#COYOTE IN HEELS MOMENT

[iamnorthstrike]

"Still trying to track down that treasure...?"

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE COYOTE IN HIGH HEELS AND IT TURNED INTO A WHOLE DESKTOP WALLPAPER– 😭✨

Kudos to @uncommondumdum for giving me this idea, go check out her work as well they're incredibly talented !!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Animal Instinct

Warnings: noncon/dubcon, violence, and dark elements

My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your love of animal attracts a new type of beast. 

Character: Kraven the Hunter

Dedicated to my dear @honeybee-reads

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Barley is at your heels as you throw out a handful of peanuts into the grass. The squirrels scale down the trees and the crows plunge down to steal a few for themselves. Chipmunks pop up from their burrows and cluster around the next scatter you toss. There are a few brave enough to come up and claim a shell directly from your hand. 

You watch the critters for a while then grab the bag of seed to fill the feeder. You pour into the opening in the top of the house-shaped trough. A rush of feathers and tweets comes in response and you back up to watch the birds eat. 

Your life is simple. Quiet. And small. It’s just you, your dog, Barley, and whatever other creatures wander this far out. 

You sit on the steps and scratch Barley’s head. You’re startled as he pops up onto all fours and bounds across the yard. You call after him but he doesn’t respond. 

He stops, fixated on the brush. Even in the morning light, there are pockets of shadow nestled between the leaves and branches. You call him again, even whistle, but he just stands and stares. His ears are back, his tail low. There’s hardly a moment when he isn’t wagging incessantly. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. He’s never done that. Not even when that coyote showed up by the fire one night. He usually tries to play with anything he finds. 

You get up and look around. You grab the garden shove and slowly approach the brown labrador. His nose is sniffing, his head moving subtly, as he stares into the bushes. 

You peer out but don’t see much. There’s a waft of pine and dirt but nothing else. Your nose isn’t as strong as his. 

“Bar,” you touch his head and he flinches, stamping his feet, then spins and wiggles his butt happily as if he hadn’t noticed you. 

You scratch behind his ear and turn back, commanding him back to the house. He looks off again into the woods before he obeys. You walk together to the back porch. You notice then how the birds and squirrels and all have disappeared; the feeder is still full and some peanuts still litter the grass. 

As you go inside, you realize you still have the shovel in hand. You don’t know what you expected to ward off with it. You put it on the ledge of the kitchen window. You try to shake off the strange feeling gnawing at you. 

When you looked into the trees, you saw nothing, but you felt something. Like you were seen by whatever you could not spot. Barley pushes his cold nose into your palm. You stroke his nose as much to comfort yourself as him. 

You distract yourself with your usual chores. You feed Barley and yourself. You sit and eat at the table. Then you wash the dishes and put them away. You sweep up the dirt you tracked in then hunker down to read. 

You get through half a chapter before you grow restless. Barley’s tapping around the kitchen, no doubt looking for stray morsels. You go out to put the kettle on and let him into the back. You can see him through the back window. Besides he doesn’t go very far. 

You watch him pee and circle around the grass. You set the kettle on the burner but keep from turning it on. You look back to the window as Barley hurdles towards the trees barking. 

“Woah!” You race to the back door. 

You stagger out to catch him but he’s gone before you’re halfway to the trees. You stop before them, breathless. You shout for him, whistle for him. You plunge through the bushes only to be flung back. The hand on your throat sends you sprawling across the grass. 

You hit your ass and whimper as the pang in your tailbone tingles to your toes. You prop yourself up on your elbows and gape at the man standing before you. His dark hair is filthy, his beard and face too. He looks feral as his blue eyes glimmer at you and his fists ball tightly as he growls. 

He steps closer and you push yourself back with your heels and hands. You have no chance to wonder how he got there or why he’s there. He lunges on you and you cry out. 

“Ah, please,” you whine. 

His hand covers your mouth and he snarls again. You stare up at him, horrified as he straddles you between his knees. He tilts his head, his lip curling like predator before a feast. Shanks of his dusty brown hair fall forward and shadow his features. 

He reaches back and dislodges something from the back of his belt. He raises the knife with the hooked tip and you writhe as you clasp onto his wrist. He aims it at you and swings it down. He stops it just above your cheek and hushes you. 

You quiet and blink as your eyes gloss with terror. He pokes you lightly with the blade and peels his hand from your mouth. You lay paralysed on the grass, your body locked up with fear. He drags the blade along your jaw and throat. 

He bears his teeth as he trails down your chest and snags the top of your shirt. He cuts through the fabric, backing up as he rents it open to the hem. He comes to rest above your pelvis as your breaths turn shallow and rampant. 

He uses the knife to push aside the shorn fabric and his eyes drink in the sight of your torso. He slips the blade beneath the front of your bra and snaps it easily. You curl your fingers into the dirt, crushing strands of grass, as he bends over you. 

His nose touches yours and he growls again. He nuzzles you roughly then pinches your lower lip between his teeth. You quiver as he nipples on it then proceeds to drag his nose down your chin. He retraces the path along your throat and curls his shoulders as he gropes one side of your chest and wraps his lips around your nipple. 

Your cheeks wet as your fear spills over. He kneads your flesh, suckling and teething, snarling as the pressure plucks inside of you. He inhales, as if smelling you as much as tasting you. 

His hand crawls down your stomach as his other comes up to press the knife against your neck. You flatten yourself as much as you can. He picks at the laces of your drawstring pants. He tugs and rolls them down as he lifts himself on his knees. 

He shoves his hand between your thighs. You whimper but don’t resist. You’re too confused to do anything but let him. He swipes two fingers along the crease of your lips then delves between them. You squeak in surprise as he flicks over your clit. He swirls around it until you quake even harder. 

He sits back on his heels and watches himself place with you. He drags the knife down to trace lazily around your tits as he rubs between your folds. You slicken at his unwelcome touch. Shame speckles across your flesh. 

He pushes his hand further back and bends his fingers. He dips inside of you and you croak. You seal your lips and turn your face away. He slips in and out, as if exploring you, seeing how much he can do. 

He turns the knife in his hand and holds it flat over your stomach. He slowly pulls his fingers free and wipes your juices along your thigh. He bunches your pants at your knees and hooks his arm around your legs. He bends them as high as he can and lets them rest against his shoulder as he repositions himself. 

He leans on you as he unloops his arm from your legs. He reaches behind them and shifts on his knees. You close your eyes and dig your fingertips into the dirt. 

He growls again and he brings the swollen head of his dick along the back of your thigh. He brushes it up and down, smearing precum along your skin. He teases you with it until you’re whining and wriggling. 

He angles down and puts his tip against your thighs. Your legs part just enough for him to dip between. He uses his thump to push himself against your cunt. He stretches you around him, just an inch inside, and he takes a breath. He groans and brings his hand around to splay across your soft stomach. 

Your legs bend slightly, your feet just above his shoulder. You brace yourself and heave. You choke on your sobs as he forces your legs up even further. He snaps his hips and impales you in a single thrust. You shriek and arch your back, reaching to touch his hip. Ow. 

He snarls and does it again, lingering deep in you as he wiggles, testing your limit. You weep and latch onto the top of his slack pants. You shudder and dare to look at him, your lashes webbed with teardrops. 

“Please,” you beg. 

He ruts again and your voice evaporates. His eyes dilate, black almost to the rims, and he pounds into you with his long, punctuated strokes. Snap, snap, snap. Each thrust crushes you further into the dirt as he folds your legs higher and higher. 

You dig your nails into his forearm and bite your tongue. The pain is excruciating, but what’s worse, is that it doesn’t all hurt. As your body slowly awakens, responding to the rare touch, to his proximity, there’s worse than the physical invasion.  

There’s shame. There’s the awareness of everything single detail of your body and his. There’s the battle of pain and pleasure. Of you and him. And as you long for him to stop, you want just as badly for him to keep going. 

[chaoticgoblindev]

The Hat Rule

Pairing: Cowboy!Ghost x Fem!Reader

Pronouns used: She/Her

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, smut, cowboy hat rule, acquaintances to lovers, p in v, cussing, unprotected!sex, cowboy au, very self-indulgent heheh.

Summary: Visiting your Grandparent's farm leads to an honest mistake with the hot cowboy that worked there. 

Oftentimes you would visit your grandparents on their farm out in the country. Not out of the kindness of your heart, not because you missed them truly and loved them, but because of a certain cowboy who took care of the ranch. 

His name was ‘Ghost’, at least around the ranch it was, his real name was Simon. And oh boy was he intoxicating, plain and simple. Something about his brooding and seriousness had a certain weight on you that seeped straight to your core. He was the one thing exciting about the valley your Grandfather’s ranch resided in, kept things lively, and kept you coming back. Though these feelings festered not much was exchanged between the two of you. It was a crush, even when you desired more.

Upon a late afternoon, you found yourself on the porch of the ranch house, enjoying the sunset and breeze and taking in the beauty of the land. The mountains surrounding the valley gave a feeling of peaceful isolation like you were separated from the stress of the world. You closed your eyes to enjoy the moment when you heard a familiar voice call out to you. “Enjoying some fresh air, city girl?” Ghost chuckled, not that he needed to, you could just hear his smirk in the baritone levels of his voice.

Gazing up at Ghost, you saw him leaning against one of the beams that supported the porch with his arms crossed. His dark blue button-up was rolled to his elbows which exposed muscled forearms and a sleeve tattoo on his left arm. God. Was he TRYING to give you a heart attack? “Oh 'cause we don’t get enough in the suburbs right?” You smirked, enjoying the start of some usual casual banner. “I’ll have you know the 'fresh air’ here smells like cow shit.” 

Ghost’s eyes crinkled and chuckled slowly, “You got me there. Yet you keep coming back, must love it then?” His eyes flickered with a curious emotion you hadn’t seen before.

When your eyes widened at being put on the spot, you felt like you made a mistake, like you accidentally revealed all your secrets. Quickly your face reverted into an appeasing smile, “Got me there. I just love it here.”

Ghost hummed as he pushed off the beam and kicked at the dirt with the heel of his boot. He looked out the horizon like he was scanning the land before he spoke once more. 

“Got to get back to work, you’d best head inside when it gets dark. Coyotes like to linger ‘ere.” He huffed while glancing back down to you. You couldn’t help but get the feeling he was disappointed with something you said, which was unbearable alone in itself but the fact he gave you a curfew felt like he saw you as just his boss’s grandkid. “Wow, you’re giving me a curfew now, are you? Should I start calling you Daddy too?” The minute the words left your mouth you widened your eyes and dutifully slapped your mouth before staring up at him. Sometimes your intrusive thoughts won, and sometimes you wanted to jump the nearest bridge. “I- I didn't mean to say that.”

Ghost cut you off with a deep laugh, it sounded like heaven to you, “Fucking hell, kid. Yeah yeah sure, call me what you want, now go get your pretty ass inside and eat all your greens too.” He gave you a once over as you rushed inside with a reddened face, his eyes lingering on your ass and the jeans that clung to your curves in every right way. The front door shut and you disappeared from his sight. “Fucking hell doll..” He groaned.

_____

That night you lay in your bed with your face in the pillow, groaning with embarrassment. Ghost called you kid! How patronizing was that? Not only that but your loose lips ran you into the third most embarrassing event in your life.

Yet another thought lingered. He called you pretty, didn't he? He also didn’t seem put off by the comment so maybe…

Your thoughts led your mind into the dark depths of your imagination, your name on his lips, teeth nibbling at your skin, him and his body pressing down on you. Into you. Your hand trailed down your abdomen and past the hem of your panties as your mind wandered. Rubbing the already slick folds between your thighs you imagined his tongue trailing over your curves. How his hand would grab onto your ass, maybe even slap it. Would he be rough like you dreamed? Gentle? You let out a sigh as your fingers slide into your pussy and slowly pump in and out. It wasn’t enough anymore, the need and desire building more as you kept your whimpers silenced, aware of the way the old walls could echo in weird ways. The last thing you needed was your Grandparents hearing you getting off by imagining their ranch hand. Biting back an annoyed sigh, you glide your hands out of your core. It just wasn’t enough. You wanted him.

Finally, enough was enough, tomorrow you decided to make a move on him.

_______

By the grace of the universe, your Grandpa asked you to deliver a saddle that was shipped to the house and not the bunkhouse. It was a perfect opportunity. Now if your anxiety could just go along with the plan then it’d be great.

Luckily you didn't have to carry the hefty saddle down to the bunkhouse and were given the keys to the golf cart. The drive did little to ease your mind, the wind rolling along the tall grass and livestock chittering in the distance added noise to that busy mind of yours. The bunkhouse itself was built like a nice cabin, sizable enough to host a large group of people and close enough to the pastures for convenience. The neighs of horses nickering in the nearby stables covered the footsteps of someone approaching you.

“That the saddle your folks ordered?” Ghost asked, making you gasp and nearly drop the leather item from your hands but he reached around and grabbed it to keep it from falling. 

“Fuck you scared the shit outta me!” You grumbled while casting him a glare over your shoulder. He smirked and tipped his hat to you which somehow just annoyed you more. Your hand reached up and yanked the cowboy hat from his head with a huff, as you put it on you took another look at the saddle. “Yeah that’s it, it’s pretty hefty, glad I got the golf cart, otherwise carrying it down would’ve been a pain.” You sighed and turned your body to Ghost.

The intensity of his gaze startled you, had you done something wrong? Did you say something offensive? “What’s wrong?” Your voice came out in a hushed tone, nervous as to what he would say.

He smirked, shaking his head and taking a step closer to you which made you take an initial step back into the golf cart. His grip on the saddle loosened until it flopped onto the seat again.

“The hat,” Ghost started with a purr, placing his hands on the top of the golf cart and looking into your eyes, “you’re a clever minx aren’t you…”

Was this all about the hat? Maybe it was special to him, otherwise what the fuck was he talking about?

“Oh I am sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.” You began to lift the hat from your head when his hand caught your wrist.

“Do you know the rule about those there hats? About taking one from a cowboy and wearing it?” The husky accented drawl of his voice set your skin on fire and your eyes drifted to his lips then to his eyes.

“No… I don’t. what did I do wrong?” You couldn’t help but frown, assuming you might’ve broken some sacred cowboy superstition.

“Take the hat… means you gotta ride,” Ghost held your chin and pulled you close,  “And it doesn’t require a saddle or reins… just me.” He tilted his head and watched your expression carefully for any resistance or disgust.

“WHAT!? I didn’t know that though!” A blush captured your cheeks as you covered your face. You did know yet happened to forget, you heard rumors about it when your friends were joking about a cute country guy on a night out. 

Ghost seemed pleased with your response and pulled you away from the cart. “Well, it’s too late now, little lady.” He mused, his smile turning sly as he tossed you over his shoulder. “You gotta play by the rules like a good girl.” He laughed while taking you in the direction of the barn.

“Ghost- wait! Hey, put me down!” You thumped your fist into his back, you could feel your face flushed with embarrassment and hoped that no one could see y’all. Ghost continued to carry you, smirking when you lightly punched his back and delivered a slap to your ass in return.

“You have on the hat and now you must pay the price.” He taunted, walking towards the inside of the barn and kicking the door shut behind him. 

The cowboy placed you down in the middle of the barn, the two of you alone. “You get a free ride... literally.” Ghost added, leaning against a wooden beam and crossing his arms. His gaze never strayed from your lips as they parted to form a sentence. The embarrassment took away your voice and as you tried to form words, you took the time to scan the surroundings of the cruddy barn filled with grain and hay bales. It wasn’t much of a secret around the ranch that you had a crush on Ghost, no matter how good you thought you hid it. 

Rolling his shoulders back, he studied your form, a smirk tugging on his lips as he took a few steps towards you. He placed a gentle hand on your hip, his fingers squeezing your flesh as he looked down at you. “I know you have a big crush on me, sugar…” He whispered, his tone sending chills up your spine. “So, here’s your free ride…” Ghost cooed, his eyes glimmering as his other hand wrapped around the nape of your neck.

This was your chance, everything you wanted and more. Hell would freeze over before giving up an opportunity like this. So you leaned close, just to get a taste of him finally. Then he smiled and brought his hand away from your neck to cup your cheek and pulled you close until your lips came crashing together.

The yearning that was simmering in his soul was infecting, reaching to your heart and seeping into your core. He burned, in every way passion could burn, he searched your body like a temple of god, your lips his salvation. Ghost devoted his tongue to yours as he deepened the kiss, when he pulled away slightly his breath was labored. 

“You're the only thing on my mind recently...” He whispered.

The corners of your mouth skewed into a smile. “You’re the reason I keep coming back out here.” You admitted, licking your lips to taste the remnants of him.

Something about that answer made Ghost snap, he pulled you flush against him by your wrists as he kissed you once more. He licked your bottom lip before fully exploring your tongue with his. His hands squeezed your hips a final time before he lifted you and placed you on a sturdy barrel. Ghost stepped between your legs and parted them, one hand massaging your thigh softly while the other worked on unlatching his belt buckle.

“You want this? Wanted me so bad didn’t ya, sweet thing?” Ghost purred as he slowly began to inch his jeans down to reveal the hardened outline of his cock. It made you suck in a breath which caused him to chuckle. “You can take it, you're my sweet tough girl aren’t you?” He pecked your cheek with a soft kiss and finally let his jeans fall to his ankle.

“Ghost… please..” You breathed, peering up at him through your haze. Your core was weeping in want, just begging to be ravaged and filled. You pulled him tight against your body with your legs around his waist, the imprint of his dick grinding against the jeans you wore.

Ghost let out a groan and kissed you again, his body pressed against you some more while he fiddled with the buttons of your pants and tugged them down. He flashed his canines in his smile while gazing at you with a burning lust.  “I’ve been so damn eager for this, and I know you have too… the way you’ve been watching me, stalking me. Sweet girl… you think I didn’t notice?” He whispered and placed his hands on either side of your hips, his eyes baring down at you had an effect that made him feel imposing and larger than life. 

“Well, I certainly can tell you’re eager.” You teased him and rolled your hips against his just to feel the firm imprint of his dick begging to be freed. Ghost chuckled as he grabbed your hips, pulling you to the edge of the barrel.

"I'm glad you can feel that..." He whispered as his fingers hooked the belt loop of your jeans. "It's... been itching to get out." With one swift motion, he pushed your jeans down your legs before tossing them onto the barn floor. Ghost admired your body from where he stood, his hands rubbing the soft flesh of your thighs. He loved how they smushed against the barrel and parted for him. His eyes looked over your body like a present as he slowly began to unbutton your blouse and fondle your curves. The shirt fell and bunched at your wrists and he couldn’t help but kiss you again. “God… you’re perfect.”

“Ghost…” You breathed and looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him a slight head tilt and smile. His eyes darkened and in a swift maneuver, he had sat on the barrel with you in his lap. You yelped and gripped the hat on your head with one hand, the other on his shoulder as you stared at him with wide eyes.

“I want you screaming my name. So call me Simon, baby… Now Ride,” Simon demanded.

“Say please.” You chided.

The man huffed but wrapped his arms around your waist and set his chin on your chest. “Please, babydoll?” He muttered gruffly.

Something about turning such a burly man into a stubborn pleading mess made you grin. “Lemme help you then…” you whispered into his ear, easing your hips and sliding your underwear to the side. From your vantage point, you could see the way his eyes fixed on your wet cunt and the way he licked his lips.

“Already so wet for me, aren’t ya?” Simon chuckled and rolled his boxers down until his cock sprung free.

“Already so hard for me, aren’t you?” You mimicked but were busy with gawking at his size. 

Fuck.

Simon’s smoky tone captured your attention once more. “It’ll be alright love, we can make it fit..” he coaxed, rubbing circles into your hips. “Just take it inch by inch, yeah?”

You gave him a slow nod and glanced down to align yourself to him, gliding him between your folds. With a sharp inhale you slowly began to sink into him. Biting your lip, you make eye contact with Simon who looks at you gently, letting you take your time. 

Just as a little more than the tip pushed in, a hushed moan came from Simon. Giving it a few more adjustments you soon hit the base of his cock and shivered at the feeling, a soft whine sounded from your throat as you winced at the stretch.

“Just give it a second, you’re doing so well.” He groaned, placing his hands on your waist to massage the skin gently. Simon slowly began to move his hips, pulling back small amounts before sliding fully in again. He waited as your expression began to shift into one with pleasure, your soft moans and the slick of your cunt being the only noise in the barn. “Yeah, there you go. Such a good girl.” He coaxed, slowly adding to the pace he set.

You moaned out his name and he gave a kiss to your cheek as he worked you open. While you got used to the feeling your hips slowly matched his. Simon let out a moan as your body began to grind against him, his fingers gripping onto your ass as you rode him. "Oh, god..."

His body tensed under yours as he held back strained moans, his fingertips dug into your thighs as he looked at you with complete lust and desire. placed a hand onto your chest and leaned up to your ear as he spoke.

"You're a natural, guess our lessons paid off… or maybe, you’re just a dirty girl.” His hand wrapped around your neck in a gentle yet firm caress, he pressed his thumb down along your throat just enough to get a depraved noise. “Which one is it, sweetheart?” 

“Fuck ‘round n find out,” You smirked and clamped down on him with a strangled moan, adding, “You taught me well. It’s about time I put my skill to something worthy.” 

Simon leaned his head back and closed his eyes as you began to grind your hips down onto him. You switched between fucking yourself on his cock and drawing circles with your movements. He thrusted into you now and then, as if reminding you that he was still in charge. 

“Shit baby… That’s it, just like that.” He groaned, jutting his hips up harshly which caused you to yelp and clench around him. With the way he started to get desperate, you could tell he was getting close. You threw your head back and whimpered as you rode his cock. The feeling was unlike anything felt before and it was like the deepest parts of your soul were being reached. Simon’s breathing grew heavy and his mouth hung open as he panted for air. His fingertips dug deeper into your thighs as his head leaned backward once more. He grunted as his body tensed up, and his other hand came to your cheek as his eyes closed. "Come on, baby..." He muttered to you, his breaths hitting against your neck.

Feeling your climax slowly build, you moved your hips at a faster pace. Simon held onto your waist, aiding you with his thrusts. You both closed your eyes as you kissed, syncing together to chase the other’s highs with passionate instinct. “Fuck. I am so close, Si.” You gasped, your eyes rolling back at the way he reached your cervix.

Simon let out a muffled moan as he felt you twitching around him, your cunt clenching tighter around him as the two of you kissed, his hand left your hip and he slowly let his it drift to your thigh, his fingertips digging into your soft skin with every thrust. He groaned and slammed his hips into you before cumming with you.

"I should have thought about the cowboy rule with you a long time ago..." He chuckled softly, still feeling the pleasure of you surrounding him. 

“I should’ve taken your damn hat a long time ago..” You mirrored with a soft laugh, hissing as a full-body spasm shot up your spine and clenched around him, overstimulated from the recent orgasm that made your brain go hazy. “Mmm... Did you cum inside?”

Ghost looked up at you with a smirk, his teeth slightly bared as he spoke to you. "I might have..." He chuckled softly. He trailed his hand up and down your waist leaning close so the two of you were close together, he whispered in your ear, "I might have..." He repeated himself once more, his voice a murmur which made his breath hot against your ear.

You nodded and leaned against him in a limp-like fashion, exhausted from the work done. Simon let out a small hum of pleasure as you leaned into him. He placed a hand on your cheek and pulled you toward him, your mouths meeting in another kiss. "I needed you.” He mumbled, his lips meeting yours once more in a deep kiss.

Between the sweet and deep kisses, you replied, “Mmm- we should do this often.”

"I like the sound of that..." Simon mumbled against your lips, his breaths hitting against your skin as he kissed you along your jaw. "Whenever you want it," He said to you softly, his fingers beginning to trail down your cheeks, "Just come find me anytime on the ranch.... I'll give you the best ride of your life..." He smirked, still holding onto you but slowly beginning to pull you off him.

You helped him with getting up, raising your hips, and blushing when you felt his cum drip out and down your thighs. Simon’s breath hitched as he saw the essence seep out of you, his gaze slowly drifting down to your body and taking in every inch of it. He smirked, his fingers trailing down your stomach to your thighs. He chuckled, "You're a mess, doll." He pulled up his cowboy jeans and took a deep breath.  "You need anything from me right now, Sweetheart?... Some water? A towel for your body?" He spoke to you softly as he looked at you.

You pressed your thighs together to stop the juices from seeping out of your cunt, bending forward to pick up your underwear and shimmy it on. “No I don’t need anything, I am fine thank you.” 

Ghost nodded, and with a deep breath, he put on his cowboy hat as he watched you bend down to pick your clothes up off the barn floor.  "I'll uh.... just wait outside and give you some time to yourself to clean up" He chuckled softly, looking away as he did so. He stepped outside the barn and leaned up against the side of the building, looking at a few horses as he sighed and closed his eyes.

After a few minutes, you joined him approaching him with a slight limp, and stood next to him, glancing at the scenery. Your appearance was fixed up though any mascara you had on previously was slightly smudged on the corners of the eyes. “That was nice.” you began.

Ghost looked over at you as you stood next to him. He smiled and looked back up at the horses as you spoke. "It was, yeah." He chuckled and turned around to look at you for a moment. "I'm glad you came to see me." He said to you, his tone a bit quieter and more serious than usual. Ghost looked down at the floor for a moment, his expression a bit more pensive than normal. "So... you want to... do that again... sometime?" He sighed and looked down at his boots, his face hidden by the cowboy hat. "No pressure, though. I won’t press for more if you don’t want that.”

You cut him off with a laugh shaking your head. “No, I want more!” You coughed and spoke a bit more calmly and casually. “I mean- I like you and uh.. it would be nice to stay close...”

Ghost met your eyes and smiled, pulling you into a hug. “Sure thing, baby.”

[notroosterbradshaw]

My Father's Eyes - prologue

about: Bradley comes to terms with growing up without a father to guide him while quickly adapting to become one himself… to a child who wants nothing more than not to have him in her life.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: nsfw 18+, language, angst, fluff, smut [...probably]. no posting schedule.

You slipped your phone carefully into your backpack, cursing low. It hadn't stopped blowing up since you took the opportunity to unwind a little with a few after-work drinks. You were generally an automatic no, so giving the affirmative to a question perennially asked just to be polite was met with more confusion than excitement - you weren't sure how it made you feel. Your social skills felt like they were severely lacking (not to mention the pop culture references you were behind on unless it was, of course, Taylor Swift)... You simply weren't social anymore. 

You mostly tolerated your work associates, they were all friendly, smart, and considerate, but come Friday, you were on your time and couldn't wait to get home to start your weekend. You had wine, pizza and TV to catch up on and it would be perfect. Basic in its simplicity and you didn't care what anyone else thought.

"One more drink," your co-workers begged. 

"Let loose, we never get to hang out aside from work," they added.

And while you were having a pretty good night, you had other reasons to be home - 

But the revelry was about to end as hoots and hollers of patrons in the bar overcame a raucous Friday night crew as a group of sailors walked in. Grand in their whites, gleaming, broad grins, covers and sunglasses in the dim, overcrowded room. Your eyes scanned each one like they always did when moments like this materialised. 

Your heart rate elevated, and the hairs on your arm pricked up. Hands clammy - 

The warning signals in your brain were firing louder than an air raid siren. That face you never expected to see again among that crowd, and it was more handsome than you could even recall.

Bradley Bradshaw. Your first... everything. Young and dumb, you fell head over heels for that boy with his head in the clouds and that impish grin. He who dreamed big, much bigger than you ever could imagine.

Tall, broad, tanned, unassuming. He was surreal, it felt like a dream how he’d just returned your life without warning. This wasn’t his hometown, so you knew he was here for work. A nightmare occurred even as you rose from your place at the small cocktail table and started making your apologies for the drink just placed before you, reaching eagerly for your bag and other random belongings you’d whipped out. 

That you had to get home, "Oh, look at the time - " that you had to go - 

You had to just get the hell out of The Hard Deck. You knew better, even if the time to now had been on your side in previous ventures to the joint. 

The crowd swarmed them, and you took your opportunity to try and get out without being noticed. You knew Bradley had no idea you would be there. The beautiful man was immediately surrounded by striking women all vying for his attention, and although he appeared to enjoy it, he was keeping them all at bay. You could see that from your safe distance.

But that last tequila had done you in and you had to get to the bathroom before you got into the Uber - while you weren't feeling the effects of the alcohol, you felt could be ill at any moment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hissed to yourself, slamming the cubicle door after you, the safety of the bathroom gave you small comfort but it relieved the feeling of someone standing on your chest in any way. 

Sitting, you had no choice but to overhear the gossip of the sudden arrival of the newly decorated squad who had just entered the place, sending the bar into a tizzy.

“ - Hangman is blonder - " 

" - suave Coyote was - "

"I don't know how Natasha can be around such sexy men all the time."

"Come on, she's as talented, and dear god, she as hot as them. Don't discount her rank because of some guys. I’m sure she deals with pissing contests 24/7.”

You silently cheered for the last person's comment, whoever this Natasha was. Good for her. 

But no mention of Bradley. 

"It's like the Navy put together the sexiest aviators they had - " this person was also right. They always grandstanded like they were in movies. And tonight, even Bradley.

Flushing, you pulled yourself together and made a hasty exit strategy in your brain as you furiously washed and dried your hands. The closest door from the bathroom was also the furthest from the pool table and you were in luck as you heard the roar and the familiar opening keys to Jerry Lee Lewis' Whole Lot of Shakin' Going On.

Come on over, baby, whole lotta shakin' goin' on, Yes, I said come on over, baby, baby, you can't go wrong...

And abruptly, you were young, dumb and 21 again. Falling for this schtick then and, by God, his voice deeper than it was and you could swear, better. Sexier. Older. Bolder. Not your shy, quiet reserved college boy on his summer vacation in San Diego... but look at you now, falling for this schtick again. The way he could sway people on full display as the crowd and his friends/teammates, how were you to know, tumbled over each other at the grubby old piano you’d never seen touched to now to spread the revelry with him.

"My old man listened to this album so much when I was a kid," Bradley said quietly, delicately handing the cover to you as he wandered over to the old turntable he'd mentioned was also his father's and you watched him intently. He could make you listen to white noise or nails on a blackboard and you’d be enthralled with it. "I don't have too much of his stuff," he explained, considerate as he dropped the pin on the record tenderly. "But this song," he laughed quietly as Great Balls of Fire filled his small room of the share house he stayed at that school break. "We sang this song a lot as a family. Please don’t hold it against me, I’m very aware Lewis was a fuckin’ creep of a dude,” and you couldn’t resist your smile as he offered you his hand and danced with him. 

And how often that summer that hand lead you down a garden path of trouble. 

You probably hadn't listened to Jerry Lee Lewis since it reminded you too much of him. And of course, the artist was controversial at best, just like Bradley said but you’d never, ever forgotten the words.

And as you headed towards the door, the need to see Bradley Bradshaw just one more time overwhelmed you. His jacket stripped and sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled to his thick golden forearms, the collar on his shirt strained around the thick ropes of muscles of his neck and throat as his cheeks pinked in the hot room. 

Aviators sliding down his strong nose in the exhilaration of being the centre of attention. He was thriving off it. 

He was as handsome as the day you met him. The way he captured your attention as he retrieved the football that landed near your beach bag that fateful day. His soft voice of apology as his buddies teased him down play. He apologised on their behalf and asked if he could make it up to you   The way he handled the room funny to you, your once shy, quiet boy now commanding the group at the bar, singing with him, vying for his attention... singing to just get that small piece of his time. 

Home soon kiddo. Hope you had a good night with Amelia, you texted quickly.

As the song ended and the place erupted again in enraptured applause, you slinked out as more sailors slipped in and took in a deep breath, the humid beach air filling your lungs and you called for the quickest car to get you home safely... to safety. 

"Hey," you heard the voice behind you. You were so fucking close to the car... so close to escaping without a trace... but just like the old days, his voice warming you to your bones. But you couldn't bring yourself to look at him, even as he gently took your wrist and guided your body towards his. "Holy shit," you heard the small flutter of laughter in a bubble against his lips. “It is you.” He was clearly as shocked as you were. 

The softness in his rough rasp. It had haunted the better part of the last 14, 15 or so years. Dreams, nightmares. 

You were so close to breaking free of the bar without him seeing you - but that was the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. In his quiet calm, he was always watching. 

...bringing yourself to raise your eyes to him was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. To his warm, humoured honey ones, his grin just melted you like it always had. So much about him had changed, the moustache you were perplexed about. Some faint scars marred his handsome face that you didn’t recall but they certainly didn’t look new (even if new to you). They gave him a light ruggedness, maturing him. But you could only compare him to the senior in college, eagerly awaiting his acceptance into the Naval Academy. 

And he was big. Taller, broader, stronger. BIG. 

And white certainly was his shade. He chewed his lower lip, and you were reminded of the charming boy who left you all those years ago. The man now before you who didn’t even know he had changed the course of your life.

"Hello, Bradley," you finally said, and he stood to height, the recognition in your voice as you tried to keep his gaze. His tongue tracked his upper lip and he finally smiled, not the smug arrogance on display as he and his team ponied in earlier, but the sweet genuineness that was simply Bradley. 

"Hi," he swallowed. "Been a long time," he reckoned. 

"Yeah," you agreed. 

"Looks like time has been good to you," he said, low, appreciatively.

And you laughed as he visibly relaxed, the flirt enough to break you. You weren't sure if he was trying anything, but the air was finally making it to your lungs. 

"You still livin' around here?" 

You gave a soft nod. "Yeah." 

"I'm just in town a few days," he admitted as you nodded. "I - my team and I - were just promoted. Lieutenant Commander."

"This why you're all dressed up - or were?"

"My whites?" he asked.

"I saw you come in."

"And yet you tried to sneak out before you said hi," he teased.

"I'm sorry," you admitted. "But congrats on your promotion. Kind of a big deal?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Kind of." 

Hearing the knocks on the glass, his attention was demanded back inside. Relief swept through you as he shooed them away with a swift flick of the bird and they howled inside but left him to his devices.

"How about coffee this weekend? It would be great to catch up," Bradley pressed. "Find out what you've been up to. Husband, family, work. All that stuff."

"Ha," your voice faltered. "I'm pretty sure it's nowhere near as exciting as yours," you forced a laugh, and he really didn't seem to take the hint. His pout at your near rejection only seemed to spur him on further.

"One coffee and I'll get back on the boat and be out of your life forever," his lips quirked, and you remembered how you felt when he made that face without the moustache. He could get away with a lot then, just like he was getting away with it now. "Look... here's my number," he urged, holding out this hand as you sighed and unlocked your phone to enter the digits. You saw how he'd saved it.

Bradley Bradshaw (a big deal?). You had to laugh as he winked, relieved for the smile that crossed your features but you weren't sure if he was offended or not when you didn't offer yours in reply. 

"Kind of a big deal," you confirmed with a giggle, those nerves bubbling under the surface rapidly now. He shrugged, the cheekiness of the boy you knew still evident in the man before you.

"Text me if you wanna catch up. I wanna hear about what you've been up to since graduation all those years ago. I fly back to Virginia Tuesday."

"Fleeting."

"Very much," he agreed. Sighing (with relief, but Bradley would never catch that), your Uber was right before you. He moved around you to open the passenger door. "Been a long time..."

"Longer than you know," you admitted, slipping into the car and he carefully closed the door behind you as the driver recalled your address and you left Bradley Bradshaw for what you hoped was the last time. 

Your fingers itched to delete his number, but all you had to do was get through the next few days without the temptation to text him and it would be fine. 

Life would go on and he's sail off into the sunset again like he promised.

Home ten or so minutes later, you made a beeline for upstairs. The bedroom door closed and silent from the other side. You pushed your way in quietly, the room dark, and you sat on the side of the bed, your hands drifting to the mess of dirty dark blonde curls splayed across your daughter's pillow as she read on her phone with her earphones on.

"Hi, sweetheart," you whispered, gently pushing back a tendril on your daughter's forehead. "Bedtime?" you suggested as she shrugged. Ahh, teens. You kissed her forehead before standing and leaving her room, your beautiful girl protected under the snuggly covers. 

You didn't know how you were going to tell her that you saw her father tonight. After all these years and radio silence, doing what you could to protect her from the hurt you knew you'd caused by keeping this very real secret from Bradley. 

"Shit," you muttered, wandering the hallway to your bedroom, your nerves shot, hot tears threatening and everything you'd done so well protecting to now... about to shatter into a million pieces with the return of Lieutenant Commander Bradley Bradshaw.

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

[creepling]

that boy is a monster - j. slaughter / 2.6k

in contribution with THE HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompts: sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

summary: everyone comes and goes from the slaughter residence, either as survivors or stacks of meat. but as you escape and run further into the woods, johnny won't let you go that easy.

tags: DEAD DOVE - read at your own risk. smut. MINORS DNI. fem!reader. non-con. hunter/prey. knife/blood-play. descriptive injury. narcissistic johnny. fem penetration. blood hunger. choking. roughplay. slapping. kidnapped ending.

It would help to know the surroundings. Sprint the track to get to the finish line. But you’re bleeding. Your legs ache, and the tree branches are tearing at your skin. The calls of the Slaughter family echo in the distance.

Running for your life is supposed to be the escape. You’re out of the house, but your heroic end is not at a close. You have to keep running. You have to survive. And one person, in particular, will not give you up so easily.

“You’re the reason this is happening. You brought them damn kids here. You go get ‘er!” Drayton told off Johnny, waving his bloody stick towards the exit you stumbled out of.

Johnny was cool in his stance. He is cleaning his knife, sharpening its blade. He admires the glint of it in the moonlight, a sly smirk winking back at him in its reflection.

“Keep yer panties on, old man. I’ll get her,” He brushes off the Cook, swaggering towards the gate.

With his family seeing him off, Nubbie chuckles and cheers him on. Sissy claps and howls. “Bring her back fresh now, ye hear!”

Johnny was not going to share. He wants to play with his food and keep you all to himself. Once he finds you, you’re going to scream. He will have your insides, grip your flesh and suck your blood. His family will not have a nip of you. You’re all his.

The beginning of the hunt sent Johnny’s instincts into overdrive. Your shadow mystifies into the forest, and he picks up the pace to dive into the belly of the beast. He grunts as he sprints, inhaling the air. He was only human, but everything in his attitude was animalistic. A coyote in a man’s body, wanting to catch your scent, embarks on the trail you left behind and chases you until your soft flesh is between his teeth.

Deep within the sun-dried trees, Johnny halts his speed and listens to the silence. He peered his hearing for the snap of a twig, the ruffle of a leaf, anything to assume you were close by. He crouches to the earth and calculates the ground. His eye caught an indent, your shoe print heavy in the dry dirt, the heel dragged out, exposing your struggle. Johnny was mesmerised for a moment, then he advanced, tailing the track of your footprints to the direction of your hiding spot. He arrives at a dead end, cursing under his breath. He catches a look above, checking the trees, but both the trees and you are too fragile to hold weight. His eyes scan the horizon, wondering how far you have gone.

“I’m gonna find ya soon enough, sweetheart. Why don’t you come out, and we can get this over with?” Johnny called into the night, his skin tingling at the thought of you nearby.

He was closer than you thought. Tugged low in the dip of the earth, you bite the inside of your cheeks and muffle any sound of panic that threatens to burst. You may be bleeding, tired, and traumatised, but you will not give up. If he wants you to meet the same faint as your friends, he will have to come and get you.

At the deafening silence, Johnny sighs. It was long and drawn, but it soon shifted into a chuckle, and he gripped the handle of his knife tighter. “Fine, I like the challenge.”

Johnny advances, his footsteps descending to whisper when you decide to leave your hiding spot. You drag your limping body in the opposite direction, clenching your side as a cramp takes over. You look around with alert eyes, hoping to find an opening or another hiding spot if he is close. Your hope dwindles at the same scenery repeating: trees, branches, dirt. Over and over. No sounds alert you, making your eyelids droop and blur your vision. You look down at your body, your clothes drenched in blood, giving sense to your lightheadedness. The blood loss and dehydration were slowly creeping up and taking over you. Legs wobbling, making you fall.

“Come on,” You whispered, “You can do this.”

Johnny had his eyes on you. He watches you struggle, crouching within the dry branches. Your pain and fatigue amuse him, reassuring him that mortality can be handy for this line of passion. He loved a prey’s fear, how it ignites them with the endurance to keep living. Yet, the thing that is chasing them will always catch them. It can only get them so far. It lets them die with a fight still in them. People call that honour, but to Johnny, it is the thrill of the game.

It has been long enough. Johnny watches you collapse, grunting at the pain taking over, your knees buckling as you try to crawl your way further. Johnny cracks his neck and readies his blade, his heavy steps approaching you.

“I gotta hand it to ya. You got some fight in ya,” Johnny mused, towering over your struggling state.

The widening of your eyes made Johnny chuckle, tuts leaving his mouth as you began to sob.

“Come on now, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Not yet, anyway,” Johnny grips the back of your hair, yanking your head from the ground and crouching down on top of you. His legs saddle your sides, squeezing in to hold you in place. You catch the glint of his knife hovering over your throat, threatening to slice if you struggle.

“Ma mama always got at me for playing with my food as a kid. I never grew out of it. Y’know why?” Johnny presses his lips to your ear. You could now hear the husk in his voice.

“Because I fuckin’ love it,”

Your hands grip the earth, and a scream bellows from your strained throat, sirening through the trees, making birds take flight. Johnny shoves your head to the ground to silence you, pressing his blade tighter to the skin of your throat.

“You shout one more time, and I’ll cut you,” He spat, causing you to dwindle your struggle into small whimpers.

“Just kill me, please,” You plead, Johnny on top of you, detecting that you would rather be dead than be at his mercy.

Johnny enjoys having the upper hand far too much, grazing his gloved hand down your spine, lingering on the skin exposed from your summer blouse. He glances at the cuts littering your exposed arms, blood dripping from a knick on your shoulder. Johnny licks his lips in anticipation, locking his lips on your wound. You gasp, cringing at the suction from his mouth, his tongue swirling around the cut and soaking his mouth with your blood.

As if energy surged through him, Johnny groans at your taste, licking his lips dry. Your taste is sweetly metallic. He has never tasted something so pure—the blood of a lamb or a calf, laced with innocence and avoidant of bitterness. Johnny’s eyes wander down at you like the discovery of the Holy Grail. “You taste amazing.”

Johnny grips your arm and manhandles you to lie on your back, your arms feeble in your struggle. Johnny scans your body for more wounds, grunting in annoyance as most were muddy grazes. His legs add pressure to your sides, his hand nipping at the hem of your blouse.

“Keep still,” Johnny orders sternly, moving his knife to your shirt and cutting the thin fabric with the blade. You whine in defiance, but your top is torn off completely and tossed to one side. Johnny stares at the curvature of your bra, tucking his knife under the band and slicing it swiftly. Your breasts graze with goosebumps at your exposure. You squeeze your eyes shut from the humility. Johnny runs his knife down your left breast, the blunt end teasing your hardening nipple.

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” He breathes out, removing his glove with the pinch of his teeth. His bare, rough hand grips your breast, making you squirm. You glance up at Johnny, the maddening of his eyes, the flex of his muscles as he holds you in place. Sweat glistens on his face. You feel warmth between your legs as Johnny’s bulge presses against your stomach.

Without warning, Johnny slices a small incision on your soft breast, making you gasp from the shot of pain. Johnny immediately locks his lips on the fresh slice, his tongue collecting your new blood, letting a groan vibrate against you. He sucks your breast as he would with your nipple, except his infatuation is solely on your blood. Your fingers lace through his hair, and you attempt to yank him away, but he points his blade quickly to your throat.

“Move your hand, or I’ll cut you open,” Johnny threatens, pressing the blade hard, alerting panic within you.

“I can’t- I can’t do this, please,” You beg, “I want to go home,”

“Is this not want you want, darlin’?” Johnny teased, “Your cunt says otherwise.”

His head motions down and between your legs, sliding his fingers along the denim fabric of your shorts. Your throat hitches, and your legs tense, locking eyes with the darkening stare from Johnny.

“You want this, I know you want this,” Johnny mutters against his lips, “Let me make you feel good. I need this, darlin’, you gotta give yourself to me.”

His lips lock roughly with yours, his kiss hard - possibly laced with a lingering passion. You taste your blood on his tongue. You moan unexpectedly.

“See? You taste so good. Let me taste you more,” Johnny said as if he were asking, but you know you have no choice.

The sound of panic bubbles in your throat as you feel Johnny’s hands unbutton your shorts, yelping as he tugs the tight fabric down your legs. He crawls his fingers under your pants, catching your slick cunt with the tip of his fingers, collecting your wetness. Johnny groans, reaching his fingers to his lips and licking your juices. Just as sweet as your blood, warm and intoxicating.

Johnny grinds his hips down onto you before unbuckling his jeans, tossing his belt to your eye level. Your eyes trail to the sky, your mind dissociating at the sound of his jeans undone. Johnny preys your legs wider apart with his thighs, the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“You’re so wet for me, darlin’. Still sure you don’t want this?” Johnny’s pride swells at your defeat, pupils dilated at the sight of yours glazed and lost.

“I would rather be dead,” You said airily, almost inaudible. Johnny narrows his eyes, power swelling in his muscles. He wants you to beg for his cock or mercy; it does not matter.

Without warning, Johnny thrusts his cock inside, and pain shoots up your spine. He was big, more significant than you have ever taken, and he was stretching you out. You squeeze your eyes shut, and the tears trapped in your waterline pour down your cheeks. You silence the yelps filled with pain to adjust to the horrible feeling. But your cunt was wet, wet enough for Johnny to thrust deeper inside you and hold his length firmly inside you.

“Fuuuck,” Johnny groaned. Your walls clenched around his cock, and his hands grip the sides of your waist. “Sucha tight little pussy,” Johnny chuckled.

You shift your body back and forth to adjust to the pain, but it paralysed you, and Johnny drilled you deeper into the ground with the weight of his body. The cool earth stings your wounds and gathers in the grooves of your skin. It is disgusting. It is revolting. You wanted the ground to swallow you whole. “Fuck you,” You spit at Johnny, manifesting your cunt to grow teeth and bite his cock clean.

Johnny furrowed his brows at your revolt, burning a glare to your core. “The fuck you say to me?” Johnny smacked your face, stunning you, but you force eye contact.

“I said fuck you, you fucking-“ Your rage stopped short at the shuddering pain shooting through you. Johnny digs his knife into your side, toying with an open wound. You squirm, scream, try to pry him off you, but his other hand pins your wrists above your head, and his cock is stuffed deeper inside you.

“You really think talking to me like that is a good idea?” Johnny scoffs, watching the pain in your expression with perverted fascination. “Such a stupid ‘lil brat. I need to teach you a lesson.”

The pain melted into numbness. Your eyes drift further away from reality, and Johnny amps his stamina. It seemed neverending, his cock pumping into your cunt, the depth of his thrusts consistent. Johnny’s body towers over you, his knife tossed to the side. It proved useless as your body grew limp, the strength of Johnny’s arms pinning you in place enough to restrict your escape. No more were you retaliating to Johnny’s dominance.

“That’s it, good girl. Take it,” Johnny grunted, but he was not satisfied with your reaction. Lying there as you get fucked dumb, staring into space. He needs you to be compliant, to be grateful. Johnny tugs your hair and forces your gaze onto him, bathing in your bewildered stare.

“C’mon girl, I know you want this. Say how much you want it,” Johnny demands, continuing to rut into your pulsing cunt.

“I-” It was hard to string words together, but you had nowhere to look except deep in Johnny’s hunter eyes as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Say it, fucking say it,” Johnny grew impatient, smacking his fingers over your cheeks, hoping that knocked sense into you.

��I want you, Johnny,” You sobbed, mesmerised by his insanity.

“Yeah, you fucking do. Start thanking me for fucking you so good,” Johnny enfolds his cock deep inside, holding it in place until you speak what he wants to hear.

“Thank you,” You swallow the lump in your throat, “You’re so good at fucking me. I want you to keep fucking me.”

Swelling with pride, Johnny exhales a deep groan and continues to drill into you, picking up the pace. He felt his climax ascending from his core, gazing at the bounce of your tits, your plump skin covered in the blood he poured from you. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“I’m so close, darlin’. Fuuuck,” Johnny wraps his callous hand around your throat, suppressing your air flow until you see stars.

Johnny rutted his cock to ride his high. You feel the strips of warmth melt from your slit as he pulls out, his pants hot and misty against your neck. Your eyes trail over to Johnny, buckling his jeans and quickly putting on your underwear and shorts.

“Sorry about your blouse,” He mutters, removing his tank top and putting it on you. There is no point in convincing yourself he did it out of the kindness of his heart, as it is to carry you back to the place you tried to escape from and not make the rest of the family suspicious.

Johnny lifts you and tosses your body over his shoulder, your mind and body too exhausted and petrified to wiggle from his grasp. “Let’s take you back home,” He says.

Home. That place was not your home. But to Johnny, he is making it your home. There goes the days of elaborate escapes, deception and retribution. He will have you wrapped around his figure. He shall convince you that no one else cares for you. Only he will protect you, care for you, and love you. 

Welcome to the family. 

[sleekervae]

The Bride [0.1]

Masterlist

Pairing: billy the kid x fem!reader

Summary: While out riding, Billy is stunned to come upon a young woman in a wedding gown begging for help. Without a second thought he comes to her aid and takes her back to town. Little does he know that rescuing this young bride will bring him more trouble than he bargained for.

Warnings: foul language, mentions of arranged marriage

Word Count: 4,946

The horse's hooves kicked up dust as he traversed the rugged terrain, the only sound breaking the stillness of the evening. Tall grasses swayed gently in the breeze, and the distant call of a lone coyote echoed through the vast expanse.

Billy's gaze swept over the horizon, taking in the breathtaking beauty of the untouched land. The sky was painted in shades of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the deep greens and browns of the earth below.

As boy and horse continued on their journey, the only companion the vastness of the frontier, Billy couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the raw, untamed beauty of the land. The western frontier was a place of mystery and adventure, where danger lurked around every corner, but for now, it was a place of peace and tranquility, a sanctuary in the midst of chaos.

Though perhaps he thought too soon when he caught sight of what at he at first thought was a ghost. But ghosts didn't trip, nor did they cuss between shouts for help. At least, Billy didn't think so. Though the closer he came to the ghost, the more he came to realize there was nothing supernatural about them.

It was a woman, young and fair, her once pristine wedding gown now stained and torn, her face etched with frustration and desperation. She stumbled forward, one hand gripping the layers to her skirt while her other arm frantically waved him down.

"Hey! Hey, can you help me?" despite her appearance, her voice was direct, unshaken.

"What in the hell happened to you?" Billy couldn't help it, the words slipped out before he had a moment to process.

The bride stood before him now and he could have a better look at her. She was slender and small, her figure striking against the backdrop of the tall grass. Her long brown hair, once carefully styled in a bridal updo, now cascaded around her shoulders in a messy tangle, strands framing her face in a wild halo. Despite the disarray, her hair shimmered in the fading light, catching the last rays of the setting sun.

Her wedding gown, once a symbol of joy and celebration, was now stained and torn, the fabric clinging to her form in a way that spoke of hardship and struggle. Despite the wear and tear, the gown still held a sense of elegance, the intricate lace and delicate embroidery standing out against the rugged backdrop of the wilderness.

Her gaze locked with the Billy's, though oddly enough the resilience he saw in her face struck him anew. She didn't appear as a desperate, lost and helpless bride.

"It's a long, fuckin' story," she grumbled, dropping her skirt in a huff, "Where you comin' from?"

"Santa Fe,"

"Mind if I ride back with you?"

Billy took a look around, in the back of his mind he was worried that this girl may be luring him into some sort of trap. But he was out in the open, if someone was going to come out and ambush him, they would've done it by now. And something about the dirt and cuts on this girl told him she wasn't faking it.

"Look, if I had any money to offer, I would --"

"Sure thing," he offered her his hand, to which she took gratefully. She hooked her heeled boot into the stirrup and pulled herself up behind Billy. The horse snuffled and shifted to regain her balance under the added weight, and with a hard crack of the reigns, Billy and the bride clung on as the horse galloped through the tall grass.

Dusk began to close in, casting long shadows across the landscape as they rode back to Santa Fe. The fading light painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, a stark contrast to the deepening shadows that enveloped the land.

The bride remained silent most of the way, making a couple grunts and huffs when they'd hit rougher terrain. Billy was ever the more curious.

"So, what did he do?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" the bride lifted her head.

"Your fella? Your husband or whatever. What did he do for you to ditch 'im at the altar?" he craned his head as best he could, meeting her gaze, "Or did you just get cold feet and bolt?"

The bride scoffed and gave her head a simple shake, "Call me crazy, but I'm not exactly eager to marry a man I barely met a month ago," she replied.

"I think that's pretty justified," he nodded, "So you left 'im?"

"Yes sir," she confirmed.

"Where did you run from?" he asked.

"Rosario,"

Billy paused in disbelief, " -- you... you came all the way from Rosario?"

"You sound surprised," she simpered.

Billy shook his head, "I don't mean to offend, ma'am, but how in the hell did you wander all the way here from Rosario in that fuckin' dress?"

"Simple answer is I had a horse," she replied casually, "Until he got spooked and ran off. But I knew there was a town this way so I was just sort of... praying for refuge. And I'm not even a catholic woman,"

"Well, I'm happy to oblige you," he turned back to her again, "What's your name?"

"... Eleanor," she drawled, "And what about you?"

"William. But friends and family call me Billy,"

Eleanor smirked, "So what would you rather I call you?"

"Whatever you feel like, Miss Eleanor," he grinned back.

"You can drop the 'miss'. Don't feel like much of a lady right now," she sighed.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" he asked.

"Depends who you ask," she replied simply.

Billy shrugged, "Well, if you ask me -- I reckon you're a very beautiful lady, Eleanor"

Eleanor scoffed back, never the less her smile remained on her lips, "Thank you... Billy," He noticed the slight drawl in her tone, a thread of a southern accent that he found quite charming.

They soon trotted into town. Shops were just closing up for the day, camaraderie and chatter could be heard from within saloons and oil lamps were coming to life as dusk fell. A few stragglers turned and stared peculiarly at the pair, at Eleanor particularly. She knew she had to get changed, she stuck out like a sore thumb in that dress.

"My ma runs a boarding house here, you're more than welcome to stay if you like," Billy told her, "We'll get you fed, into some new clothes,"

Eleanor grinned sheepishly, "That's very kind of you, Billy, but I couldn't. I don't have money on me at the moment," she replied.

"Don't worry about the money right now, my ma will understand," and he turned to her, "We'll just get you back on your feet for the moment," he had such kind eyes, warm and soulful despite their crystalline shade of blue. He equally found her to be quite sweet in spite of her sharp tongue.

"Alright. I appreciate that," she nodded, "Sooner I can get out of this dress, the better I reckon,"

Billy smiled at her, "It's a might shame, it looks stunning on you,"

She stifled a chuckle, "Try not to cry too hard when you see me out of it,"

Billy brought Eleanor to the boarding house, where Kathleen welcomed her with open arms. Kathleen, ever the caretaker, was more than happy to assist the poor girl in her time of need. She offered Eleanor a blouse and a skirt to replace her tattered wedding dress, which was gently tucked away. Eleanor considered the dress; perhaps she could clean it up and sell it, a small act of independence in the midst of her turmoil.

"Have you got any money on you?" Kathleen asked.

Eleanor shook her head, "No ma'am, I'm very sorry," she replied.

Kathleen nodded, shooting a dubious look Billy's way. While she didn't mind helping, she was just making ends meet with her business and couldn't quite afford charity. Billy knew that. But she wasn't totally heartless, either.

"Can you clean?" she then asked.

"And cook," Eleanor volunteered.

Kathleen cracked a smile, "Well, I think we can have you work off your wages for a while,"

"I'd appreciate that very much," Eleanor smiled gratefully.

"Think nothing of it," Kathleen took her by the arm and started for the hall, "I'll show you where you'll be sleeping,"

Billy watched Eleanor vanish into the darkness with Kathleen, a smile playing on his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. Her fleeting, grateful look lingered in his mind, stirring a mix of emotions. Yet, as he pondered her sudden departure, a nagging inkling tugged at him, whispering doubts about her intentions. Rosario was a half a day's journey at least, and Billy couldn't help but wonder about Eleanor's lack of provisions. How desperate was she to leave, and was her escape merely temporary? Or was there something more nefarious she was running from?

In the early afternoon sun of Santa Fe, the bustling streets came alive with activity, the air filled with the sounds of hooves clattering against the dusty ground and the chatter of locals going about their day. The rickety, wooden buildings that lined the streets cast long shadows, providing a welcome respite from the intense heat. The scent of woodwork and cooking wafted through the streets, mingling with the earthy aroma of the desert.

Billy stepped into the kitchen of the boarding house, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and cornmeal mush filling the air. His eyes immediately sought out Eleanor, who stood at the stove, a look of concentration on her face as she mixed her batter with practiced ease. She looked happy and calm, a far cry from the distressed bride he had found not twenty-four hours ago.

Relief washed over him at the sight of her. Despite his lingering mistrust, he couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort in her presence. He approached her cautiously, keeping his guard up.

"Mornin'," he said, his voice soft but cautious.

She turned to him, a warm smile lighting up her face, "Good morning," she then glanced at the stove, "There's coffee made, if you'd like some,"

"Thank you," he went to fetch a cup off of the counter, "How did you sleep?"

"As well as expected, I suppose," she poured her batter into a pot, "Your mother's been awful kind to me, I hope to repay you all in kind soon,"

Billy studied her for a moment, searching for any hint of deception in her eyes. Finding none, he nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"You helping my ma is enough," he assured her, "It's hard to keep help around sometimes, so most days it's me and my brother helping out,"

Eleanor simpered, "I met Joe this morning, sweet kid. Your mother's very lucky to have you both," she said.

"Yeah," he leaned over the counter, the cup still clenched in his hand, "She's a good woman, I do everything I can to look after her,"

She cocked her head, "How old are you, Billy?"

"Seventeen,"

"Seventeen..." Eleanor echoed in awe, her voice soft with understanding, "And already you feel responsible for her, am I right?"

Billy was at first perplexed by her statement, but as he pondered her words, he began to recognize the weight of her insight.

"I suppose so," he replied with a shrug, his expression reflecting a mix of resignation and determination, "My... step-dad... hasn't been pulling in the money lately, so I do what I can to help. I don't want to let her down."

"I don't blame you," Eleanor nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "I wish my mother was like yours."

"What's your mother like?" Billy inquired.

Eleanor sighed deeply, her movements slow and deliberate as she stirred her cornmeal batter, "She was... there when she needed to be," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness, "Most times, though, she wasn't. She died about two years ago,"

Billy felt a pang of empathy. "I'm very sorry to hear that... My father died when I was twelve,"

Eleanor glanced at him, her eyes catching a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath his stoic exterior, "I'm so sorry. What happened to him?"

"He wasn't too well... up here," Billy tapped the side of his head lightly. "What about your mother?"

"Syphilis. Plain awful," Eleanor muttered bitterly. "How was your mother when he died?"

"She was heartsick, we all were. But she's strong, we pushed on because of her," Billy explained. "What about your father?"

"My father... wasn't the same. He never really recovered," she replied, her voice trailing off, "Suppose that's why he stuck me in that dress not a minute after I was eighteen," she added with a bitter laugh, though her eyes betrayed a mix of spite and sorrow.

Billy approached her slowly, "Well, must bring you some peace to get away. You don't have to go back to Rosario," he assured her.

Eleanor's bitter glare melted away, her soft smile slipping across her face again, "It does. And I appreciate all the help and kindness you've given me,"

Billy's gaze softened as he studied Eleanor, a flicker of something new and unexpected stirring within him. He had been wary of her, guarded against the possibility of deception. Yet, as he looked into her deep brown eyes, he saw only sincerity and a genuine desire to move forward.

"I'm glad to hear that, Eleanor. Truly," he said, his voice warm with sincerity. The smile that tugged at his lips was genuine, a reflection of the newfound respect and admiration he felt for her.

Eleanor was a bit rusty with the chores, but she was giving it her all. Billy didn't mind pitching in, whether it was collecting and folding bedsheets, chopping firewood, or even cleaning dishes alongside her.

Their time together was anything but dull. Billy learned a lot about Eleanor; her family was originally from France but came to America over seventy years ago. They lived in South Carolina for a while until the work dried up and they too decided to start over again in the West. It was tough trying to get more information about her family, how she grew up. Billy got the sense she didn't want to talk much about her childhood, so he eventually dropped it altogether.

Eleanor was equally curious about Billy—how he ended up in Santa Fe, his favorite foods, his card-playing skills. She mentioned her desire to learn poker, so Billy took it upon himself to teach her. With an old deck of cards, he patiently explained the game's ins and outs. Though Eleanor struggled with the rules at first, she improved with each hand, even if she did keep losing her peanuts to Billy.

Joe, despite his young age, joined in the card games, offering Eleanor pointers on improving her strategy. Whenever Billy scolded his brother, Joe would playfully stick out his tongue, which never failed to amuse Eleanor. She found herself growing fond of these boys, feeling comfortable and at ease in their company.

Their leisure time eventually gave way to preparing supper for the boarders. While their meal options were limited, Eleanor managed to whip up a simple yet tasty stew. Billy assisted, chopping vegetables carefully to avoid any mishaps. Despite his best efforts, he did slip once, cutting his finger. Eleanor immediately called for Joe to fetch bandages, insisting on wrapping Billy's wound to prevent any blood from getting into the stew.

"Ain't no way in hell you're getting any blood in my stew, Billy Antrim," Eleanor said, her sass bringing out her southern accent, which only added to her charm in Billy's eyes. He found himself increasingly drawn to her, finding her both amusing and captivating.

The day melted into evening, painting the sky in shades of indigo. Bright stars dotted the darkness, casting a serene backdrop for Billy and Eleanor. They sat on the roof outside his window, their conversation flowing effortlessly as if they were old friends. Eleanor felt a deep connection to Billy, as if she had known him forever. His gentle nature and warm charm were like a balm to her soul, familiar and comforting. She couldn't shake the feeling that she must've known him in another life.

"Up there's the Orion's Belt," Billy pointed to a cluster of stars above. Eleanor cocked a brow.

"That don't look like any belt to me," she simpered.

Billy chuckled back, "You can't look at it too critically. It's those three dots up there," he pointed again, "Orion was a great hunter who was eventually placed in the stars by Zeus after his death. And those three stars that make up his belt are called Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka,"

She looked to him, surprised yet intrigued at his knowledge of the cosmos, "How do you know all that?" she asked.

"An old man told me the stories, long ago," he shrugged back, "Stayed with me, I guess,"

Eleanor nodded, her gaze reluctantly leaving his captivating eyes to focus on the sky, "It's kind of romantic, isn't it? When we die, we become stars. Our stories live on forever," she mused.

"Yeah," Billy agreed, casting another glance her way, "It's pretty romantic."

She was sad when she realized the time, knew they both had to be up in the morning to do the day all over again. However, Eleanor couldn't find herself to be lethargic or annoyed. She was excited for what tomorrow would bring, a feeling she hadn't enjoyed in quite some time.

The next day was just like any other. Though this time Billy felt different; he had a little pep in his step. Sure, it wouldn't be noticeable if you didn't know him, or if you weren't paying attention. But Billy felt different, a good type of different. He could've chalked it down to the actual good night's sleep he got, the lack of commotion in the street this morning, or simply him noting how pretty Eleanor looked in the radiant morning sun while she was taking down the laundry.

Billy suddenly felt an arm fly around his shoulders, catching him off guard as he made his way to the saloon. It was his friend Carlos, his face lit up with mischief.

"Aye, Billy!" Carlos exclaimed, his voice merry, "You didn't tell me you were getting married! Felicidades!"

Billy chuckled, shaking his head as he removed Carlos' arm, "The hell are you going on about?" he asked, amused.

"The bride! Everyone's talking about her!" Carlos replied matter-of-factly, "Where did you pick her up?"

Billy sighed, rubbing his temples. "Out in the plains," he explained. "She wandered out from Rosario,"

Carlos stopped in his tracks, a look of bewilderment crossing his face, "You're kiddin'. That's half a day's trek!"

"That's what she told me, anyway," Billy said with a shrug, "I thought she was bait for a gang of rustlers or something, but she seems alright so far,"

"Right…" Carlos nodded slowly, falling back into step with Billy, "And how lucky for you, she's staying in your boarding house?"

Billy stifled a laugh. "Don't go around telling tall tales about me, now,"

"Me? Pfft, never," Carlos retorted, holding his head high.

As they continued down the street, the atmosphere of camaraderie began to fade as the sound of hooves thundered into town. The locals turned to see a group of men on horseback, dressed in infantry uniforms with shiny rifles slung across their backs. They were members of the U.S Army, and their arrival drew a curious and apprehensive gaze from the townspeople.

The town's sheriff stepped forward, hands plastered to his hips as he greeted the captain.

"Gentlemen, can I help you?" the sheriff asked.

"Why, yes you can," the captain drawled, dawning a thicker southern accent, "My boys and I have been riding since yesterday, we're looking for a young woman. She would have been wearing a wedding dress," he raised his hand to his knee, "'Bout five and a half feet tall, pretty brown eyes,"

"I see," the sheriff nodded, "This girl is your daughter?"

"My wife. Or... she was supposed to be," he chuckled bitterly, "Plain up and left me at the altar,"

Billy felt a lump in his throat, disbelief and disdain growing within him. This army captain was probably older then Henry Antrim. He sported a neatly trimmed mustache, reminiscent of those European settlers who often passed through, adding a touch of character to his otherwise disciplined appearance. His attire was completed with polished boots and a well-placed insignia on his cap, signifying his rank and authority.

There was no way, absolutely no way, that Eleanor was meant to marry this man. It was no wonder she had run away.

Carlos didn't need a second glance at Billy to understand his thoughts; he placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Billy stood with clenched fists, his rugged fingernails digging into his palms, his expression unwavering.

The sheriff adjusted his hat, scanning the crowd of locals, "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, Captain, but I think I would've noticed a woman in a wedding dress running around in my town," he stated.

Billy started to relax slightly. Perhaps the captain hadn't seen him ride in with Eleanor? Perhaps he hadn't heard the gossip from the townspeople?

But luck was not on Billy's side. An older man approached, wiping sweat from his greying whiskers. "Hold on, Sheriff! I saw the older Antrim kid ride in with a girl in white the other day!" he exclaimed. "All dolled up and everything. She was kinda dirty, though."

"Is that so, Angus?" the sheriff inquired.

"Plum right! Old Taylor saw her too!" Angus affirmed, pointing to another old man on a storefront stoop, who nodded in agreement.

The sheriff gave a thoughtful hum, glancing back at the captain, who maintained a stiff, expectant smile. Turning to face Billy and Carlos under another awning, the sheriff's gaze was piercing, "Where's this girl, Billy?" he asked.

Billy was speechless, struggling to find the right words. He may not have been the best judge of character, but he liked Eleanor. And there was something about this captain that didn't sit right with him, the significant age gap being just one concern.

As Billy tried to form a response, a cry rang out from behind them. "Hey! Thief!" another local shouted, rushing into the street with a pitchfork in hand, "Sheriff! Some girl up and took off with my horse!"

"Which way did she go?"

"Towards the lake!"

In that moment, Billy knew he had to seize the opportunity. He made a quick decision and darted off to retrieve his own horse.

The moment that she heard the thundering horses ride into town, Eleanor knew she had to get out and get out fast. She didn't want to, but she had no other option than take the first horse she saw. She cracked the reigns hard, keeping her head down and focus sharp as she rode away under the blazing sun. She wasn't going back to her settlement, and she certainly wasn't going to be married.

Little did she know she had Billy hot on her trail. It didn't take long for him to catch up to her, spotting her as just a speck in the distance. He pushed his horse as hard as he could, at the same time trying to put together some sort of plan. He didn't want to let the captain have Eleanor, but he also felt she couldn't leave. Not at least without an explanation.

Billy was gaining fast, but not fast enough. On his hip he had his gun holster. He didn't shoot it very often, more often he used it as an intimidation tactic for when the boys at the saloon got a little out of hand. And by no means did he want to shoot Eleanor either, but he needed her to stop, just for a minute. He drew his gun and took aim, popping a shot off of her right. The bullet sliced through the earth and dirt ricocheted across the galloping horse. It stopped and reared up, nearly throwing the frightened Eleanor off its back.

When the horse came down Eleanor turned around, frantic and furious to find Billy was the one who shot at her.

"What the fuck!? Are you fucking crazy!?" she hollered as he approached, "You could've killed me!"

"Why didn't you say something?" he asked, not even caring to acknowledge his stunt.

"And what was I supposed to say, Billy?" she scoffed.

"That the U.S fucking army was going to be coming after you!" he snapped.

"Because you wouldn't have helped me!" she shouted back, "And don't pretend like you would've. Nobody wants to get in the way of the infantry!"

Billy shook his head, "Well, it might've been nice to know! We could've taken off this morning!"

"To where? Where could we go, Billy?" Eleanor asked, "We're barely fucking adults, and your mother needs you!"

"We can figure something out," he said, "Maybe I can talk to the sheriff? Maybe he can get the captain to see reason!"

Eleanor scoffed, "You know what I did in Rosario, Billy? I ran my father's books. When my mother died, and he lost his mind, I ran the whole damn ranch. I kept everything in top condition from the pay to the fucking cow feed!" she snapped, "And how do I get rewarded? With my father selling my dowry to the captain for protection from the Apache! I'm not gonna' watch a whole army decimate a people for no good reason, and I'm certainly not some little woman who's gonna sit around and be a good little wife!" she explained frantically.

"But Eleanor --"

"That man came all the way up here looking for me, he's not gonna' leave until he gets me. And it's safer for everyone in town if I disappear as quickly as I can. I'm sorry if you can't understand!"

Billy huffed, as much as it annoyed him he knew she was right. Having gone with her would paint a large target on both of their backs, and Billy couldn't bare to cause his mother any heartbreak like that. At the same time, he was scared for Eleanor, God only knew what she would face if she went out into the frontier by herself.

"I understand, Eleanor. I do," he nodded, "I just wish I could help you,"

Eleanor pulled her horse up beside his, coming to sit next to him, "You have done so much to help me, already. I'm so grateful to you, and your family. And I will repay you some day," she promised, "Hell, take that ugly old dress to the tailor, you might get something for it,"

Billy gave her a once over glance. She was still in the blouse and skirt Kathleen gave her, a single canteen of water was tied to the saddle. She wouldn't make it out there for long on her own, not with what she had. Without a second thought he shed his linen coat and dug into his pockets for whatever money he had on him.

"Take this," he placed the coat over her shoulders, "And this," and he handed her the money.

"Oh my God, I can't. Billy --" she tried to give the money back.

"Just take it," he assured her, "I don't know when you'll find the next town, but that should get you some food at least,"

Her chest began to ache, he'd shown her more kindness in the last two days than any man had in her lifetime. And she had a feeling he was just too stubborn to let her go without the money and coat. She looked to him reluctantly.

"... Are you absolutely sure?"

"I'm positive," he nodded, "You gotta' go. They're gonna be coming out here looking for the both of us, soon enough,"

Eleanor nodded, slipping the coat on properly and placing the money in the pocket, "Thank you, Billy -- for everything,"

He put on a brave smile, "Think nothing of it, Eleanor,"

She swore his smile was something she'd keep imprinted in her brain, a shred of comfort and happiness on the days where she may not find such. Without a word, she reached up, gently cupped his face, and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was urgent yet tender, filled with gratitude and unspoken emotions. Billy was momentarily taken by surprise but responded instinctively, his hand cupping around her neck as he deepened the kiss, matching her intensity. He could feel the steady beat of her pulsing heart beneath his touch. For a brief moment, time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves their moment.

When they finally parted, Billy was momentarily taken aback by her actions. He held her gaze for a moment longer, silently conveying everything he couldn't put into words.

She took the reins again, and she gave him one last coy smile, "Try not to look so sad, Billy. I'll see you around," with that, she snapped the reigns and took off South.

Billy was conflicted, on the one hand he figured he could go after her. Go with her, see what kind of adventures they could find... maybe even kiss her again?

On the other hand he knew he couldn't never leave his mother and brother at the hands of Henry. So with a heavy heart, he waited until she was a speck in the distance before he started back for town.

As he approached, the infantry began to ride out. The captain approached him, his posture stiff and upright. "Well? Did you find her?" he asked.

Billy shook his head, masking his disdain, "She had too much of a head start," he replied.

"Dammit!" the captain cursed, scanning the horizon, "Well, which way did she go?"

Billy met his gaze, a steely resolve in his eyes, "North," he told him, "She was heading up North,"

"She's prolly' headin' to Colorado, Capt'n!" one the soldiers piped in.

The captain scoffed, "Well, that's where we're going. Let's move, boys!" and in a hurried stampede, they took off North. Billy let out a small sigh of relief, but the ache in his chest didn't cease. He could only pray to high heaven that Eleanor would be safe, and that maybe he'd see her again one day.

[sweetie-peaches]

People call the green team wolves, red team hyenas

You know what I think the blue team is? A pack of coyotes.

Why? Because coyotes are extremely cowardly animals. They howl and bark, but it doesn’t take much to fend them off at least for a short time. All you need to do is be bigger

And think about it, about bad specifically, he will growl and scratch and bite, but as soon as the fight turns he runs with his tail inbetween his legs.

Usually, coyotes target already weak animals, those who are separated, or injured. They stalk, and stalk until the moment is right. They will nip at the heels of herds until one veers away.

Don’t get me wrong though, coyotes are incredibly fierce animals. Several times my family has had herds of cows decimated by a cohesive pack

Typically, coyotes will distract the mother of a calf by barking and otherwise trying to get her angry, scared, and seperated from her baby. Then they’ll swoop in and kill the calf when it’s unprotected

(Or, they will intentionally rile her up, harassing her non stop until she spins in circles and unintentionally injure and KILL HER OWN CHILD when she tries to move away to drink or graze)

Think of all the fights blue has won, they have done this tactic multiple times.

A singular coyote is not a threat, even if they growl and bark and make themselves seem like one

A hunting party of coyotes is something to be afraid of, especially during calving season

I think this fits soulfire perfectly

[irisintheafterglow]

...with the big iron on his hip

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: marty robbins - "big iron"

summary: he's not the first to go after the crystal-eyed bandit, but something tells you that this one will keep his promise to buy you a drink when the hunting is done. (cowboy!suguru x you)

wc: 2.47k

cw/tags: western!au, implied fem!reader but gn pronouns used, reader is called pretty and darlin', strangers to lovers (??), descriptions of alcohol, drinking, and general lawlessness

note: yayy another @ficsforgaza installation, this time for @strawberrystepmom <33 thank you so much for donating to help palestinians, i know i went WAY over the word count but i hope you enjoy this anyway!

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated!

“You heard about Death riding in this morning?”

“I was told he got back from the east a few days ago. Some business with the big banks,” you reply, your voice a careful volume. Your effort is hardly needed, though, as the saloon was reaching its rowdiest hours of the evening; the smell of chewing tobacco and questionable choices was enough of an indicator. As the bar girls’ heels click-clack on the stage, you wipe the dust off a clean glass and pour its whiskey without another thought, sliding it across the bar.

“Oh, rest assured he did,” says the other bartender, Davey, a jolly-mustached man of about 60 who’d run this saloon since before your parents settled in this town. “But, word is there’s another outlaw loose and runnin’ now. Rode in on a big, black stallion, he did. Old Man Leonard swears the sun done shrunk away from rising.” You roll your eyes with patient affection, listening diligently to Davey ramble on about the rumors surrounding the newcomer. “I’m serious! ‘Stallion black as death,’ that’s what old Lenny said. You trust my word or not?”

“I believe you, I believe you. Though, you did spout a lot of nonsense ‘bout the window creeper last week, too,” you chuckle, holding up your palms in surrender. Davey tuts with a pout, muttering something about you never listening to his warnings anymore. “I wasn’t aware you were cautioning me of anything, Davey. It’s not like I’m gonna go looking for the guy.” You knew the town was a familiar stomping ground for all sorts of no-good creatures, jail breakers and tax collectors and bounty hunters alike. Word of your saloon’s neutrality spread among the underground because of its ‘whiskey or weapons’ policy where no man could carry a firearm through the batwing doors and still be served a drink. Hence, as volatile as the patrons were, honor among thieves guaranteed the saloon the ideal place for meetings and deals. Davey, relishing in the booming business it brought in, didn’t seem to mind the reputation.

“You best believe I’m cautioning you,” he insists, waggling a finger. “Whether you like it or not, you always seem to attract the eye of the most vile manner of people.” 

“I do not–” A drunken shout cuts your indignance short, a slurred exclamation of Who the Devil is that! 

As if on cue, the saloon falls into silence broken only by the sound of creaking floorboards. The girls on stage crowd up the staircase, hiding in the shadows; a stack of poker chips topples over at a corner table. 

“When have you known me to be wrong,” Davey mutters, his question becoming more of a statement as the wood continues to groan under the steps of the interloper. Knowing that the saloon guests would be looking to him to react, his tense demeanor is replaced by warmth before you can blink. “What happened to the music, boys? The night’s just beginning!” He calls out to the band, who immediately begin plucking their banjos and dancing across the keys of the out-of-tune upright piano. Normal cacophony continues with an uproar, drowning out the sound of approaching boots until he’s right in front of you. 

“You got a beer, darlin’?” For a moment, you’re a rabbit with its foot caught as a coyote stalks closer. His cowboy hat casts the upper half of his face in shadow, revealing nothing but a poisonously sweet mouth. You can feel his eyes analyze you, though, and it takes a few seconds and a deep breath to remember who’d been in this town longer. Outlaw or not, you had the high ground in this saloon. 

“No sir, not a good one,” you admit. “All the best’s kept in the cellar where it can stay cold and I ain’t going down there this time of night. Davey’s old wife haunts it after the sun goes down.”

“You afraid of ghosts?”

“Oh, no sir,” you correct him quickly and his eyes narrow, ever so slightly. “She’s very much alive, which I am of the opinion is scarier than if she was trapped in a different realm.” Your quip has amused him, enough for his gaze to soften and the corner of his mouth to turn up. He lifts his head and you’re introduced to a pair of dark eyes, framed by equally dark hair that you guess falls just above his shoulder blades. The man is devilishly handsome, and a voice in the back of your mind that suspiciously sounds like Davey issues more warnings than you can fathom. You ignore them on account of wanting to figure out what about this man made the saloon of outlaws, even for a second, fearful. “Somethin’ else I can get you?”

“Bourbon’ll do.” You pour it mechanically, watching him out of the corner of your eye. Something stops you before you slide it over to him, something akin to instinct. His face remains unchanged as you hold his glass hostage, looking at him expectantly with an open palm. 

“You got payment for me, cowboy?” 

“This work for payment? Also, not a cowboy.” He fishes something from his pants, flashing a silver star that you know all too well is the symbol of a ranger. “If not, I’ll be happy to take out a loan. I’ll pay it off before I leave in a few days, anyhow.” He’s of the law, then, you think to yourself with raised eyebrows, remembering the fact that he was hiding the authority in his pocket. Well, as much as you can be in these parts. Must need to dirty his hands a little bit to get his work done. You pretend to appraise the badge before nodding, handing him the drink. He takes a sip and triumphantly inspects the liquor swirling. 

“Up to your standards?”

“I believe it’s not the drink but rather who pours it,” he drawls with a smirk. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”

“I could ask the same thing of you,” you counter, matching his cunning smile. “I’m assuming you’re the stranger who rode in on Death’s horse early this morning?”

“The horse’s name is Wormy.” You snort unexpectedly and he huffs out a quiet laugh before continuing. “But, yes. That was me this morning. Like I said, I don’t plan on staying a while, and I believe you could help me with that.” A ranger in your town scaring everyone half to death. Pieces click together in your head and it’s not long before you realize his mission. Who else would he be here for?

“You want the crystal-eyed bandit.” 

“You know him as a bandit, I know him as a kid whose corrupt family successfully tainted his mind. I’m here to get him out–”

“Or die trying?”

“Definitely not the plan,” he says with a shake of his head. “If he doesn’t come willingly, I’ll kill him. Plain and simple.” You admired his earnestness, but also allowed the skepticism to show on your face, something that the stranger takes note of. “You think I won’t be able to get him.”

“You’re not the first one to come through town on a hunt and I’m sure you won’t be the last,” you state with complete honesty. “20 men have tried and failed. Who’s to say you won’t become number 21?” 

“I’m talkin’ to you and that’s a better start than any of the other guys had.”

“How so?”

“Something tells me that you’ve been wanting out of here for a long time, now,” he assumes and it’s your turn for your eyes to narrow.

“You don’t know anything about me, cowboy.”

“Not a cowboy,” he replies automatically, quickly getting back on track lest he lose your precious attention. “See, I don’t know much about you, but I do know that our bandit can’t resist pulling others into his schemes, especially ones who aren’t too sore on the eyes.” In any other scenario, such overt flirtation would result in his immediate expulsion from the premises, but you find yourself intrigued by what he has to offer you. 

“You think I’m in leagues with outlaws because of how I look?” 

“I think you’re forced into said leagues because of your position of employment,” the ranger says. “You’re his ears, aren’t you? You’re the reason he knows the dirt on the residents in this town, because you receive that dirt and relay it to him. It’s also,” his voice drops to a dangerous octave, “why he isn’t here right now…at this bar…in this seat.” You meet the challenge in his eyes, neither confirming nor denying what he’d declared was true. By some way or another, he knew much more than he let on. He knew you lied to Davey about not seeing him ride in early this morning; he knew you promptly told the bandit of a newcomer in town who could rival his control; he could tell you hesitated to slide the bourbon over to him because it was the wrong body on the stool. 

“When’d you gather all this information if you’d just rode in this morning?” He lifts his eyebrows expectantly, like you knew the answer to your own question. Your mouth opens slightly in realization and you whistle in admiration. “That was you giving us a fright last week? The monster creeping around the windows that everyone swears they saw but didn’t have proof? Your reconnaissance methods became a tall tale around here.” The ranger hums, taking another sip from his glass. “So, what’s my part to play in your plans? I tell you where he is, you go in and shoot him, I stay put and keep my mouth shut?”

“Nope, I want you to bring him a message.”

“That being…?”

“An old friend wants to duel,” he says cryptically. “Tomorrow at dawn. Do that for me,” he continues, “and I’ll give you half the bounty.” Your eyes grow larger than the wagon wheels outside. Half the bounty was more than you made in three months and would be more than enough to get you out of this town of scum for good. Before you let your hopes run too rampant, a lingering question pushes itself to the forefront of your mind.

“Why do you need my help to do this? Why not just ambush him?” 

“I’d like to take him out fairly, let it be a true show of who’s stronger.” The man continues to sense your hesitation and another question appears.

“I don’t even know your name,” you point out. 

“Call me Suguru. Ranger only in name, not practice. My superiors would be disappointed if they knew half of my bounty suddenly disappeared in the hands of the pretty bartender at the saloon.” He thinks I’m pretty? Before thinking twice, you nod in understanding and he flashes a grin, standing up to leave. “We have a deal?” 

“I’ll do it,” you begin, “but that’s all assuming you’re successful, cowboy.” The ranger’s face becomes even more satisfied, like returning to you was the easiest part of his challenge. 

“Not a cowboy, and just trust me,” Suguru responds confidently. “Both our futures are riding on this, so I’d be damned if I screwed it up!”

—

“You’re late,” you deadpan to the approaching footsteps in front of you. You’re holding the lead of Suguru’s black stallion and your new Pinto, a parting gift from Davey for all your years of service. Get the hell out of here, he’d said through fatherly tears, an affectionate hand on your shoulder. Find a new life and a new adventure with that ranger of yours. 

“My apologies,” he drawls, stepping into the dim light of your oil lamp. “Couldn’t find my ranger badge.”

“Did it turn up?” He shakes his head, unexpectedly unbothered. “You don’t seem in anguish over it.”

“Mmm, far from it. I don’t plan on wearing it again once I turn in these, anyway,” Suguru says, holding up the small burlap sack containing two crystal-blue eyeballs. “That’s what I wanted to discuss with you, before we left. I was working up the courage while I was rummaging around for the star.” You hum thoughtfully, adjusting one more strap on the saddle before sticking the front of your foot in the stirrup. You accept Suguru’s hand of assistance and mount your horse with ease. Beneath you, he gazes up like he was staring at a bright full moon. 

“Can we discuss as we ride out of here? I’m itching to get a move on.” He accepts your request without another word and swings himself onto his horse, following your pace as you trot slowly down the empty street. Just a day ago, this very street was where the notorious crystal-eyed bandit was shot down in a duel with the man riding beside you. His swiftness left you awestruck and you heard the shot before registering that he’d pulled his gun, the bandit’s body falling into the dust. “How many days’ ride is it to where you collect the bounty?”

“We can get there in three if the weather is agreeable.” Your conversation falls silent, both of you formulating questions and answers and waiting for the other to make the first move. Swallowing his pride and clearing his throat, Suguru decides to act first. “You wanna ask why I’m not wearing the badge after this bounty.” 

“That a statement or a question, cowboy?”

“Not a cowboy, but it’s a fact and whatever you make of it,” he shrugs. “Truth is, I’m not really sure what I’m going to do now that I’ve completed the only hunt I really cared about.” You nod, encouraging him to continue as he shifts awkwardly in his saddle. “So, if you’d let me…would you let me keep you under my protection, wherever the wind takes you?”

“You want to stay…with me?” You echo his proposition with a flutter in your stomach and a racing heart. “Wherever the wind takes me, you wanna be there with me,” you reiterate, seeking confirmation that he gives wholeheartedly. 

“A ranger’s name can still have some standing,” he explains, incorrectly believing that you still need convincing. “And the darker circles I’m in respect me as a bounty hunter, so I can get you to basically wherever you want to go–” You pull your horse around perpendicular to his, stopping you both in your tracks. 

“I already agreed to your proposition, Geto Suguru, so stop talkin’ before I change my mind,” you tease, unable to wipe the smile from your face. He hits you with that poisonously sweet grin again, looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. 

“If I may,” Suguru says as the sun starts to peek over the desert landscape, “your cowboy would like to know where it is he’ll be escorting you next.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[roosterbruiser]

"if you win, i'll kiss you"

Will they won’t they bffs with Jake at the hard deck at darts

everyone knows it but the two of you.

you and Jake are head over heels for each other. like, certified whipped, no-take-backs kind of head over heels.

you two have just had a difficult time admitting it to another.

most have bet on when it will happen, many have whispered about it behind bar menus and handfuls of peanuts, a few have even made groupchats dedicated to it.

sure, the two of you have had some run-ins. there was that time you had too much tequila and sucked his fingers in the car as he kissed your throat. and yeah, there was that time when he very nearly went down on you outside The Hard Deck, pushing your dress up by your hips as the sun sank in the ocean. but the two of you have always written the encounters off as tequila-fueled. flukes, if you will.

identically, the two of you feel like there's not a chance in Hell that the other is as crazy about you as you are about them.

it's a regular Friday night, one where you meet Jake at The Hard Deck right after your shift, one where everyone watches with smirks as Jake lights up and automatically makes a beeline for the front door to wrap you up in his arms.

"howdy," he always greets, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek as you grin up at him. "how's my pardner today?"

you lean against his shoulder, all the weight of your day fading as he helps navigate your connected bodies through the usual crowd to the bar--where he will undoubtedly order your usual without you saying a word about it, winking at Penny and telling her to put it on his tab.

"fine and dandy now," you respond, nose wrinkling with joy when Jake hugs your waist against him. "how're you, honey?"

and he always grins down at you, leaning against the bar, making a show of drinking you in as the golden sunlight drenches your elated form.

"much better now that you're here," he says. he nods towards the rest of the squadron and wrinkles his nose. "needed some fresh meat in here, anyway."

so, when you end up playing darts with Jake after a few of your usual drinks, completely dithered as the two of you shoot the shit and talk about your hectic weeks, neither of you are aware of Coyote standing behind the two of you with a smile tugging on his mouth.

"how about a friendly wager?" he says, suddenly making his presence known as he throws his arms over your shoulders. "between you and the cowboy, of course."

you're a few drinks in, smiling something fierce as you chew on a vodka-flavored ice cube.

with a perched brow, Jake looks between you and Javy and lays a hand on his hip.

"like what?" you ask innocently, voice muffled from the ice between your molars.

Javy stares at Jake, eyebrows raised.

"I'm sure you two can think of something..."

and as if speaking to him telepathically, Jake suddenly feels his chest inflate with courage. maybe it's because of how sweetly you're smiling at him, eyes glittering and glossy. maybe it's because he had a dream about you last night, one where you were looking up at him through your lashes as you took his cock in your mouth. or maybe it's because he's had just enough shots of whiskey.

so, with a handful of darts, Jake grins at you.

"how 'bout this..." he starts, nodding towards the dart board. "if you win, I'll kiss ya."

you're flushed suddenly--smile faltering as your heart races in your chest. for a moment, Jake begins to deflate, but then you're beaming at him, nervously chewing another piece of ice.

"and if you win?" you ask, taking a careful step towards him.

Jake sucks the back of his teeth, meeting you halfway, letting your sweet and familiar scent waft up to his nose.

"trust me," Jake says quietly. "I won't."

[drizzledrawings]

I really like your coyote piece ... I feel the instinct to be defensive of it against assholes but I would rather like take a moment to appreciate it aside from and away from that for a moment... The artwork itself is beautiful, the framing and the pattern in the background and the shackles with the little snap in it.. but the text on it especially.

It resonates with me a lot. I don't know that it's exactly how I feel but really close to it. I'm also like feminine genderqueer (I usually go with woman cause it is close enough for me and I do like she/her pronouns a lot), and it's so real. Not really the same as what they think but close enough but being put in this box that says to obey. To heel.

I see where people might feel like it's misogynistic but I think that's an ill faith interpretation. It's not against women, it's about not feeling like women but other people perceiving you that way unless they have enough of a read or enough knowledge or are close enough to see that we're not that. I don't think comparing women to dogs is a bad metaphor bc there's nothing wrong with being a dog, it's like just overall the IDEA Of woman, what a woman is meant to be, has been shaped by patriarchy for so long that a parallel to the way humans have domesticated the wolf is not far fetched, just controversial. But in regards to a personal piece on personal gender identity it works really well. We have the same bones but what you see is not what you get.

I just wanted to let you know it was important to me and I feel that way too and I think it's a beautiful piece.

Your interpretation is spot on! I knew what I was doing when I used the dog metaphor, the domestication of wolves vs. How the patriarchy affects women is one of the things I was trying to comment on (while of course also talking about gender identity)

I’m glad you resonate with it! Genuinely thank you so much

[swifty-fox]

❝  i know i can’t protect you from everything,  but i wish you’d let me protect you from the things i can control.  ❞ - for outlaw au please :)) i already miss them 🥺

yessss more of them.

read the fic here

tws: Mentions of child abuse & discussion of suicide of a family member.

Gale hates South Dakota. It's much like Wyoming, flat and empty and made up of scrublands. Population is scarce and it's been nearly two weeks of rest-stop sink baths or on one or two desperate occasions water bottles and a spare t-shirt as a rag.

It's one of those quiet inconveniences of how they live. It's been months since anyone has laid a hand on him and that's worth any lack of creature comforts.

Still, he'd like a shower.

They're on the roof of the Corolla, scissors snicking gently through Gale's hair as John trims it with careful concentration. His tongue Is poked between his lips, there's an unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear and his grey Puddle of Mudd shirt is turned dark with sweat.

"Look straight, I don't want you getting mad at me when I fuck your hair up and make it all uneven."

"I wouldn't be mad," Gale says, but looks forward anyway, eyeing the blue silhouette of mountains in the distance. They appear tiny and flat, but Gale knows if they bothered to travel the hundreds of miles to the foothills they'd rise taller than skyscrapers.

John blows stray hair off Gale's shoulder, brushes it off with his fingers when that proves ineffective. The fine blond strands cling to his sweaty skin, bared by the cut-off sleeve shirt he's wearing. Likely it's Johns, the fabric loose and baggy around Gale's torso and chest in a way his own shirts usually were not.

"Why'd you start growing it?"

"My dad said long hair was for girls."

John's thumb strokes over the ball-curve of Gale's shoulder, nail tracing the raised lines of the random smattering of scars there. They extend across the wingspan of his back, harsher at the bony parts and falling off in the dips and divots. "He do these too?"

Tucking his heels up near his ass, Gale rests his chin on his knees. John clucks at him for the change of position but after a moment resumes cutting. For a while there's only the snick of scissors and the sound of coyotes howling and the sun slowly sinking into the pillow of the mountains.

"I dropped a box of my mom's Christmas ornaments," He says finally, "the glass ones, you know? The kind of special ones you put at the top and don't let the kids touch."

John hums to show he's listening, brushing fingers through Gale's hair to find any spots he's missed.

"It was an accident," He insists as if it matters to Bucky, as if it ever mattered.

"And he," Gale gestures to his head, "I was on the ground before I realized what had happened and then he was just going off on me, and I was trying to tell him that the glass was cutting me, that I'd take my licks but the glass."

Metal clinks as John sets the scissors down, reaches his hand out for the hair tie that Gale deposits in his hand. Begins braiding Gale's hair with practiced efficiency

"Spent the night in Marge's bathroom picking glass out of my skin with her eyebrow tweezers."

"Couldn't afford the hospital?"

"Wasn't lookin' to get placed with some Mormon family who'd do just about the same but also make me wear pressed button-downs."

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen."

John brushes over Gale's shoulders again, slow and gentle. Smooths his braid down his spine.

"You're done," he says.

Something in his tone makes Gale scowl, "I'm not looking for your pity, Bucky."

"You're not getting it."

Gale shakes his head slowly, feeling the tickle of his braid somewhere up along the apex of his shoulder blades rather than the central line of them. The weight of it is gone, or at least nearly negligible to what it was. He picks at the stray chunks of hair littered around them, twisting one clump around his fingers.

"I know I can’t protect you from everything,  but I wish you’d let me protect you from the things I can control," John says.

"What are you able to control about something that happened five years ago?"

"hmm," John hops off the roof of the car, the whole frame squeaking and shaking with the movement. Gale uncurls from his hunched position. Hands him the scissors to tuck away safely. But not too safely. They are a weapon in a pinch, after all.

"That's not an answer."

"You telling me about it. Then I can protect you."

"How is telling you protecting me?" Gale slips down after him, tugs the blankets off the roof of the Corolla and shakes them out to get as much hair out as possible.

"Talking helps."

Gale snorts but John fixes him with an uncharacteristically sincere look

"I'm serious. My Ma made me go talk to a shrink after my dad died. it helped, kind of."

"What happened to him?"

It's mostly genuine. It's a little bit pointed. Poking at a bruise because his own hurts have been prodded at.

John smiles at him. It's awful, "He locked himself in the car with the exhaust on. Came home from ninth grade and found him in the garage."

Gale stares, looks down to finish folding the blankets.

"He was a Pastor," John continues, "He was a good man. Just kinda wish he'd left a note or something. An email. Hell, a fat life insurance policy would have been nice but they don't give you shit if it's a suicide."

"Do you pray then?"

"Sometimes, when I miss him. When I've got something important to say." John pops a lollipop into his mouth, hunts around for a sweet flavor to offer Gale, "Do you?"

Gale takes the lollipop, looks John's face over and shrugs a shoulder "No, not for a long time."

[theharddeck]

the best me has his arms around you (jake x f!reader)

pairing: Jake Hangman Seresin x fem!reader

summary: after a long deployment, Jake and his girlfriend share a slowdance after Javy's wedding. this fic was created as a part of @roosterforme 's #love is in the air tgm challenge 💕based off the song yours, by russell dickerson

warnings: none! just some soft, wedding-provoked, feelings if y'all want a part 2 with welcome home smut, do lmk

wc: 1.3k

It was a beautiful wedding.

The evening was cool, illuminated by twinkling lights strung around the courtyard of a historic hotel in Old Town San Diego, weaving among colorful strands of papel picado. Coyote and Cross had said their vows in the golden afternoon and the party had been going strong ever since. You were now at the point in the night where jackets were draped across the backs of chairs, beside high heels that had been unbuckled and abandoned, as guests were too tired to keep up appearances, but having too good of a time to call it a night. 

You liked the height that your heels had given you, but your arches were suffering the consequences; Jake had known you would want to stay on the floor so he’d pulled you into his arms and balanced your bare feet on top of his cowboy boots. The thick leather was sturdy under your toes, and you locked your elbows around his neck and let your boyfriend dance for the both of you. It was more a sway than a dance, a soft and comfortable rocking as Jake moved you around the courtyard. You pressed your face into the soft material of his dress shirt still somewhat disbelieving that he was back. 

He and Javy had been deployed at the worst time, the two of them barely making it back overseas in time for rehearsal dinner. You’d seen Jake last night, but they’d both been exhausted from the travel, and bridesmaids and groomsmen were bunking together anyway, so tonight was the first time you really felt like you had your boyfriend back. 

“You wanna sit down?” Jake asked quietly, his voice rumbling against your cheek. You shook your head against his chest, not wanting to break the moment. To be here, to hold him, to be held—it didn’t matter if your feet were bleeding raw, you’d have stayed. 

So you did stay. 

The DJ wound down, reading the energy shift, moving to softer songs, even taking slow dance requests. Older couples were drifting away, the bride and bridegroom quietly bidding everyone goodnight, until the only ones left were the ones who needed the quietness more than they needed the tradition. Jake’s hand was smoothing up your back slowly, playing with the chiffon gathered at the small of your back. 

Cross had done well in picking bridesmaid dresses that weren’t awful, and you felt more like a Grecian goddess rather than a bridesmaid cliche. You felt Jake’s hand lift, and turned your head to see Harvard and his girl waving goodbye to him as they headed out. Brigham tipped his hat—his actual stetson, since apparently your boyfriend wasn’t the only cowboy in this place—at Jake and when the DJ’s next pick sounded notably more country than the previous selection, you knew it was Brigham’s doing. 

Jake’s arms tightened around you as a steel guitar echoed around the courtyard, and you settled back into him. You’d probably need to call it a night soon; it’d been a long couple of days, and you needed to get back into a rhythm before rejoining the real world after the haze of reunions and the wedding. But for now, this moment was perfect, and you didn’t want to end it. 

Jake coughed quietly, like he had something stuck in his throat but was trying to be quiet about it. Your hand slipped from around the back of his neck to his upper back when he kept coughing, and your brow wrinkled as you pulled back, the peace of the moment evaporating when you saw Jake’s face was red. 

“Let me get you some water—” you started, but Jake didn’t let go of you.

“It’s fine,” he said hoarsely, trying to pull you back into him, but you shook your head, stepping off his shoes. 

“Jake, it’s not; let me—”

Jake huffed, running a hand over his chin, smiling sheepishly at you. His eyes were watery, and you were wondering if you should grab something other than water, when he let out a long breath through his nose.

“It’s the song, honey,” he said, voice gravelly, and you blinked at him. 

“What?” you asked, reaching up to push some of his hair out of his face. As he looked down at you, you realized him clearing his throat was to hide a rush of emotion. Jake pulled at you gently, asking, and you stepped back into his arms, giving him the space he needed to tell you what was going on. 

“Just glad I’m yours, sweetheart,” he whispered into your hair, turning you slowly around the floor.

Your heart clenched at his simple words, overflowing at having him here, having him at all. It was always hard for him to be away, it always hurt, but this sweet man? Made it all worth it.

And he’d scoff at the adjective, probably pull up his shirt to flex his abs or wiggle his eyebrows suggestively while reminding you of his other winning attributes. 

But past all his bravado and charm, past the way he seemed determined to keep people at arm’s length to protect them, past his need to remind people of how good he was, worried they wouldn’t think it unless he told them, past it all, he was a good man. You were just grateful you were the one he let close enough to find it out. 

You wrapped your arms around him again, letting the lyrics of the song settle over you as Jake swayed both of you. 

I came to life when I first kissed you

The best me has his arms around you

You make me better than I was before

Thank God I’m yours

Jake was humming along to the song, and you felt the vibration through his chest. You tightened your arms around him, your eyes closing as you leaned into his chest. 

It felt like peace, being here with him. 

Rocking slowly, held in the cradle of his arms. If you breathed deep, you could catch the remains of his cologne, determinedly lingering hours after it’d been applied, but stronger was the smell of his sweat. Soft and sweet, the familiar scent that’d long washed off the sheets and pillowcases in your shared home. 

The thought of it sent a wave of deep contentment through you and you pulled up to look at Jake. Both of your eyes were a little misty, and as the last notes of the song faded out, you leaned up to brush a soft kiss to his lips. Jake’s hands tightened slightly around your waist, but his lips were gentle as he returned your kiss, like he also felt the reverence in this moment. 

You pulled back, heart nearly bursting at the sight of him this close. The soft shadow of his lashes, the way his nostrils flared as he pulled in a deep breath, the way his once-perfectly-styled hair now fell slightly in his eyes.

You reached up to brush the golden strands away from his face, your fingers tracing from his cheekbone down to his Cary Grant chin, teasingly poking at the divet there. Jake’s mouth twitched into a smile, before he caught your hand in one of his, brushing a soft kiss against your knuckles. It was your turn to smile, then, a reaction you couldn’t stop any more than you could your next breath. 

“Take me home, Lieutenant?” you asked softly, and Jake lowered your hand from his lips, but his fingers stayed entwined in yours. You walked around the few couples remaining on the floor, and when you got to your table, you picked up your heels while Jake draped his suit jacket over your shoulders. 

The cobblestones were cold under your feet as you walked back to the car, but your hand was held warmly in Jake’s, his jacket settled on your shoulders, and you knew it was you—you were the lucky one, to be his. 

//

smutty part two (please check your warnings and minors DNI!)

//

tagging: @bradshawsbitch @callsign-fangirl @laracrofted @mxgyver @princessphilly @hangmanbrainrot @wildbornsiren @datemephoenix @fuckyeahhangman @lt-bradshaw @double-j @teacupsandtopgun @gigisimsonmars

[foreverrandomwritings]

Hi can I request ❛ what, am i not allowed to look at you? ❜ with coyote from the soft and sweet sentence starters? Thanks 😊

Training Accident

Summary: You get a call from Jake while you're on a walk informing you that your boyfriend Javy got into a training accident at work. This is also going to be added to my "You and Javy and his friend Jake series" I just can't seem to write anything about Javy without adding Jake bromance into it. oops. This can of course be read as a stand alone though.

Pairing: Javy "Coyote" Machado x afab!Reader

Warnings: Angst, ejection, anxiety, death, hospitals and swearing. I'm always worried that I'm forgetting something in these so please reach out and tell me if I am.

Word count:1498

Masterlist M's Hundred Celly Masterlist Series Masterlist

The call had come in while you were walking your dogs. You had an airpod in your ear listening to a true crime podcast. The story was just getting to the darkest part when it paused. You pulled your phone out of your pocket seeing your boyfriend's best friend's name come across the screen. Nausea ripped through you as you answered it. 

“Jake?” the name came out in a whisper, you’d be surprised if he’d even heard you. Jake had called you many times before but never in the middle of a work day. Your dogs sat at your feet looking at you worriedly. Sensing something was wrong by your change in body language.

“He’s alright gorgeous, just got hurt in a training exercise. They want to keep him overnight for observation. Just wanted to call and ask if you wanted to come down and see him. He hasn’t stopped talking about you and I’m getting sick of looking at his ugly mug.” relief flooded your body as the words settled into your brain. You could hear your boyfriend somewhere in the background protesting his friend's words of insult. You shook your head at their antics. 

“I’ve got to take the dogs to the house and I’ll be on my way.” you told the blonde on the other end of the phone. You punctuated the sentence by giving your dogs a silent command to heel as you started walking again. They both came to their respective sides and followed you along. You would have to thank Jake for the double leash belt he had gotten for you for Christmas. It really came in handy as you tried to get ahold of Javy’s mother on the walk home. 

“Alright gorgeous, I’ll send you the location. See you soon.” He said reassuringly. You practically ran back to the house you and Javy had bought a year into dating each other. You threw a quick bag together making sure the dogs had food and water before you were heading out. 

“I’m here for Javy Machado.” You told the nurse at the front desk fingers thrumming across the smooth surface. He looked at you for a moment, obvious boredom in his eyes. 

“What’s your relation to the patient?” He asked you as his fingers typed on the keyboard. 

“I’m his girlfriend and emergency contact.” You replied to him sliding your ID towards him. He took it scanning the information with his eyes before handing it back to you. 

“Floor three room three thirteen.” he told you before going back to the computer in front of him. You moved towards the elevator quickly pressing the round button for the correct floor. You cracked your knuckles as the elevator dinged, alerting you to the doors opening. You stepped out and read the directions on the wall in front of you. Turning left, you found your boyfriend's room quickly. You didn’t bother knocking instead you all but swung the door open as you stomped into the room. 

“Javy Andre Machado.” you scolded him as you stood by his bed. Jake was sitting in the chair beside him giving you a big grin as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

“What the hell did you do?” You asked him pointedly. He had the sense to look a little afraid at your outburst. 

“Firstly, hello to you too Sugar. Secondly It was a training accident and I’m perfectly fine now. Right Jake?” He asked his best friend as he turned to him expectantly. You raised your eyebrow at the man.

“I ain’t gonna get in the middle of this.” He said, throwing his hands up in surrender. 

“Well, are you going to tell me what you did?” You asked him again. He huffed out a breath glaring at his wingman. Then he sat and looked at you. Taking in the running shoes on your feet. You had on a pair of leggings and one of his old academy shirts. Your hair was thrown up in a messy bun, a look he absolutely loved on you. You stood there waiting for his reply that never came.

“What the hell are you doing?” you asked him bewildered. 

“What, am I not allowed to look at you?” He asked you, giving you a teasing smile. You gave him a blank look not in the mood for his charm. 

“Don’t try to change the subject.” Jake let out a small laugh as you spoke. He quickly shut up as you glared at him. 

“I had to eject sugar. I was gonna call you but I didn’t have my phone on me. It’s still in my locker on base. Then when Jake called he refused to let me have the phone. Little asshole wanted to punish me for scaring ya both.” His hand came to run across his face as you rolled your eyes. His thought as he plummeted to the ground was how he absolutely had to survive this fall. There was no way he was leaving you and the dogs behind. 

“What the hell were you doing for that to happen?” the image of him falling from the sky flashed through your mind and the nausea from earlier rushed back through you. 

“My left engine went out and I couldn’t get it back up. I didn’t have time to land before the right one got hit with a bird strike.” He told you hesitantly reaching for your hand. You walked closer to the bed taking his hand in yours as you sat by his legs. You nodded your head in understanding. His job always had classified and redacted information you weren’t allowed to be privy to. So it was no surprise that he couldn’t give you any more information than he already had. 

“You promise you’re okay?” You asked him barely above a whisper. 

“I promise Sugar. I’ll be up in the sky again in just a couple of days.” he told you, squeezing your hand in his much larger one. 

“Can I stay with you?” You asked him hopefully, not being comfortable leaving his side.

“Of course you can.” An understanding look in his eyes as they met your own. He didn’t want you leaving his side either.

“I can stay at your place tonight and watch Gumbo and Ella for you guys.” Jake spoke up, you had pretty much forgotten about the dogs back at the house. Leave it to Jake for always being prepared and on top of things. Plus the rescues absolutely adored their godfather so you knew they were in good hands. 

“Thank you Jake.” you said as you gave him a thankful smile. Jake had always been helpful and a great friend to you since the beginning of yours and Javy’s relationship.

“Anything for you, gorgeous.” He teased you, earning a playful glare from the aviator sitting in the bed beside you. Javy knew he had nothing to worry about though. The relationship between you and his best friend was basically like brother and sister. You both got on like gas in a fire. It was one of the many things he loved about the both of you. 

Jake left not too long after, claiming he needed to run back to his apartment to grab his stuff before going to yours and Javy’s house. You laid down next to your boyfriend as comfortably as you could in the tiny hospital bed. You laid your head on his chest listening to his heart beating. He was here with you and there was nothing to worry about now you tried to reassure yourself. 

“You called Momma right?” He asked you as his mind drifted to the older women he loved so dearly. 

“Mmhmm.” You hummed in reply. Then there was a brief pause as you both enjoyed each other's company. The feeling of home had always been with each other since the moment you first laid eyes on the other. 

“You scared me ya know? I can’t live without you Javy.” you told him as the shock started to leave your body. You felt tense as you tried to steady your breathing, not wanting to hyperventilate. 

“I know and I’m sorry Sugar. You know I’ll do everything possible to come home to you and the dogs.” he told you as he ran a hand up your back a gesture he knew would soothe you as it did many times before when the anxiety of his job got to you. 

“I love you so much Javy.” you whispered into his chest as your eyes started to flutter shut. 

“I love you so much more Sugar.” He whispered back to you as his exhaustion finally took over and he was slipping into slumber. A nurse came in at one point to check on him and tell any visitors that visiting hours were over. But as she saw you laying in the bed together she decided that she didn’t get paid enough to care and left you be.

A/N: Thank you so so so much for this request darling anon! Also I made up his middle name because I fucking can.

Tags(open): @wkndwlff @sylviebell @eternallyvenus @taytaylala12 @loving-and-dreaming

[theblackrosewriter]

On the Road Again

A crow cawed from the highest branch on its red oak perch. It flapped its wings, snapped its beak against the summer air, and launched itself into the sky. Within moments, it became a mere speck in the great blue ocean overhead. Alabaster held a hand against the brim of his felt hat. He squinted. The crow was flying due west. In the distance, he could see more black dots staining the sapphire and pale white of midmorning. Some were larger than others, and those ones had greater wingspans. Vultures flew with the horde.

When crows and vultures convened together, that meant either one of two things. Some critter had up and died of old age, or starvation, or dehydration, or was cut down by coyotes or wolves or rattlesnakes, gutted, and left for the scavengers to clean up. Or … some fool made the unfortunate mistake of underestimating the valley, its occupants, and its secrets.

Alabaster’s hand went to the holster strapped around his waist. He closed his eyes, pulled the gun out of its leather bed, and pointed it straight ahead. He inhaled a deep breath, his thumb picking at the hammer. His bright blue eyes snapped open. Alabaster secured the gun back into its rightful spot and turned. He walked over to where his horse was tied to a lower branch on the red oak. He patted the animal twice on the neck, checked his supply bags strapped around the bay’s girth, and gave the horse a pat again.

He unlooped the reins from the tree branch and swung himself onto the saddle. The heels of his boots pressed against the bay’s sides. The horse obeyed without a sound, breaking into a canter, and headed in the direction of the cluster of flying carrion-eaters. 

He was on the road again. Where that road ended, he didn’t know. But he would soon find out.

[bonesandpoemsandflowers]

I am not any less sad about the dog. I have merely discovered, over the past few months, that even fewer people than I expected understand. He was not just some animal I loved--and I say this as someone with a great love and respect for animals and the bonds we form. The bond we have with dogs is different on a species level. The co-evolution is unique to the point that dogs do gaze recognition just like we do: they read human faces in the same order humans read human faces. They understand pointing innately, as no other mammal does--chimps included. And on and on and on...

And yet it's also true that Ernesto was not just some dog, and not just my dog. He was eerily and irritatingly intelligent, which is why I couldn't have him watched by just any one. I was in more of a dialogue with that dog than many people are with their human spouses. I showed him things in my hands, offered them for a sniff. He would stop on walks after sniffing something particularly interesting, and then look back at me, offering me a moment to check out what he'd found. I would lean over and look, and only then would he move on. We did not always understand each other but also: he had those talking buttons towards the end of his life, and he used them. So I do also literally mean that this dog and I talked. We spoke. With words.

Were his favorite words "food" and "no" and "now"? Sure. But frankly, are my favorite words that far off? Are yours, if you really think about it?

Part of my frustration is my usual frustration. People write about dogs as silly and ever cheerful and I find this to be a disgustingly shallow and simplified view of dogs, actually. I do not find it heartwarming in the least. A poet writing about the ever happy nature of all dogs does not strike me as insightful. They strike me as stupid about dog behavior. They strike me as a poor ethologist with only rudimentary capacity for theory of mind at best.

People talk about dogs as harmless, as stupid little not quite people who live artlessly in their homes.

Dogs on the whole are far more complex than you think.

But it's also--oh, all my life I've been head over heels for the working breeds, the hunting dogs. Big dangerous intelligent dogs, bred for their capacity to make snap second decisions independently because you, the human, cannot possibly shout out precise commands fast enough to pin down a wild boar. You and the dog work together, but for some parts of the hunt? That dog is fucking freelancing, baby. That dog is improvising. Or take the livestock guardian dog--you're not instructing him on anti-coyote tactics. When the predators show up late at night, it is all up to that dog to figure out how to play it.

They're smart. They have opinions. Ernie was just also really invested in conveying his opinions about things. And the talking buttons aren't just about the talking buttons; the talking buttons allow you to confirm, with words, the translations of nonverbal cues. He was thrilled when he got a button for "no"! But he also didn't need a button for "no" because he said "no" very clearly with a disdainful scoff/sneeze/chuff. And I know this because when he had the button and I would ask him to do something he did not want to do, he would go: scoff/sneeze *button mash: "NO"* scoff/sneeze.

(translation: NO. no. also: no.)

But all of that aside, all that extra connection and tenderness you get from communicating in your own native tongue, and knowing this little being is making the effort to communicate with you in the way you want and understand

(even though he thinks it's stupid and he often sneezes disdainfully at the buttons before deigning to use them)

(I cannot confirm this but there was a look he gave me sometimes that I would swear meant something like: "I know that you know what I mean, and you don't need me to use the buttons but I will do it to make you happy. But it's stupid." lingering eye contact, defiant posture, more intense eye contact, eventual punchy button usage)

But ALL OF THAT ASIDE, all of it.

When most people say "my pet saved my life," they mean something heart warming and emotional and that's nice and important. I'm not knocking that.

But when I say it

What I mean

Is that more than once this dog put his life on the line for mine. At least once, I absolutely would have died. I had no answer for the size of the physical threat upon us. And the other two times I can clearly think of--my odds weren't great. Sans dogs, my odds were, like. Bad. Pretty shit, actually.

So did that dog have a bite history? Technically, yes. Did he ever get in trouble for it? No, because ultimately he had flawless target selection and he understood when someone--dog or man--truly meant me significant physical harm.

So here's what it is, right. Here. Listen.

That dog saved my life. More than once. Very literally. I mean in a flesh and blood way, an immediate way, a non-metaphorical way.

He could save me and so he did, more than once.

And ultimately, when he needed it, I could not do the same. I could not save him from lung cancer. And yes, he was 13, only 3 months away from 14. And he was a big dog, and they mostly don't live too long. Sure, sure, sure.

But the point is he handed my life back to me. And I couldn't do that for him. You know? Not all the love and worry and time and money and care I put into it made the difference. The surgery prolonged his life by a few months and his quality of life was much better for it. The chemo did nothing but at least it didn't hurt him.

I tried. Yes.

But Ernie Dog, when he tried for me, succeeded.

And I don't know how to explain the debt of that to people. I think it's too uncomfortable for people to think about so they rush to platitudes. "You did your best!" Sure. And it wasn't enough. "You did more than most anyone would!" Yes, but most people suck. Even the people who have the money often suck. No shade to those who don't. "He was loved!" Obviously. And he loved me. Thus why he saved my life. And I couldn't save his. Exactly. That's my point.

So there's nothing to do with that but live with it, and no medicine for me now besides time.

But fuck. So few people get it. And I get that there's a limit to how long people will listen to you about your dearly departed dog. But mostly I don't want to talk about it because almost nobody understands. Do you know what it is to have someone prove they would die for you? I do. It's a horrible debt even when a human does it.

It's even worse when it's a dog.

[slidersimp]

Dog Football

A ficlet set in the same universe (au? narrative thread? story? Idk y'all) as my fic at my side in which Maverick gets a service dog named Tess for his PTSD post-TGM and the daggers fall in love with her immediately. Ft. occasional fun shenanigans to break up the sad emo content.

——

When Maverick looked up at a shadow covering his beach chair, the sound of footsteps on sand coming to a stop beside him, he wasn’t surprised to see Admiral Simpson standing beside him, hands on his hips as he surveyed the beach in front of them. He was surprised, however, to see the relaxed smile on the Admiral’s face. It was true they weren’t under a deadly time crunch like they had been the last time this little scene had played out, with the mission and all its disastrous consequences looming over all their heads, but a smile still wasn’t something he expected out of the Admiral under most circumstances. He was even more surprised when the Admiral glanced behind him, then sat down in the sand beside Maverick’s chair, uniform and all.

“Dogfight football?” Simpson asked, nodding towards the aviators in front of them.

At the waterline, the daggers were racing over the sand, throwing footballs between them and shouting. Since the last time they’d played, they’d started to get more of a handle on the game, figuring out something of a strategy, but the longer they went on, the more it descended into chaos. Not to mention a certain curveball that the aviators had been all too happy to introduce.

“Not quite.” Maverick told the admiral, his eyes on a single figure within the group. “Dog football. They came up with it themselves.”

The daggers had opted to keep both footballs, though at least one of them—or both, for one rather comical moment—was almost always in the mouth of a certain German Shepherd, Tess. Maverick watched the daggers chasing her into the water while they scrambled with the other ball, trying to lead her over to their respective sides or entice her back to the field of play. He wasn’t sure Tess had any idea what the rules were, but she was running circles around the daggers, evading their grabs for the ball and lighting up cheers of triumph or shouts of dismay whenever she raced into an endzone marked by a line carved into the sand.

“It looks like they’re still doing offense and defense.” Simpson observed. They watched Coyote take a sliding dive for Tess, grabbing for the football in her mouth before she dodged away, tail wagging. “Did they add any new rules for her?”

Maverick shrugged. “I’m not sure I understand it anymore, to be honest. They’re not allowed to tackle her, but that’s my rule.” 

Simpson nodded. “Smart.”

“And, I think if she scores in an endzone it gives the team more points than if a human scores.” 

Maverick watched Rooster rush past Tess, lightly shoving her playfully, lunging away and continuing to run to lure her to follow him. She was hot on his heels as he raced towards his endzone until Phoenix whistled loudly, slapping her thighs and calling for her to come her way instead. Rooster hurried to redirect her with his own calls and Maverick and Cyclone watched the opposing struggle until Payback and Fanboy slid in the sand to reach Tess, fighting to wrestle the football from her grip.

“It’s been a lot of this.” Maverick told Cyclone.

Shouts erupted from the sand as Fanboy pried the football from Tess’s jaws, nearly dropping it in the sand. He scrambled to get control of it, tossing it to Hangman before Phoenix could snatch it from his hands.

“Tess! Go long!” Jake was at the back of the pack, but he raised the ball and Tess knew exactly what he was offering, taking off sprinting towards the other end of the sectioned off patch of sand. He threw the ball hard and the aviators all watched it fly, the other football forgotten.

Tess caught the pass in the air, landing just beyond the line marking the end zone and the aviators erupted into a chaos of cheers and screams. Maverick watched Rooster nearly knock Hangman to the ground as he launched himself at him with a shout of triumph. Hondo’s whistle singled the end of the game, and Cyclone patted Maverick’s shoulder.

“Keep up the good work.” 

Maverick grinned. “It’s good to see you, Admiral.”