled together often until going their separate ways. And she’s also close with her own “daughter” even though they bicker a lot about the dumbest things.  

FRIENDSHIPS: It’s hard for her to keep many friends since she travels a lot but she doesn’t mind the occasional company from time to time. Anyone who doesn’t take life too seriously and can let loose is okay in her books. She can’t call anyone who falls under one of the codes of her clan a friend.

FRIENDS IN NEED: She lends them an ear every now and then but she usually distracts them with a good time drinking at the closet bar. She’ll sometimes offer some strange old sayings that sound like sage advice but otherwise will just let them vent before encouraging them to just drop their worries at the door while they drink their worries away.

NEEDING A FRIEND: She tends to deal with her problems on her own since she doesn’t have any close friends to confide in. The few friends she has made do worry about her often though but her carefree attitude convinces them to not pry into her private affairs. 

ANNOYANCES: She usually deflects from arguments and disagreements with loud and rowdy humor.

ROMANCE: She lays it on thick with the flirting until one of them makes the first move. She looks for someone with good looks and wicked sense of humor...bonus if they tell great tales about their crazy exploits. 

MARITAL PROBLEMS: She tried to be open about any problems with her lover but sometimes the old habit of deflecting with humor crops up. But a good ol’ fashioned fight (depends on her mood if it's verbal or physical) or a few rounds in the bedroom usually loosens her tongue.

ADVERSARIES: Anyone who takes themselves way too seriously.

ENEMIES: Anyone who embodies the very reason why her clan exists is instantly her enemy by default.

STRANGERS: She’s respectful enough to strangers but has no problem telling them to back off if they step on her toes too much.

FUN STUFF: She likes to hangout at bars even though she can’t drink anymore. She also likes to go horseback riding in the middle of the night but doesn’t mind joyriding on a motorcycle either. 

DATING: It doesn’t matter what they’re doing so long as she’s with her lover. She still likes to be wined and dined too...just in a more vampiric sense now. 

BEST FRIEND: Her crow could be counted as her best friend...mostly because she doesn’t have any real friends.

LOVE: Dante, the Legendary Devil Hunter who somehow wrangled her undead heart. 

WORST ENEMY: There currently isn’t anyone who she considers her worst enemy...yet.

RESPECT: Depends on the person. She had no respect for anyone who breaks the codes of her clan and shows no mercy when dealing with them. 

Interactions

MINGLING: She’s quite the mingler and gets along well with others.

COMFORT LEVELS: She’s great at striking up random conversations among strangers and friends. And she has no problem shooing them away with a harsh glare if they make her uncomfortable. 

PHYSICAL: She can be a little touchy-feely from time to time, usually in the form of pats on the back or shoulder. She only shares hugs with people she sees as a good friend. 

GROUPS: She’s comfortable hanging out in a big group since there’s a greater chance for some rowdy fun.

OPENNESS: She’s open to an extent...she won’t talk about anything personal with others unless they prove to be trustworthy. 

GENEROSITY: She usually makes her gifts and only buys treats if she couldn’t find a good piece of wood for whittling. She’d only lend money to a friend if she trusts them to not waste it. And she gets excited when someone buys gifts for her but it always comes with a reminder that they really don’t have to waste their hard earned money on a lazy bitch like her.

JEALOUSY: She’s usually not the jealous type but her dark nature rears its head and sometimes...and a jealous vampire is very dangerous. She usually deals with it by just plain ignoring it while going for a ride in the night.

TEMPER: She can be patient up to a point before getting worked up when it starts to grate on her nerves.

EMPATHY: She’s able to empathize with another person’s feelings since some of her vampiric abilities allows her to read their emotional state. 

AFFECTION: She shows affection by giving one of whittled woodworks with all the charming compliments. She also likes to snuggle and nuzzle their neck with a soft purr if they're really close.

DISTASTE: She’ll outright tell someone she dislikes them to their face. She’s been known to stare at them while using her Evil Eye if she REALLY doesn’t like them. 

ETIQUETTE: She can be very polite in social situations so long as everyone else plays nice, but she has no problem being rude if someone insults her.

RESPONSIBILITY: She’ll begrudgingly admit when she’s wrong and will try to correct it to the best of her abilities.

SELF ESTEEM: She sticks up for herself no matter who’s giving her a hard time. Her Dame taught her to never appear weak in the eyes of men since they always seek to tear down strong women. 

CONFIDENCE: She doesn’t give a damn what others think of her.

HONESTY: She always speaks her mind honestly even if it might upset someone.

LEADER OR FOLLOWER: She’s more of a lone wanderer but has no problem slipping into either roll when the situation calls for it

PARTY TRICKS: She’s real quick with her guns, loves to whittle wood into a work of art in no time flat, and she can also sing surprisingly well.

PRAISE: She loves receiving compliments. 

FAILURES: Her lazy and laid back attitude as well as her boisterous hollering can be a tad annoying to some people.

CRITICISM: She can take criticism so long as it’s helpful with just a little bit of back talk.

INSULTS: It depends on who’s insulting her. She usually just laughs it off before biting back with some of her own insults with her venomous stare.

EMBARRASSMENT: She’s not easily embarrassed but if it does happen, she’ll straight up hide her face with the brim of her gambler hat before making a quick exit.

FLIRTING: She can be real flirty for two reasons: scoring a meal or genuine attraction.

ATTENTION SPAN: She has great concentration and can hold it for an exorbitant amount of time so long as she’s fed beforehand.

SITUATIONS: Some of her vampiric abilities can deal with difficult social situations, but she’d rather just talk it out if possible.

Life

CAREER: She's a wandering mercenary who specializes in neutralizing mages and witches. It’s a well paying job with high risks but she derives joy from it. 

PROMOTION: She’s quite happy with her current position. 

BOSS: She’s her own boss. 

DUTY: She’s a specialized tracker who shoots down bitches. 

TECH: She’s adequate at using modern technology but prefers to not rely on it too much. 

POLITICS: Not very political unless a mage is involved...then she’ll fucking kill them. 

COMBAT SKILLS: She’s an expert with firearms and is very experienced with fighting hand to hand. 

HOME: She doesn’t stay in one place for too long, so she really doesn’t have a home. 

DAILY LIFE: She goes through her day-to-day tasks with her usually laid back attitude. Going out and doing a couple of jobs helps her relieve some stress. 

INDEPENDENCE: Very independent since striking out on her own after selling her father’s ranch.

COOKING: She was a decent cook when she was alive but she hasn’t tried cooking after her death since all food tastes like ashes now. She does have a keen palate for blood though and can tell you all the complex notes hidden within.

BUILDING: She’s great putting together furniture, mending clothes, and just all around basic DIY.

CLEANING: She really doesn’t have a place she calls home, but she would be terrible at keeping up chores if she did.

SHOPPING: She’s not one for shopping sprees, only going to the store when it’s absolutely necessary.

DRIVING: She can drive if she has too but prefers riding on horseback instead. 

FINANCES: She’s financially stable but doesn’t trust banks to keep her well earned funds safe. And she doesn’t really have to worry about paying bills since she has no home.

MARRIAGE: She was married a long time ago for a short time but now she’s single, and she doesn’t plan on getting married again.

KIDS: She had one daughter when she was alive.

PETS: She has a crow named Catha. She also tries to get a horse whenever she’s outside city limits. 

DEPENDANTS: She has a vampiric daughter but she’s old enough to be out on her own.

LAW: Oooooh yes, she’s broken a lot of laws during her time as cowgirl and still continues to do so for various reasons. 

COURT: She’s never been to court. 

PRISON: She’s broken into prison a few times to free some friends but she’s never been an inmate herself.

TRAVELLING: She’s very well traveled but every day is a holiday to her.

MEDICAL: She doesn’t need conventional medical attention anymore thanks to her vampiric nature.

ILLNESS: She has PTSD and suffers from bouts of paranoia.

WORRIES: She worries about her daughter from time to time.

PEACE: She doesn’t mind peace and quiet when she’s in the mood but she prefers the hustle and bustle of people and great music over straight up silence. 

PARTYING: She can never say no to a lively party!

HOBBIES: She likes to whittle wood into intricate pieces of art, usually in the form of lil statues and knick knacks. 

[captainamericasbeard]

Rescue 7/10

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Enhanced!Omega!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: Not much really

Summary: The Avengers are sent in to rescue a group of omegas from the hands of Hydra. There Bucky finds you, an enhanced omega. Can you ever be fully rescued from what Hydra has done to you?

A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story. It means the world to me that you guys are interested in something I have to say. It honestly blows my mind. Please keep commenting, it really fuels me to receive such beautiful feedback. IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED PLEASE SEND AN ASK. 

Rescue 6 l Masterlist

You wake up in the morning and give an almighty stretch. Your heat has passed. You look over at a sleeping Bucky. His hair is in his face and the sheet is pulled off, revealing his bare back, muscles rippling down. You move the hair out of his face and a weary eye blinks open. Bucky shifts towards you scooping you up in his arms and burying his face in your neck where he kisses and nuzzles your bond mark.

“Careful there, cowboy,” you say with a chuckle as Bucky squeezes you even tighter.

“Sorry ‘mega, I just can’t get enough of your scent. It's got me done in.” You card your fingers through his hair and sigh deeply. You can’t believe you’re here, with this man by your side. It feels like magic, like a fairytale. Even if it's just this moment, it feels like home.

“My heat’s over,” you say quietly.

“Mmm, I can tell,” Bucky says as he’s being lured back to sleep by your scent and warmth.

“I think I need a shower. Somehow that’s been neglected in the last few days.” Bucky just squeezes you tighter, refusing to let you stray too far. “Come on baby, let me look nice for you,” you try switching tactics. Bucky scoots you in so he’s now lying on top of you, his head on your bare chest and a leg thrown over yours. “You’re going to make me resort to unsavory methods if you keep this up,” you warn. Bucky simply starts peppering kisses along your collarbone. “Alright you asked for it,” you warn and you zap him on the sides with a few sparks from your fingertips. Bucky jumps off you and groans.

“Darlin’ that’s hardly fair,” he says, rubbing his side.

“You use your super strength to keep me from moving, I get to use my powers to escape,” you say lightly as you swing your legs off the bed and stand. Your back is to the window and your naked form is framed by golden light. Bucky decides he’s not letting you out of his sight and he leaps off the bed and holds you from behind as you both move toward the bathroom.

“Will you be joining me, Sarge?” you question.

“You bet your beautiful ass I will,” Bucky replies. You lean over and turn on the water before you turn in Bucky’s arms and pepper his face with kisses. You trail your lips down his jaw to his neck where you timidly kiss and lick his bond mark, eliciting a growl from Bucky. You pull back and look into his bright blue eyes.

“I love you Alpha,” you say simply.

“I love you, my ‘Mega,” Bucky returns, taking your face in his hands and kissing you so tenderly tears spring to your eyes. The bathroom is filling with steam so you turn and step into the shower with Bucky close behind. The two of you linger in this soft world of soap and warm water and passionate kisses for as long as you can. Bucky washes your hair and combs it through with care and you do the same to him. Once the two of you are clean and fresh smelling you turn off the shower and step out.

“Breakfast?” Bucky asks you as you’re both toweling off. You worry your bottom lip and try to think of an excuse to stay in the room. Until your stomach betrays you with a loud growl. Bucky laughs out loud and crosses the room to hold you in his arms.

“Come on doll, I won’t let them tease you too bad.” You roll your eyes and hang your head. You know what’s coming.

You trail down the hallway behind Bucky, holding his hand. As you’re about to round the corner to the kitchen you stop dead and drop his hand. Bucky turns around and takes your face in his warm hands, dropping sweet kisses on your cheeks and nose.

“What’s got you nervous doll.” Bucky asks quietly so the others won’t hear. You fidget with the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, one of Bucky’s.

“I think I’m just a bit embarrassed,” you mumble. “Not of you, just, you know…” Bucky tucks an errant strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling at you fondly.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed or nervous about. This is a group of mature adults, they’re not going to make a big deal out of anything. Clint gets his heat every month and he and Nat disappear and no one says a thing about it. Don’t you worry, love.” Bucky’s voice is low and reassuring and you let his scent wash over you and calm your nerves. You give him a nod and take his hand again, letting him lead you into the kitchen.

You walk into the room to clapping, whoops and cheers. You hide your face in Buck’s chest and concentrate very hard on disappearing into the floor.

“There she is,” Tony says, clapping his hands, “the woman who turned Cap into a quivering mess.” You will yourself to die at that comment but nothing happens.

“I was fine.” Steve replies tensely.

“You went to your room to “take care of some business” 2 or 3 times a day last week,” Tony persists. Bucky growls in Steve’s direction.

“He’s exaggerating, Buck,” Steve reassures with an apologetic look in your direction.

“Alright guys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone,” Wanda calls, seeing how embarrassed you are. You throw a grateful look in her direction and the team calms down, going back to what they were doing before you walked in.

You and Bucky move over to the coffee pot where Bucky pours you a cup and adds creamer without protest. You settle into your usual seat while Bucky makes you your favorite breakfast. The team chats away and you’re happy to not participate until there’s a voice in your head.

“Hey…” you jump, sloshing your coffee on your hand and look up at Wanda who’s looked eyes with you. “Sorry, I just wanted to chat without certain super soldiers overhearing us.” You give her a shy smile and a nod of agreement. “So? How was it?” You blush deeply.

“It was good,” you reply, “it was really good.”

“That’s all I’m going to get? It was good?” Wanda questions indignantly.

“Ok it was fantastic! I’ve never been with someone like Bucky and it was perfect. Now get out of my head.” Wanda’s clear bright laugh resounded in your head.

“Ok, fine, fine.” And it was quiet once again. Bucky put your plate of food down in front of you and you dug in, ravenous. He sits down in the chair next to you and pulls his seat as close to you as he can. Bucky rubs your thigh with his hand and leans in to pepper your face with kisses when you pull back.

"No PDA Bucky!” you say quietly, hoping the others don’t notice.

“PDA?” Bucky questions “Public Display of Affection,” you explain. "You know I'm shy.” Bucky lets out a groan.

“Are you saying I can’t kiss my omega whenever I want,” Bucky asks, trying to lean in for another peck on the cheek. Your cheeks color at the term and you lightly hold him away.

“Yes, that’s what I'm saying. Just until I'm more comfortable.” Bucky sighs and drops his head to your shoulder in defeat.

"Ok sweet girl, whatever you say.”

The two of you finish up your breakfast amidst laughter and chatter with the rest of the team. You’re more comfortable with most of them now than when you first arrived and it felt good to fit in somewhere. After breakfast you and Bucky wander over to the lab to speak to Bruce.  You find him in the lab hunched over a notebook and some ominous looking green liquid in a vial.

“Y/N, Bucky. Hi. I think I know what brings you by,” Bruce says, putting down his pencil and pushing back from his work.

“Yeah, so I got my heat. How is that possible? I thought I was on the strongest suppressants there are.” You question. Bruce fidgets in his seat.

“I honestly have no idea. Those suppressants should have stopped your heat dead in its tracks. The only thing I can think of is the True Mates theory,” Bruce says, rubbing his hands together.

“What’s that, I’ve never heard of that,” you ask looking at Bucky.

“I’ve heard of it,” he says with a far off look in his eyes.

“True Mates basically says that there are Alphas and Omegas that are chemically suited for each other. That they were made to be together. Their scents are usually complimentary and will be very strong to each other. And that the omega’s heat will come whether she’s on suppressants or not.”

“That sounds far fetched,” you decide, wrinkling your nose.

“Does it?” Bucky asks looking at you. “How else do you explain us?”

“I don’t need some secret force driving us together. I love you for you, for all you’ve done for me, and for how you love me.” You blush furiously at your words but you need Bucky to know how you feel.  

“Then how do you explain your heat?” You don’t have an answer for that so you simply shrug your shoulders. Bucky can see that he’s not going to win this argument so he drops it, at least for now.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anymore useful information,” Bruce says. You have no reply so Bucky answers for the both of you.

“That’s alright doc. Thanks anyways.” Bucky slings his arm over your shoulders and guides you out of the lab. You can tell Bucky wants to finish your conversation from earlier so you try to steer him in another direction.

“Wanna go watch a movie?” You ask sweetly.

“Avoiding the conversation?” Bucky quips, a patient smile crossing his face.

“Deftly,” you say, winding your arms around his waist and leaning in for a soft peck on the lips. Bucky growls and pulls you closer for a deeper kiss and you open up to him.

“Okay,” Bucky says, pulling himself away from your lips, “a movie. You get to pick.” You smile brightly and take Bucky’s hand, leading him toward the common area.

20 minutes later finds you snuggled up under a blanket with a pile of snacks Bucky pilfered from the cabinets. Bucky just put your favorite DVD into the player and comes to sit beside you.

“Is this ok?” He asks as he winds his arm behind your back, drawing you in for a cuddle. You look at him and nod with a smile, resting your head on his chest as he pushes play. You both watch the movie perfectly contented. Bucky has never seen it before and you’re delighted when he laughs at all your favorite parts. The movie is nearing its end when Steve strides into the room.

“Bucky we’ve got a situation in South America. Active Hydra base. Jet leaves in 30.” He turns on his heel without offering you a glance and walks out of the room before Bucky can protest.

“Hang on, doll, I’ll try to get out of it.” Bucky says as he starts to get up from the couch. You hang onto his hand and pull him back down.

“That’s ok you don’t need to do that.” you say timidly. Bucky looks at you quizzically.

“Tryin’ to get rid of me doll?” He says it as a joke but you watch the fear flash across his eyes. You lean in close and press reassuring kisses along his jawline.

“Never,” you coo reassuringly. “It’s just, you’ll have to go on missions eventually. You can’t stay home with me forever.”

“Yeah but we’ve just mated. I shouldn’t have to rush off just yet,” Bucky says.

“Well maybe I could come with you?” You suggest. Bucky’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline.

“Come on the mission?” Bucky asks, incredulously. “No way.”

“I want to Bucky. Obviously I can’t come on this mission but I want to be a part of the team. I want to come on missions,” you say, timidly but surely.

“No, absolutely not.” Bucky said definitively. It was your turn to raise your eyebrows.

“What do you mean no? I wasn’t exactly asking permission. I’m letting you know I want to pursue this.” You could see Bucky’s frustration building. You could see he wants to assert his dominance in the conversation but he never wants to force you to submit.

“Y/N, it’s not like training with Thor. There’s a lot more that goes into it and you’re not prepared. I don’t want you doing it. No.”  At this point you were fuming but you tried to calm yourself and see things from Bucky’s perspective when it dawned on you.

“Bucky, are you scared?” You ask cautiously.

“Yes!” He shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. “The thought of you on missions terrifies me. You’ve been through so much and I don’t want to expose you to that. And if I lost you? I can’t even think about it without feeling sick. I love you and I want to keep you safe.” You can see Bucky’s breathing fast and his anxiety is rising so you hold his face in your hands and press soft kisses onto his lips.

“I’m here Bucky, everything is ok,” you say reassuringly. You let go of his face and hold his hands to ground him. “Bucky this is important to me. I didn’t ask for these powers, there were forced on me. But I’d like to use them to rid the world of Hydra. Otherwise what’s the point. You have to be able to understand that, right?” Bucky nods slowly, not wanting to concede your point.

“It would be hard, Y/N, you’d have to train for a long time. I’m not letting you go out there until Nat clears you. And I’d have to give you weapons training.” Bucky says. You can tell he’s not fully on board.

“I know it won’t be easy, but like I said, this is important to me. I want to be part of the team,” you say firmly, nodding your head. Bucky’s face is difficult to read but you think you may have won him over. Steve pops his head around the corner and you wonder how much he heard.

“10 minutes Buck.” He says before disappearing again.

Chapter 8

______________________________________________________________________

TAGLIST:

@all1e23​ @fanfictionjunkie1112​ @kiki5283​ @humanexile​ @starkrobb​ @alyxkbrl​ @momc95​ @bullshitantichrist​ @the-omni-princess​ @animegirlgeeky​ @acf2510​ @fluffyirwinie​ @disasterwelshgirl​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @veronawrites​ @guccicloudz​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​ @mrsalwayswrite​ @no-clue-whats-happenin​ @booktease21​ @mymomcallsmefury​ @fafulous​ @asgardlover75​ @susmita121​ @noseyrosey1597​ @jennmurawski13​ @buckybarnesscrunchie​ @learisa​ @kinkywitchy​ @mywinterwolf​ @dyanna-corona​ @procrastinating-angels​ @shellbeerocks​ @broco8​ @just-a-littlebit-of-everything​ @sweetybuzz25​ @cookies186​

[stonecoldjerseyfox]

Jersey on my mind (part 19)

Mila’s feet dangle in the air as she sits on the edge of the guard post, while looking out over the surroundings. Next to her on the floor lies a bottle of vodka, in case she gets bored. She turns her eyes to the flickering flame of the oil lantern, the only source of light. Besides the lantern its pitch black. The darkness is wrapped around the surroundings like a heavy blanket. No lights are on in the houses. 

Before she put on her jacket, hid the vodka bottle in the inner pocket and went out to the guard tower Mila tucked Juri in for the night. She helped him choose a cassette tape to fall asleep to, made sure he had all of his ‘friends’ also tucked in; the brown dog named Jeff (Mila had no idea why), his soft bunny named Bruce after Bruce Springsteen and the teddy bear that goes by the name Eddie, after Eddie Vedder. But Mila hasn’t been able to figure out Jeff. Who’s Jeff? Instead of asking him about it, she kissed Juri on the forehead and left for guard duty. Daryl wasn’t at the guard tower when she arrived, so Mila made herself comfortable. 

She taps her fingers towards the floor and hums the tune to “Hungry heart”, starts to sing faintly. Springsteen makes her think of the summers in New Jersey. Driving around on hot summer days, the long days at the beach in Point Pleasant, eating tons of ice cream and drinking Pepsi Cola, riding around Atlantic City with Darya and Laura in Darya’s dad’s convertible-    

“You sing well.”

Mila looks up. Daryl has joined her, finally. In one hand he holds the crossbow and in the other two bottles of water. 

“You’re late.” 

”You’re easy prey, sitting like this.” Daryl sits down besides her, lets his legs swing over the edge next to hers and gives her one of the bottles.

”Wolves are gone. Walkers don’t jump.” Mila removes the lid and takes a sip of water. “I think I’m fine.” 

”You’re really good.” Daryl looks down at his knees. “I mean, singing. Your accent disappears when you sing.” 

”Yeah. I’ve heard that.” Mila laughs and puts the water bottle down, next to the vodka bottle. ”It would sound even better if I had a guitar and a cowboy hat.” With a smile she grabs the Vodka bottle from the floor, unscrews it and takes a bountiful sip, before offering it to Daryl. ”I’ve heard you should drink at least one liter a day.”

”Thought that applied to water?” Daryl lifts an eyebrow and brings the bottle to the mouth and drinks, lets out a cough as he lowers it. ”Gotta get you a guitar then, Jersey.”

“Yeah I wouldn’t worry too much about that.” She replies. “It sorta’ feels pretty pointless now. I haven't played in forever.” she meets Daryl’s gaze. “I was engaged to this guy, before- It’s because of him I play the guitar, and sing in ‘American’.”

Daryl stiffens up at her words. It’s barely noticeable, but Mila notices. 

“He’s dead anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. “My father hated him for encouraging my interest in music. Said it was a waste of time. He didn’t understand the phenomenon ‘hobbies’.” Mila tries to remember what her dear papa yelled at her through the glass. It was hard to hear exactly what he yelled, since he banged at the window, but she could make out some of it. ”Eto chepukha, Milena, chepukha!” she repeats. “Nonsense.”

“Seems like a charmer.” Daryl replies. “Ain’t a waste though. I like it.”

Mila glances at the broad archer next to her. Somehow he reminds her of Jim; tall, broad shoulders and muscles. Jim had brown hair and beard, a bit more groomed than the Southern archer, but still- 

The first time Mila laid her eyes on Jim was during a gig at a bar in Brooklyn. She was there with her friend Laura. Jim played guitar in the band and halfway through he pulled his shirt off. Milas eyes were glued to his bare chest during the rest of the performance. Even a blind person would have noticed such an intense stare down; as did Jim on stage. Afterward he asked her over to their table, and she fell like a paw for the big Oklahoma native, with the pretty eyes and the kind smile. Jim was big as a bear and kind as a puppy. He was warm, had a boisterous but contagious laugh, he was friendly and charismatic. Everybody around Mila adored Jim, everybody except papa, which made sense. Papa hated everyone, except himself.

Physically, Daryl reminds her of Jim somewhat, but their personalities are like night and day. Jim was able to entertain an entire room full of people, and happily did so by telling stories or playing the guitar. Daryl would probably never even think of entering such a room. He’s encased in armor, a hard shell no one seems to be able to break. She hasn’t heard an ounce of bursting laughter from him and he barely talks. And yet she likes his company. When she saw him walk down the street into the Safe-Zone last night it felt like a ton of brick was dropped from her chest. Of course she was still angry with him for some unimportant reason she can’t really remember now, but she was happy for having him back.

“Where’s he by the way?” Daryl asks. “Your old man. Ya’ said ya’ came here together.”

“In prison.”

The statement doesn’t seem to surprise Daryl significantly.

“What for?” 

Mila hands him the vodka bottle again. Daryl looks puzzled at it. 

“If you want to hear about it, you might need it.” Mila explains and doesn’t take her eyes away from his. “There’s a legit reason why I have alcohol problems.”

“Haven’t noticed.” the archer winks at her over the bottle and drinks. “Why’s he locked up?”

“Murder. And for kidnapping me.” 

It might be so easy to say it because she feels some kind of connection to the man sitting next to her, or maybe it’s because the whole world went to hell and papa, Mila’s perdition, her Achilles heel, probably is dead by now. 

Mila was the only child. Her father, her papa, wanted to have a son. Instead he got Mila. Her mother, who loved her more than life itself, couldn’t bear more children and Mila was punished for that her entire life by her father. Papa was stern on her from the start. Sergey Yuruchenko’s offspring wouldn’t be a weakling. Her sole purpose in life would be to make him proud. Like a show dog. He hardened Mila like steel; dragged her out on the frozen river Volga during the winters for an ice bath, a procedure to ‘man her up’. If Mila hesitated or began to cry she had to stay longer in the water. Eventually she stopped crying. He taught her to fight, games that often resulted in cracked lips and black eyes. Sometimes Mila began to cry because it hurt and she felt scared, but he assured her it was a fun game, and she believed him. He coached her in sports, to make sure she would win. Second place was never enough. Mila could’ve easily become an olympic marathon athlete, if she would have had the choice. But he had already set out her entire future. 

”My mama loved me with all of her heart and papa made sure that I never forgot how he grieved the son he never had. It was my burden and my responsibility to prove that I was worthy of his affection. I was a wreck emotionally. Thrown between boundless love and emotional abuse.” Mila pauses and takes another mouthful of vodka. “I got respect from him for the first time when I was fifteen. He firmly argued that if a man couldn’t hit a soup can fifty yards away with a gun after drinking a whole bottle of vodka, he was a wimp. He didn’t count on me, a fifteen year old girl to even dream about trying.” She raises her eyebrows at Daryl. ”But I passed the test and he eased the leash.”

After that summer, Mila had a great year. She was ‘allowed’ to be an ordinary teenager in all its meaning. She went to parties with her friends, dreamed of Leonardo Dicaprio when she kissed her first boyfriend Dima for the first time and she was convinced that life would continue like that.

“Then one day he asked me to come with him on a trip abroad, for work. It was just the two of us at home that day and he was so different. Friendly even. It felt odd, but he was so convincing. He asked me to be ready in an hour with a bag. I felt so excited. Not until we walked through the gate at the airport I understood where we were going. I couldn’t believe it. We were going to America! He made the whole trip sound so exciting. It felt like we were friends for the first time. That I finally had a father.”

Mila pauses. She’d thought about that moment many times since that plane ride. How it all was just an act. How he used Mila’s cluelessness to save his own ass. In reality he didn’t feel like that at all. He didn’t care about her. 

”We were arrested as soon as we got through the passport control at Newark. We were separated, put in different rooms. I panicked the entire time, fought and cried. An interpreter and two policemen came and told me that he was arrested. I tried to convince them that it must have been a misunderstanding. But it wasn’t. I was kidnapped and papa was internationally wanted for murder in Russia by Interpol. Or serial murders, I think it’s called, in the case of more than three victims.”

“How many?” he asks. 

Their eyes meet through the darkness. The only sound that’s heard is the chirping cicadas, the wind rattling in the trees and the thudding sound of the walkers crashing into each other on the other side of the wall. Well, he hasn’t run away yet, Mila thinks.

“Including the policeman he killed at the station the day after we arrived; ten.”

Daryl doesn't even try to hide his astonishment. 

”A woman disappeared in Moscow in- gosh, I don’t even remember the year. Anyway, she was found under a bridge, two days later. Then another woman was found a few weeks later, under a viaduct. Seven women and two men around Moscow. One woman was completely beheaded. I was fourteen when they found her, and my father told me to ’be safe’ when I walked home from gymnastics practice.”

Mila remembers almost all of them by name. They were read out during the trial in New York, while images of them were displayed on a projector. Mila saw their bruised faces, the dead eyes in the pale, straight faces. No matter how awful it was, she couldn’t look away, like passing a car accident. Mila had to watch, to understand that it was her papa, who worried when she would go home alone from gymnastics, he who always urged her to beware of boys in a group (or boys in general), that had done these horrible actions. The youngest victim was eighteen and was found in a shallow part of Volga. They had to identify it through dental cards. In court, sitting on that hard bench in between Ellie and Joe Galka, Mila desperately tried to meet her father’s gaze, wanted him to turn around where he sat, with his back against her. When he finally did, Mila didn’t see a trace of regret or empathy in them.

”He kidnapped ya’ to- what, to save himself?” 

“It didn’t seem suspicious if he traveled with his daughter. I was his ticket out of it. If he did get caught, he could use me as-” Mila fiddles on a thread in her jeans. “-Yeah, I haven’t figured out that part yet. He really knew how to inflict maximum damage to his advantages. Because of his position, working for the state, which is... corrupted beyond imagination, he could change my documents without anyone asking, making himself my sole guardian. On paper, I no longer had a mother. It was- He was so split. On one hand, a well regarded worker for the state, modest and punctual. And on the other hand, emotionally disturbed, a psychopath. A monster.” She sighs. “The same day we were arrested he overpowered a police officer. He killed him, granting him life in prison here, not risking being extradited to Russia. Social services took care of me and I ended up at the Galka’s. The first six months I visited papa in prison weekly. It really fucks you up in the head, being pulled back to the root of evil, to one's perpetrator. In my case, it was the same person. Perpetrator and father. Evil impersonated and the only person I felt I had some connection to here. And yet, I never got an explanation to why he did what he did. Eventually, thanks to the Galka’s, I stopped visiting. He didn’t like that, being out of control.”

Mila had never revolted, but when she had to acclimatize to a new culture and language all on her own, that changed. She could just as well have ended up dead behind a dumpster from drugs, but instead she went on to study at Columbia University. When papa found out that she studied to become a dental nurse, instead of a ‘real dentist’, or ‘the president of all dentists in the entire world’, or anything equally grandiose, he went all mad and had to be dragged out of the visitors room by the guards. A few days later he made a phone call and yelled at Mila for three straight minutes, until the call broke. When Mila paid him a much involuntary visit a few weeks later he’d calmed down a bit; he’d been in solitary confinement since that lash out. 

”Of all professions...” Papa snarled into the handset. ”Dental nurse? A servant! Milaya, why are you causing me this pain?”

Mila pulls herself away from the memory of Southport Correctional facility’s visiting room, back to the present, to the cool, calm night, where she shares a bottle of vodka with the archer.

“As far as I’m concerned I don’t have a father.” Mila meets Daryl’s gaze through the faint, warm light from the lantern. “I moved on. I made it. I got pregnant while in uni and tried to commit suicide. That was a nightmare. Once again I had to... switch on survival mode. I felt so defective. How could someone with a father like mine, someone who’s been hurled between motherly love and fatherly abuse, possibly be a good parent.” Mila takes a sip of vodka. The bottle is almost completely empty by now. “I haven’t had much space for making my own choices in life. Until recently.” she says. “I did some stupid choices on the way here. But at least I turned out... fairly good in the end.”

They look at each other in silence. Nothing is heard but the walkers collected hissing breaths, like a choir of rotten asthmatics, gasping for air, while pushing up against the wall. Sometimes a thud, like flesh against metal, is heard when the ones in the back push the ones in the front extra hard into the wall.

”Ya’ think he’s alive? Or they?” Daryl asks, husky. ”Your parents?”

Mila shrugs her shoulders; she doesn't know. After a while in the weeks following the outbreak, the phone calls to her mother in Russia stopped working. Her father can’t be alive. It would be impossible, just as impossible as it is to escape a high security prison like Southport. 

”What about ya’ foster parents?” 

”I don’t know.” Mila bites her lower lip. ”When the two of us came back to Jersey the Galka’s were gone. So we left, me and Juri.”

”Ain’t too bad, though.” Daryl says, in what Mila thinks is an attempt to cheer her up. “He’s a great kid.”

”He is.” she smiles. ”I never thought I’d make it, being on my own with him like this. He’s my everything, the better person of the two of us; wakes me in the morning, cheers me up and is always happy. I don’t know how he does it. He’s three!”

”And a half.” Daryl smirks. 

“Touché.” Mila looks at him. “Gosh. I’m surprised you haven’t ran away.”

”Why would I? Ma’ old man was a boozer, an ass.” Daryl replies, and his eyes suddenly shift from almost warm, to dark.  “I hadn’t much of a mother. Smoked herself to death, burnt the entire fuckin’ house down at the same time. Ma’ brother went in and out of juvenile. Died, as everyone else.” Daryl hesitates, but then he continues. ”I’m a nobody. Always been. I don’t have anything to run from.”

Mila lays her hand on top of Daryl’s, that rests against the floorboards. He twitches by her sudden move, like a stray dog that has never felt a friendly touch. 

“You’re not a nobody.” Mila says, emphasising every word. “You saved my life. Heck, I think you saved more lives than my sorry ass. Do you always push those who care about you away?”

Daryl becomes silent.

”Sorry.”

”Don’t be.” Mila says. “Honestly, It’s like you don’t think you deserve anything; people being kind to you, that people care. That’s not healthy. No wonder you’re so peevish. Just let the guard down once in a while. You do so much for everybody here, who are so thankful for it and want to show that to you. Let them. You need it. Let people in. Have you never done that?” 

”Never had a chance.” he answers. ”It’s always been bloody knuckles and shards of glass.”

”But does that mean that the whole world is dark and evil? I’ve had a bumpy ride too and I’m not all stiff and irritated with everything.”

”Well ye’ ain’t me.”

”And thank god for that.” Mila smiles a little. ”No matter what your life was like before it doesn’t have to continue being like that.” she gets silent, before she meets his eyes again. ”Have you ever just sat down and thought about what you want? Not what everybody else needs, or what they tell you to do, no matter what you think. Have you?”

”Never gotten that chance either.” Daryl grunts, and continues to look at his shoes.

“Well, do that.” Mila holds up the bottle of vodka in front of her. It’s empty. “Crap...”

“Ya’ haven’t had enough of that?”

Mila puts her head to the side and smiles dazzling.

“I told you I have problems.” Mila smirks and puts the bottle down. “But I’m workin’ on fixing that. Not tonight though.”

The corners of Daryl’s mouth curves slightly upward and he chuckles faintly. They sit quietly for a moment before he once again turns to her. 

“Ya’ really a dentist?” 

“Dental nurse.” Mila corrects. “What, are you surprised?” 

“Not at all.” Daryl replies. “How’s that like?” 

“We'll take that one another time.” Mila adjusts herself on the floor. “I have to save some cock-and-bull stories about tartar and teeth extractions for later.” 

“Can’t wait.” Daryl smirks. “If ye’ want to sing something, I don’t mind.”

Mila smiles. They sit next to each other, watching the night turn into early dawn. Mila sings faintly, to avoid unnecessary attention from the walkers, dangling her legs in the air, while Daryl’s eyes rest on the horizon, wearing a pleasant smile upon his lips.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part twelve) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Ash Miller, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5600 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part twelve: After finally opening up to each other, Dean is having a hard time keeping his hands to himself. But the flirting is soon interrupted when one of the horses gets caught in a dangerous situation. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘How Far This Road Goes’ - Gareth Dunlop, ‘Seven Riders’ - James Horner & Simon Franklin (second scene). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish for helping me. You girls are awesome betas. Thank you for your endless patience!

Ride With Me Masterlist

     With a grin wider than the horizon, Dean puts the rolled-up mattress on Ted’s back, attaching it behind the saddle by tying the leather strings around it. He barely slept last night, but he doesn’t feel tired, not in the slightest. Nothing will get him off this high cloud, because last night, he kissed Y/N.        The head wrangler hums a Led Zeppelin tune as he tightens Ted’s cinch a little, patting his four legged friend on the shoulder when he’s done. Joplin is waiting next to him, rather impatiently, tied up to the strung rope between a boulder and a tree, like the other seven horses. Her female rider moves in between the dark mare and Ted, causing Dean to fight back an amused scoff. Y/N could have tacked up Joplin from the left side, which is the usual protocol when handling a horse. But instead, the cowgirl chose the small space between the two large animals, the space Dean already occupied, making it a tight fit.     “Morning, Yankee,” he teases, still with his back towards hers as he secures his lasso.     “G’morning,” she greets back. “Were you humming ‘Whole Lotta Love’ just now?”      Dean chuckles now, “I’ve got a reason to be cheery.”

     Y/N presses her lips together, very much aware why her supervisor is in such a good mood. She is also very much aware that he’s only inches away, the two almost touching. The chemistry is evident and she needs to remind herself that the others are also readying their horses; they are not alone like they were last night. Giving her hands something to do, she checks the saddle bags again, even though she has done so already.       “Did you sleep well last night?” Dean wonders casually, but she caught the lower tone in his voice. That tone that makes her heart beat faster and has her closing her eyes and taking a moment to compose herself.      “I did actually. A little short, though,” Y/N returns. “What about you?”      “Oh, I couldn’t sleep.”

     She can hear Dean’s boots crunch the gravel underneath them as he turns around. He comes closer and Y/N forgets what she’s doing, one hand holding the stirrup, might she need the support. She feels his hand on her hip, the touch so featherlight that she could be imagining it. Holding still while he moves in, she fights a shocked whimper when his breath fans past the junction between her neck and her shoulder. How contradicting; the warm breeze leaves goosebumps over her entire body.      “How come?” she manages to utter, her voice close to failing.      Y/N feels his lips against her hair, but he doesn’t kiss her there, even though she silently begs him to do exactly that. She moves into his touch only slightly.      “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers in her ear.

     Before the others notice, he moves away and his hand slips from her hip, leaving a burning sensation where his fingertips gently pressed into her skin through the fabric of her jeans. The cowboy who has clearly found his way into her heart and her mind, shoots her a wink over his shoulder when she follows him with her gaze. Chuckling, she shakes her head in response. It’s a good thing she held onto the saddle, because her knees feel weak. God, the things he’s doing to her.      “Y’all ready to mount your ponies?” Benny checks, before he gets on his horse himself.      When all the wranglers have untied their horses, Dean rolls up the rope that functioned as a makeshift fence and adds it to the load carried by one of the pack-horses. He then puts his left foot in the stirrup and swiftly moves his leg over the saddle, the fringes of his chaps whipping when the breeze catches them. The others follow his example.

     “Alright. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. We ride to the next spring, but it will be roughly six miles from here. That’s more ground to cover than yesterday. It will be rocky terrain, so stay sharp and keep up.” Dean turns his horse with the reins in one hand. “Don’t forget to keep an eye out for the herd. They were last seen in Marsh Valley by hikers, but that was four days ago, so they could be long gone by now. If we don’t find them by the time we reach White Rock Spring, we’ll set up camp there and continue the search tomorrow. Y’all good with that?”

     The rest of the company agrees, both wranglers and horses excited to get moving. Joplin especially; the waiting has made her impatient. She rears, lifting her front hooves a couple of inches from the ground, repeating the action several times. Y/N rides it out, her hand reaching to pat the hot blooded mare on the neck in order to calm her down. In perfect balance she gives her horse enough freedom of reign, but controls the movements with her seat.       “Joplin certainly is,” she laughs, amused with the mare’s enthusiasm.      “Alright then,” Dean returns grinning, admiring her riding skills for a moment longer. “Let’s ride.”

     It’s past midday and there is no sign of the herd so far. The group of riders passed Weavers Needle hours ago, a thousand foot column of rock that forms a distinctive peak, visible from many miles away. Y/N felt so tiny when she rode through the landmark’s shadow, like an ant on the forest ground. She quite possibly strained a muscle in her neck from looking up, but the young woman from the North couldn’t help herself. The landscape, created by volcanoes ages ago and molded by wind and time, leaves her in complete awe. The further they travel into the Superstitions, the more surreal the scenery becomes. 

     Benny told stories last night about the mountains. About the legend of the Lost Dutch Gold Mine, and the hundreds of other abandoned tunnels, hidden in the volcanic stone. About the Indians, how some of them believe that the hole that leads down into ‘the lower world’ is located somewhere in these valleys, and that winds blowing from it create the severe dust storms in the metropolitan area. It’s a magical environment that, despite having a desert climate, seems alive. The way the wind plays with her horse’s mane and whispers as it breathes through the canyon. The way the mesquite bushes rustle and the Saguaro cacti reach their arms for the blue heavens above. This land has a personality of its own; unpredictable, layered and rich with wisdom.

     “Enjoying the view?”      Dean held up his horse as Y/N was staring up at the renmands. She didn’t even notice she fell behind.      “Sorry…” she mutters apologetic. “It’s just… everything here is so beautiful.”      “Sure is.”      The cowboy smirks at her, not just complimenting the landscape. Joplin’s rider is unable to hide her flattered smile.      “You can stop trying to win me over,” she returns jokingly, resting her hand behind her on the cantle of the saddle.      Dean side eyes Y/N, triumph in the way he holds himself, “Because I already did, right?”      “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” she warns. “Last night was amazing, but it was just a kiss.”      “Oh, I didn’t plan to stop,” he makes clear, copying her action without noticing, gripping the back of the saddle with his free hand as well. “Next chance I get, I’m gonna kiss you again.”      “Is that so?” she teases.      “Unless you’d rather not have me.” Dean observes her, eager to pick up on her reaction.

     His lower leg brushes against hers, the metal of the stirrups jingling when they collide. He stares into her eyes longer than he should, breaking through the resistance with more ease than Y/N wants him to. Honestly, she has never been an easy catch. She pictured she would at least let him work for it, prove to her that this isn’t just a fling. But her defense crumbles with every connection, no matter how small. The intern can’t help but crave for her supervisor to touch her, to kiss her right here and right now. Both of them being on horses complicates things, however, especially since one of those horses is Joplin, who is getting anxious now that she is a few hundred yards away from the group.       “I wouldn’t mind it,” Y/N admits, on a more serious note.      Dean smiles, delighted at that, looking down at his horse for a brief second.       “You oughta catch up then.”

     The wrangler moves his hand forward and pushes his heels to his horses flanks simultaneously, the aid triggering Ted to shoot forward like an arrow from a bow. Without giving Y/N  a chance to respond, Joplin’s instincts kick in; she needs to stay with the herd. In a blink of an eye she bolts, surprising her rider, who can only just prevent a squeal from escaping her throat. The experienced rider is quick to recover, though. She moves her weight forward, allowing her horse to move under her freely, giving her all the reins she needs. Within five strides, Joplin is at full speed. Y/N can’t recall that she ever galopped this fast. The wind pushes the tears from the corner of her eyes, dust blocking her view. Her hat falls back, but she’s quick enough to catch it and push it tighter on her head. She doesn’t care, though, because she feels like she’s flying.

     Before they reach the others, Dean sits back in the saddle and pulls the reins, telling Ted with a ‘ho!’ to slow down. Joplin is next to him within a second, her rider laughing out loud. The cowboy watches her, laughter erupting from his throat as well.       “You’re crazy!” Y/N accused, a wide grin on her lips nonetheless. “What if I had fallen off?”      “You’re too good of a rider,” he returns, never worried she couldn’t handle herself. “And it’s about time you let go.”      “I usually don’t like losing control,” she returns, trying to be stern.       He cocks his eyebrow. “You didn’t mind last night.”       “Underlining ‘usually’,” she repeats with a tone, shaking her head at the up-to-no-good grin on his face.

     “Well, you—” He points his finger at her accusingly before he pushes his hat up a bit. “— should loosen up a bit. Picture it like riding.”      Y/N frowns at the wrangler next to her. “I thought we were talking about riding.”       “It doesn’t matter. What does, is if you hold onto the reins too tight, your horse will tense up. You will tense up. But if you relax at the right moment…” He moves his hand forward, giving Ted enough space to drop his head and the gelding blows out a satisfied sigh. “So will your horse. You allow things to be. And those are the best rides, ain’t they? The ones where the balance is perfect, and everything just clicks.”

     Y/N agrees to that without words, smiling at the comparison. Dean lets the true meaning of his message sink in as well. It’s good advice he’s giving. Maybe he should take it himself. In silence they take each other in. She has rolled up the sleeves of her dusty shirt for the warm breeze to caress her bare skin. Not so long ago, Y/N came walking into the Saloon, ironed button up, polished shoes, hair band and clips not allowing a single stubborn strand to spring free. Look at her now, like she couldn’t care less about appearance. Look how beautiful she is.       “By the way,” the woman next to him recalls, her voice softer so that the tourists can’t hear them.       “Hm-hm?”      “You were right. That was a lot more than just a kiss.”      With those words she canters away, and he’s only able to breath out again when she passes the other riders to lead the group. Don’t be fooled, he’s confident about how things are going, but that doesn’t mean that ‘allowing things to be’ is easy. Even he, the guy who doesn’t plan ahead and takes it day by day, is daunted by the possible commitment that this adventure with Y/N will bring. But one look at her, seeing the change she’s going through, the difference in her demeanor and her lifted confidence; she’s all the inspiration he needs.             “You better wipe that smile off your face, Chief, or the coyotes might start wonderin’ why you’re all giddy.”      A little startled Dean looks aside as Benny holds back his horse until he’s next to Ted. Caught in the act the head wrangler glares at his friend from under his Stetson, but the smirk doesn’t die down. No need to respond in words, because both know why Dean is on top of the world. And so the two companions ride next to one another for awhile in silence. Dean’s eyes never leave her, though, watching how she handles the bubbly mare, who’s excitement got peaked by the little race. Joplin isn’t for everyone, but she’s taking his advice and gives the dark horse free rein, trusting her, and eventually the mare transitions to a walk.

     “Well, now you’re just embarrassingly gaping,” Benny notices, clearly amused by the sight of his lovestruck friend.      Dean snaps out of it and eyes him again. It’s not so much the fact that Benny is mocking him, more the fact that he himself can’t get a grip.      “Shut up,” Dean mutters, shaking his head chuckling. “You were the one gaping when you interrupted us last night.”      “It was 3 AM and I wasn’t even close to awake, and what do I find?” Benny lazily points his finger at the intern, then at the man next to him. “You two, giving each other one hell of a Yankee dime. I mean, don’t get me wrong, brother. I’m proud of ya, but excuse me that I was a little taken aback.”      The Southerner pauses, his piercing blue eyes brassy and up to no good. Clearly he enjoys taunting his pal.             “Took ya quite a while to notice me too,” he comments, adding fuel to the fire.      “I was kinda in the middle of something!” Dean exclaims.      “Hell yeah, you were.” Benny sniggers. “Good think I stopped ya right there. At least now you saved some for later.”      “I wasn’t gonna go all the way with her,” his friend declares.      It doesn’t convince the rider next to him, though, because he laughs out loud.      “Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s rainin’.”      “Dude, I’m serious!” Dean states. “I ain’t gonna rush this.”      “Ah-uh.”      “I said: shut up.”

     The farrier’s laughter is contagious, hiccuping as he takes in air, and his friend can’t help but chuckle as well. The head wrangler adjusts the ranch rope hanging over his horse’s shoulder, the broad smile never wavering. It’s not just the smile, though, that tells Benny that Y/N is the girl for him. It’s his eyes. He has never seen them shine so bright. He has never seen Dean so contented.      “You two go together like peas and carrots,” Benny vouches, looking from the cowboy to the cowgirl. “I’m happy for ya, brother.”      “You’re talking like we’re about to settle down and get a dog,” Dean scoffs skeptical, even though deep down he wouldn’t mind an outcome as such.      “Give it time,” the Southerner recommends confident. “After all, two months ago, you would have thought I was crazy as a soup sandwich, if I’d predicted you to be on cloud nine by now.”       He wiggles his eyebrows and Dean sighs in response. He’s not even going to fight his friend on this, Benny is enjoying this way too much to ever let go.

     “Dean!”      The call comes from the front of the group and it seems urgent. Dean snaps his head to the sound of Y/N’s voice and the clatter of hooves. The intern has turned Joplin around and ridden back to the tourists. One of the pack horses, Cash, who Macy was guiding along side, tries to flee away as he kicks violently to the ground. He spins in circles around the rider and her gelding Jimmi, who is starting to panic as well.       “Pull the knot, Macy!” Dean commands, pushing Ted towards the commotion.      Fighting to control her own horse, she reaches for the rope that ties Cash to her saddle, trying to yank the safety knot. By this time, however, the distressed animal has pulled on the cord with all its weight, and there is no way it will loosen.       “I can’t!” she yells back, fright evident in her voice.

     Trying to not get caught up in the line, she steers Jimmi to stay head to head with the anxious pack horse. Dean is with her in a split second, maneuvering Ted close to her and staying free from the web.       “Listen to me, Mace. When you’re on the other end, I’m gonna take over.” He takes the end of Cash’s rope, wraps it around the horn of his saddle four times and locks it in his fist, hooking it behind his hip for leverage. “I need you to get yourself to safety the second that rope unties, alright?”       He makes eye contact and she nods frightened, all while trying to calm Jimmi, who is getting more claustrophobic by the second. The experienced wrangler then backs up Ted, using his horse’s body weight to pull the safety knot. The second Cash feels the freedom, he bolts. Macy is clear, but the head wrangler and his four hooved partner are about to be catapulted by the horse on a rampage. 

     Thinking fast, Dean moves his reins towards Ted’s ears, triggering him to rocket forward. Three strides later Dean can feel Cash jerk at the saddle, Ted bracing himself, the well-trained cattle horse maintaining his balance. The rope slips from Dean’s fingers, but he is able to keep his ground, even though the rough material burns in his hand. With tension on the line, the wrangler tries to keep Cash away from a boulder that came rolling down Bluff Spring Mountain, but can’t prevent the panicked horse from slamming the water tank he is carrying into the large rock. Even though drinking water pours from the hole, it’s not Dean’s first concern. Cash is holding his hind leg up, still kicking the ground as the black horse halts, breathing out nervously. Dean spots a trace of blood, just below the fetlock joint.      “Shit…” He gets off, dropping Ted’s left rein on the ground, a signal for the horse to stay in place and wait. Shit, shit, shit.      Cash, who is shaking and breathing fast after all the commotion, turns his head into the wrangler, seeming to seek comfort from him. Dean gently rubs the gelding’s withers and slips his hand down the hindleg to take a better look. Two distinctive small holes are visible on the white sock, crimson drops rolling down. It seems like barely anything, but he has lived in this area all his life; he knows a snake bite when he sees one.      “He got bit,” Dean informs the five wranglers, who are waiting on the path in anticipation.      Benny curses under his breath, getting down from his horse as well.       “By what? A spider?” Y/N wonders, sticking with the tourists on a safe distance.      “Nope.” 

     The Southerner picks up a stick, poking at something in the bushes. Then he lifts the piece of wood, a snake hanging from the end of it. Macy squeals and Y/N inhales sharply, too. She has never seen a snake up close like that, at least not without thick glass between her and the reptile. God, that thing is huge!      “Is it dead?” Dean checks, still standing by the wounded horse.      “Dead as steak on the grill,” the Southerner confirms, taking a closer look.       “Is it a rattler?” 

      The head wrangler watches Benny examine the animal as he prays to God that it isn’t. Rattlesnakes in this area are highly dangerous. The amount of venom they possess might not be enough to floor a horse, but it will cause extensive swelling for sure, most likely followed by a bad infection that will cut off the blood supply. A bite inflicted by a venomous snake could be life threatening, even when treated by a veterinarian immediately. Miles from civilization with no access to medical resources, it becomes lethal.      “I think it is, Chief.”

     Y/N looks over at the head wrangler, who drops his head and swears. It slowly begins to sink in that the consequences of what seems like a small injury might have serious consequences. Dean looks up, making eye contact with the intern and motioning her to come over. She rides Joplin off the path and dismounts the mare, leading her to Cash, who she comfortingly pets on the nose.      “Listen to me carefully,” he starts, his voice toned down so that the others can’t hear him, as he instructs the intern calmly. “If that is a rattlesnake, I need you to take the tourists a half a mile up the trail. At the junction, you wait until me and Benny catch up.”       “Wait, what are you gonna…” she stammers, hesitant where Dean is going with this.

     He bites his bottom lip for a moment and looks deep into her eyes, the urgency apparent in his intense greens.      “You’ll be responsible for the guests, so be cautious. Don’t take any risks and keep them safe. I know you’re not familiar with the area and that this is a lot, but can you do that?”      “Benny could go with them, he knows these trails,” she suggests, but Dean dismisses it instantly.      “No. I don’t want you to see this.”      “See wh -” she pauses, his penetrating gaze and tensing jaw stopping her from forming words. Shocked she rakes her fingers through Cash’s forelock, only now realizing the difficult task that Dean is facing. “Oh my God, you’re gonna put him down.”

     He doesn’t answer, but swallows apprehensively. If Cash has venom coursing through his bloodstream, his chances of survival can be considered zero. A slow and agonizing death awaits him; a bullet to the head would be the most moral way to go. The head wrangler takes a deep breath, composes himself, and shifts his gaze to Benny. Seems like he’s going to have to use the Colt after all.      “I’m gonna check out the snake, make sure it’s a rattler. If it is, you know what to do?”       Y/N nods uneasy, but determined enough to assure Dean that she can do her part. He thanks her without saying anything, his eyes softening. Then he moves past her, heading back to the trail. Left stunned, she lets her hand glide down Cash’s nose, trying to ease the horse, who in his turn gently presses his large head against her chest. Even though Y/N barely knows the horse, tears prick in her eyes. Poor, poor thing. She looks over her shoulder, watching in apprehension, how the head wrangler crouches down next to Benny, who has the snake at the end of a stick. 

     Dean pokes the reptile to make sure it’s dead, taking a good look at the animal. The light brown color with dark blotches on its back and smaller dark spots on its side, are indications that Benny is right. He can’t tell much when examining the head, since Cash killed the snake with a fierce kick and smashed its skull. Dean picks up the animal by the tale. It looks different from the rest of its body, but there is no rattle at the tip of it, like he has seen before with the Western Diamondback that is common in the area. He sighs relieved.      “It’s a Gopher snake,” he states. “A Sonoran, by the looks of it. Smart fellas; they mimic rattlesnakes to ward off predators.”      “Could’ve fooled me,” Benny concedes.      “Not venomous?” Y/N checks.      Dean smiles her way. “Not venomous.”      A weight falls off her shoulders, and the female wrangler rustles Cash’s mane thankfully. She exchanges a look with Dean, silent conversation easing the both of them. Then the group leader turns to the tourists.       “Alright y’all, let’s take a break here,” he decides, beckoning at the shade near the big boulders.       “Is Cash gonna be okay?” Macy asks worried.      “He’s gonna be fine. We’ll rest up for half an hour, meanwhile fix that water tank. Benny? Let’s repack so that we can take the load off Cash.” Dean turns to look at the farrier, who nods in agreement.

     They leave the snake for the vultures and move away from the trail. While Benny and Brad tack down Cash and focus on repairing the tank with duct tape, saving the water that remains in the tank by catching it with their water bottles, Dean focuses on the black gelding’s injury. Y/N strolls past him between the horses, who have taken cover in the shade. She watches how the cowboy flushes the puncture wounds with water, despite the fact that Cash keeps lifting his hind leg.      “Do you need an assistant?”      He looks over his shoulder and nods. “Could you hold him for a sec?”      She takes Cash by the rope that he fought so hard minutes ago, rubbing the bay’s shoulder in order to distract him. It works, because the gelding puts his foot down, allowing Dean to press a gauze soaked with betadine on the small holes.      “There,” he says satisfied, when he’s done cleaning the punctures. 

     Y/N lets go of Cash’s halter, picking up the bottle of betadine from the first aid kit, together with a clean gauze pad.      “Your turn.” She nods at his hand.“Show me that.”      Dean brushes it off. “It’s nothin’.”      His intern isn’t having it, though, and after shooting him a glare she takes his right hand and turns it over. Despite that his palm is calloused from years of ranch work, the rope has burned off parts of his skin, leaving fiery blisters.       “I wouldn’t file that under ‘nothin’,” she returns stern, mocking his slang.      Dean can’t help but grin at that, surrendering to her care. The smirk turns into a grimace when she dabs the damaged tissue with iodine.       “Sorry,” she apologizes when she notices him tensing up.      “It’s okay,” he assures, looking at her fondly, despite the sting.            Y/N blushes at his expression, breaking away from his warm eyes and focusing on his hand again. She applies a clean gauze and dresses his hand, taping the end of the bandage so that it won’t come off.      He checks his hand from both sides, impressed with her work. “How do you know how to do that?”      The cowgirl shrugs. “I have three brothers who never failed to miss an opportunity to fall from their treehouse or trip while chasing each other through the woods. You do the math.”      Dean chuckles, testing the movement of his fingers as he turns towards the other men, who are still working on the tank. On his way over, he glances at the young woman again.      “Thank you.”      “You’re welcome,” she returns happily, walking past Joplin to pick her water bottle from the saddle bag.

     Joining Macy and Jon, she makes the most of what remains of the half hour break, while the other wranglers try to repair the tank. Having lost most of the water, they don’t waste too much time resting up here and decide to move on to White Rock Spring. The other horses take over Cash’s tack, who only has to carry the empty tank. The gelding already puts full weight on his injured leg, the wounds so superficial that he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Twenty minutes later Y/N puts her left foot in the stirrup and hoists herself in the saddle. Her limbs are tired, her back is beginning to hurt. Day two of this trail is taking more out of her than she expected, not only physically, but also mentally, after the close call with Cash. Even though it’s early afternoon, she hopes that Dean and Benny will decide to call it a day, once the group reaches the spring. 

     It doesn’t take long before they pass the rock formation of Black Top Mesa and reach the T-junction Dean described earlier, left leading into Marsh Valley, right to Charlebois Canyon. The two Gold Canyon Ranchers leading the company have stopped just off the trail on the top of a hill. She catches a glimpse of Benny’s face, and he does not look pleased. Not sure if it’s her place to join them, since she’s the intern, she hesitates to ride up to the wranglers, but takes her chances a few seconds later. Dean did involve her when Cash suffered that possibly dangerous injury, afterall. Joplin halts next to Ted as her gaze jumps between the two riders.      “Something wrong?” she wonders.      “What’s missin’ here, Yankee?” Benny counters, without answering her question.

     Y/N looks ahead, down Charlebois Canyon. The land is dry and dusty, rocks and volcanic remnants more evident in the landscape. Now that she’s made aware that something is unusual about this picture, she remembers that the canyons east of Weavers Needle were much greener. More plants and bushes, more life.      “Water,” the female wrangler realizes. “There’s no water.”      “Yep,” Benny confirms. “That spring is supposed to be over yonder.”      “But how can there be no spring? It rained cats and dogs a week ago,” she wonders confused.      “Welcome to Arizona, where it can be raining like a cow’s pissin’ on a flat rock on one side of the road while the sun shines on the other,” the Southerner states.

     Dean is quiet, the gears in his head turning as he blankly stares ahead. He’s holding his reins with his unharmed hand, the leather feeling a little foreign, since he hardly ever rides left-handed. There are a few more springs close by, but since the whole canyon looks dry and dead, except for a few Saguaro cacti, he’s guessing that those ran dry too. Biting his bottom lip he glances over his shoulder in the direction where they came from, then north.      “What do we do now?” Y/N inquires, her eyes shifting from Benny to Dean.      “Chief?” the farrier checks with his friend, when he doesn’t respond.       “How far do you think it is to Eagle’s Nest?” he questions. “About six miles?”      “Give or take,” the Southerner affirms.      Dean ponders, but then turns Ted around to face the three approaching tourists.      “We’ve run into a bit of an issue,” he starts, updating the guests on the newly occurred problem. “White Rock Spring has dried up, and looking at the vegetation, I don’t think it’s wise to continue east. We’re not gonna find water there, which also means that the herd is most likely elsewhere. The way I see it, we’ve got two options: we either turn around and ride four and a half miles back to Willow Spring, or we move north to Salt River.”      “How far is that?” Brad asks as the dark haired student rests his wrists on the horn of his saddle.      “Six miles,” Dean declares. “If we leave now, we’ll hopefully make it by sunset. We need an inventory on water and food supplies. And I need y’all - and this is really important - to be one hundred percent certain that you’re up for another six hours in the saddle. If anyone ain’t, we will turn around to the Willow and cut our losses for today. No shame in it.”

     The leader of the company now turns to Macy, who has Cash waiting next to her. The black horse looks alert and calm, his weight on all four hooves.      “How’s he doing?” Dean wonders.      “He seems fine. He’s sound, even in a jog just now,” she returns, having kept an eye on the gelding next to her.      Dean nods, but not completely satisfied. He’s torn. Torn between pushing through and marching on to Salt River, or taking the safe route back to where they came from. Going back feels like giving up. It will be another day without a trace of the herd, another day of wasting time and energy. They have enough food with them for five days. Heading back might be a crucial setback, one that could lead to returning home without the group of young horses. He promised Ellen and Bobby to bring them in, but he also promised to keep everyone safe. 

     “How much water do we have left?” he checks.      After a quick count, they come to the conclusion that they have about 10 liters between the six of them, the horses not even included. The animals are used to these circumstances, though, and they can go without water for three to four days. Dean is confident they should be okay. It’s the riders he’s worried about: both the tourists and Y/N. Dean sighs, looking up the trail from Marsh Valley that leads into the mountains.       “Is there anyone who wants to go back to Willow Spring?”      No one steps forward or raises their hand. Dean looks the crew in the eye, one by one, trying to unravel them and detect even the slightest hint of doubt. His gaze lingers on Y/N, who doesn’t give him an inch and seems determined. He nods, his mind made up.      “Alright, then,” he decides. “We ride north.”

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part thirteen here

[snowdog49]

Poker Face

Word Count 2255

General Audience

“Why can’t we invite her. That’s not fair.” 

“No, Fuery. We can never invite her.” 

“Why not?” 

Lieutenant Breda and Lieutenant Havoc both looked at each other with a loud gulp. “We don’t,” Havoc reaffirmed. 

“This had been an office tradition for the past two years, and she’s not invited.” Fallman stood up in his seat and walked over to the other three officers. “There’s a heavy price to pay when she’s involved.” 

“It’s a guy thing,” Breda quickly answered a cheap response waving his hand and attempting to dismiss the concern. 

“That’s a bit sexist,” Fuery frowned. “She’s part of the team. It’s not a team poker game without her.” 

The three looked around as if verifying that First Lieutenant Hawkeye was nowhere to be found. The air in the room thickened with tension and mystery as Havoc pulled a seat closer to Fuery. He spun it around so he could lean forward on the back of the chair. Slowly, he pulled out a cigarette, setting it softly between his lips and lighting it, even if Hawkeye had banned smoking from the office. He took in a long inhale from it. Breda brushed off his jacket before leaning on the desk divider. He frowned, looking serious as he stared at Fuery. It looked as if Fuery had asked him for his sandwich; a dangerous warning in his eye. Falman leaned on the wall behind Fuery, crossing his arms and dropping his head. He gave a long sigh, representing more of an old cowboy with too many sad and terrible stories his old eyes had seen. Young Seargent Fuery, who was only first invited to the poker game they joined in every Friday, sat in the middle. He looked around, fearful of the next actions of his co-workers and brothers-in-arms. He felt the weight of a story on his shoulders. 

“This must never be repeated,” Breda warned lowly. 

Falman behind him hummed an agreement. 

“If she ever found out, she’d surely murder all of us,” Breda continued. 

Havoc took another long drag from his cigarette. “This started before your time, Kid.” His voice heavy, a detective telling his story of his greatest case. Though Fuery knew it was not a detective story. It was a legend that the famous Lieutenant Hawkeye had immortalized in the fearful memories of these men. “When we first came together, Colonel was a Lieutenant Colonel at the time. He wanted us to bond.” 

“Get along,” Falman added coldly from behind. “He wanted us to know each other.” 

Havoc nodded. “So, he organized this poker game every Friday night. It wasn’t a big deal. The first night seemed friendly enough. The first game, Hawkeye sat back, drank, and watched us more than anything. She played a couple hands, lost, but didn’t give any indication that she was upset.” 

“It was a ploy,” Falman added again. 

“Her plan all along,” Breda confirmed. 

Fuery looked around, feeling the air around him hard to breathe. “What do you mean?”

“The second Friday came, and we all met up at Colonel’s apartment as usual.” Havoc continued on with the story. “Breda and I bought beer, Mustang had nuts and popcorn, and in comes Lieutenant. But,” he said seriously as he lifted a finger, “she was not the lieutenant that we see here. She wasn’t even the Hawkeye we saw the week before.” Havoc leaned back. “She had on this beautiful red blouse that came low, and this skirt that flowed on her. It was a dark black colored.”

Fuery looked around as he was all three of them nodding. 

“Makeup and the whole shebang,” Breda confirmed. 

“She comes down and sits between Breda and me, looking at the Colonel with this sparkle in her eye.”

“She was eyeing her prey,” Breda grumped.

“Are we sure we’re talking about Lieutenant Hawkeye,” Fuery asked, suspicious the story. 

They all nodded again. 

“Falman delt first. We were playing Southern Hold ‘Em. It was from South City. She calmly looked at her cards and folded the first two hands. Then Colonel delt the cards. She added to the ante, then put down her cards and poured herself a glass of Colonel’s whiskey on the table. Her movements slow, and practiced. The way she brought the glass to her lips-”

“Wait,” Fuery quickly interrupted. “Is this why you all have the hots for her?”

All three of them blushed a bright red. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Havoc deflected. 

Breda quickly shook his head and Falman was stiff as a board against the wall. 

“That’s beside the point,” Breda coughed. “Point is, she had all of our attention on her. Colonel was the only one that was able to look at his cards. It was like he was unfazed.” 

“He did win the first game,” Falman reminded. 

Havoc continued. “So, she sighs and ups her bet. It was like it was too easy for her.” 

“Like she didn’t care.” 

The blonde member nodded to his redheaded friend. “Boom, she won the hand. Then she won the next and the next.” 

“She mastered the bluff,” Falman added. 

“We don’t know to this day if she bluffed or not. We were convinced it was a strategy because she’d win a few, lose one, then fold another.” 

“But Colonel,” Havoc said after he blew the cigarette smoke to the side. “He was just as calm as her.” 

“He was drinking more and more,” Falman reminded. “He would take a sip every time she won.” 

“So he was nervous,” Fuery determined. The youngest member nodded. “She was putting him on edge the most.” 

“I finally got this amazing hand. I remember it was a straight flush.” Breda nodded with a grin. “I thought I had her. She had stolen most of our money by that point and I was determined to walk out winning. She kept putting chips in, and I’d match it. Finally, she broke. She turned her head and stared right at me, like she was telling me to stop. I thought I had her.” 

Falman snorted a laugh from behind. 

“She lays down the same hand! But her’s was one card higher. She beat me just by that much.” 

“She knew,” Havoc grumped, putting his cigarette out on his shoe and flicking it to his desk. 

“I don’t think she did,” Breda argued, glaring back at his friend. “Not by the look she gave me.” 

“She was looking at Colonel a special way,” Falman interrupted them as he rubbed his chin. “The night before, she was watching him too.” 

Fuery crossed his arms and leaned back. “She was watching for his tells,” he muttered. 

“I’m convinced so.” 

“Why Colonel though?” 

Havoc shrugged. “But I will tell you this, Seargent Fuery, she wiped us clean. I mean, nothing left.” 

“I had a chance,” Breda continued to grumble, his fists shaking. “If I wouldn’t have folded… I don’t think she had anything a couple of those times.” 

“She had us scared,” he continued. 

Fuery laughed, leaning back in his chair. “She had you guys strung up! You were too distracted by her to pay seriously.” 

Havoc quickly agreed with a nod. 

“Colonel was the only other one doing okay against her.” 

Havoc nodded again at Falmnan’s remembrance. “But he was joking and smiling…” 

“He was drunk,” Breda confirmed. 

“Or playing drunk. The guy was grinning, playing loosely. He was holding his own against her. I think we all beat her at least once. But I’m convinced she let us win those times.” 

The other two nodded towards Lieutenant Havoc. 

“Once I was out and Breda was out, it was Falman, who seemed to have a fighting chance against Colonel, was left. She folded, leaned back and applied some bright red lipstick.” 

“I could see Colonel’s neck muscles twitch as he wanted to look at her.” 

“Womanizer that he is,” Fuery laughed. 

“You could see Falman stare.” 

“I was not,” he argued quickly. Fuery turned around to see him red in the face again. “I just had never seen that kind of shade on her before! I thought I might… I might like to get some for… my own girlfriend.” 

The other three officers stared at him, clearly not believing him. 

“But,” Havoc nodded with a grin. “I think she knew the only competition that was there was Colonel. She was trying to get his attention away from his cards.” His fingers tapped on the back of the chair. “Then she poured herself some more whiskey, coughed lightly, and folded.” 

“You guys never found her tell?”

All three shook her head. “I was sure I had it,” Falman muttered from the wall. “Then she’d fold. Or I’d think that I’d seen something else and we’d all fold. I couldn’t get a bead on the sharpshooter, she was too good.” 

“Nice pun,” Breda grinned, nodding his acknowledgment to the Warrant officer.  

Jean leaned forward on the chair, resting his head on his hands. “Three in the morning came around and Colonel and Lieutenant were still playing against each other. She was calm and collected, he was drunk, leaning back, and not giving a shit. But he was holding his own. Chips were passed back and forth, and they just played as if we weren’t there. So we all said bye, abandoned our money to them and left.” 

“Colonel won’t talk about it,” Breda chuckled, reaching for his coffee. “I’m pretty sure she swept the floor with him. She bought a new hair clip. I mean, she won.” 

Havoc shrugged. He started to chew on his lip and he looked blankly out the window. 

“So you’re telling me she’s not allowed because of that?” Fuery laughed. “You are afraid of her beating you.” 

“She didn’t just beat us,” Breda cried out. “She destroyed us. She played us like a new piano! And we played harmoniously into her trap!” 

Havoc reached for another smoke. “Colonel was beaten. He is the one that said she wasn’t welcome back. I wouldn’t be surprised it was all for show. She went all in and destroyed him after we left.” 

Falman shook his head in disagreement. “The way he won right before, I’m not sure if he lost or not. I think he knew she was playing dirty and that’s why she’s not welcome back.” 

“She knew us. She knew out tells. She knew our eye twitches, our breathe changes…” 

“That’s what the game is known for. So what? She figured you out? How do we even know they didn’t split the pot and didn’t say who won or lost because they both won?”

“Because it’s Colonel that won’t let her back.” 

Fuery frowned. “It’s been two years. Invite her back. Maybe it will be different and Breda can get his revenge.” 

“No way,” Breda shook his head. “I’m not playing another card game with her unless ordered by the Fuhrer himself!” 

Fuery blinked, seeing these higher officers terrified to play poker with The Hawk. He’d never imagine these gambling goons afraid of anything, except Breda and Hayate. How could they be afraid of her in that way? They knew they had been played, that the whole game was a con she has whipped up. She’d played poker before and knew the game. So what? If they knew, why wouldn’t they fight back? 

Before Fuery could make another comment the door opened loudly and they all looked towards the door, seeing their Colonel look at the paper as he sipped his coffee. He looked up, staring at them as they stared back. “Something special going on at Fuery’s desk that I should know about?”

Breda stood up straight. “We invited him to the poker game tonight,” he informed, trying to look innocent. 

Mustang nodded cooly, tucking the paper under his arm and walked towards his desk. “Are you going to join us, Seargent Fuery?” 

“Yes.” He glanced at Havoc, a sly smile slipping from his lips. “But I was wondering if Hawkeye was going to go too.” 

Mustang stopped, frozen in his spot. “She is not,” he said firmly. He coughed, clearing his throat. “She doesn’t like to play poker.” 

Fuery raised his eyebrow towards Breda. “They just told me that she beat you and you won’t let her play now.” 

Havoc grabbed Fuery roughly by the collar. “Hey!” 

But Mustang raised his hand and grinned. “All is fair in love and war,” he reminded as he sat down. “But dirty acts like hers are not welcome at a game of poker between friends.” He crossed his legs and turned his chair to look out the window. “She knows she is not invited anymore. We need to leave it at that.” 

Fuery watched at the officer’s dispursed to their chairs. She was scheduled back shortly from the shooting range for a class she was instructing. He deeply debated bringing it up with her. He wanted to know her response. She’d probably just wave him off and say that she was accused of cheating. But most of all, Fuery couldn’t see her all dressed up with red lipstick as Havoc claimed. 

“Do I smell smoke,” Colonel asked as he raised his head from the desk. “Did you smoke in here?” He looked coldly at Havoc, who in return, lowered his head to hide from his commanding officer. “I”m not protecting you when Lieutenant Hawkeye gets here,” he warned sharply. “You’re on your own this time.” The whole office heard him sigh. “We’re all on our own,” Mustang muttered. 

[rowan-yourboat]

Unspoken Truths

Who: Chrow What: Charlie shows up at the ranch to surprise Row, gets more than she bargained for. When: Man, idek, but it was a Saturday! Where: Animal Sanctuary.

@erickson-charlie

Rowan groaned as she unloaded the last hay bale from the trailer. she had been at it for an hour and the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. Still, she didn't mind sacrificing sleep and her back's well being for a good cause, and getting a bunch of animals a home was more than worth it all in her books. There was also the fact that keeping busy helped with the tangle of thoughts and emotions haunting her every waking moment; a win-win all around. "Hey, Rowan, fancy helping out with the kennels?" Came the cherry voice of one of the managers, a sweet guy with a sadistic streak. "Not really, but God knows you won't do it if I don't."

Charlizard didn't entirely know what had possessed her. No, that was a lie. Of course she did. When she'd seen the flyer advertising the adoption event, her mind had immediately gone to two places: the first was that she'd love to help. The second was that it meant a way to spend some time with Rowan in an environment that had once made them both happy. Thus she'd dressed that morning in tight jeans and a flannel shirt, covering her pink hair with an ironically worn cowboy hat, and taken an uber to the shelter. "You were right," she grinned at Row's manager. "She really does whine a lot."

Rowan rolled her eyes and made her way towards one of the buildings, all the while looking at the scuffed tips of her boots. As soon as another voice piped up, though, her head snapped up so hard that she could've sworn she heard a crack. Even while wearing a cowboy hat, there was no way of mistaking the bubblegum pink of her friend's hair. "Charlie... What are you doing here?"

Charlizard was sure she heard a crack as well, because human heads weren't meant to turn as quickly as Row's had. "I'm here to help with the adoption!" Charlie explained too slowly, as if speaking to a child, before laughing brightly. Even being back at the shelter did wonders for her mood. "As long as you don't mind me pitching in, of course." That part, she meant - if Row really had a problem with her being there, she wanted her to say so.

Rowan stared for a long moment, her brain processing the answer. The last person she had expected to see that day was standing just feet away, smiling brightly like the midday sun. Her own smile was slow to grow, but just as bright as Charlie's. All the pain aside, the shelter held some of the best memories she had crafted with the then blonde, and maybe for just the day, she could pretend she wasn't irrevocably in love. "Of course I don't mind, especially since you got here just in time to help me wash the kennels."

Charlizard shifted a little from foot to foot as she waited, making sure that her friend - or whatever the right word was now - was really okay with her presence. Seeing her smile, though, was all the answer necessary and she didn't even mind that the task before them was one of the smelliest that they'd done the first time. The chance to work at Row's side and recreate one of their best days together was worth any amount of exertion. "Lead on, partner. We'll have 'em sparkling in no time, or my name's not Charlie Fabray."

Rowan whistled a nameless tune as she hosed down the last of the kennels, washing away unspeakable things. It had taken them a good couple of hours to get it done, but Charlie was surprisingly handy with a power washer and a push broom. Speaking of the devil, the girl was a few feet away, putting the broom in it's hook. It gave Rowan an idea. With a flick of her wrist, the stream of warm water was redirected towards Charlie, hitting her legs. Just as quickly as it happened, Rowan went back to washing the floor. "Oops, sorry, my hand slipped."

Charlizard felt great. Sure, the kennels was a gross job and all, but it meant she was working alongside and Row and for a while she could pretend that everything was alright. They came clean, slowly, and her muscles were aching in a pleasant way as she reached up to hang up the broom. The warm water on her legs caught her by surprise, but there was no mistaking the smirk in Row's eyes. "Oh, I completely understand," she nodded. "I mean, these things just happen. One minute you're running the power washer and then bam!" she sprayed Row in the chest. "Your hand slips and all hell breaks loose. Sorry about that."

Rowan 's jaw hung open as she looked down at her now soaked top. Thankfully, she hadn't been wearing her jacket or she'd be screwed; the chill of fall in Colorado spared no one. With eyes narrowed playfully, she faux glared at Charlie. "Yeah, things just haooen exactly like that. You ought to be more careful, miss Fabray." The corner of her lips slowly curling into a devious smirk, she slowly advanced on her friend, hose still in hand. "We wouldn't want all this water to make my hand slip again. It is terribly cold out there."

Charlizard couldn't help but giggle at the look on Row's face, even if it did mean trouble for her. "Now, now," she backed up, still holding the offending hose in one hand. "We definitely don't want that. In fact, maybe you should go ahead and put that hose down before some kind of accident happens. We wouldn't want to do anything we might regret later, right?" She was rapidly running out of room to back away, the kennels close at her heels. "Don't do it, I surrender!" she offered, putting both hands up - although not letting go of the hose, just in case.

Rowan chuckled, loving every second of the interaction that took her back to better times, easier times. "The thing is, I've never regretted anything I've done with you, so your point is moot." The look she gave Charlie was positively predatory as she further closed the distance between them, trapping the girl in place by holding onto the kennel cage behind her. She meant closer, almost whispering. "It's more fun when you put up more of a fight." And as soon as she had approached, Rowan turned around and walked away again, putting the hose in its respective hook on the wall. "Wanna go feed the goats before lunch?"

Charlizard had to swallow, hard, as Row pinned her against the kennel. Yes, the interaction was fun and lighthearted, but jesus did she want to lean forward and kiss her just then. Even dressed for dirty jobs and soaking wet, Row was a beautiful woman and they'd spent no shortage of time exploring each other. Even her line about not regretting anything they'd done cut her to the quick, although it hadn't been Row's intent. "I'll keep that in mind," she breathed a sigh of relief as some distance opened up between them. She almost took one last cheap shot by spraying her in the back once more, but that didn't seem fair. "I'd love to," Charlie agreed, hanging up the power washer hose and making sure it was turned off. "You wield a mean hose."

Rowan chuckled, holding the door open for Charlie to go through. "Not sure what that says about me, but I do take pride in whatever skills you think I have." Leading the way towards the break room, she almost, almost reached for Charlie's hand out of habit. Her nails dug crescent shapes into her palms as she fisted her hand tightly. "How did you even end up here today, anyways?"

Charlizard stepped through the door, laughing under her breath at her friend's reply. She'd meant the innuendo, of course, but it was nice to have her play along a little. She wanted to take it a little further, but clamped down on that instinct - it wasn't going to lead anywhere good for either of them. "I saw a flyer for the adoption day," Charlie explained. "I knew you'd be here, so I grabbed an Uber and came down so I could help out." The fact that it was one of the places where their happiest memories were born wasn't to be mentioned.

Rowan smiled to herself. She had invited Charlie to the sanctuary on a whim, and now the girl was invested in the place in a way. She didn't dare think it was exclusively to spend time with her. "Well, I'm glad you came. Really glad." If the smile she gave Charlie was a little sad, well, she simply couldn't help it.

Charlizard "Me too," Charlie replied. And perhaps her answering smile was a bit sad as well, but she knew that neither of them were going to mention it. That way led to nothing but badness, and neither of them wanted that. "I mean how often am I going to get to spray you with a hose, right?"

Rowan getting their food and managing to exit the cafeteria had been nothing short of a challenge. Everyone had fallen in love with Charlie the first time Rowan had taken her to the ranch, and everyone wanted to say hello upon seeing her again. It warmed Rowan's heart, but she was starving by the time they made it outside. "So, how about we take a horse and have lunch by the stream?"

Charlizard had been a little overwhelmed by the people coming up to greet her. The idea of being well liked was something the pink haired girl had no experience with, so when every step brought someone new who wanted to say hi she was left a bit frazzled by the time they made it out. The idea of being somewhere away from people, especially after riding a horse again, was enough to bring a grin to her face. "That sounds amazing."

Rowan chose the same horse from their first ride together, of course. There was few words offered on the ride to the stream on her part, her attention mostly taken up by the feeling of Charlie in her arms, pressed so close together. It was as much of a blessing as it was pure torture; the definition of bittersweet. Love could change a person in many ways, and sometimes it simply brought a deeper truth to see the light of day. For Rowan, it was a newly discovered masochist streak as she pressed closer, resting her chin on Charlie's shoulder.

Charlizard was almost certain the horse was the one they'd ridden once before - she didn't recognize the animal on sight, but there was a familiar energy about it that told her the truth. And despite everything that Charlie had tried to push down and push away, there was a bliss in being held tightly by Row. Life was so powerfully, deeply unfair. Why had she found the love of her life and then discovered that there was another? Was it her own private hell that made her love two women and be unable to tell either of them about the other? When Row's head rested on her shoulder she reached up with the opposite hand to scratch gently at her scalp. Maybe, like Orpheus, everything would be okay if she just didn't look back.

Rowan would never admit it out loud, but she made sure the pace of the horse was slower, trying to make the trip last just a little longer. She couldn't freely have moments like those with Charlie anymore, but even if her conscience felt heavy with guilt and her heart further torn open by yearning, she would steal little moments like those. It was freeing, even when it made her want to cry as she spoke softly against Charlie's ear. "I missed this."

Charlizard would never have admitted it if she noticed their slow pace. The longer the ride went, the longer she could pretend that everything was okay. That she could have these moments with Row and not break anyone's heart - even her own. Her breath caught in her throat at Row's soft confession, and Charlie felt a tear sneaking down her cheek as she imagined a world where she could have all she wanted. "I missed you," the emphasis being firmly on the last word. "I get it now. Why you're avoiding me. I just...I miss you."

Rowan clenched her teeth tightly at Charlie's words. Maybe the girl had gotten it right, or maybe she had it all wrong, but in any case, Rowan wouldn't - couldn't - knowledge the implication. Doing so would only bring more hurt for everyone involved, but perhaps she could give them both some sort of closure. "You're not gonna lose me, even when I'm not there." The rest of the ride she didn't say a word, simply basked in the feeling until she regretfully had to let go in order to dismount the horse. "Pretty sure the food is half cold now, but oh well."

Charlizard wished she could believe that. She'd already seen Row with Taylor and thrown up because of it, and she had to believe that if it was hard enough for her then one day Row would do the best thing for her heart and soul and walk away for good. And a part of Charlie's heart would go with her on the journey. "Good," she replied, though, not willing to challenge the truth. "Because I don't ever want to." The whole way, her fingers never stopped working over Rowan's scalp and the distance between them never grew any bigger. "That's alright. It was nice to come out here with you. And I'm fine with lukewarm food." Charlie slid down from the horse, her hat tipping forward over her eyes.

Rowan smiled fondly at the sight before her, it was just like their first day together at the shelter. Charlie was simply not a country girl. Gently, she tipped the girl's hat back into place. "Who would've thought Charlie Fabray was such a cute dork. Certainly not me after you all but begged me to slap you." She winked, couldn't really help it. Deep down, past the hurt and the anger with herself, Row still found herself loving Charlie as a friend. "I didn't pay attention and so I have no idea what we're having for lunch." She to the fallen log by the stream with a ridiculous flourish, "shall we find out what's in the menu?"

Charlizard didn't flinch as Rowan fixed her hat, a blush rising in her cheeks as Row described her as dork. Truth was, under her bluster that was the way she usually felt - like a dork hanging out with the cool kids. The reminder of how it had all started between them was one that was both happy and sad at once, and she stared into her friend's eyes. "And you did. And it was a real good slap." She giggled at the fact that they were having a mystery meal, but it didn't bother her. "Let the magical mystery tour begin!"

Rowan put her empty plate back inside the plastic bag and held it open for Charlie to do the same. "Y'know, I've definitely had worse things than lukewarm fajitas. Which, in hindsight, says an awful lot about me, but we'll ignore that part." Tying the bag and putting it on the ground, she then leaned back, basking in the warmth of the sun chasing away the cruel chill announcing the start of winter. Somehow, she felt lighter right then. Her heart was still far from healed, but being so far away from everything and everyone gave her some much needed respite. She almost felt like herself. "Hey, Char, can I ask you a question?"

Charlizard stowed her empty, not wanting to leave any trace of their presence in the beauty that surrounded them. "I mean I can't judge you. Lukewarm fajitas are actually pretty decent compared to some of the things I've eaten. I once ate spam, and I'm pretty sure that stuff should be banned by the Geneva Convention because it's the most disgusting thing in the world." Her rant about food was cut off at the knees by Row's question, and she peered over with a nod. "It worries me that you're asking, because normally you'd just go ahead and ask, but...sure. Ask me anything." Except for the truth, she silently amended.

Rowan gave a half-chuckle, half-scoff at the observation. It was true, she hardly had any reservations around Charlie when it was just the two of them, but this was a delicate matter. She needed to find the right words that would give her answers without disrupting the delicate balance that kept them sane and the waters as calm as could be under the circumstances. In the end, Rowan settled for the only thing that mattered, and her voice remained surprisingly steady, though she couldn't bring herself to look at Charlie as she spoke. "Are you happy? I don't want details or long winded explanations, I just need to know, please."

Charlizard hadn't been sure what to expect from Row's question, because she'd been honest when she observed that her friend would never normally have asked permission for a question. When it came, she wasn't quite sure how to answer. Was she happy? Gloriously. Being with Morgan and finally finding love had left her in a mental place that she'd never been lucky enough to experience before now. But as she studied her chipped nails and searched for the right response, she couldn't help but notice the Rowan shaped hole that would have made her happiness complete. "Almost completely," she finally replied in a hesitant voice. "Almost."

Rowan accepted the answer for what it was, even as she refused to dwell on the fact that it hadn't been a straight 'yes'. Something had changed on the ride to what she considered their spot, but some skeletons were best left in the closet, lest they wanted to put more hearts on the line. Rowan knew Charlie understood, she knew, and that made her realize something: she had to try harder for Charlie. For Morgan. Gently, she patted the girl's leg and gave her a small smile. "You'll get there, Charlizard. You both deserve it."

Charlizard pressed her hand over Row's where it sat on her leg, trying to summon up a response that wasn't just going to make her cry. Maybe they would get there. Maybe there would come a day when she could fill the hole in her heart with something that wasn't Rowan and move on. But there would always be an ache there, and it seemed like the sort of thing that would get worse over time rather than better. "I hope so," she finally whispered, voice choked by the lump in her throat. But it was a lie. To hope so would be to hope that she forgot her feelings for the girl who'd once slapped her in the face, and that was a horrible thing to wish.

Rowan felt the ache in Charlie's voice resonate within her very soul. It wasn't too different from the feeling that made her tear up and her heart break as she sat laughing after finding out about her best friends being together. It was all too real and raw. It the kind of pain that you'd find in cheesy novels and rom-coms, the kind you did t believe in, until it struck. Looking at the horizon, at the oranges and pinks that announced the incoming sunset, she threw an arm around Charlie's shoulders and craddled her gently against her side, head resting in that mop of bright pink she was so fond of. "I know so."

Charlizard let her head rest there, Row's arm around her as the sun began to set. And how appropriate that felt, in that time and place. Her friend was too good to her. Too willing to put aside her own feelings and help Charlie deal with hers, even if that dealing came in the silence of a hug and the company of a friend. More than a friend, but a friend nonetheless. "It's less than none of my business. And I really shouldn't say anything at all, and you can push me in the water if you want, but...Taylor? You can do so much better, Row."

Rowan pushed down the expected reflex to take a defensive stand. She never took kindly to people trying to pry or judge whatever she decided to do with her life, but Charlie meant well. Taylor had been... Unexpected, but that was exactly what she needed just then. A distraction, someone to keep her busy and, dare she even think it, warm. She was human, after all. "She's not that bad once you make clear you won't take bullshit. She's sweet, actually, and she's trying." Rowan explained gently, thinking of her blonde mess of a lover and now friend, she really was grateful for Taylor's understanding and willingness to be there as soon as Rowan called. "She's still an idiot, but gets the job done."

Charlizard nodded against Row's shoulder. The first few things she said made Charlie feel bad for even bringing it up - it truly wasn't her place, and she should stay out of it unless she could offer some sort of alternative - which she really couldn't, not without dropping a bomb in three lives. The last sentence, though, made her stiffen up briefly before she let out a slow breath. "Then I can't fault either of you," she murmured. "I'm glad that she's there, and that she..." her voice choked off again, her mind trying not to think of the time she'd spent in Row's arms. "That she gets the job done."

Rowan grimaced, the words felt even more wrong when said by Charlie. "I definitely could've worded that better, sorry." There was a tiny part of her that wasn't sorry at all, coming from the corner where the deepest pain had taken residence. It took pleasure from the bitterness in Charlie's tone, wrong as it was. Rowan ignored that ugly side. "We should definitely head back, they'll be closing up soon." And yet, she didn't move, all too content to stay with Charlie in her arms, in case it was the last time.

Charlizard shook her head. "It's alright, you've got the right to talk like that. I mean she is your friend, after all." Calling her a girlfriend was a step too far for Charlie to take, and she didn't. "Yeah, we probably should." But she didn't move either, blinking to keep the tears from her eyes as she relaxed in Row's arms. It felt like something out of an old country song, something like her parents used to listen to on long drives. There was no strength in her to get up, and no urge to follow through on the suggestion.

Rowan drove them back to Erickson in silence. After their talk, something had shifted and now sat heavily in between them. Knowledge was a double-sided blade, and even those things not spoken out loud could leave behind a deep wound. Still, Rowan held Charlie's hand gently in hers, thumb rubbing soothing circles over right knuckles. 'Well be fine, I just need time.' was the silent reassurance, the promise for the storm to pass. Somehow, they had found their way into each other's lives, an unlikely friendship that could've been so much more, and Rowan knew that, somehow, they would find their way through the fog again. After all, love was never easy.

Charlizard stared out the window, because it was easier than looking at Rowan. The talk was the closest they'd come to actually acknowledging the truth that lay between them threatening to explode, and while it still sat there maybe the fuse had been lengthened for a while. Everything hurt - mind, body and soul. But Charlie wouldn't have passed up the chance to work at Row's side or ride a horse with her one more time, not for any price or any reason. Whether Row was slapping her or holding her hand, she still craved the contact. With her free hand she turned on the radio, settling on a country station and squeezing Rowan's hand a little tighter.

[emma-poole]

I’ve been thinking about chopping all my hair off. Or losing ten pounds. Fitting into a new body to shed the one that makes too comfortable a home of sadness. I cry in bathrooms now. Before teaching, after taking class, during a shift at the restaurant, to put off walking out into the world with my overly tender heart.

I used to fuck in bathrooms. 2012. The Hurricane Club, New York City. A massive tiki-bar themed eatery. I saved thirty thousand dollars that year, and lost my sanity. Female servers had to wear white tee-shirts and short black skirts, our aprons barely covering the bare skin of our thighs. I fell in love with someone I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with there. Or was it love? I have a hard time deciphering that as I get older. Loving someone at 22 feels different than 28. As I imagine it will feel different at 35. And so on. Loving someone you cannot have is like climbing a steep cliff without ever reaching your destination.

Every server worked in a pair, and sometimes, if I was lucky, I’d get paired with Dean. One day, while wiping tables down to prepare our section, he asked me if I was single. Yes, I replied, with an eye roll. He assured me I had nothing to worry about, that I seemed like a lovely person. And that I was beautiful. I carried the word beautiful home with me that night, rolled it around in my mouth imagining him saying it.

We wiped down a lot more tables together over the next few months. I learned he was in an unhappy seven year relationship. More like domestic partnership, he’d add. When I questioned why he stayed, he sighed deeply and said it was complicated. He said a lot of contradicting things that year.

Dean was 26 to my 22, an age that seemed old to me at the time. (!) He had ruddy, reddish skin, and a huge smile. If you saw him on the street, you’d think him somewhere between a young dad soccer coach and a cowboy who drank too much. Dirty-blonde hair. Green eyes. Raised in upstate New York, which we bonded over. His family looked like they grew up on whole milk and biscuits. The sight of him in a flannel made me wet.

He constantly told me I was too good for him. Which made me want him more. I thought I could pull the goodness out of him by bandaging all the broken parts he kept hidden beneath his self-deprecation and cocaine habit.

One day, after a late night shift and while walking to the subway together, he asked me if I’d like to grab a drink. We’d spent months teetering between ridiculous amounts of flirtation while acting aloof. I remember the pants I was wearing. They were wide-legged and grey, but most notably, they made my ass look good. We walked to an Irish pub on 28th and 7th avenue. I ordered a beer I mispronounced. We spent the entire evening with six inches of space between our bodies, my feet perched on his stool, his hand on my leg. The question on both of our lips what would happen after.

That evening propelled us into a year long catastrophe. I got high from even a second spent with him. He had a girlfriend. He made me laugh. He had a girlfriend. He told me I was one of the most amazing people he’d ever met. He had a girlfriend. The passion and chemistry was unlike anything I’d felt before. He had a girlfriend. He revealed secrets about his childhood to me that he had never told her. A win.

That’s the way my mind worked. I calculated all the moments gathered between us and fixated on which were mine. How much ownership I had over the details of his life that he had revealed to me and only me. I was haunted thinking of him going home to her. I became obsessed with imagining the two of them in day to day happenings, eating breakfast, doing laundry, having sex. I couldn’t imagine their sex was anything to close to ours but then again I couldn’t imagine their sex at all; he had alluded to a nearly sexless relationship. And yet I could, still. Some nights, I touched myself thinking of him fucking her. After I got off, an overwhelming feeling of loathing came over me.

The mind and its capacities are endless. I had very little control over my mind back then, nor do I think I wanted to. I let it slip often into the deep abyss of what ifs and agonization, swam myself into a tunnel of madness and curled up there, comforted by the thrill of not knowing.

Which is why we ended up fucking in bathrooms. When you have to hide a relationship… if I can call it that… you create ways to convince yourself that it’s intoxicating more than it is damaging. He bent me over the sinks of dirty bathrooms at the bars around the corner after work, where co-workers gathered just feet away on the other side of the door. In the room, called bora bora, used for private events at the restaurant, my skirt hiked up so that my apron and it became one bunchy mess around my hips. In the bathroom of my first apartment, the shower so small we had to wrap our arms around each other, where I was finally able to hold him the way that I wanted to, where I could burrow my face into the woodsy moss of his chest hair.

We cried together. I did things with him I had never done with a man before, and he let me do things to him that were buried somewhere deep within his psyche.

Dean is married now. He lives in California with a wife I know nothing about, a woman who is not the woman he was with for seven years, whose ghost I became well acquainted with. He seems happy, and well taken care of. I have not seen nor spoken with him in over five years. And Although I am well past feeling attached to him, I often wonder if his current wife knows the things he told me, or if somewhere along the way, he chose to delete certain events in order to cope. Perhaps there is a part of me that still believes those stories are mine. That if I could relish one thing from our time together, it’s the ownership of knowing intimate details of someone else’s history.

He will forever be the relationship that fucked me up for the longest period of time. He was my first significant New York story, and for that I am grateful. I did not expect to write about him today. But sometimes you sit down thinking of how you spent three minutes crying in a restaurant bathroom the night before, upon news that the person you are currently in love with is in your city and will leave the country the next day, taking with him the hopes and dreams that you had envisioned for your life together, and are pulled back to yourself five years prior, enmeshed in a story you thought had written itself an ending.

Somehow, in the midst of my chaotic emotions, I keep coming back to small enclosed spaces. Bathrooms, funnily enough. The place we create rituals, cleanse our bodies and release what’s holding us down. The precarious line to be or not to be crossed in a new relationship. Hot baths at three am with a partner who is too big to fit in the tub but does it anyway because it’s a moment. Shower sex. Having my hair washed by someone else, by him. Watching my future unfold before me in the way he holds soap- so that’s the way he washes himself. Brushes his teeth. Sees me completely as I am, in the light of day.

Wet eyelashes and the pale half moons of faded tan lines. Soap suds streaming down a mass of thigh muscle.

They were all mine once.

[qqueenofhades]

Formal request for part 5 of married fic as I dance around Flynn and whisper as him to just give in...

(tagging @pirate-owl because she has been the other one requesting more from this verse. i humbly offer this as repayment for all the pain in the most recent chapter of the trash saga and lack of um, other things. take that as you will. i mean what.)

The Time Team hops back into the saddle the next morning.Literally, because they are headed to 1876 Montana, the Battle of the LittleBighorn, and Custer’s Last Stand, which by the looks of things, and for reasons best known to them, Rittenhousewants to turn into Custer’s Stirring Victory.This means a lot of horseback riding, rifles slung on shoulders, hats,bandanas, spurs, lassos, and general cowboying it up, as well as trying to makecontact with the Sioux and Sitting Bull to warn them that the Army will bebringing weapons the likes of which they have never seen. It’s dangerous,delicate work, and the team absolutely has to be clicking on allcylinders, as any hint of tension or dissent will be interpreted mostsuspiciously – two white men and a white woman do not have much reason to tipoff the Indians, after all. As when they met the Shawnee and Nonhelema in 1754,it’s Rufus who has to serve as the first point of diplomatic contact, whileLucy, Wyatt, and Flynn sit on their hands and hold their tongues. Once they’vefinally established that they might have legit motives, Sitting Bull wants toknow who, exactly, they are. They are clearly not settlers or homesteaders fromaround here.

“No,” Flynn says. “We’re not. We’re from – Europe. Germany. Cameto work on the railroads – Land of Promise, yes? This is my wife, and thisis her little brother. He couldn’t find a woman willing to have him in thevillage, so he traveled out here with us.”

Wyatt says something in German which translates roughly as,“This man is full of shit, but I recognize the need to put up a united front,so I will refrain from pointing it out.” He even manages to say it whilenodding and appearing to agree with Flynn’s statement. It’s pretty impressive.

Lucy chokes, as while French is her main foreign languagerather than German, she can make out enough to get the sense of this. She alsofeels rather and unexpectedly warm, as while it is obviously in the service ofa cover story (which they have forced Flynn to actually think of, rather thanannouncing their status as time travelers to all and sundry) it is the firsttime he has referred to her as his wife in this altered existence. His eyesflicker to hers, then away.

At any rate, they’re still not sure what to do to ensurethat the Indians win, as they are supposed to, against a 7th CavalryRegiment armed with Rittenhouse-supplied modern automatic weapons. That,however, is a problem for Not Right Now, and it is already late. After takingtheir leave of Sitting Bull with promises to return as soon as they know more,they head out of the teepee to where they have picketed the horses. They were only able to acquire three,and while Lucy rode out here with Rufus, she shoots another oblique glance atFlynn, as if waiting to see if he’ll give her a hand up onto his.

He hesitates, then does so, as she clambers up into thesaddle with more or less (decidedly less) dexterity, and clutches onto the ropehorn to avoid slipping off. He swings up behind her with considerably more easeand puts an arm around her waist to steady her. Both of them can sense thetension that flashes through them, the way her breath brieflycatches. Then he reaches around her with both hands to take the reins, and shedips her head beneath his chin so he can see where he’s going. She does tuckquite neatly against his chest. He gives a click to the horse, and they startto move.

It’s quiet when theycanter back into town, which is not much more than a clapboard general store, atrading post, a church, a boarding house, seven saloons, and a sheriff andsurveyor’s office along the banks of the Little Bighorn River. Despite thepopular idea of the Old West as a lawless gunslingers’ paradise, that isn’t thecase – the most shooting deaths that Tombstone, Arizona, supposedly the hotbedof bank robbers, six-shooters, and showdowns in the OK Corral, ever had in ayear was two. This, however, takes no account of the current presence ofRittenhouse, which very much does want to light this place up like a ClintEastwood movie, and Wyatt and Flynn both glance around warily as they rein in.If anyone had any notion that they might be passing information to the Indians,they don’t need a gun when a good old-fashioned noose will work just fine.

Nobody, however, seems to bearound, and they swing down and tie up. They have taken rooms in two separateestablishments, as the four of them inevitably attract attention when they’retogether, and there is once more the question of who is pairing off with whom.Lucy was going to go with Rufus again, but a black man with a white woman willhave a target on his back, and she doesn’t want to put him in that kind ofdanger. And, well. There’s already one of them who claimed to be married toher, and technically speaking, is.

She tells herself to stop beingan idiot. Allows Flynn to help her off the horse, and makes herself smile athim. “So. Call it a night?”

He pauses, then nods. With a lookbetween the four of them, it is silently and carefully decided that Lucy willgo with Flynn to the boarding house, where a respectable married couple wouldbe expected to take a room, and Wyatt and Rufus, as two bachelors, will takethe room at the saloon. This might even be fun for them, as drinks are not allthe place serves, but Rufus is far too loyal to Jiya to take a tumble with someheavily rouged nineteenth-century floozy and Wyatt, well, it’s obvious he’s notgoing to. They make plans to meet up at first rooster crow tomorrow, and splitfor the night.

Lucy is too aware of Flynn’spresence at her side as they walk along the dirt road to the boarding house,which has a half-burned lantern dangling from the post. Flynn blows it out, andthey open the door – nobody sees the need to lock them around here – and sneakpast the kitchen where the proprietress is snoring by the woodstove with ahalf-empty bottle of cooking sherry, up the creaking stairs. Their room is atthe top of the house, in the steep-roofed garret, so that Flynn has to becareful where he stands up too straight or he will crack his skull. This placehas not been designed with the needs of six-foot-four ex-commandos in mind.

They open the room door and letthemselves in. There is a washstand with a porcelain pitcher and basin, anunlit oil lamp, a trunk, a roll-top desk, a few clothes hooks, and of course abed, which is spread with a worn patchwork quilt and looks, well, smaller thanLucy expected. Not that she thought there would be a hotel-standard queen size,but it still seems… cozy. Nor do the floorboards look particularlycomfortable, though Flynn might volunteer to sleep on them anyway if he can’tstand to be close to her. They stand there for an awkward moment, until Flynnfinally moves to shut the door behind them, and they startle at the suddennoise in the quiet. It’s June, so it’s stuffy in the garret, and what with allthe clothes that people in this century have to wear, they are both prickingwith sweat, especially after the long ride. It’s Lucy who moves to open thewindow, propping it with a stick, in hopes of letting in a bit of a breeze.Then she removes her hat, knots her hair off her neck, pauses, then shucks hergloves and riding duster. Obviously, she isn’t sleeping in those.

Flynn’s eyes follow her without aword, until he finally shrugs and removes his own cowboy hat and cuffed blackjacket, running a hand through his tousled hair in a way that Lucy cannot helpbut inspect – academically, of course. Once he pulls off his calico neckerchiefas well, the muslin shirt beneath is considerably open at the throat, pasted tobroad shoulders and barrel chest and extremely solid arm muscles, and Lucyfeels a dryness in her own throat that decidedly does not have to do with dust.There’s a bucket of water hauled up from the pump in the backyard, intended forwashing, and if she wants more than that, she’ll have to fetch it herself. Butshe dips the tin cup in and takes a drink, trying to wet her whistle.Surreptitiously, she hopes.

She hangs up her jacket, thenperches gingerly on the chair to remove her boots, as Flynn does the same. Theystill have their backs to each other, as pretending that they are undressingnormally for sleep by themselves in a small room, where the only true factabout this statement is “small room,” is quite a feat, but they do. Now it’stime for the skirt, which is slightly more dangerous. Lucy’s fingers fumble asshe undoes the finicky buttons, even though there is absolutely no good reasonfor them to do so. She hears a clink as Flynn must be unfastening hissuspenders. Her heart is pounding so fast and short that she briefly fearsshe’s going to go into spontaneous cardiac arrest and die at the age ofthirty-four. That does happen, you know.

In this case, however, itdoesn’t. She slides off the skirt and unties her shirtwaisted blouse, pullingit over her head. Now there are just stays and shift and drawers left. Andwhile everyday stays for working women aren’t as uncomfortable or restrictiveas the high-society whalebone corsets meant to throttle them into perfecthourglass silhouettes, they’re still not exactly sleepwear, and Lucy can’t getthem off by herself. She coughs and clears her throat. “Can you, uh. Can you. .. unlace me?”

She can hear that almost hangingin the air, and doesn’t dare look around to see which items of clothing Flynnhimself still has on – or doesn’t. For a moment, she thinks he’s going topretend that he has gone temporarily deaf. She can possibly wrangle herself outif she needs to, though it’s going to be a pain. Or he could just lend agoddamn hand and –

Right as she’s wondering if hereally is going to leave her hanging, she hears the floor creak, and feels thesudden materialization of his presence at her back, his breath on her neck, anda tug at her stays as he starts fiddling with the knots, which are pulled tightand soaked with sweat and don’t want to give way easily. She expects him tocomplain or otherwise make some sort of smart remark about how long this istaking, but he doesn’t. He has to get a few fingers between the corset and hershift, and gooseflesh breaks out on Lucy’s skin where he brushes her, howeverlightly. Jesus Christ. This is going to be… interesting. Shehas to clench both fists until her nails make crescent moons in her palms,otherwise she’ll turn around and grab him and push him to his knees in front ofher. Heat curls in her stomach, and lower. She establishes a death grip on theback of the rickety chair, to be sure her watery legs don’t betray her.

At last, Flynn pulls the staysloose, and Lucy lets out a breath of sheer relief as her compacted innardsexpand, grimacing as she rubs at the rigid grooves worn into her flesh. Flynndrapes the corset over the chair, his shadow falling over her, and Lucy noticesthat he still has his shirt and trousers on, though both are unfastened andhang loose on him. He steps back, then pulls off the trousers, folding themprecisely. He still has on his underwear – which is modern Calvin Klein, as hesees no need to gallivant around in historically accurate unmentionables,especially when a lot of riding will be involved – but other than that, it’sjust his shirt.

Lucy almost stops breathingaltogether. She doesn’t know if he’s sending a silent signal that he’s up forit if she is, if he is outright daring her to resist, or if he’s simply decidedthat of course he is not sleeping in his grubby clothes and sees nothing out ofthe ordinary about this at all. Her fingers are trembling again as she undoes thestring on her drawers and steps out of them, and then – before she can stopherself – she removes her panties as well, which it so happens are alsodecidedly twenty-first century, buy-two-get-one from Victoria’s  Secret. She just has on her shift. She feelsquite airy, quite breathless, and so wet that she can feel the slickness likedew between her thighs. Jesus. Evenif he is intending for them to actually sleep, it’ll be incredibly hard to takecare of this herself without attracting his attention.

The two of them turn at more orless the same moment, gazes locking. Flynn’s tongue darts out to unconsciouslylick his lips, that expression he sometimes gives her where he is clearlyimagining what she looks like naked, which is not the thing to help Lucy’salready tenuous self-control. They take a slow step, almost close enough totouch, but not quite. They probably should, or something, or at least say aword. The entire room might blow sky-high otherwise.

Another step. He lifts a hand,runs a knuckle down the side of her torso through the thin fabric of the shift,almost curving under her breast, but not quite. Lucy sucks in a breath hardenough to hurt as his hand splays on her ribs, slowly and unhurriedly, and histhumb ghosts over her nipple, which stiffens to a peak at once. He stilldoesn’t say anything, though his eyes briefly flick to hers. It’s pretty damnclear to both of them that she has no problem with this whatsoever, and in factwould like him to be even more forward. She shifts involuntarily, as his hand moves to fully cup her breast through the fabric.Then, slowly, the other follows suit, still lightly and without apparentattempt to hasten onwards.

Lucy’s breath hitches raw, as shewants the shift out of the way but there is no way to take it off without beingcompletely naked, and that, obviously, is more of an invitation than he mightbe comfortable with. He continues to keep his hands where they are, thumbingthe nipples, with a faint look of approval. Not that this Flynnremembers, but he’s quite a fan of Lucy’s body, the generous curves of her ass,the slight roundness to her stomach, the slim lines of her torso and thefullness of her breasts, has said that he never understood the appeal of a womanwho was as flat as a board. Wants something to touch, to explore, to hold onto. This is what he is currently doing, and Lucy is certainly enjoying it, butshe is just about out of patience to hold back. Not that she wants to spook himor move too fast or otherwise send him off on one of his Flynn tangents, butshe is downright suffering here.

He puts his thumbs together,drawing them down her solar plexus, covering her breasts with each hand andpulling the shift low on her shoulders. He bends to kiss the column of her necklightly, still almost tentatively, as if expecting her to come to her sensesand push him away. Instead, her own hand comes up, clasping the back of hishead, as her other arm wraps around his chest. She lets out a soft, breathlesswhine as he explores her throat and collarbone and jaw, nips at her hammeringpulse, presses branding kisses into her shoulder and almost into her cleavage,but neither quite there or at her mouth. She can’t tell if he’s trying totorture her, or just doesn’t feel as if he has permission to outright go there.If so, she decides to make it clear. Links both arms  around his neck, straining on her tiptoes, andpulls his dark head down to hers.

Their mouths collide almostclumsily at first, closed and shy, until all at once, it turns raw andravenous. Flynn shoves her back against the wall, knocking the desk with arattle, as Lucy boosts herself up and locks her legs around his waist. He liftsher effortlessly, and his hand claws into her hair, their mouths open and deepand devouring. He pulls her lower lip between his teeth and she returns thefavor, exploring him with tongue and teeth, biting and gulping, gasping, a kissthat is not even broken for a proper breath, as they simply turn their headsand go after each other again. He gets his hands under her thighs and swingsher around again, her ankles still locked behind his back, as he walks themacross the room as they continue to make out. They reach the bed and he sitssmartly on it, pulling her onto his lap, as she moves to take his face in herhands and lean over him, hair falling in loosened locks around hereyes. She settles astride him, knees to either side of his thighs, and can’thelp herself from grinding into him. Both of them groan, and he swears. “Lucy –”

It’s the first thing either ofthem have said since they got here, and it sounds almost like a prayer, anincantation, half miraculous on his lips, as hers are bruised and wet andswollen and she can hardly stand for them to have stopped this long. She shiftsup on him again, pulls on his shirt, he lets go of her long enough for her tohaul it over his head, and she runs both hands over the hard planes of hischest. He’s scarred, battered and bruised, but solid as a rock, strongas iron. This man stares down the entire world, orders it to move, and it does.No wonder he’s a still point in the middle of a raging storm.

Lucy’s eyelashes flutter as shemoves to wrap her arms around his neck again, hands caressing his head, tiltinghis mouth up for hers again, a somewhat slower kiss this time, but just assavage and thorough. Flynn grips her hips almost hard enough to bruise, thumbsin the joint, fingers pressing into her like clay – she thinks of thatsculpture of the two marble lovers, where you can see the tension and strengthof the man’s hand on the woman’s thigh, present even in the stone, the depthsof the art to craft them. Pulls her onto him again as they slide backwards onthe bed, still kissing. God, she needs him. Still thinks he might run. But ison the verge of finding out, once and for all, if he will.

She leans back, pulling out thehem of her shift from where it’s trapped between them. Slowly, giving him timeto stop her or change his mind, she takes hold of it, skims it up, over legsand stomach and chest, over her head. Shucks it, tosses it aside in a crumpledheap, and stares at him, completely bare, not a stitch on her. Still straddlinghim, waiting, tense, silent.

It’s Flynn’s turn to stopbreathing. There’s not much light in the garret, but the summer nights are longthis far north, and there’s enough. His eyes rake over her, so powerfully andsilently hungry that it feels almost physical, taking her in, unable to believethat she’s here and she still seems to want him. Despite the heat of theirkissing earlier, he clearly is having another short-circuit at this. Hisfingers trace lightly over the top of her thigh, circle around her hip, climbher rib, and finally revisit her breasts, without the fabric to get in the way.He strokes and molds and kneads, softening her and shaping her, with the sameunblinking intensity as he does everything, leaving no stone left unturned.Finally, still more slowly, he draws a finger down her stomach, then lower.Nudges at her, not quite there, but almost. Waits.

Lucytakes his hand and eases it between her legs, both of them hissing as the padof his thumb drags over her clit. He presses into her ever so slightly, untilthe tip of his index finger teases at her entrance. He glances up at her, thenslides into her to the first knuckle. After a moment, to the second. Then asshe whines and presses back on him, to the fork of his hand. This isaccompanied with a long, slow slide over her clit from his thumb that makes hersee stars, as she grips his shoulders and lets out a shaky gasp. “Garcia – ”

He glances up at her with hoodedeyes, in which a spark of his old arrogance is clearly visible; he has herrather literally in the palm of his hand and he may just intend to make hersuffer. She tries to thrust on him, but he stills her with his other hand, lipsmusing at her chest again, moving to take a nipple in his mouth. Suckles it,licks a circle, as he starts to explore her with his finger, then adds a secondwith a quick, insistent twist. Lucy heaves a breath, stomach quivering, as shetries to get him to pick up the pace, but he gives her another look. If this ishappening, as it appears to be, it’s going to be as he chooses to. She willjust have to be patient.

He strokes and teases her to thebrink of climax, but won’t let her tumble over the edge into release, and she whinesaloud as he withdraws his hand. Their lips muse, as she nips at his mouth againand his other hand slides slowly up her bare back, tracing the lines of herspine. Then he shifts her off and, rather abruptly, stands up.

Lucy lands on the bed, feelingrather cast aside and certainly incredibly frustrated, if this is where he’sgoing to draw the line – even though, of course, she’ll accept it if he does. Butinstead he looks at her, keeps looking at her, and slowly slides off the CalvinKlein underpants, the last bit of clothing remaining on either of them. Steps outof them, and kicks them aside. Stands there, clearly fighting an almighty urgeto back away or cover himself or otherwise put an end to this madness somehow,and lets her look.

After a spellbound moment, Lucy getsoff the bed, moves to him, and runs her own hands down his sides,taking hold of him and pulling his head down, her knee riding up on his hip ashe lifts her again. Then she slides a hand on his stomach, feeling him tenseand think about pulling away from her, but she has an advantage here that hedoesn’t. She remembers their first time, how she touched him then to put him atease, to slowly bring down his walls, to whisper in the darkness that he couldtrust her. And this, now, she does.

Flynn shudders from head to toe, notaltogether steady himself, as Lucy palms down and takes him in her hand. He’sstiff and hot against her fingers, and she strokes slowly, pulling his earlobebetween her teeth, kissing the underside of his jaw, his unshaven dark stubblerasping against her lips. He jerks sharply against her hand, as if to say thatif this is how it is, she could geton with it please and thank you, and there are certainly attractions to makinghim suffer in turn, draw it out, go slow. But after all this and everything, LucyPreston-Flynn (she changed her name to that, although he likewise does not remember)has had more than goddamn enough of slow.

She pushes him around, back ontothe bed, and he goes down with a rather surprised look. She climbs up on him,spreads herself with her fingers, and guides him with her other hand, so slickthat he glides in almost without a catch. He swears in one of the severallanguages he speaks, as Lucy whimpers, hitches herself up, and slowly andthoroughly takes him deeper, watching him enter her inch by inch, until hesettles hilt deep, and she gasps. Slides forward on her knees, pushing him ontohis back, settling on him, hard and deep and pulsing inside her. Rolls into onethrust, experimentally. Then another.

Flynn swears again, eyes half-closed,sweat glistening on his cheek, as she feels him coil and tense, then all atonce, rise up and flip her over beneath him. He thrusts into her practically tothe back of her spine, catching both of her wrists in one of his hands andpulling them up over her head. He bends her like a bow as her legs lock aroundthe small of his back, dragging him still deeper, his left hand fisting thesheet next to her head and his right struggling to keep hold of her wrists asshe fights to pull free, needing to touch him, needing to claw him. He dragshis open mouth against hers, not quite a kiss, too hungry and unformed and rawfor that, as he thrusts again with the force of a lightning strike, making thebed thump distinctly loud on the old floorboards. Lucy devoutly hopes that theproprietress drank plenty of that sherry.

That, however, is about all theconscious thought she has space for, as Flynn seems intent on driving it, andeverything else, out of her. It’s almost like it was the first time, so much,too much, too hard, too raw, too real. They strain and slip on the deliciousfriction as he attends to every inch of her, as the sensation of their couplingsends shocks through her to her toes and she finally manages to get her handsloose from his restraining grip. Wraps her arms around his chest, digging hernails into the muscles of his shoulders, burning, burning. “Yes,” she manages. “Yes. Garcia, there. Oh God. Yes. There.Oh God.”

It’s hard to tell, but he mightlook rather too pleased with himself, as if he is doing a damn fine job ofhitting her sweet spot even without actually remembering where itis. He keeps pushing her as they roll over and over, entangled in thequilt, her head dangling over the side of the bed until he gathers it in withhis hand and takes her mouth with another half-vicious kiss. “Draga,” he mutters, half-formed, tastedin their shared breath. “Draga žena.”

Lucy isn’t quite sure what thatmeans, and she’s also not entirely sure he realizes he’s saying it. She whines,bucking her hips up into his again, as they end up sitting half upright, fallenback among the pillows, as he thrusts once more and she reaches to fingerherself, bringing them both over the edge in a gulping, furious, blinding rush.He rolls her over one more time, pins her flat, and loses himself in her, headburied in her shoulder, her arms around his neck. Burning.

Reality takes a long time toresolve into any sort of sense after that, with the strength of the embersstill smoldering in Lucy’s eyes, when everything everywhere feels as if it’sbarely real, that this night and this bed and the two of them are the onlysolid creatures in a world of shadows and stars and sex and sleep. She strokeshis head and kisses his ear, as he remains sprawled on her as if his back hasbeen broken, clearly unable to move even if he wanted to. Then at last heshifts, sliding out of her, and collapses next to her on the bed, totally donefor.

Lucy doesn’t want to ask aboutthe rings. Doesn’t want to ask what they are, if this changes anything, if thismeans they’re back together (or even if that’s the most appropriate term). Doesn’twant to break the spell, or for either of them to wake up. Instead, she tugsout the snarled quilt, doing her best to make it less of a rat’s nest, andspreads it over both of them. She almost expects him to curl away from her,but he reaches out and pulls her against him, her back to hischest, resting his chin on her head. Makes a deep, hoarse, wordless sound ofrepletion, as she settles his hand on her stomach and nuzzles into him.

Dawn is going to come much toosoon. They have another war tomorrow.

And so now, in the peace they dohave, in the darkness, they sleep.

[confessions-of-a-hs-graduat-blog]

Chapter 6: Chubby, impulsive, a mess

I only know that my mother was thin once because of the photo album she kept in her cedar chest. After I was born, she was never thin again, which I’m sure endeared me to her not at all. To be fair, none of the women on her side of the family, myself included, where ever what you would call thin for any appreciable amount of time; we were pear-shaped, with wide, generous asses, and no tits to speak of whatsoever. I could pick one of my own out of a lineup without ever seeing anything above the neck.

The cedar chest in question was another target of my early-morning raids, and even more so later on when my parents began to leave me home alone for short periods of time, when I was about twelve. We had a lot of photo albums lying around, but the one in the cedar chest was special: it contained photos of my mother and of her life before me, or my father, or any of us. Photos of my mother as I imagined, she was truly meant to be, before I came and fucked it all up.

The album was filled with snapshots of my mother, my mother’s old friends, and boys – boys she either fucked or did not fuck, I had no idea; their limbs were long and brown with exposure to the sun, slung carelessly over the sides of docks and lawn chairs and the tailgates of trucks. They were all so quintessentially 70s, everyone with long, straggly hair, clutching cans of old-timey beer with pull-tops, gathered around beat-up looking coolers, gathered around campsites. In the photo in question, my mother is sitting on a dock in a yellow bikini. She is smiling. She is tiny and lithe and radiant.

I was not tiny or lithe or radiant. I was going through puberty, and everything was hell. I don’t mind one bit telling you that I was not a pretty child; and as soon as I started going through puberty – early, of course, so fifth grade was extra fun – I took a turn for the worse in the looks department.

As the tales foretold in the bodies of my female relatives came to pass, hips and ass crept up on me like rotund panthers, causing tables and desks and decorative vases to seemingly fling themselves from my sides as I passed, as my sense of where my body ended and my surroundings began was thrown into turmoil.

In an ironic attempt to draw attention away from my changing body, I started to “experiment” with fashion – meaning I’d embarrass myself and everyone else around me by showing up to school in a denim miniskirt and cowboy boots. I decided that the stylish, quirky Claudia Kishi from The Babysitters Club was my spirit animal, but really, the only thing Claudia and I had in common was a penchant for junk food, and I didn’t have the fictionally blessed metabolism Claudia did.

My mother, who by this point had been on Weight Watchers roughly since it was invented, was horrified by this turn of events. I can’t imagine that it’s not just a little bit harder to love a child that’s ugly, even if they are sweet and good, neither of which I was.

I was promptly placed on a diet by my mother. This lasted roughly five minutes, until I, wracked by paroxysms of hunger, asked if I could have just one slice of Kraft Processed Cheese Food Product, to which my mother capitulated with a heavy and burdened sigh. And that was the last I ever heard of a diet, and together we both became pillars of the body positive community, and learned to love our bodies for what they could do instead of how well they conformed to the standards set by the male-dominated media circus.

Ha, ha.

My father had a bad habit of pointing out plus size women we saw in public – from the car, in the mall - and remarking to my mother, She’s really let herself go, as if this woman, this innocent stranger we didn’t know, had once been slim and beautiful, but had allowed herself to fall to the ravages of beauty-nonconformity by a simple lapse in vigilance. As if Fat had been lying in wait for her around the corner, jumped out, and she had been unwilling to fend it off; a personal failing, completely detached from any excuse like genetics or glandular issues or just being fucking happy with yourself. I would picture the women he pointed out, the supposed former versions of themselves that my father referred to, holding a red balloon against the cobalt sky, and then just letting go. The balloon drifts gently toward the clouds, and now they are fat.

So it certainly wasn’t for lack of effort on the part of my parents that I started to get fat, and by “fat”, I mean I gained maybe 10 pounds over the course of puberty. My father helpfully called out the calorie content of anything I removed from the fridge, however mundane. I recall removing a carton of milk from the fridge – Do you know how fattening that is? Goddammit, Dad, do you want me to get osteoporosis?

As a result, a culture of shame started to form around the food in our house. This is not to say that my parents were particularly healthy eaters – while they certainly managed to put food on the table, neither of them were great cooks, and the majority of what we ate came from a can or a packet that bore the words “INSTA-“ or “-HELPER”. It was typical of the times.

What they really loved, however, like most of North America, was sugar. Sugar, and Costco. Biweekly would come home these wholesale boxes stacked with dozens of Twix, Skor bars, Mr. Big. My mother would save up her Weight Watchers points and indulge. My father, the skinny prick, would dig in with impunity.

What they didn’t love was sharing the horde with their fat little daughter, who ate too much, who was letting herself go. At the tender age of twelve, they saw that my grip on the Balloon Of Thinness was tenuous at best, so the food was first moved to the highest shelves in the cupboards (as if that would stop me), then locked away in their bedroom.

And that was the end of my relationship with sweets, because as we’ve already seen, I had a great deal of respect for my parents’ privacy, and I become gloriously thin as a result. My parents proceeded to love me forever.

Bullshit. My parents went bowling every Friday night, and I lived for those nights. As soon as I heard the roar of that Dodge engine fade to nothing, I was all up in that shit. Yoghurt, muffins, cookies, Twix – whatever was there, whatever was within reach, however much I wanted, because no one was watching, and no one was judging. And no one was going to say a damn thing.

If I eat two yogurts, five Oreos and a Twix bar in the forest and no one is around to bitch about it… then what? I win? If I’d won, the prize was feeling like a fat piece of shit. It didn’t take me long to realize that my binges – for that’s what they were – were as uncomfortable for me as they were for my parents. So, one Friday, lying in a pool of shame and candy wrappers, I decided to take drastic action.

As a child I’d pored over descriptions of anorexia and bulimia nervosa in our family medical guide, later supplementing my knowledge with wholesome anorexia memoirs checked out from the elementary school library. I marvelled at the willpower, the determination, the sheer lack of need that the girls in the books portrayed. They seemed so pure, so single-minded, so vigilant and focussed. They were on the ball; they would never let themselves go. Their parents were a perfect scribble of concern over their fragile daughters. They were the complete opposite of everything I was – chubby, impulsive, a mess. That could never be me. Could it?

I padded to our only bathroom, keeping my footsteps soft as though someone were around to hear them. I shut the door and listened for the approach of an engine, the muffled slam of a car door.

I practiced what I’d learned from the books, leaning over the gaping maw of the toilet, drooling and gagging and praying as I feverishly crammed my fingers down my throat, until they found what they were looking for.

The vomit came in stuttering waves. It wasn’t like when I was sick as a child, where the sick would propel itself from my body and arc into the waste bin set beside my bed, completely unaided, look ma, no hands. This took fucking dedication. My stomach muscles ached from the effort; I wondered idly if you could get abs this way.

Once the waves stopped coming, I stood up and wiped my face at the sink, my legs still. In the mirror, my face was slick and blotchy. But I felt amazing. I was purified, emptied, cleansed of my sins.

At twelve, I’d found an altar, and I was going to worship at it.

[juliusjethompson1]

Award winning Author Julius Thompson introduces Submitting to the Cowboy by author BJ Wane!

Book & Author Details:

Submitting to the Cowboy  by BJ Wane  (Cowboy Doms, #3)  Publication date: April 12th 2019 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Synopsis:

         Tamara Barton had lusted after Connor Dunbar ever since she was old enough to know what those stirrings meant whenever he was near. Connor’s refusal to see her as anything but the young girl he’d befriended and protected for years soon drives them apart, but not before she catches an up-close, personal glimpse of him exerting the dominant control she’d heard rumors about. 

        Connor regretted the harsh words he’d spoken to Tamara when he caught her spying on him as much as his lustful response to the look of need reflected on her face. He’d been looking after the neighbor girl since the moment he saw her falling off her first horse at the age of ten and didn’t plan on stopping now that she was a grown woman who thought she wanted their relationship to go in a different direction. He knew his sexual proclivities were not for the young, sweet kid he was so fond of, and wouldn’t jeopardize their special bond by giving in to her desires. 

       But Tamara always had a way of getting what she wanted and when he saw she wasserious about becoming a member of the private BDSM club he owned with his brother and best friend, Connor discovered he didn’t want her submitting to anyone but him. When he learns she’d kept things from him that could have impacted her welfare, would he allow his failure to protect her to drive another wedge between them or finally embrace a life with her at his side as more than just a cherished friend?       This is book three in the Cowboy Doms series but reads as a standalone.      Publisher’s Note: This contemporary western romance contains elements of mystery, suspense, adult themes, power exchange and sensual scenes. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.

Goodreads:

 https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/44771391-submitting-to-the-cowboy

Purchase:

Will be found here come release day: https://amzn.to/2UVcwFx

Previous books in the series:

 https://amzn.to/2UUak0Z

 AUTHOR BIO:

      I live in the Midwest with my husband and our dog, a lovable Great Pyrenees/Standard Poodle.  I love dogs, enjoy spending time with my daughter, babysitting dogs and kids, reading and working puzzles.  

     We have traveled extensively throughout the states, Canada and just once overseas, but I now prefer being a homebody. 

      I worked for a while writing articles for a local magazine but soon found my interest in writing for myself peaking.  

     My first book was strictly spanking erotica, but I slowly evolved to writing erotic spanking romance with a touch of suspense.  My favorite genre to read is suspense

Author links:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3420232.B_J_Wane?from_search=true http://bjwane.blogspot.com/ https://twitter.com/bj_wane https://www.facebook.com/bj.wane https://www.facebook.com/BJWaneAuthor https://www.bookbub.com/profile/bj-wane

Submitting to the Clowboy--------EXCERPT ---- PG

      Tamara pivoted, her eyes widening as none other than the object of her obsession for the  last twenty years entered with a loose-limbed stride that never failed to draw women’s attention, including her own. Connor Dunbar looked the same at thirty-eight as he had five years ago; ruggedly handsome with sun-streaked, dark brown hair worn long enough to pull back in a shortponytail, his jaw covered with scruffy whiskers a shade darker than his hair that was sexy as hell.

     “Tam?” Surprise colored his voice as those incredible eyes landed on her frozen stance.

     The slow stretch of his chiseled lips hit her with a gut-wrenching sucker punch as warmth encircled her heart. No, no, no, she lamented, resisting the urge to turn and bang her head against the wall. That reaction would not do. She’d stayed away so long to get over him, praying with endless regularity for a much less potent response when seeing him again. Disappointment swamped her upon learning those pleas had gone unanswered. Given she’d returned to put this ridiculous, one-sided infatuation to bed once and for all, her response didn’t bode well forachieving that goal anytime soon. I can do this, remain professional and do my job, she lectured herself. Easy. Piece of cake. And then a blue flame of pleasure lit up his eyes as he strode toward her, shredding her resolve in less time than it took to come up with it.

    “I heard you were back, maybe for good.” Gripping her shoulders with his large, calloused hands, he pulled her close for a bear hug she knew meant nothing more than an old friend greeting another. “It’s damn good to see you, sweetie.”

      Tamara stiffened, the endearment a reminder he would never consider her anything more than a friend. Pulling back from the comfort of his muscled body, she cast a quick glance down at the list of appointments and saw what she hadn’t had time to check. He was her first patient.

    Dismay changed to sudden concern, overruling her silent objection as the meaning of that sunk  in.

“What happened? Were you injured?”

    Connor looked puzzled and then his face cleared with a rueful twist of his lips. Rotating his left shoulder, he nodded to the computer. “It’s in my file, I’m sure. Gunshot wound several weeks back, followed by surgery to repair some damaged tendons. I believe it’s your job to help me gain as much strength back as possible.”

    Shot?

 Tamara pulled back from the urge to sink onto the desk chair before her wobbly legs took the choice from her. Instead, locking her knees, she reminded herself of her job. Given her reaction to seeing him again was as strong as always, she wasn’t happy about having to put her hands on him or with being subjected to his close presence for a few weeks. It is what it is, so get over it already. She’d been repeating that phrase for a long time and it looked like she would continue to do so.

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part seven) Fandom: Supernatural AU Characters series: Reader, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Ellen Singer-Harvelle, Jo Singer (Harvelle), Benny Lafitte, Ash Miles, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Castiel Novek, and many more. Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually) Word count: ±6650 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family.  Summary part seven: While Dean makes a tough decision regarding who has to leave the ranch, Y/N finds it more and more difficult to keep her feelings in check.  Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Thin Line - honeyhoney (bar scene), Ride to Death - Carter Burwell (evening ride scene), Wonderwall - Ryan Adams (scene under the Joshua tree). Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @kittenofdoomage and @girl-with-a-fandom-fettishfor helping me. You girls are awesome betas. 

Ride With Me Masterlist

     Dean pulls his head out of the refrigerator with six bottles of Corona hooked between his fingers. After he straightens his back, he pops off the cap with an opener, repeating the action until all bottles are opened. He’s about to break out the whiskey for his uncle, when the ranch owner hobbles towards the bar. The wrangler doesn’t really register him, though, because as his hands work swiftly, he watches his crew. The group of young men and women laugh over a - without a doubt - exaggerated story told by Benny, as they down the first round of the evening. It's Friday and the night is still young. With a day off in foresight, the workers allow themselves to enjoy the evening to the fullest. Dean will go easy on the alcohol, he has the early shift tomorrow.      Amongst the group of staff, there is one person in particular who brings a smile to his face. Y/N’s laughter carries through the saloon, mixing with the country music that comes from the jukebox. It’s a great sound, one that causes the corners of his mouth to creep up. Jo and Ash are teaching her how to play poker and so far she’s terrible at it, but that doesn't seem to matter. She’s having tons of fun and gets along great with the others. Still wearing a smile, Dean glances down when he pours the amber liquor into the whiskey glass, sets it down on the bar after which he slides it towards Bobby. As if he knows who is on the wrangler's mind, he glances over at the intern as well.      “So how’s our ‘wannabe cowgirl’ doing?” the ranch owner wonders.

     A chuckle rumbles deep down Dean’s throat. He remembers calling her that when he shared his concerns with Bobby on the night of her arrival.      “She survived the first week,” he admits. “Y/N’s a good fit. Still has a lot to learn, but she works hard and she’s smart.”     “So, what you're sayin’ is that the intern isn't a total disaster like you predicted?” Bobby continues, his brow raised.      “You just wanna hear me say you were right, don't ya?” Dean returns, amused either way.      Bobby’s face shows a glimpse of a smile while nursing the tumbler of whiskey.       “Maybe.”      The young man shakes his head grinning as he takes a swig from his Corona. “What I'm sayin’ is that you got lucky. You know this could have gone south,” he returns, not giving his uncle the satisfaction.      “It could have,” the ranch owner admits. “But I had to get creative; talking about things going south.”

     The tone of the conversation changes instantly, leaving a heavy silence. Smiles die, their heads dip down, and gone is the pleasant Friday night feel. Dean is fully aware of where this conversation is heading towards. The issue has been bothering him for an entire week now. He has to decide who of his men to let go      “Have you made up your mind yet?” Bobby asks his right hand.      Dean nods, letting a sigh slip from his lips. He feels like he’s about to snitch on a friend. But this is business, it's what's necessary for the ranch to survive. It’s not personal, and yet it is, because it’s pulling on his heartstrings when he pronounces the name.      “Ash.” 

     Dean’s eyes land on the group at the long table again. The Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie from Kentucky with tattoos on his arms and the wind in his hair is the one who has to go. It wasn't an easy decision, but it was the logical one. With the livestock reducing to only sixty cows and their calves, he will not have enough work to fill his day. What also weighs in, that Ash was hired last. Nevertheless, Gold Canyon is his home and he is a part of this family. He watches the guy, how he points out the pair of jacks in the open card game they are playing to teach the intern Texas Hold’em. The genuine smirk on his face is followed by a backhand down five when she wins. Poor dude, he has no idea what he’s about to lose.      “I’ll break it to him after the weekend.”      The voice of the old man, who seems to have aged during their chat, is sad and burdened. It's clear as a bell that laying off Ash is the last thing he wants for the bull rider, who he took under his wing half a decade ago. It’s a position Dean doesn't want his uncle in; the troubled ranch owner has enough on his plate as it is.      “I’ll do it,” he offers.      “Nah, I got this one, son,” Bobby says, reassuring him as he reaches across the bar to put a hand on his shoulder. “Join‘em, make the most of tonight.”      His nephew nods while picking up the drunks, and heads for the table, after glancing at Bobby Singer another time. Dean swallows down the guilt and worry before he takes a seat, leaving his company oblivious to the dark clouds that are gathering above them.       “So, how's it going? Do I have a new competitor yet?” he asks both Ash and Y/N while he gives out the beers.      “I'm getting the hang of it,” she returns confidently, picking up the two cards Garth just dealt.      Dean watches the young woman without her noticing, too focused on the game. Ash observes every action over the shoulder of his apprentice without helping her this time and is proud when she wins once again with three eights.      “Beginners luck,” Jo scoffs, pushing the pot in her friend’s direction.      “Keep telling yourself that.” Y/N grins at the blonde from across the table.

     It’s Jo’s turn to shuffle when a group enters. Distracted by the squeaking sound of the double doors, Y/N looks up, noticing that Casey is amongst the guests. Ignoring the heavy feeling in her chest, she directs her eyes back to the cards, the bright smile on her lips toned down. Expecting Dean to have his eyes on his probable fix for tonight, her gaze wanders. He noticed the pretty brunette, but it’s not Casey he’s looking at. As Y/N glances over, so does he, and they both seem to feel caught for busting each other. She cannot help but wonder why he would be checking on her, though. Was he curious about her response?       “Hey, handsome.”      Dean smiles up at Casey, who positions herself behind his chair, laying her delicate hands on his shoulders as she kisses him on the cheek. He forces himself to come off as sincere, but there’s an anchor restraining him.      “Hey,” he responds. “Had a nice ride?”      “I did. Would have been better if you were there,” she flirts.

     The game continues, but Jo doesn't deal for him, assuming that the two are going to leave for the bunkhouse anyway, like they usually do whenever Casey is here. After giving out the cards, the ranch owner's daughter peeks up from her hand, noticing her friend, who tries to mask the annoyance and disappointment to what is happening on the other end of the table. When she looks up, Jo’s brown eyes lock on hers as she lifts her chin shortly, the mimic asking if her friend is okay. Y/N nods and fakes a smile, but loses this game anyway.

     “Hey, you wanna get outta here? To have another sort of ride,” Casey whispers in Dean’s ear as she leans in.      He gulps down his beer and sets down the bottle. Her offer should sound tempting, then why isn't he intrigued? Instinctively, his eyes slip over to Y/N again. She seems to be concentrated on the game of poker, but she’s not at ease like she was a minute ago. This time she doesn't grant him any recognition of his existence.      “I - uh…” he starts, brought back to the conversation when Casey softly massages his tense shoulder muscles. “I had a busy week and I have to work tomorrow, so I'm gonna hit the hay early.”      “I can come along and help you relax,” she presses, now wrapping her arms around his neck.

     Y/N picks up on Casey’s offer and grinds her teeth. Suddenly she’s angry with herself. How could she be so stupid to let herself get swooned off her cowboy boots by that scumbag ? Sure, she fought it, she denied it, but at the same time, she found hope in every smile he threw at her, in his flirts and compliments. How could you possibly think for even one short second that he only has eyes for you?! What makes you so special?  

     When Y/N loses to Benny again, she glances at her watch. Ten past nine; it's not too late to train with Meadow. She was reluctant to leave the fun a moment ago, but now leaving the Saloon seems like the best idea she has had all week. Y/N gets up, attracting confused looks from the company.      “You're leaving?” Jo assumes.      “Yeah, I still have to train Meadow,” Y/N excuses.      “You're gonna ride now ?” Dean responds, perplexed. “We were just having fun.”      “No one ever improved their skills by getting plastered and by just having fun, Dean,” she responds, his name coming out with a sneer. “If you want to own it, you've got to work for it.”

     The cowgirl gets up and pushes the chair back under the table, the sound of its legs scratching the wooden floor breaking the silence. As she turns around to leave, her eyes meet Jo’s, who has a ‘you tell’im, girl!’ grin on her face. The doors flap after she walks through them, and the men at the table chuckle.      “She's a diehard, that’s for sure,” Ash says.       “Yeah...” Dean acknowledges, confused. “She is."

     He watches her go for a few more seconds, determined strides, frustration in the sound of her footsteps. What the hell was that all about? For someone who claims to be strictly business, she turned pretty defensive when Casey got a little clingy. Oh, he caught the true meaning behind her words, alright. Is she really implying that if he wants her, he has to step up his game? If that’s the case, this might actually be a good thing. Yes, she’s annoyed with him right now, but this could mean he has an actual shot.      “So, what do you say?” Casey asks again, pressing a seducing kiss in his neck.      He glances up at the gorgeous young woman. She is pretty, wavy brown hair frames her flawless face, some freckles sprinkled on her nose and cheeks. Under that blue blouse and bootcut jeans, there is the body of a pinup girl. One who knows how to get a man’s engine running, which he had the pleasure of experiencing more than once. Dark, lustful eyes tell him all about what she has in store for him once she gets him alone. Yet for the first time, he’s not interested.      “I'm gonna have to pass,” Dean decides.      Somewhat stunned, Casey keeps a hold of the wrangler’s gaze, giving him a second to reconsider. When he doesn't, she creates a little distance and straightens her back.      “Alright then,” she huffs. “Your loss.”      The brunette strides away towards the bar, leaving the poker players in awkward silence. Ash and Garth follow the gorgeous beauty with their eyes, then simultaneously turn their heads to look at Dean, perplexed.      “Dude, did you just piss off two women in one minute? That's impressive, even for you,” Ash comments.      Jo snorts, her beer almost coming from her nose. Dean glares at her.      “What?” she counters. “You just turned down a female specimen of the human race. We should call 12 News.”      “Are you done?” Dean replies, agitated.      Before Jo can throw in another cocky counter, Benny lays down a flush and gets up as he clears his throat.      “If you kids will excuse me. I've got a fish to reel in. Keep the change."      He winks at Dean, who nods back at his friend as a sign of consent. The head wrangler held his part of the agreement, and Benny is going to take full advantage of that. He watches how the farrier settles down on the barstool next to Casey, complimenting the beautiful girl with his irresistible accent, after which he offers her a drink.       “That slick Southern bastard, he’s going to have her in his bed before she knows it,” Ash says, eying at the pair with an impressed look on his face, but then he rises from his seat. “How about some pool, y’all?”      Garth gets up to follow him, but Dean declines.      “I'll be right up,” Jo promises.      When the guys move over, Jo corners her cousin. She gets up, walks around the long table and feels his forehead.      “Jo, don't be ridiculous.” He smacks her hand away. “I'm not sick.”      “Then what the hell is going on with you?” she asks, confronting. “Casey is your usual set of hooters to honk. Since when do you just turn that down?”      “Since now,” the head wrangler answers shortly.      “Why?”      The head wrangler sighs annoyed. “Because I got bored.”       “Because your eye caught something shinier,” Jo corrects. “Dean, Y/N is off limits.”      “Says who?!” he argues.      “Says me!”      “You can't tell me who I can or can't--”      “- fuck and dump when you're done with her?" his little cousin interveans. "Yeah, I can! She's my friend, damn it!”      “Your friend?” Dean scoffs, fighting with Jo as siblings would. “You barely know her. This is her fifth day!”      “Since when is there a mandatory minimum time on friendship?” she cries out. “I care about her and you know just as well as I do that she’s gonna end up with the trash like Casey.”       Dean shrugs, finding her arguments invalid. “Casey doesn’t give a shit.”       “But Y/N will,” Jo brings to mind. “You will leave her a heartbroken mess when you’re done with her. She’ll go home cryin’ and you know damn well we’re gonna need her.”      That comment triggers Dean to furrow his brow. Being the daughter of the owner has its perks. Apparently, she’s aware of the financial problems that are threatening the company.      “How much do you know?” Dean questions with a lowered voice.      “I know there's gonna be a layoff and that we are gonna need all the free help we can get,” Jo states, whispering.      The head wrangler sighs, checking on his crew at the pool table. His eyes linger when he spots Ash, who pockets number thirteen and repositions himself behind the white ball for his next turn.      “Dean, you can't afford to screw around,” his cousin adds.      I’m not screwing around, is on the tip of his tongue, but he keeps his mouth shut. He’s not going to let his cousin in on something he doesn’t understand himself.      “She's not going anywhere, I'll make sure of that,” Dean assures, calmer than a moment ago.      “She better not, ‘cause if she does, that’s gonna be on you.”      With those words, the youngest Singer gets up and heads for the pool table as well. Dean watches her, staying behind with only his beer for company. Burdened, he drops his head, his jaw tensing. Great. One of his good friends is going to get fired next week, he doesn't feel like blowing off steam with Casey, and Jo won't even allow him to be with the girl he’s after. Not that she's falling for his usual tricks, anyway. Just fucking great.       With a sigh he downs his beer, which lost its spark, causing him to make a face at the bland taste. Then he gets up and exits the Saloon. Leaving the muffled sounds of music, conversation, and laughter behind, he slouches down the porch. The evenings are pleasantly warm, now that the monsoon season is reaching the home stretch. The night sky is so clear, that a thick ribbon of stars meanders across, the absence of light pollution allowing the Milky Way to shine brightly.       Going over tonight’s decisions once again, Dean heads towards the bunkhouse, when two individuals catch his eye. About a hundred yards ahead, Benny has his arm around Casey as they stroll up to the front door. Before he opens it, she tiptoes when the farrier turns towards her, meeting him in a hot kiss.       “Benny, you sly dog,” Dean grins.      Surely, he grants his friend the home run, but a part of him thinks of passing up Casey as a loss, now that he will be left empty-handed. The early night isn't going to happen either, since Benny’s room is next to his. He halts as the two enter the bunkhouse, passionately making out, then he breathes out a humid cloud of air. No way in hell he is going to listen to those two banging their heads against the backboard for the rest of the evening. Dean turns around, considering to head back to the Saloon, but then he notices the lighted outdoor arena. He almost forgot; Y/N is still at the barn. Maybe this evening does not have to be a total loss after all. Jo’s voice whales in the back of his mind, but it doesn't stop him from heading over. He’s just going to have a talk to clear the air, no harm in that, right?      Under the stars, he strolls towards the outdoor arena, listening to the crickets which chirp loudly in the dry grass. The two lanterns spread brightness over the otherwise dark and deserted lands, creating long shadows on the ground where the fencing blocks the rays. A horse moves steadily on a large circle, relaxed and in harmony with her rider. Y/N has not noticed Dean yet, too concentrated to pick up on the spectator. There is a peacefulness in the air that distracts him from the troubles on his mind. The coolness of the night causes Meadow to breathe out warm clouds with every third beat of the gait, leaving a misty trail behind her, like a steam train puffing out clouds rhythmically. The silhouette of horse and rider passes by the fence every time they come between the wrangler and the light is as if he’s watching an eclipse. It brings a smile to the cowboy’s face. Bobby was right; Y/N is talented.

     Slowly, he strolls up to the gate, moving into the yellow rays coming from the high masts. This time she does notice him and eyes the head wrangler, perplexed. He is the last person she expected to see here at this hour, especially since Casey couldn't wait to drag him away to do all kinds of dirty things to him.      “H - hey,” she stammers, half surprised, half confused.      “How is she doing?” he wonders while nodding at the horse, more to get the conversation going.       Suddenly self-conscious about every move she makes, Y/N sits back slightly and lets her mare transition to an easy walk, loosening the reins and petting her on the shoulder with her free hand.      “She’s good, a little fresh,” she responds. “I didn't expect you here.”      “I was on my way to the bunkhouse, saw the lights,” Dean explains casually.      The rider barely smiles at that, still unsure how to behave around him after the way she left the Saloon thirty minutes ago. An awkward silence follows and she decides to continue her training to keep busy. With a forward motion of the hand and a small aid with the legs, Meadow swiftly pushes into a lope, head down and light on the bit, as she should be. The muscles of the well-developed Quarter horse roll under her shiny coat with every stride, flexing and relaxing again. It might look like child’s play, and yet Y/N was less nervous for the Nationals last year than she is now. She can feel Dean’s eyes on her, watching every move closely.       As he does, the wrangler climbs the steel fence, hooking his heels behind the middle bar and resting the palm of his hands on the top one for balance. Intrigued, he observes the training, reading into her skills. Now that she’s aware of him, her riding seems a little stiffer than it was before. Is she actually nervous now that he's here? His presumption is confirmed when she turns in the other direction halfway in a circle through a flying change. Her timing is far from perfect and the horse changes from a left to a right lope a stride too late, unable to translate the aid into an action before the perfect moment mid-stride. Despite the mistake, Y/N tussles Meadow’s manes. For a second Dean wonders if it’s because she didn't recognize the timing being off, but then she performs the exercise again, nailing it this time. Dean smiles at that, content with her method of training. Meadow did exactly what her rider inquired of her, it was the rider who inquired wrong. Where plenty would have corrected the horse or even punished it, Y/N didn't, because she was very much aware that it was a human error. After only a couple of minutes, he has a pretty good idea what kind of rider she is. Truly feeling what happens under the saddle is something most people will never get down. It’s almost like an extra sense, a skill only so many equestrians have. Y/N is one of those gifted equestrians. How she handled that communication error, is what separates horse riding from horsemanship.       Satisfied, Y/N uses her seat to bring Meadow back to an easy walk, after which Y/N lets her move around freely; the mare is done for today. Now that her horse doesn't require her full attention any more, she is forced to deal with the handsome yet overbearing spectator. Why on earth is he even here? Isn't he supposed to be getting laid right now? Oh yes, seeing him with Casey rubbed her the wrong way. She’s fully aware of that fact, and he probably is too. Should she have let him push her buttons like that? No. Was it his intention to mess her up? Probably not. Was she overreacting when she barked at him back at the Saloon? Maybe a little.       “Feel better now?” he asks out of the blue.      Y/N furrows her brow, glancing over when she rides by his spot on the fence, trying to sense in which direction he is going. “What do you mean?”      Dean shrugs, dropping his gaze to the sand for a moment. “For me, a good ride usually works as a stress reliever, and you seemed on edge earlier.”      As the rider cools down Meadow by walking her on a free rein, she considers her options carefully before she speaks. Darn, so he did notice. Then again, the sneer she fired at him was hard to miss. Denying it isn't going to do her much good, so she might as well skip past it.      “I'm fine. Who needs meditation when you spend time on the back of a horse, right?” she replies.      She wasn't keeping up an appearance, because Dean is right. Her mood did change for the better the moment she opened the stable door and was greeted by her four-legged friend. By the time she settled on her back, the whole thing seemed silly and unimportant.       “Especially on a horse like that. She’s good,” Dean compliments. “The rider could use a lesson or two…”      Y/N stares at him over her shoulder self consciously, turning Meadow around to face the cowboy. Is he serious? But when she spots the smirk on the wrangler’s face, followed by the subtle wink, she cannot help but chuckle.      “Let me guess: you should be the one teaching me,” she fills in.      “I can't think of anyone more capable,” he grins, his eyes sparkling like the stars above.      “Of course you can't,” she laughs as Meadow halts, allowing her to swing her leg over the back and smoothly lower herself until her feet reach the ground.      Glad to have gotten rid of the awkwardness, Dean gets down from the fence and opens the gate. Y/N leads the Quarter mare to the tack up area under the tree and her company follows, hitting the light switch when he passes it. The arena spots die down, leaving the only light to come from inside the barn together with the moon and galaxy above. As she takes off Meadow’s bridle and replaces it with a leather halter, she cannot help but to analyze herself. When she angrily speed-walked from the Saloon to the stable with her fists clenched in her pockets, she was calling Dean out for being a dirty scumbag with no respect for women whatsoever. But now that he’s here and apparently still takes an interest in her, a part of her is thrilled by that matter, and steadily overrules.      Y/N, you know better than this! He just wants to get in your pants! He will dispose of you like an empty coffee container when he’s done with you! She continues the inner dialogue while loosening the girth, after which she lifts the heavy saddle off Meadow’s back.      “I got it,” Dean says, taking over the twenty-five-pound load.      He holds the back of the saddle on his hip, balancing it by gripping the gullet. As if it weighs nothing at all, the wrangler heads to the tack room. Amused, Y/N watches him from under her Stetson hat, her eyes taking him in from top to bottom. Oh, you just cannot help yourself, can you? Meadow snorts impatiently and rubs her head against her shoulder. She is making herself perfectly clear; the Queen doesn't have time for this and wants to get to her hay, pronto. After a quick brush Y/N leads her to her stable and puts a rug on the horse to protect her from the cold in the early hours. Buried in thoughts, she enters the tack room where Dean is about to put the saddle away. She watches him push the saddle upon the highest rack on the wall, his strong arms working under his plaid shirt.       “Can I ask you something?” she wonders while she stores away the brushes, leg protection, and bridle.      “Shoot,” he says, as the two of them exit the room, which the head wrangler locks up.      The cowgirl hesitates, her footsteps suddenly loud and obvious when she begins to walk down the hall between the stables. “It might be a little straightforward--”      “Really? You being straightforward?” he interrupts, a smug grin on his face. “Now, that I wasn't expecting.”       She glares at the handsome cowboy, but can't suppress the smile either. The sarcasm is practically dripping off his comment and she bumps her shoulder into his.      “Watch it,” she warns. “You’re not entirely on my good side yet.”      A last glance into the quiet stable is sufficient to reassure Dean that the horses are alright until the final feeding round. He leaves the light on for his uncle and exits the barn through the large doors.      “Yeah, about that. What did I do to make you storm off?”      The two of them walk out, back to the tack up area. For a moment Y/N thinks of an answer, but nothing that she can come up with sounds reasonable. To be fair, she’s not even sure if she’s ready to admit why she got so frustrated with him. Dean is a free man, who can see whoever and do whatever he pleases. Yet when Casey put her arms around him and got intimate, she felt a prick in her heart. Her stupid, stupid heart wanted to be the one close to him, even though her smart mind is trying to keep it together and do the respectable thing.       “It was nothing, really,” she excuses, not giving him much of an explanation.       Dean glances aside, reading into the doubt in her voice. What is it, that she doesn't want to tell him? Could it be, that in that moment, she was jealous of Casey? He thinks about it for a second, as he slowly strolls to the big Joshua tree in the center of the square. He has played a lot of girls, but that sure as hell was not what he was doing here. He never intended to lure Y/N out of hiding, though her response to the situation raises a question. If watching him and another girl really bothered her that much, does that mean that she is interested in him? Confused, he bites the inside of his cheek as he halts.      “What did you want to ask me?” he wonders.      For a moment there, she was lost in her own mind, but then Y/N redirects her focus and turns around to face him. Curious, he observes the young woman as he leans against the bark of the tall Yucca tree. The sight of Mister Green Eyes wonderingly looking over, forces her to take a breath before she speaks. Stars reflect in his pupils, the moon painting their surroundings in a silver hue. It reminds her of the hills back home, covered in frost at the arrival of winter. Dean’s short hair has been tousled by the hat he took off and now holds by the brim. The up-to-no-good smile is gone, but he seems content either way. God, isn't he lovely. Annoyed with herself for thinking such things, she looks down, figuring that not being mesmerized by his gorgeous looks might help her keep it together.       “I was just wondering…” she starts insecure. “I - I mean, you and Casey… Are you two…?”     Dean frowns at the presumption. So it was about Casey.       “Together? No.” He huffs, unable to picture it. “She and some friends rent a house here for a week or two a year to blow off some steam. We’ve hooked up a couple of times whenever she comes over, but it doesn't mean anything.”      Y/N digests the information and keeps her gaze pinned on the hat in his hands. It doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything. See? He doesn't care about Casey and he surely won't care about her either. But if he doesn't care for Casey, she doesn’t have to compete with anyone. Wait... She’s not actually considering making a move, is she? Y/N, you are under no circumstances making a move! she tells herself sternly. God, this is what schizophrenia must feel like.      Trying to distract herself from the voices in her head, she carries on with the conversation. “I'm sorry for asking. I know it’s none of my business, but I - I cannot help to wonder…”      Now she does look up, a little shocked when she realizes how close Dean is. His eyes are on her, peeling away the layers as he tries to make sense of what she’s struggling to say.      “If Casey is at the ranch, why are you here with me?”      Stunned, Dean keeps a hold of her gaze. She isn’t asking the obvious, but that is a damn good question. Casey offered herself on a silver plate back in the Saloon. Dean never experienced much trouble with the ladies, yet the brunette, in particular, couldn't wait to open her legs for the wrangler. He could have had her in his bed right now, letting her do all kinds of delightful things to him. Yet here he is, opposite of the girl that has been giving him a hard time from the get-go. The thought of Casey did nothing for him, he simply wasn’t interested in the regular ranch guest. Why is that? Brought out of balance by the question, he chuckles nervously and breaks eye contact, fiddling with the brim of his hat again. Slowly it starts to sink in. Why he would much rather be here with Y/N under the Joshua tree. Why he felt the need to protect her from Benny’s lust. Why he lost interest in any other girl. Why every wandering thought, every daydream he had in the past week, was somehow about the one person standing before him.      He looks up at her again and something within him changes. A tightness in his chest that he has never experienced before makes it difficult to swallow. It's unpleasant, scary even, but the sight of her waiting in wonder takes away the discomfort. The faint light from the night’s sky caresses her hair and smooth skin. A pair of gorgeous eyes framed with long lashes watch, traces of hesitation in them, but also curiosity. God, she’s beautiful, he thinks to himself.

     Dean fails to answer her question with words. He doesn't have to. His mouth falls open just a little as he looks deep into her eyes with an intensity she is unfamiliar with, simply because no one has ever looked at her like that before. As if only now he came to realize what is happening between the two of them.      He can tell that she understands now, because her insecurity makes way for astonishment.       “Oh…” she responds, flustered, a shy smile growing larger.      He mirrors her expression without letting go of her gaze. His pupils bounce between hers as he leans in hesitatingly. Every fiber he consists of wants to kiss the enchanting cowgirl before him and he cannot stop his eyes from flicking down at her lips for just a moment, then up again. Would she let him? What are you waiting for? Just go for it, Dean lectures himself. This isn't the first time he’s kissed a girl, however, doubt overwhelms him. What if she pulls back? What if he ruins it? Could he handle that? Before the cowboy can decide to act or not to act, she looks down and lets out a shuddering breath, the anticipation becoming too much.       “Are you cold?” he asks kindly, quickly covering up the awkwardness.      She crosses her arms in front of her chest and nods. Not only did Meadow get a workout, so did her rider. Her clammy undershirt has turned stone cold and sends goosebumps down her arms. Or is it Dean who is doing that?      “Let’s get inside. Wouldn't want you to catch something,” he suggests, not having a jacket to offer.      She agrees to that, because the warmth of the bunkhouse sounds pretty good. In silence they stroll towards the cabin, her shoulders hunched in an attempt to keep the cold at bay, as Dean walks by her side. Overcome by the rush of mixed emotions, she glances at him from under her hat. He seems to be pondering, without a doubt going over the past minute. That one moment that Dean’s reason for wanting to be around her became clear, with nothing more than a look. Holy mother, he was going to kiss you, and you glanced down? Why would you do that? What were you thinking?! She could kick herself in the head right about now. It was the responsible thing to do, to avoid things from getting complicated, to keep their relationship strictly business. But dear God, she wanted him to close that gap and press his lips on hers.       Dean walks up the porch and opens the door, after which he holds the fly curtain aside so that Y/N can pass through. As soon as she steps into the bunkhouse, peculiar sounds coming from one of the rooms draw her attention. Squeaking in a steady pace mixed with moans of both male and female, followed by a muffled ‘oh yeah’ and ‘right there’. Dean, who was about to pull the door shut, freezes mid-action when the noise reaches his hearing. Well then, this situation just went through the awkward scale. Y/N slowly turns to him, eyes wide in shock as she mouths ‘Oh my god!’ and he can't contain the quiet laughter.      “Who’s in there?” she whispers.      “My two cents: Benny and Casey,” he replies, keeping his voice down.      “Are you serious?” she returns, watching him shrug. “She lost no time, did she?”      “Like I said: it didn't mean anything,” he assures, grinning at her judgment. “Besides, you’re much better company anyway.”      Y/N can feel the heat rising to her face again. She opens her mouth to return the compliment, when the sounds from the other room intensify. Dear Lord, those two are really going at it.       Dean chuckles, awkwardly rubbing his neck. “I'm gonna get some shut-eye, if I can with those rabbits next door.”      “Yeah, me too,” she says, shaking her head as she makes a mental note to dig up a set of earplugs from her suitcase.      In the doorway Y/N turns around, granting herself a last look at the man that is stealing her heart away. “Good night.”      “G’night,” Dean returns with a soft voice, keeping a hold of her gaze as well until she shuts the door.      The sounds of the couple in the other room is all that is left, a painful reminder of his loneliness. Could this evening have played out differently if he had kissed her? It probably could have. Shit, what if he wasted his only shot? For a few seconds the wrangler lingers, but then turns towards his room, where he sits down on the edge of his empty bed. Banning the noises of pleasure next door from his mind, Dean forks his fingers together as he leans his forearms on his knees. He's so confused by his own thoughts and how he’s responding to them, that he doesn't seem to know himself anymore. For some reason his conscience is telling him not to rush this, to take it one step at a time. What if for once in his life, this could grow into something more than just a fling?      At the same time, another voice raises awareness for the mixed signals she’s been giving, because she hasn’t exactly sent him a private invitation. And even if she does go along with it for a little while, what happens when she truly gets to know him? What happens when she learns about his tainted past, the family drama, his flaws and missteps? What happens when she sees him for who he truly is, under the mask and the pile of bullshit? The only reason why he can live with himself is because he swept the dirt under the carpet a long time ago and keeps pretending it's not there. When she knows, she will leave, he’s sure of it, and the thought of that alone scares him already. But it’s his heart that shouts the loudest, practically begging to throw himself at her. His heart which was rooting for that kiss. His heart which finally seems to have found what it had been silently waiting for.       Pondering, Dean rubs his face and glances at the desk clock on his nightstand, which shows the time at 10.47 PM. Next to it, a picture stares back, portraying his Mom with her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling her four-year-old son against her chest lovingly. Like he has so many times over the years, he wishes she was still alive. Right about now, this lost wanderer could use someone to point him in the right direction.

The pining! They were so close! Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part eight here