#New Bar Stools for Sale | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gurugirl · 9 months ago

Text

The Ranch Hand | cowboy!harry - Patreon One Shot

2.5k word preview below the cut

Your boyfriend, Jessie, sat down a bucket of beer on the table you were sitting at and pulled his stool up as you grabbed a cold one for yourself and twisted the cap off.

You didn’t know the band that was playing but they sounded pretty good, especially for a Friday night with a cold beer in your favorite little rowdy country bar.

Jessie hated the bar. He was more into cocktail joints with white tablecloths and live classical piano. The kind of place you had to dress up to go into. You didn’t blame him. He didn’t come from where you came from. You two had only a couple of things in common.

The first was that you were both from wealthy families. Your dad was a rancher and he owned half the county. You’d never hurt for anything. Jessie’s family ran the county and were all involved in politics. He went to some fancy school in a different state and only came back because his father wanted him to step into the role of prosecuting attorney.

The second thing you had in common was that you lived in the same town.

That was probably where your similarities ended. You liked Jessie. Mostly. He was usually pretty nice, if not boring, and your parents liked him so that was a plus. In fact, they set up your first date with him and it was easier to just keep things going to make your mom and dad happy.

“You look uncomfortable,” you spoke as you kept your eyes on the band and Jessie struggled to pull the metal cap from his bottle.

“I’m just… there’s peanut shells all over the floor and everyone’s staring at us.”

You laughed and shook your head. You were gonna have to break up with the guy. He couldn’t handle you and you knew that was the truth. He hated getting his hands dirty and even though he looked like he should be able to remove a bottle cap, it wasn’t the first time you had to do it for him.

Taking his beer you looked directly at him and twisted the cap off, dropping it to the floor before handing it back to him.

“I never drink beer. Not used to taking caps off…” he spoke as he took a sip. Shitty excuse.

You noticed that some of the workers from your dad’s ranch were in the bar. Probably causing trouble. The guys who worked for your dad could be rough around the edges but they were always nice to you. Just a bunch of cowboys looking to make ends meet. They all had a place to stay on the ranch at the bunkhouse provided and they were also paid pretty well. So on almost any given Friday and Saturday night, you could find some of them at the bar picking up local women, dancing, fighting, drinking…

This was your scene. This was what you enjoyed most. The rough and gritty. Salt of the earth. Phonies were quickly sniffed out in a place like this. It was why people were staring at Jessie.

You took another gulp of your beer and then you caught sight of one of the ranch hands already looking at you from across the room. Harry. He was very easy on the eyes. He’d been working at your dad’s ranch since he was 19. He’d earned a spot of trust with your father after all his years of hard work and now he had quite a lot of responsibility given to him. He had his own small cabin out of the way of the bunkhouse. He made a lot of financial decisions for your father as well. Negotiated prices for cattle sales, went to auctions to buy large equipment, handled the daily goings on of the newbie ranch hands, and did all the hiring and firing. But he also still worked his ass off. He’d pick up slack when the other workers needed help or couldn’t do the job. You imagined he was at the bar to keep the guys in line and make sure they didn’t land themselves in jail.

You and Harry were close from the beginning. You always went out of your way to meet every new worker that came on but Harry was a little different because he’d been around for almost ten years. You certainly favored him over all the others.

“Why’s he coming over here?” Jessie whined as Harry walked through the crowd with his eyes on you and a mischievous grin on his face. You just knew he was bout to do something to piss Jessie off, which was easy to do.

“Cause he’s comin’ to say hello.” You smiled at Harry as he tipped his cowboy hat to you, stepping between you and Jessie, and reaching in to grab a bottle of beer from the bucket your boyfriend bought.

“Uh, that’s ours,” Jessie sat up straight in his stool as he watched Harry uncap the bottle and take a swig, ignoring him completely, jade eyes still on yours.

Harry placed his elbow on the table and leaned in close to you, those handsome green eyes running over the features on your face, “Hi.”

You felt yourself heat up and kept your eyes on his, “Hi.”

You would have forgotten all about Jessie but then…

“Excuse me. Is this for real? That’s our beer,” Jessie reminded the cowboy.

Harry rolled his eyes and stood up with his hand on your shoulder, softly squeezing before he looked at your boyfriend, “Sorry about that bud,” and then he looked back down at you, “Okay if I have this, sweetheart?” He lifted the bottle of beer upward.

You nodded, “Of course you can have it, Harry.”

Harry’s grin widened as he took another drink and Jessie stood up to move in front of Harry. Maybe in an attempt to intimidate him? You weren’t sure exactly. But one thing you knew was that Harry would put Jessie down in the blink of an eye. Jessie wasn’t a small man but Harry was scrappy and liked to get dirty. Didn’t mind a scuffle when the moment called for it either. You’d seen him put a lot of men in their place.

“Next time you ask before you take.” Jessie pointed. You snickered to yourself. It was a good attempt at least.

Harry laughed and dragged his eyes down your body before he tipped his hat again and walked right into Jessie’s shoulder, making him stumble into the table. Harry looked back in faux surprise at Jessie and then at you with a wink before he went back to where he’d been before with the other guys.

Okay, so maybe Harry was a bit of a dick. But he’d never been rude to you. And you liked him, unfortunately for Jessie. Harry was not a fan of your boyfriends. He’d made that clear since Jessie started coming around four months ago.

“You just let him take a beer like that?” Jessie gestured toward where Harry had gone.

“I did. What’s the problem? I know this bucket wasn’t expensive so you’re not hurtin’ for the money.”

He took a deep breath and looked off toward where the cowboys were drinking, “Do you like him, Y/n?”

You pursed your lips to the side in thought as you watched people line dancing and stomping on the peanut-covered wood floors in their cowboy boots. Now you didn’t really need to think much about that question. Because you did like Harry, and he liked you the same. All the stolen kisses and sneaky moments you two had… it’s just that that could never happen out in the open. Your dad would never go for it and Harry might lose his job if your parents ever caught wind of anything happening between you two. So you’d always kept your distance because that was the most practical option.

But you couldn’t lie and say you didn’t like the man. Anyone with two eyes could see how handsome he was.

“Sure,” you shrugged and looked at Jessie.

“Like him, like him?” Jessie looked back toward you across the table.

“Why are you worried about it, Jes? Even if I did, it’s not a good match. My dad would kill him.”

He shook his head and watched the people on the floor dancing with their big, shiny belt buckles glistening under the shoddy lights, the strum of guitars, and a twangy voice singing an old Garth Brooks song.

You got up and waved when you saw your friend Chelle. She was among those dancing and you weren’t going to miss it, “You coming with me or not?” You looked back at the dud sitting on his stool with a scowl.

“Go on ahead. I’ll be right here.”

You rolled your eyes. There was only so much more you could take of Jessie. If he had even shown an ounce of something that looked like fun you might want to stick around longer. Hell, if he even would have just stood up to Harry about the way he had been very clearly flirting with you in front of him (rather than get so worked up over the beer Harry took) that could even be something for you to think about. But the man wouldn’t dance with you, he wouldn’t ride horses on the ranch, he wouldn’t go to rodeos, and he most certainly didn’t want to do anything that could sully up his nice clothes once in a while. Stepping over peanut shells was his limit. If it weren’t for your parents you’d never have considered him in the first place.

“Y/n!” Chelle pulled you in next to her and you began moving yourself in line in a weave; right, back, front… You always felt like an idiot when you joined in on line dancing but that was part of the fun. Everyone looked like hillbillies and idiots out there and it was a blast.

The music, the atmosphere, the raucous noise from everyone laughing, singing, shouting, stomping… your country girl roots were in full bloom that night. And beer after beer then a couple shots of whisky probably did you no good but you were going to enjoy your night with or without your boyfriend who did not move from the spot where you left him. Part of you, at one point, hoped he’d just go. He was uncomfortable and not having fun. You knew the only reason he was there was to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t do anything dumb.

And the later it got the more wild the bar became. More people filled in the small space, the music was louder, some of the lights at the edge of the room were dimmed, and the line for the bathroom grew longer.

“He gonna sit over there watching me all night?” You heard Harry from behind you as he moved in step, a bottle of beer in his big hand you noted as you turned to look up at him.

You laughed, “Probably. He’s jealous.”

Harry licked his pink lips and tampered what you knew was a big grin, “Oh yeah? Why’s he jealous?”

You both did a clumsy pivot turn together and you just smiled up at the handsome cowboy and shook your head.

There was no need to answer Harry. He knew what was going on. He knew you liked him just the same as he liked you. It had always been something secret between you two but it was obvious to almost everyone around. Except for your father. That was one time when you were both on your best behavior.

“Surprised you’re still here. Don’t you have an early morning tomorrow?” You asked.

He nodded, “Sure do. Just keeping an eye on everything going on here is all. I’ve got a responsibility for most of the people in this bar right now.”

“Oh yeah? All the guys seem to be doing okay. No one’s getting too crazy tonight it seems,” you looked around at the other workers, and most of them were two sheets to the wind but they were tame and having fun.

“Still my responsibility. Plus you’re still here.”

You grinned, “That I am. Figured I’d close the place down tonight.”

Harry laughed, “You usually do anyway. Always have been like one of the boys. Just as rowdy as the rest of us.”

You loved it when you got to talk to Harry. Loved how he looked at you and how he’d say your name. Loved how so many times you’d done just this and it felt exactly like what you wanted.

Another shot of whisky at the bar with Harry and you started to feel woozy. Your world was spinning but you were still having too much fun to call it a night.

“I should take you home,” Jessie appeared, taking you by your shoulders and pulling you away from Harry. For a short time, you’d forgotten he was still there.

“No, I think Harry’s gonna take me home.” You looked up at Harry.

“That’s right. Was just about to take her home.” Harry spoke as he stepped in closer to Jessie.

Jessie laughed and you felt his firm grip moving you away but you were too drunk to really put up any kind of fight.

“Nah, just stay here with the rest of the drunk cowboys. I got her.”

Harry followed you and Jessie out the front of the bar as Jessie opened up the passenger door of his nice car.

“You gonna be all right sweetheart?” Harry ducked down to ask you before Jessie could close the door – Harry blocking the space so he could look at you as he reached up for your face and softly turned your head to look at him.

You nodded, “It’s fine. I just need to go to bed.”

“That’s enough. She’s fine,” Jessie closed the door.

Your memory was only clear in bits and pieces as Jessie drove you home. You remembered him berating you for acting like a clown and then when he brought you to your room the memory of him kissing you and taking your hand to cup over his crotch was vivid. You remember telling him you had to go to sleep but he was angry at you. You could feel that too. You remembered his anger and how he shoved you down into your bed before he was hovered over you.

But then you remembered being on your knees in front of your toilet and expelling the contents of your stomach furiously. Jessie’s words rang in your ears about how you were gross and just as nasty as all the cowboys on the ranch. How he didn’t want to fuck you anyway when you were drunk.

You woke up on your bathroom floor and Jessie was long gone.

NOTE: This is a 15k+ Patreon-only one shot. If you'd like to read more consider signing up!

xoxo

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #firstpost #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfic #cowboyrry #harry styles fan fic #cowboy!harry #harry styles fanfiction #ranch hand harry #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

453 notes · View notes

plotsignificanthaircut555 · 6 months ago

Text

Long Lonely Layover (Nanami Kento x Reader)

Sitting at a bar in the Paris airport you’re approached by a handsome stranger on a similarly long layover.

warnings: SMUT, MDNI, 18+ Only. kissing, sexy, doggy, oral, getting right nasty up in the bathroom, public sex, standing sex, standing oral, talk of contreception (keep it safe yall), emotions after sex

6.7k words. Ao3 I really hope you enjoy this one, I hope was super happy to write for this big beautiful man once again. Kind of plus size coded reader(all my readers are pretty mid/plus sized coded.)

Your eyes flicked up to the bottom right corner of the news broadcast in front of you. There was a little animation card that showed the weather, the date, and the local time.

Charles de Gaulle Aéroport, Paris. 12:22 pm

The broadcast changed to a commercial, some beautiful woman biking through a sunlit trail, a glass bottle of wine in a stylish backpack that was apparently the product for sale. How you craved to be that woman, you wanted to feel the sun instead of these harsh, artificial lights above you. You wanted to open a bottle of wine in some gorgeous Parisian park, not pay a massive up charge for each pour, as you were now. Your last flight had brought you here nearly an hour ago, you didn’t board your next flight for another two and a half. A four hour, cumulative, layover. Just enough time to drag, but not enough to fully leave the airport, stretch your legs, and enjoy some local sights. Especially with how long customs could take. You sighed, daring to check the clock display once again.

12:23pm

Fuck.

The airport bartender hovered the bottle of white wine above your glass, you nodded, and he emptied its contents. In your defense, the bottle had already been opened by another patron before you sat down, you just drank the remaining two glasses worth. Taking a small sip, deciding it may be better to start savoring these— you have a long afternoon ahead of you, you scanned the airport terminal for a duty free store that may sell books. You could pick up a saucy paperback or a mystery thriller and breeze through the next few hours. No luck, you would have to close out and wander through the various hallways and levels in search of one. You took a larger sip of your wine, feeling confident in your next plan. Before you could catch the bartender's attention, a voice came from your side. It sounded like French, someone was speaking to you in French— in the Paris airport, a likely place for that to happen. But the tonality held something else, something richer and augmented. You turned toward the voice and found an apologetic looking blonde man. He was tall, even from your place on the barstool you could tell, and he was, broad shoulders, the black and burgundy pinstripe blazer that housed them looking like dark brick you’d find in one of Paris' many gothic style buildings. Catching yourself, you looked up at his eyes and saw him gesture his head toward the stool next to you.

“Puis-he m’asseoir ici?” He asked, presumably again as you had completely missed what he said earlier.

“The seat? Oh! No- yes! Wait no, no one is sitting there, yes you can sit here.” You didn’t know a lot of French, but this was a common enough phrase that after some embarrassing mental flip flopping you were able to answer.

He softens, and pulls the suitcase slung over his shoulder and sets it down next to the stool,

“Merci.”, he smiles softly, “or—I suppose—Thank You would be better, here.”

You smiled in awe, “English and French. Very impressive.”

Nanami blushes at your voice, or maybe it was your smile, pretty, perfect teeth shining at him, your cheeks curling upward, he thought he felt his heart leap. He shrugs a bit, an attempt to downplay your compliment.

“My French isn’t very good. Mostly yes, no, is that seat taken? Can I get that coffee or that pastry? ” He adds, pointing to the imaginary bakery case before him, “The English is okay, I do a lot of business over the phone so I get more practice.”

“Better than mine! French slipped through my education totally. Spanish a bit, but mostly just English.” You shrug, eyeing him carefully as he slid into the bar stool next to you, making himself comfortable.

He was brutally handsome, a long, sloped nose stopped just before a pert Cupid’s bow, tan rose colored lips stayed slightly parted as he listened to you. But his eyes, amber and honey, outer irises deepening to an oaken, whiskey brown, they took your breath away. You couldn’t look at them very long, finding yourself unable to form thought, and quickly blinking away. Small scatterings of freckles lined the tops of his hollowed cheeks, and the line of his nose, such a lovely detail on an even lovelier man. His hair was clearly styled at some point, but was quickly losing its hold, sandy blonde strands falling in front of his eyes as he read the menu in front of him.

Nanami could feel you looking at him, the skin of his neck was heating up, he wanted to take off his jacket, but that would be too obvious. He hadn’t noticed you when he approached the bar, he truly needed a drink after the turbulence on his flight in from Tokyo, 14 hours of travel so far, 8 more to go. But when you turned your face, observing the terminal around you, he stopped in his tracks. You were gorgeous, truly gorgeous, the details of your face reminded him of an oil painting, all soft lines and creamy textures. There was one seat open on the bartop, directly next to you. Maybe he should have been embarrassed how quickly he had rushed over to you, but you didn’t seem to notice him catch his breath, or his hurried approach when you spoke to him. And now he could feel his heart drumming in his chest as he struggled to read the menu in front of him. His French was fine, he had to use it more often than he expected when he joined the French club in university. The bartender approached tentatively, you assumed he was also a bit intimidated by the Adonis that had joined the bartop. Nanami assumed it was because he could see him sweating already, confirmed by being served a glass of water nearly instantly.

Nanami scans the menu quickly before he darts his eyes over to your half full wine glass,he turns to you.

“Sorry,” he starts, god this is embarrassing, “which wine is that?”

“It’s the Amici Olema. Do you want to try it?” You were taking a chance here, sliding your glass towards him.

This could be taken as a moment of generosity from a kind stranger, a massively inappropriate imposition, or as flirtation. You weren’t even totally sure which one you intended it to be, yet.

His blush darkened, and his breath hitched. Nanami tried to control his trembling hand as he graciously accepted your offer. The glass was sweating a bit from the chilled wine condensating. He could see where your fingers had been before, there was the slightest sheen on one lip of the glass, where your lips had been. He restrained himself from putting his mouth in the same spot, opting to taste from the opposite edge instead. The wine was delightful, tart and cool, there was a subtle peach note on the back. Nanami hums happily, his eyes closing blissfully, allowing it to linger in his tongue before returning your glass. He nodded toward the bartender asking for a pour of his own. You looked down at the glass in front of you, one shared between yourself and this handsome stranger. His pretty pink lips against the same glass as yours, a small smudge showing you exactly where he had sipped. The popping of the fresh wine bottle woke you from your lingering fantasy.

“Thank you for the recommendation.” He raised his glass to you.

You tap your glass against his, “I’m glad you like it….”

You raise your eyebrows indicating you were wanting to add his name.

“Kento Nanami.” He replied offering you a wide closed lip smile.

You told him your name in return. Sipping your glasses in sync. There was something exciting about knowing you were tasting the same thing. The same tartness that slid over your tongue, was coating his as well. The thought made you cross one leg over the other. You pray you were being subtle enough.

A thick silence blanketed the two of you. The noise of the airport hummed and buzzed around you. Boarding calls and codes run out from the loudspeakers in various languages, often repeated one or two times. Your fingers slid over the menu, you were starting to feel the effects of four glasses of wine, you should probably eat something. The bar menu wasn’t expansive, mostly appetizers, a few salads, a few questionable sounding sandwiches. Nothing was making your mouth water but you could already feel your stomach growling.

“Are you hungry?” You to your left again facing Nanami who had now adorned the cutest pair of reading glasses fuck he was too much , “I’m hungry but I’m not starving and these flatbreads look pretty big. Would you want to split one?”

“Only if you let me put it on my tab.”

You started to protest but he raised his hand.

“For the great wine recommendation.” He finished, those honey eyes catching yours and making you swoon.

You sighed out, barely containing your smile, “well if you insist, how can I say no.”

He ordered with the bartender, and you dipped your wine positively smitten, his French was clean and lilting. The smallest hint of his home accent lingered, his pronunciation of the swirling language was nearly perfect. Under different circumstances this would be a very good date. You chastise yourself in reminder that this is not a date, this is just benign, unintentioned human kindness that bears no flirtation and you should be sick with yourself for even entertaining the idea.

That is, until he removed his jacket. He leaned back in his stool, pulling the blazer away from his body. Giant, ropey biceps in a barely fitting black sweater. This guy was trying to kill you. He hung his blazer in the back of his chair, back muscles stretching the fabric even further. Thankfully, his turned body gave you solace to chug your ice water, knowing it wouldn’t satiate the thirst you were feeling.

Nanami seemed to be unaffected by your gawking, adjusting his glasses and checking his watch, sighing at the slowly ticking time.

You needed a second to gather your voice back, “long layover?”

“About two and a half hours.” He removed his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

You nodded, “mine too. It’s a beautiful airport to be stuck in, but…it’s still an airport.”

He let out a laugh, his smile showed two small dimples on either side of his lower lip.

“Do you travel often?” He asked, taking another sip of his wine.

“For work, yes. I’d like to do some more traveling on my own. But this works for now.” You shrugged.

He nodded, knowingly, “what do you do?”

You told him. Your job was a little complex to explain but he listened closely and seemed to relate. You two began talking about your respective careers. You learned he worked for a Japanese finance company that had a few international offices in the United States, Denmark, Argentina, and the UK. This was his first time traveling internationally for this job, being sent out to settle the last few details of a contract. He asked good questions, he listened closely to your answers. Minutes ticked by, the food arrived, more glasses of wine being poured, the stories shared became more intimate and detailed as you two grew closer both emotionally and physically. Soon you two were nearly interlocking your knees, the flatbread completed, a new bottle of wine nearly half drunk, your cheeks flushed, his glasses discarded, folded on the table.

You slipped your cardigan off your shoulders, leaving your arms and collarbones exposed to him. The wine had heated your skin, Nanami’s eyes flicked over your form quickly before returning to his wine glass.

“So your wife must hate being apart now that you’re traveling more.” You baited him. It was an obvious ploy on your part, the wine had numbed some of your finesse.

Nanami smirked, immediately catching you out, “I’m not married but that was very clever. Very subtle move.”

You laughed with him, his mix of teasing and praise sent your head fluttering. He continued,

“I do prefer my move of not-so-subtly checking if you were wearing a ring, which I did earlier when I asked about the wine.”he sipped the shallow pour still in his own glass, “you don’t wear a ring. But plenty of people don’t, are you with someone?”

He had begun to lean in conspiratorially, as though your relationship status and your sharing of it were top secret information. But you could see the small flecks of gold in his irises now, the small beginnings of lines around his eyes, the pores along his nose and cheeks. You shook your head, catching his eyes directly. You both lingered in this moment; neither of you were beholden to someone else, the acknowledgement of shared chemistry hung between the two of you, the ticking clock of your coming departures ticked away in the back of both of your minds. Nanami watched you closely, your lips parted slightly, eyes drinking him. He would normally feel anxious being observed so closely, but your gaze was so warm, so inviting, he felt nothing but total elation.

His gaze was so intense, you felt so seen by him. Maybe it was the wine, more than likely it was the company. The serendipity of this moment. You weren’t one to believe easily in fate, but you were inclined to believe something beyond had brought this man to you. One as beautiful, as charming, as engaging as Kento. You checked the television’s clock briefly. Only one hour left until your flight starts to board. Only one hour left before you never saw him again. Only one hour.

“Can I ask you something, kind of crazy?” The words slipped from you before you could think rationally.

Kento had noticed the time as well, counting down the remaining fifty-nine minutes until your separation. He had donned his wire framed glasses again, wanting to memorize every inch of you in perfect clarity. He raises his eyebrows at your question, heart pounding in private hope. Could you? Would you?

“Please.” He answered, leaning closer, his knee sliding against yours, “ask me anything.”

You flicked your eyes down to where his body touched yours, you hadn’t yet felt him touch you, but even the brush of his clothed leg against yours had your throat tightening.

“I’m not one to…ask this sort of thing, but since I’ll probably never see you again after this, I won’t have to bear the shame.” You swallowed hard, begging your courage to stay with you, “you’re…incredible. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re smart and funny and so charming and you’re…fucking stunning. I would be so remiss if I didn’t ask…”

Your words were failing you, your heart racing, you scanned his face for any sign of coming rejection and your throat caught, closing it off from more words.

Fuck. You were caving in. This was so embarrassing, so presumptuous. You had ruined what could have been a good memory.

Fuck

Kento gave you another moment to see if you would finish your question. When it was clear you were psyching yourself out, he watched as you sighed frustratedly. How sweet.

Nanami put the toe of his shoe under the foot rest bar of your barstool and pulled your seat closer to him. Your eyes shot open, embarrassment quickly turning to confusion. Nanami put his arm around the backrest, just barely brushing over your back as he did. Bringing you back to look at him, he smiled wider at your sweet, blushing face. He moved a piece of hair out of your face, fingers lingering on your soft skin. His touch was electric, enticing, you wanted those fingers in your mouth, on your body, anywhere, everywhere.

“I would be honored to find somewhere private where we can pass the rest of this layover.” Nanami’s eyes had grown darker, full pupils and focused, “if you’ll indulge me.”

In a flash the tabs were paid, both by him, drinks were finished, bags were grabbed, and you had quickly located the closest empty room with a locking door to you. Nanami’s hand on your lower back ushered you inside quickly before shutting and locking the door behind him, pulling on it once to guarantee you wouldn’t be interrupted. You set your bag on the ground, next to his own carry on, and stood back up. Facing him directly, now in total privacy, in the motion activated light of this family restroom the ticking clock faded, the crowd of the airport was forgotten, it was only him and you. Nanami looked at you, head to toe, before taking a few careful steps toward you, as one would approach a centerpiece in a well curated museum. Thoughtful and admiring. He stood chest to chest with you, although as a tall man he stood quite a bit above you. He hadn’t yet removed his glasses, they sat perched in his nose, intending the skin on either side. You could smell his cologne, something subtle and herbal. Bergamot and cedar. His large, warm hands came to cup your face, yours covered his.

“I’m usually much more of a romantic. I hope you’ll forgive me.” Kento leaned in, his lips barely brushing yours in apology before kissing you.

From the moment your lips touched, you were gone. He tasted like the wine you shared, his lips were soft and hungry. It took no time at all for your tongue to find its way past his lips. His hands flew from your face to your waist, up your back, down to squeeze your hips. Yours similarly wandered, across the downed of his back, up his arms, tugging at the cropped hair at the nape of his neck. The bathroom quickly filled with the wet, smacking sounds of your kisses. You removed his jacket, and your own. Soon your shirt was discarded on the floor. You didn’t even have time to lament not being able to wear something nice before he pulled your comfort focused sports bra over your head, your breasts falling freely. He watched them bounce freely before settling, his mouth watered. You covered yourself shyly.

“Don’t stare…” you weren’t sure where this bashful side of you had come from, surely he was pulling it out of you.

He moved your arms, baring your chest to him again, before moving onto his knees before you. His hands traveled up your body, pawing at your breasts, cupping and squeezing them.

“You’re right, we have so little time.” Nanami looked up at you wickedly, something devious and titillating behind his amber eyes, “and I have to get you ready.”

Before you could inquire further he began to pull your comfy travel pants off of you, untying the drawstring easily, stretching elastic, not your sexiest apparel but here he was down on his knees begging for you. You realized he hadn’t yet removed his sweater so you tugged at the back of the collar. He pulled the black knit over his head, in a second. You took the opportunity to slip off your sneakers and removed your pants fully. His body was just as incredible as it seemed, he truly was something out of myth. Gladiatorial build, masses of muscle cut lean under his fair, even skin. The freckles on his face littered his shoulders and the tops of his pecs, his abdominal muscles were further contoured by a tan colored happy trail leading into his still belted and buckled trousers. You moaned at the sight of him, making him smirk (and blush). He returned to his spot between your legs before looking back up at you.

“Do you trust me?” He spoke, voice rough with arousal.

You nodded desperately. You did. Anything he wanted from you, you would have given him at this moment. It wasn’t until he moved one of your thighs over his shoulder and snaked the paired hand up your back to support you, that you figured out why your trust was necessary. Immediately your blood ran cold, anxiety shadowing your arousal. He looked like a strong guy…but you were a fully grown woman: tummy, thighs, breasts, and arms to show as much. Never did you think someone would even attempt to support your full weight like he was implying.

“Kento…wait..I’m-“, you protested, trying to move to stand on your own legs.

His grip was iron as he kept your leg on his shoulder, he was at eye level with your pussy, hypnotized by the sight of you wet and waiting for him. He would not be denied.

“I regularly bench more than 180 kilos, you’re a warm up. Please trust me.”

His voice was so flippant, as though lifting your entire body over his shoulders was the most obvious feat in the world. Your reservations held strong until his pleading eyes looked up at you again, his mouth watering, hair disheveled, he looked so hungry. You couldn’t bear the thought of depriving him.

“Please.” He asked again, giving your leg on his shoulder a soft squeeze.

You nodded again, and he slung your other leg over his shoulder in one perfect lift. You now sat on his shoulders with your back against the wall, his hands holding your waist and hips. Finally, after three excruciating hours of build up, Nanami finally tasted you. If he weren’t already on his knees they would have buckled. You tasted better than he had imagined, so wet for him already, your pretty moans still reaching his ears even through your legs against his head. Your hands found his hair, gripping onto him for stability, taking your nail across his scalp as he lapped feverishly at your cunt. He didn’t realize he was making deliciously primal grunting sounds as he gorged himself on you. His moans sent vibrations into your core and up through your body. You rushed to cover your mouth as he shook his head side to side, tongue flicking perfectly at your swollen, throbbing clitoris.

“Fuck!” You panted, not caring how hard the back of your head hit the bathroom wall, “you’re so good at that, fuck, Kento—ah!”

Nanami smiled, drunk of your taste, your sounds, the feeling of your body on his shoulders. He was losing himself completely, he could have stayed like this for eternity. Pleasuring you could become his life’s purpose, his calling, he could be the devotee at the altar of your sexuality and die a happy man. But he was all too aware of the ticking clock that would rip you away from him. Luckily, he was a man who thrived under a deadline.

Nanami sucked hard at your clit, alternating between pushing his tongue deep into your hole, and circling it around your clit. You couldn’t believe how good it felt, in just a few minutes he had solidified himself as the best loved you had ever had, and it wasn’t even close.

But you were, you could feel your impending orgasm rushing toward you like a speed train. You whimpered into your palm, trying to warn him, (or warn yourself?) about what was to come, but he could already feel it. Your hips were shaking against his face, legs clamping down against his ears. Like a true expert, he didn't change a thing, his patterns and devotion bringing your orgasm crashing down around you in seconds.

You cried out into your palm, the other hand gripping the back of Kento’s neck to hold him in place. He was happy to relish in your climax, sucking in everything you released onto his eager mouth. When you couldn’t take anymore, you pushed at his forehead, whimpering.

“No more, no more. Please.”

When his mouth was no longer attached to you he sucked in a breath, coming back to himself. He squeezed the flesh at the top of your thighs, right where they met your hips and tummy, coming down from his own haze he pressed soft, intentioned kisses to the insides of your legs. He turned his eyes back upward, his pleasure drunk eyes and dripping mouth making you swoon. Nanami eased you off his shoulders carefully before lunging to kiss you again, it was so dirty to taste yourself on his tongue.

“You taste like heaven. I don’t know how I’ll go without now that I’ve had you.” He uttered against your lips, tongue still charging forward against your own.

You mewled at his praises, “you’re so good. Too good. You do this a lot?”

Hot kisses fill the gaps between words as you bring your hands to his belt, unbuckling and pulling at the waistband of his pants. Kento shakes his head, pulling off from the kiss to look you in the eye.

“I’ve never done anything like this before.” He was as shocked as you were.

He wasn’t usually social, let alone pulling people who were essentially strangers into private corners to have sex with. You had brought something out of him he hadn’t even known existed. Something primal and desperate, something passionate and consuming. You were touched at his admission, and awestruck by his natural skill and the situation you were in. You kissed him again, finishing the removal of his belt. His hands trembled with enthusiasm as he helped you remove his pants. You couldn’t help yourself, you reached past the fly and palmed him through his briefs. Fuck.

He was big, thick and full and so hard it was a miracle he wasn’t in tears. You moaned at the heft of it in your hand, which only caused the caged erection to pulse more. You wanted to taste him,to feel the weight of it in your mouth, to know every inch of this man before he was gone from you. Kento groans at your hand stroking him through the fabric, indulging briefly before putting his hand over yours, training his eyes back to you. He looked disheveled and desperate, hot mouth hanging open to catch his breath, eyes hazy and drooping.

“We don’t have enough time….” He mumbled, his forehead pressing against yours, eyes screwed shut he huffs out as you squeeze him, “I don’t have a condom…I’m sorry.”

“IUD.” You assure him, desperate to feel him raw inside of you, to feel him pulse and grow and cum.

He grips you harder, eyes opening wide, “Are you sure?”

You nod, practically lapping into his mouth for another sloppy kiss. He removed his cock from his briefs, not pulling his pants down or away and stroked himself a few times, each one eliciting another moan into your open mouth. Holding you close against him, Nanami allowed himself to luxuriate in the feeling of your body pressed against him. Trying to remember the heat, the weight of you in his arms, the smell of your perfume, the way your hair felt in between his fingers. He ignored the ache in his heart as he struggled to imagine how he would be able to let you go now that he held you. He couldn’t bear to think about that yet. Not while he could have you now.

“Brace your hands against the door, please.” He ordered against your lips.

You nodded before turning and placing your hands in the form of a standing push up against the locked, all too thin door of the restroom. You shivered as you felt Kento’s hands outline the form of your body, nearly crumbling entirely when you felt the tip of his cock brush against your ass. He leaned in close to your ear, moving your hair to one side, one of his hands interlocking with yours against the door. His chest pressed against your back, radiating heat. His breath tickled the tiny hairs on the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry this isn’t more romantic. You deserve to be worshiped and spoiled properly, I’m sorry I can’t give that to you now.” Kento’s tongue trailed up the side of your neck as his unentangled hand aligned himself with your sex.

When Kento Nanami finally entered you, it was inhuman the speed at which he rushed to cover your mouth, stifling the cry that came from you.

He shushed you hurriedly, “You sound so beautiful but I can’t have us interrupted. Bite my hand if you need to.”

He filled you so completely, thick and deep. He was so big, you felt your velvet walls throbbing around him already, beating in time with your frantic heart. His hand kept yours locked against the door, fingers interlocked sweetly, despite the firm grip. His other hand held your hip in place, he pulled out nearly to the tip before filling you completely again, somehow deeper than the previous. His cock head pushed right up against your cervix making your eyes roll back and you whimper pathetically against his palm. After another thrust your arms started to shake, barely able to hold yourself up against the door. Nanami, of course, noticed.

“Here, hold your arms like this.” Still sheathed inside of you he moved your arms in front of you, folded together as though you were sleeping, and pressed you further against the door, body now flush against the cool metal and wood.

You buried your head in your arms, every thrust of his sending you further and further into total euphoria. You tried so hard to be quiet, keeping your mewls muffled against your arm, but it was so difficult when he really started to thrust, setting a delicious rhythm that even your best toy could never achieve.

Nanami’s teeth were threatening to pierce the skin of his lip, the groans and grunts he held back threatening to erupt. You were so tight around him, if he had had any thoughts left he would have worried his cock would snap off. He palmed the flesh of your ass, spreading you out to watch your walls stretch and cling to him as he thrust in and out. He nearly came right there, eyes rolling back, a throaty huff leaving him, he couldn’t watch anymore or he would lose himself completely. He found solace in pressing his forehead against the connection point of your neck and your shoulder, whispering to you in a long stream of praises and promises.

“You feel so good. You’re taking me so well. I would have taken you out first, if I could have. The nicest table at the best restaurant I know, you deserve it. Fuck. Fuck, anything you wanted. I should have had you in a beautiful bed, you’d look so gorgeous splayed out for me--agh, fuck you’re getting so tight. You’d like that, huh?” He shuddered as you clenched around him, body shaking, resolve crumbling.

His words were growing more and more nonsensical, sounds paving through thought to fill the small bathroom. Everything about him felt engineered to make you cum, and you were so fucking close, you could feel his cock twitching between thrusts, he was getting close too. You raised your head from your arms, he seized the chance to press his forehead against your cheek, his lips meeting your skin anywhere he could. Your ear, your cheek, your jaw. You felt spoiled, you felt ravished, you worried you may never be able to fuck another person. No one would have you again, no one could make you feel like this, only him. Only him. There was only him.

“I-I can’t last…I--” Nanami pleaded in your ear, his whisky voice dowsing you in pleasure, your eyes rolling back, mouth dropping open into a silent scream.

Your second orgasm was summoned in full force, tipping over the edge and arriving all around as Kento sounded the most delicious, salacious moan directly against the skin of your face. His hips jerking beyond his control, his own orgasm being pulled from him by you and your fluttering cunt. He pushed in as far as he could, tip pressing against your cervix. His hands held your hips so tight you knew he would leave bruises, you silently prayed that they would never leave you, that you had been marked by him forever. Your breath returned to you in choppy, pitched up gasps, he was quick to wrap his arms around your waist, catching you before your legs could fail underneath you. He was still filling you, spurt after spurt of white painting the inside of you as you trembled in his sturdy arms. Panting together, folded together, coming down from a simultaneous climax you and Nanami shared a moment of singularity, joined together completely, with no sense of time or place, nothing existed outside of the pair of you. And the pair itself held no boundary, no ego, no sense of self.

The bliss was quickly chased away by the remembrance that after this, you would never see him again. A dual continental moment of chance led you here. However distance, logic, and responsibility would rip you apart. Despite the ache in his heart, Kento was the one to break the embrace, kissing the bare flesh of your shoulder blade as he pulled out and slowly set you back onto your own feet. His hands didn't leave you until your colt legs had grown into a firmer foundation. At which point you felt a chill surrounding you, embarrassment, fear, but above all of that: a profound and perhaps overinflated sense of loss. Nanami shuffled behind you, the sound of a zipper, the retrieval of his discarded sweater. You couldn’t turn to face him yet, you didn't want to see the denouement, for it to truly be over.

Fabric brushed against your tricep, calling your attention back into the restroom.

“Your pants.” Nanami’s voice was gentle, so different from the raw honey depth you had just experienced, You turned on an inhale, accepting your clothing back.

He watched you start to redress, with every inch you pulled up your pants, covering your shapely naked legs, he sank further. He didn’t expect to feel so empty, truthfully he hadn't expected this at all, he meant it when he told you he hadn’t ever done anything like this before, he had the occasional one night stand but always in more formal, organized scenarios. He didn’t think himself capable of such raw passion, such chaotic intimacy. He wasn’t ready to forgo this new streak in himself.

He was dressed far before you, now focusing the entirety of his energy mourning the loss of the sight of you. You found your bra on the floor, and by donning it, sealed the sight of your round, smooth, perfect breasts away from him forever. Your shirt went over your head and covered the expanse of your bare stomach, the early stages of finger shaped bruises on your waist no longer for him to admire and take pride in. When you were dressed again you turned to face him, scared eyes softening at the sight of him.

“This was…” You started, unsure of how to finish.

Unexpected? Sudden? Life changing? Mind blowing? Emotionally irresponsible?

He nodded, knowing whatever you chose to fill that blank, he was feeling too. He took in a long breath before closing the distance and pulling you into a long, deep kiss. His arms wrapped around your back, one hand tangling in the hair at the back of your head. No clashing tongues, no biting lips, no frantic hands grabbing whatever they could. Just his swollen lips joined with yours. Your eyes were closed but you could feel the sting of tears starting to build. You fought them down and focused instead on memorizing the feeling of his kiss. When he finally pulled away he held your face in his hands, brushing one cheek affectionately with his thumb. Those golden brown eyes beheld you so kindly, so tenderly for a second or so…had it been eternity, it wouldn't have been long enough.

Nanami’s watch glinted under the overhead lighting, flashing lightly in his eye, alerting him to the time: 3:03pm, his flight had begun boarding. He sighed, looking back to you.

“Listen…”He started, eyes boring into you, “This was…incredible. You are incredible. I don’t want to go, my flight is boarding. Its the last one out tonight or else I would miss it, I promise.”

You laughed a bit, your smile returning. He separated from you to dig through his bag before pulling a business card out for you.

“I know this is unlikely but, if you’re ever in Japan, I would love to see you. Please, reach out.” He gazed at you hopefully, however not expecting an answer.

You nodded, watching as he picked up his bag and peered in the mirror, brushing the front part of his hair back in an attempt to look less like he had just fucked in the family bathroom of an airport terminal, it was not successful. He moved to the door, unlocking it carefully, before stopping himself. Kento turned back to you, chuckling in spite of himself.

“I don't want to go.” he repeated, just barely audible to you.

This time you traversed the gap between you, kissing him once again. He struggled to hold you again with one hand holding his bag, but he managed, indulging fully in your lips for the last time.

“Thank you for this, Kento. You are really something amazing.” You brushed some of his hair back from him after separating your lips, “If I am ever in Japan, you’re my first call.”

He smiled down at you, unable to resist pecking your lips one final time before opening the bathroom door and peeling away from you. When the door closed you took in a long breath. You were thankful for how it had ended, you were far more thankful that it had happened at all. He was already becoming a fond memory you would treasure forever. One day you would remember him as a testament to your youth, to being exciting and risky. But for now, the smell of his cologne still lingered in the room, the sound of his moans still rang in your ears.

You made your flight just before the gate closed, having taken too much time in the bathroom trying to cool your flushed face, smooth your mussed hair, rid yourself of the smell of sex that seemed to stick to you. You didn't miss how the flight attendant rolled her eyes at your approach, scanning your ticket and allowing you to enter the bridge. Luckily your employer had sprung for a first class seat, so you didn’t have to rush the length of the plane in order to find your row. You were grateful to find an empty spot in the overhead bin only a few rows ahead of where your seat should be, quickly stowing it away before moving between the aisle apologetically. You were thankful you had chosen an aisle seat so you wouldn't have to ask whatever poor sap was sat next to you to get up so you could sit down. Finally you arrived at the row and seat number that matched your ticket. Raising your head from your triple check of your seat number you saw your seatmate. A broad, beautifully built blonde man in a black knit sweater whose cum was still sticking to your legs. He gawked at you, you felt your mouth mirroring his in a surprised O.

“This is your seat?” Was the only thing you could think to ask.

Before he could stutter out an answer the flight attendant who you had already wronged interjected, “Ma’am, please find your seat and sit down.”

You nodded, still in disbelief staring at him as he stared back at you. You took your seat next to him, your shoulders touching. Such a small touch felt electric as though he hadn’t been inside of you just minutes earlier. Neither of you could say anything yet, stunned, elated silence settling in the inches between your seats. Without having to say a thing, Nanami reached across the arm rest and picked up your hand, closing it in his. You turned to meet his eyes, which were somehow more brilliant and inviting than they had been. It would take eight hours and some change before you reached New York City, eight more hours with him. Eight more hours.

ooooooooh! maybe a cheeky part 2? :P who knows!!! I really hope you guys enjoyed this one! Thank you so much for reading, and for all of your support with my writing, it makes me so happy. Love as always, --Doodle.

243 notes · View notes

floral-force · 1 year ago

Text

Of Brown Eyes and Desert Skies

cowboy!din djarin x f!reader - old west/western au oneshot

summary: When a new man storms into the saloon you work at, you're instantly terrified--and captivated. But as he lingers in town and stirs up trouble with every step, you question who the brown-eyed man is underneath the poncho, and if he really is just a bounty killer at his core.

words: 10.7k+

warnings/tags: EXPLICIT. 18+ ONLY. smut (rough, fingering, oral, riding, doggy style, spitting, spanking), period-typical violence (not graphic) and sexism (not from din), the helmet hat comes off, din is morally gray and not always nice, barmaid!reader

a/n: This is heavily inspired by Sergio Leone's Dollars Trilogy and the Man with No Name. Please mind the tags.

read on ao3 | masterlist

When he stormed into the saloon, you knew he was trouble. You had an eye for these things, a sixth sense for danger.

A hush fell over the crowd of people when the swinging doors opened. The stranger’s eyes narrowed under his black Stetson hat, and a cloth covered his face below them, the plain beige fabric laying over the earthy green poncho draped over broad shoulders. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over the few inches of exposed skin. You nearly dropped the glass you were drying when he started to walk over to you in those stiff, dark denim pants, the bottom of a brown leather holster bouncing on his thick right thigh, heavy with a hidden weight.

Something within you stirred, scorching your skin. He sat down on a stool right in front of where you worked and conversation within the saloon picked up again. His severe gaze burned a hole through you, and you took a step back, suddenly conscious of the sweat on the back of your neck and the heat coiling low in your gut. The sweat starting to dot your forehead certainly wasn’t from the heat of high noon, the sun hanging in a cloudless blue sky.

“Can I get you somethin’, sir?”

“Whiskey,” he said, his voice gravelly but smooth at the same time. Seductive and sultry.

You nodded and turned around, pulling a bottle of amber liquid off the bar shelf and grabbing a low glass. You could feel him staring at you as you poured, heat prickling your ears. You told him the price and he shifted to the side, digging money out of his pocket.

“Keep the change.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You gave him a smile and walked over to the register, entering the sale. You stashed the change in the jar you kept next to it, happy to see it slowly getting filled to the brim. You didn’t make too much here, but you had no other choice. It wasn’t a bad job, but it came with its problems—drunk men getting handsy or bold being the overwhelming one. When you’d arrived here all those years ago, it was either working as a barmaid or a laundress. You chose the former, and you didn’t regret it. It just meant you ran into interesting people, and this man was no exception—he’d made that clear when his brown boots stomped across the old wooden floor.

“‘Scuse me, miss?”

The man called out to you, and you quickly walked over to him, spreading your arms out and leaning forward. He was swirling his glass in a lightly tanned hand, a blue cuff settled over his wrist. You wondered if his hands felt rough, how they’d feel on the soft skin of your waist.

You swallowed thickly. “Yes, sir?”

“You know if the sheriff here has any bounties out?”

Oh, shit. He was one of them. “Mm-mm.” You shook your head. “I haven’t heard or seen anythin’.”

He nodded and set his glass down, leaning forward and staring into your eyes, his brow set. He was close enough for you to see the sweat under his eyes, staring you down, making your heart thrum in your chest and throat go dry. The chestnut eyes gave you a once-over, slowly trailing down your body and stopping where the bar top hid the rest of you from sight. They jumped back up to your widened ones, and the corners crinkled with a hidden smirk.

“That’s a damn shame, ‘cause suddenly, I find myself wantin’ to stay a bit longer,” he husked, pulling the cloth away from his face and slugging the rest of the whiskey back. You caught a glimpse of his jawline as he tilted his head back and noticed the scruff covering it.

You raised an eyebrow and innocently asked, “Oh, really? How come?”

“Found myself somethin’ a bit better than a money,” he said, tipping his hat back slightly. “And she’s standin’ right in front’a me.”

His smooth compliment nearly made you forget he was a bounty hunter. The way he eyed you up and down almost covered up and dulled what your head was telling you. This man was trouble through and through, and you’d known it from the moment he swaggered through the doors. He’d caught your eye like no other man just passing through ever had. You wanted desperately to comb your fingers through the dark brown curls peeking out under his hat, to kiss the lips hidden under the cloth, to know him like nobody ever had.

You must’ve been staring a bit too long because you heard a low chuckle and felt a finger tap your forearm. You shook your head and chuckled nervously.

“I’m sorry, sir, just thinkin’ too much.”

He hummed. “I like a woman who thinks too much. Makes it even better when I make her go quiet.”

The purred innuendo made your lips part and eyes go wide. You wanted that. And he knew it. The clever cowboy was already playing you and pressing all the right keys; it was as if he’d already snuck under your skirt and made you go limp.

He looked over his shoulder at the stairs climbing up the back wall facing the doors. “You stay around here?”

“Up-upstairs,” you stuttered. “I got my own room.”

“Good.”

“It-it doesn’t hide noise all that well.”

He stared at you and snickered. “Darlin’, you really think I give a shit?”

And he really didn’t. He had you howling as he rammed into you, completely unforgiving as his cock filled you to the brim. The man growled and grunted your name as he fucked you from behind, rough hands gripping your ass and spreading your round cheeks. He burned like sand at noon, more punishing than the summer heat. You gave in to him, letting him burn you as much as he wanted.

You were drooling into your worn mattress with tears in your eyes. The man held your wrists behind your back in one large hand. The other was kneading the fat on your hip as it recoiled with each slam of his hips.

“This th’best pussy I ever had, darlin’, god damn,” he rasped.

“G-good,” you panted between his brutal thrusts.

“Listen t’yourself.” He laughed, the sound mirthful and deadly. “Can barely fuckin’ speak. Told you I’d fuck ya til you couldn’t speak, darlin’.”

Your eyes squeezed shut and you moaned at his dirty words. You should have never doubted that he’d have your mouth going dry, feeling his cock dig deep inside of you and choke something in your throat. He humbled and punished you for doubting him with his unforgiving pace. His tongue lavished you with dirty praise and raspy groans, the sounds making your cunt throb and suck him in deeper even as your walls started to get raw from his roughness.

He’d proven his tongue was filthy only moments ago as he licked circles around the sensitive bud between your legs. You were entirely naked—garments in a heap on the floor—but he still wore all his clothes except for the poncho and cloth. Even his worn denim shirt was still on, only the first four buttons undone—his hands were too busy yanking your clothes off to be bothered with his. The man was impatient and hungry, and you didn’t dare deny him.

He still wore the black hat as he worked his mouth on your sex, tonguing between your folds and teasing your slick hole. But you didn’t mind it, not when he moaned into your cunt with each broad lick of his tongue. He gave in to your whiny pleas for his thick fingers, obliging you with two right away. The digits stretched you open, made you throw your head back and clamp your legs around his head, the brim of his hat bending into your shins.

He clicked his tongue and placed his free hand on one of your knees, gently pushing it down as he muttered, “Spread those legs for me, baby. Need ‘em open for me.” You did as told and he hummed in approval. “Atta girl.”

He praised you by sucking your clit and rubbing his fingers against a soft spot within you. You were twitching and mumbling nonsense, an utter mess for the scoundrel between your shaking thighs. Your cunt pulsed around him, your peak suddenly rising with the motion.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he’d coaxed as you panted and gripped the sheets. “Need to get you nice’n ready for my cock.”

It only took a few more moments before you came with a sharp cry, legs shaking and a foot twitching. A fire blazed within you, one he had started and intended to keep burning. He worked you through it, sucking in a breath as he felt you pulse around his fingers.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he crooned. Then, he flipped you over, not even giving you time to recover from your high.

He’d barely tugged his pants down, only undoing his belt and dropping his holster to the floor. He growled and grabbed your ass, lifting it into the air and forcing you to arch your back. When he pushed into you with a groan, you felt the fabric scratch against you as he sheathed himself in your still-sensitive cunt.

You hissed and squirmed and cried out “Fuck, I’m—I’m still sens—”

“Don’ care,” he grunted. “I fuckin’ need you, darlin’.”

You nodded and moaned at his harsh affection. You were ashamed that you loved it, that it made you throb. A sharp slap on your ass made you jump, the tingling sensation left behind sent your head spinning. He rubbed it and soothed the tender skin, rough hands suddenly soft.

And now, he fucked you without mercy. Any trace of tenderness was gone with the wind. The man with brown eyes filled you more than anyone ever had, made you see stars when others had only made you see specks. When you begged him to spit on himself, that your cunt was getting raw, he pressed his sweaty chest against your back and gently tapped your cheek with his knuckles.

You opened your eyes and saw his open hand in front of them.

“Spit.”

Your pussy ached at his demand and you opened your mouth for the brown-eyed man, lifting your head as much as you could. Saliva dripped off your tongue and landed on his calloused palm. He took his hand back and you set your head back down, taking a deep breath when he pulled himself out of you to stroke his cock. His free hand grabbed the meat of one of your cheeks, his thumb kneading close to the tight ring of muscle hidden between them. The wet sound of him stroking his cock with your spit made you smile and shudder.

There was something satisfying about this cowboy using you. All rough edges and dry desert heat. He was as ruthless and unyielding as the western terrain you called home. You nearly screamed when he rammed himself back inside of your aching hole, silencing yourself by burying your face into the mattress. The man carved a canyon through you with brute, relentless force and praised your wild howls and whines with a slap on your ass and one slow rock of his hips. He teased you over and over, quickly learning where to drag the fat head of his cock to make you shiver and shake.

“P-please,” you begged, your eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t fuckin’ stop!”

The man chuckled at your desperate cry. You felt yourself shiver when he ran his hands up your thighs before kneading your plump cheeks again. Any pride you felt at hypnotizing him with your ass was quickly washed away when he landed a sharp smack against your right cheek, immediately following it with one on your left, another landing back on your right. You arched your back even more for him and wiggled one of your hands down to rub sloppy circles on your clit. The thick member filling you to the brim was driving you to the edge, and the added sparks of pleasure from your sensitive nub was pushing you even closer.

He started fucking you with something even more feral than before, his groans loud and strained. Your moans melted into his with each burning stroke and every needy rub against your clit.

“God, I can feel you fuckin’ pulsin’ around me, baby,” he growled.

“Y-you feel so fucking good,” you answered, mouth open so your hoarse moans could slip into the air.

“Yeah? This th’best cock you ever had?”

He stole your answer with a punishing slam of his hips. Your free hand clawed at the sheets, and you tried to squirm up away from him. There was a low growl as you were yanked back, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips. The man chuckled mirthfully when you gasped, impaled on his cock yet again.

“Don’t try to run from a bounty killer, darlin’,” he rasped, his thrusts getting needier, reaching deeper and lingering longer within your quivering hole. “’Specially when your cunt feels this fuckin’ good.”

His breathing began to match your frenzied pants, the pace of his thrusts as frantic as your fingers on your sensitive clit.

“I’ll ask ya again,” he gave you a sharp thrust, keeping you in place with his strong hands. “Is this the best cock you ever fuckin’ had?”

“Fuck—yes, baby, yes!” You howled into the mattress as you felt your walls start to spasm, a sudden heat starting to take over you.

“C’mon, darlin’, that’s—fuck—that’s it.” The brown-eyed man’s hips slapped against your ass, the sound echoing, and he started growling—the feral and primal bounty killer finally taking over. “Fuckin’ c-come for me—fuck, I feel it—good fuckin’ girl—”

You came around his length with a scream, your legs shaking with the force of your orgasm. A white-hot fire burned from your aching, quivering hole to your fuck-drunk head. You couldn’t feel anything other than your walls clenching around his cock, couldn’t hear anything other than your desperate whines.

“F-fuckin’ come for me, you fuckin’ scoundrel,” you growled, voice shaking as you continued to ride the crest of your climax. You drunkenly smiled when you heard a low groan and whined when the head of his cock kissed something deep within you, leaving its mark on you forever, guaranteeing you’d never feel this good ever again.

“Fuckin’ God—darlin’, I could bury m’self in your delicious cunt forever—fuck!”

The brown-eyed man gave your spent hole one final, cruel thrust. He pulled out of you with a groan, and you hissed at the feel of him leaving you; he left you raw and empty and gaping. You quickly forgave him when you heard the squelch of his fist jerking himself to completion with your juices. You smiled and sighed as he covered your ass in hot ropes of his seed, reveling in how fucking needy he sounded when he reached his peak. He sucked in air through his teeth, slowly loosening his grip on your hip. You jumped when he slapped your ass, shaking your head when he smugly chuckled.

You scooted forward and dropped your aching legs to the mattress with a groan. You didn’t care about the cum he left behind; right now, you needed to catch your breath after the divine beating he’d just given your pussy. The floor creaked under his boots as he started rustling around—probably putting that poncho back on—and humming to himself. You jumped when something wet stroked across your painted ass, quieted by a low hush.

“Just cleanin’ up my mess,” he rumbled. “I may be a scoundrel—” he mocked your voice— "but my mama taught me manners.”

You chuckled and turned your head to the side, eyes fluttering open to stare at the wall and your two measly pillows. “You’re a true gentleman.”

He shrugged, then gave the tender spots on your cheeks a soft massage with his fingers and then tapped your hips and helped you roll onto your back. You melted into the mattress with a blissful sigh, not bothering to think too long about how someone so brutal could be so tender.

“I wouldn’ call myself that, darlin’.”

His eyes met yours and you bit your lip. Even though the cloth was covering his face again, you had a hunch that what hid underneath it was handsome. You could see the corners of his eyes gently crease with the whisper of a smile as he stared down at you, running a warm, calloused hand up and down your sweaty skin.

“I’m just as rotten as the rest of ‘em.”

The next day, the owner was with you, standing behind the bar all the way down on your left and chatting with an old regular. Mr. Daniels was middle-aged, stout and balding, with skin as leathery as a saddlebag and always dressed in a white shirt. He was constantly mentioning his wife and daughters and boasted about them to anyone who would listen; he seemed to extend that fatherly protection your way sometimes. He was a kind enough man—letting you live in the attic above the saloon for free, paying you a decent wage—and you had no complaints.

You weren’t surprised to see the brown-eyed man slamming into the saloon the next day, the patrons a little less rattled by his presence than they were yesterday. When he stomped over to where you stood, Mr. Daniels gave you a quick glance, and you responded with a smile and tilt of your head—I’m alright.

“What’ll it be, sir?” you asked.

You could feel your sore hole throb when he looked up at you under that wide-brimmed hat, a ray of sun lighting up his golden skin and making his chestnut eyes glow. He leaned against the bar, resting a bent arm on it. Relaxed and certain of his place in the small saloon, not a hint of fear in his posture.

“I think you already know, darlin’.”

He winked at you, and you felt heat rush to your cheeks. You turned and grabbed the whiskey you’d poured him yesterday with a nod. His eyes looked you up and down as you grabbed a glass and poured out his drink with a coy smile on your face.

He handed you money for the drink and said, “Thanks, darlin’. Keep the change.”

You smiled. “You’re too kind, sir.”

He tipped his hat. You walked over to the register, entered the sale, and dropped the change into your jar. As you moved back to where you’d been standing, the man straightened and walked down the bar to where Mr. Daniels and the old man were talking. You watched as he pulled a scroll of yellowed parchment out from under his poncho and spread it on the dark wood counter. Out of curiosity, you took a few small steps in that direction, acting busy with organizing the liquor shelves.

“You seen this man?” he inquired.

“No, ‘fraid not,” the old man replied with a smack of his lips.

You turned around and picked up a glass and a cloth, drying it and looking around the saloon. At table in the far corner, two men sat playing cards, smoke curling out of their mouths, the brims of their hats tipped down and hiding their faces from prying eyes. A few other tables were scattered around the small saloon, more hatted men nursing their drinks at them. Their soft chatter filled the air and was speckled with the occasional sounds of a horse trotting down the road. It was a slow afternoon, but you didn’t mind if it meant you kept yourself occupied with eavesdropping.

“And you?”

“Can’t say I have,” Mr. Daniels responded.

The man hummed and started to roll the yellowed paper up. You squinted, trying to see what was printed on it. You swallowed when you read the word “WANTED” in big black letters before he rolled the edge back up. The man leaned back and shoved it back under the poncho, nodding. He knocked the rest of his drink back and set the glass on the bar top and turned to look at you with narrowed eyes before pushing it down your way. Something vicious lurked within those brown eyes, keeping itself hidden under the brim of his hat and only revealed now that the afternoon sun didn’t reach them.

You extended your arm to reach and pick the glass up, immediately bending over and dunking it in the bucket of soapy water at your feet. You bit your cheek, ashamed that you felt heat pulse between your legs at his darkened stare. Being the target of his gaze was either thrilling or terrifying; right now, you weren’t sure what it was for you. It made you wonder how he had looked at you while he was ramming his cock into you. Ultimately, whatever his gaze was didn’t matter if it made you burn just from the thought of it.

The sound of someone cursing and a stool being pushed across the floor made you snap up to stand again; your eyes widened when you saw the man’s fist wrapped in the fabric of Mr. Daniels’ shirt, pulling him against the bar with only one arm. The old man was standing back a few feet away on the poncho-clad man’s right, his long gray eyebrows knitted together.

“You sure?” He growled.

The cantina had gone silent, all eyes focused on the man and his hold on Mr. Daniels. You were staring too, your heart racing in your chest and threatening to break your ribs.

“Even if I did,” Mr. Daniels said through gritted teeth, “I wouldn’t know where to find him.”

He glanced over at you, eyes lingering before meeting the man’s stare again.

The man tilted his head. “You wouldn’t know?”

Mr. Daniels shook his head again. “I told you, I just wouldn’t—” his eyes landed on you— “know where—” back to the man—“to look.”

You took a step back when Mr. Daniels looked at you one last time, then back at the man. His brow was set, but you glanced down and saw his hand shaking below the bar. The man let go of him with a push and conversation in the saloon resumed as he started to stalk towards you. His dark eyes were stormy as he set his sights on you and squinted, the spurs on his boots jingling menacingly with each step. You braced yourself for impact; muscles tensing, heart racing, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, fingers curling into your palms and nails digging in.

The collision never came. His poncho swept past you and he came to stand at one of the two small square windows at the front of the saloon. You doubted he could see much with how dirty the glass was; the sun must’ve scorched the dust and grime into the aged panes before you’d even blown into town. Frankly, you were relieved that you weren’t on the receiving end of his threatening, squinting stare.

However, you couldn’t deny the way something in your gut fluttered when you thought you’d be the one pulled against the bar by his leather-rough hands, his fingers catching the low neckline of your blouse and skimming over your hot skin, your shallow pants gently waving his bandana. But you reckoned that the haunting flutters were probably just lusty leftovers from your tryst the other night.

He looked over his shoulder at you, still squinting and heavy with frustration. Your lips parted when he held your wide eyes with his stare, the flutters growing into a rumble and shaking you from within. Or maybe that sensation was just his heavy footfalls across the floor echoing under your skin as he turned to the left and stomped out the doors. You watched him with eager eyes as he walked to the inn across the street, beige dust kicked up with every sinister step. Before he unleashed his storm on the inn, he turned over his shoulder to look at the saloon.

You squinted, moving closer to peer out of the windows. No, he wasn’t looking at the weather-worn building—he had his burning gaze focused on you.

With a tip of his hat, he slid inside, and you leaned back. You placed a hand on your chest and felt your heart beating hard and fast underneath it.

Mr. Daniels clicked his tongue, announcing his arrival at your side. You looked back at him, the man’s stare set on the inn.

“Some fuckin’ fella,” he grumbled, ivory face red with anger.

You nodded slowly and walked back to the soap water bucket, picking up the forgotten whiskey glass and shaking it off before drying it with a rag. You pursed your lips and tried to forget how his suntanned hands had dwarfed the glass, and tried to wipe away the memory of them digging into the meat of your thighs as he slurped up your juices with a deep moan. Despite your best efforts, they didn’t fade away, and neither did a smudge on the glass.

Everything in this town was filthy, you figured, shoving the glass to the very back of the cupboard so it could be forgotten. Even the drifters that passed through were coated in grime.

The brown-eyed man was lucky your boss needed business, because the look Mr. Daniels gave him when he walked into the saloon the next evening could scorch anything within ten miles. He skulked through the doors at dusk, eyeing up the loud crowd before making a path to where you stood pouring out four shots of whiskey. Of course you’d instantly noticed him—you’d felt the air become charged as if it were about to storm as soon as he’d arrived. The men you served paid you with paper bills and winks, knocking back the shots as you walked over to where the man stood. Without a word, you turned and grabbed a glass; you didn’t need to ask what he or any other man in a hat wanted to drink tonight. As you avoided his eyes, he stared you down. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a golden hand already pushing coins and a paper bill your way as the amber liquid gurgled into the glass.

You finished and gave him a practiced smile, scooping the money into your hand as he told you to keep the change yet again. The bottle was nearly empty, but you still placed it back on the shelf before walking to the register. You avoided looking in his direction at all costs; the most you allowed yourself to see was the brim of his hat and the poncho fabric that fell over his left arm. Instead, you gave your best performance to the other patrons—chatting with the town regulars and smiling at the men passing through—and got caught up in the large crowd, the early purple of the night still settling over town.

You heard a few raps on the wood above the chatter and lively piano. When you looked up at the man, you choked on your breath.

“Long time, no see, sweet thing,” he drawled, a cigarillo in the corner of his leering mouth. Blue eyes pierced you and his fair cheeks were tinted with a whiskey-induced blush.

You cleared your throat, smoothing your plain black skirt. “Can I get you somethin’?”

“Other than your ass in my bed? Whiskey.”

You brushed off the lewd remark, thankful there was a clean glass and whiskey on the bartender’s counter you’d must’ve forgotten to put back earlier. John, your old beau, kept his icy gaze fixed on you and puffed smoke to the side. Blond hair coated his head underneath the beige high-crowned hat, and you fought back a wince at remembering the times you shared with him. You told him the cost and he made a slow show of placing the money in your waiting hand, pressing his palm against your fingers and closing them around the money. You guessed you did a poor job of hiding a shudder, because he gave you a mirthful chuckle.

“What, sugar? You missin’ the way I’d fuck ya?”

You didn’t acknowledge his vulgar comment. You’d never been spoken to like that, even from the drunkest of men. It was just understood that men didn’t curse in conversation with ladies; even the gnarliest and dirtiest of them knew that. You could smell the liquor on John’s breath and had no interest in indulging his drunken idiocy. Instead, you bit the inside of your cheek, shoved the money in your waist apron’s pocket, turned to the left and walked a few steps down the bar, plastering a smile on your face as you greeted a new patron. The brown-eyed man still stood where you’d served him, and you caught him pulling the cloth covering his face back with pinched fingers as his other hand lifted his almost-empty glass.

After you’d finished serving a gray-mustached man, thanking him for the tip as he walked away, your red-faced old flame slapped his palms against the wood and leaned into your space, blue eyes hazy.

“I was talkin’ to you,” he hissed. “An’ I ain’t done yet.”

Your heart sped up and you gulped, your mouth dry and body cold. He’d only been like this with you once before—when you’d ended things with him back in your old town the day before you left. It was a cruel twist of fate that he happened to be passing through your new town a few years later. He obviously hadn’t forgotten about you, much to your dismay.

“Is there a problem here?”

The brown-eyed man was looming behind John, his eyes narrowed. You hadn’t even noticed him move; he was like a shadow. John turned his head over his shoulder, keeping his hands planted on the counter as he eyed the man up. He scoffed and curled his fingers under his palms.

“Ain’t your business, saddle bum,” he snarled.

The man slowly stepped forward and came to stand in front of John, sweeping the front of his poncho over his right shoulder. Your eyes widened when you saw his chestnut-colored leather belt, the holster heavy with a pistol.

“It is now.”

John’s head swiveled back to you, his face smug and eyes cloudy. “I don’ remember talkin’ ‘bout this fella. Do you, sugar?”

You didn’t respond, opting to look over his shoulder and watch as the man turned John around by his shoulder. He pushed John against the edge of the counter, chestnut eyes fiery. From where you stood, it was hard to tell if he was using more force now than he had yesterday with Mr. Daniels; your gut told you he was. Something was different tonight, and it wasn’t the whiskey.

“Keep talkin’ and see what happens,” the man threatened, his voice low.

John laughed and shook his head. “What, did’ya have this soiled dove?” he asked loudly, drawing the attention of those who hadn’t noticed the stranger’s physical threat.

The derogatory term made you gasp and take a step back, your skin hot under your off-shoulder blouse. The man’s eyes flicked over to you for only a second before squinting at John again. He shook his head, his beige cloth covering shifting slightly with the movement.

“Don’t do it,” the brown-eyed man warned.

You could barely see John toss the butt of his cigarillo on the floor, but you did see his head turn to the right and heard him spit. The people around them had moved back and gone silent, turning their backs to avoid being dragged into a fight that didn’t concern them. You didn’t blame them—you wouldn’t want to be in the path of this desert storm either.

There was a low growl and then the poncho-clad man was dragging John across the floor to the doors, tossing him out of them. There was a heavy thud when his body hit the ground, and you watched the man push the doors open and tilt his head down to look at the ground, presumably where the drunkard still sat. His hands gripped the tops of the doors, his stance wide and menacing. He shook his head, and you fought your better judgment, running to the end of the bar at the windows and then pushing through the patrons. They let you pass and then you were standing behind the cowboy at the doors, your blood cold but skin hot at the same time.

Night had fallen, and the two yellow lanterns mounted outside the saloon cast a weak glow on the porch. John was scrambling to his feet and backing away, abandoning his hat and stumbling down the two wooden steps, almost falling on the dirt road. The man looked back at you; the side of his face visible to you darkened from the lack of light. You could only see the whites of his eyes; for once, he wasn’t squinting. Your breaths were shallow, and you pulled at your fingers.

“This bum bothering you, ma’am?” His voice was softer now, the edges smoothed, so unlike the threatening tones you’d heard only moments prior.

You swallowed thickly, but you caught John starting to rush at the stranger and you shouted, “Look out!” instead.

He wasted no time, immediately taking a step forward out of the doorway and planting his back foot before throwing a punch, his fist connecting with the bone of John’s nose. A sickening crack elicited a cry from you and a few of the other saloon girls that had seen or heard it. John dropped to the wooden porch again with a howl.

You cautiously pushed the doors open and let them hit you on your way out. A sick pleasure filled your chest when the man kicked John down to the dirt road, his spurs jingling.

“Go to the inn and leave her alone,” he enunciated. “I’m not gonna tell you again.”

His voice and words were clearer than you’d ever heard them before. A part of you thought you heard something protective underscoring his firm warning, but it was just a delusion. It had absolutely nothing to do with you; the man clearly just didn’t want to have a scrap with John. It wasn’t because he couldn’t do it—he was obviously capable if he was a bounty hunter—but because he didn’t want to waste his time with it.

There was a dark, sardonic laugh. “Oh, she got you real good, didn’ she?”

You stiffened, covering your quivering lips with a hand, and the pair of brown eyes met your wide ones. His targeted vulgarity was starting to get to you, and it was becoming hard to hide. You felt embarrassed to be tearing up in front of the mysterious man, but you heard a sharp exhale as his eyes searched yours, the blast of air disturbing the cloth on his face. It was as if he was looking at you for permission, awaiting your orders and at your command—your own personal soldier, a bounty hunter tied only to you and the open land ahead of him.

“I don’ blame ya,” John sneered. “Best whore I ever had.”

Silence fell across the crowd; any lingering conversations had gone cold after that. You choked back a cry, your eyes flitting between John rising to his feet and the hunter in front of you. You noticed his fists clench before he finally took his eyes off you and stormed down into the street. He cut off the drunken cackles that filled the air with a swift punch, and you could barely see his knuckles connect with John’s jaw. He stayed upright this time and tried to swing at the man, but John’s sloppy form left him open to a punch in the gut that knocked him a foot backward. You stepped further out onto the porch, the sun-bleached wood creaking underneath your feet as you watched the stranger give John another kick before bending over to yank him up by the collar with both of his hands.

“You say one more goddamn word and I’m sendin’ you into that desert and tossin’ your canteen,” he seethed between gritted teeth.

John’s eyes landed on you, and he laughed. “That slut ain’ wor—”

He was cut off with a growl and a punch, falling to the ground. John was limp and unresponsive when the stranger nudged him with the toe of his boot. The man spat on him, then turned around to face the stunned crowd. Tears were streaming down your face, both of your hands over your nose and mouth.

“Which horse is his?” he asked, his voice deep and loud.

Only a few seconds later, he nodded; someone must’ve pointed it out. You watched him stalk over to a brown horse on his right, rifling through John’s belongings and pocketing cash and valuables he found. The man found his canteen and tossed it to the ground, then walked back over to John and dragged him to the horse. He heaved John up on his shoulder and tossed him over the saddle, then took the reins off the horse to loosely tie John’s feet together and then lead it under the horse’s belly to bind his hands together, making sure to keep the makeshift restraint taut. Finally, he led the horse to the right and out of sight; there was a shout and a whinny, then the frantic sound of hoofbeats as the horse galloped away.

The man came back into view as he approached the saloon again. The only sound filling the nighttime air was the jangling of his spurs and your sniffs as you calmed down. He made his way up to the porch, standing in front of you, his poncho still over his shoulder and revealing his brown leather vest and faded denim shirt. His eyes looked you over, lingering on your wet cheeks.

He had just sent a drunk, unconscious man into the desert without water on a spooked horse at night. It was one of the cruelest things a man could do. And yet, here he was, his eyes soft under a furrowed brow. The yellow lamplight showed that the storms in his eyes had settled, but his forehead would bear the evidence of it in deepened lines.

“You alright, darlin’?”

The term of endearment didn’t make you squirm. Coupled with the gentle, low rumble of his voice, it made you feel…comfortable. “Comfortable” certainly wasn’t something you should feel around a man like him, and yet, you found yourself wanting to fall into his chest and let his arms support you and his warm hands sink into your flesh.

But all you could do right now was nod and wipe the backs of your hands over your wet cheeks. You gave him a weak smile. “I’m rattled, but I’ll live.”

You paused, looking down and then meeting his strangely soft eyes again. You wished you could see the rest of his face and not just imagine it based on how it had felt between your legs.

“Thanks,” you said meekly. You shakily exhaled and repeated yourself. “Thank you, Brown Eyes.”

You swore you saw a smile creasing the corners of his eyes at the nickname. He waved off your thanks, tipped the black brim of his hat, and turned around to walk over to the inn. The shadow slunk back into the night.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your boss yelled and dispersed the crowd, then called your name. Mr. Daniels stood in front of you, his face worried as he looked you over, thick fingers gripping your biceps. The concerned and protective father inside of him was taking over, and you found it to be quite comforting and nice; you never complained when he treated you like one of his daughters. He asked you a dozen questions at once but trailed off after noticing your voice waver and bottom lip quiver. Mr. Daniels guided you to the stairs in the back of the saloon and told you to take the rest of the night off despite your protests—he’d hear none of it.

All you could think of as you lay in bed curled up under your thin blankets was the mysterious, brown-eyed stranger. How could a man so violent have such kind eyes? It just wasn’t fair, you thought to yourself as your eyes fluttered close and you drifted to sleep, the lively chatter of the saloon below a background to the memories of the stranger’s dulcet voice.

You thought that would be the last of Brown Eyes. You thought he’d be gone without a trace, a shadow haunting conversations for a while, another dusty drifter wandering the desert as if he were Moses. Just another man as wild as the terrain he traversed. You hadn’t expected to see him again unless it was in your dreams. He’d kick up dust there, then vanish with it when you opened your eyes.

You really, truly thought his stunt last night would be the last one he performed in this town, and part of you wished it had been when he threw his shadow into the saloon the next afternoon, the sun at his back.

He leisurely strolled over to a table nestled in the back-right corner of the saloon. Three men sitting around its circular wood top playing cards. The jangle of his spurs accompanying each cocksure step of his boots alerted them to his approach, the decorative threads on the edge of his poncho fluttering gently. Finally, Brown Eyes stood with his back to you at the right side of one of the men, his black hat tilting slightly to look down at him. The other two men leaned forward and glanced at each other.

You took a few steps to the right and angled your head a bit to see what was going on. You caught the two men slowly placing their cards on the table and trailing their hands to the edge of the circular table. The man looking up at Brown Eyes was red in the face and spoke quietly enough for his words to slip underneath other conversations in the saloon and go undetected by your ears. Your eyebrows knitted together as you watched the interaction from afar, then raised when the cowboy’s poncho flew over his shoulder.

“Christ almighty,” you murmured as his hand twitched at his thigh.

You looked over to the left at Mr. Daniels, and he gave you a sideways glance. He and the regular in front of him were focused on the altercation; a few of the patrons in the bustling afternoon crowd had noticed as well. Despite the attention, you knew that nobody would intervene. This wasn’t anyone’s business except for the men in the corner.

As you watched one of the seated men reach for his pistol, you swore under your breath. Out of instinct, you dropped to your feet, crouching behind the bar just as the sound of gunshots pierced the air. The sharp blasts made you cover your ears, and then they suddenly stopped. Instead, a wounded groan filled the air, then the crack of a fist against bone and the thump of a body hitting the wooden floor to punctuate the statement. There was a curt jingle of spurs and an oof, signals of a sharp kick.

“Alive or dead, your choice,” a familiar gravelly voice stated.

It was flat and indifferent, so unlike the man who had come to your aid and who had cleaned you up after ruining you with the relentless thrusts of his hips. Yes, he’d been violent last night, but there was something gentle in his eyes hidden within their storm clouds. It almost made your heart ache, but then you remembered what he’d done to Mr. Daniels and how he’d sentenced a man to death without a second thought. You remembered who Brown Eyes was at his core, and the warm ache in your chest withered away.

“You son of a bitch!” A man yelled. “I’ll fuckin’ strangle you!”

A mirthful chuckle. “I’d like to see you try.”

There was shuffling, a shout, a gunshot, then silence. The bounty killer had won again.

When your boss stood, you followed suit, your heart racing. You knew that the customers you served weren’t all honest people with honest jobs. Hell, it was naïve to think that about anyone you met out on the frontier. You’d just never experienced a gunfight inside the saloon. You’d seen a few unfold on the dusty main road splitting the town in half, but no bullets had ever blown holes through the saloon’s grimy windows; the sharp smell of gunpowder had never tainted its air. You took a few deep breaths and tried to steady your shaking hands. Even after all these years out west, you still had wild experiences waiting to shock you.

Brown Eyes holstered his revolver with a flourish, then walked to the bar.

“Here, for the trouble.” He placed a few bills and some coins down in front of a glaring Mr. Daniels, then tipped his hat at you. “Apologies, miss.”

He walked back over to the dead man then crouched down and lifted the body over his left shoulder. You heard him mumble under his breath and turn towards the doors to leave. You caught his eyes and swallowed when you saw how dark they were under his hat’s black brim. He silently left the saloon, the doors swinging and clacking behind him. All that remained were two dead men splayed out in their chairs, arms out and hats tipped back.

You looked at Mr. Daniels. He shook his head and sighed.

“And that, my dear, is why God destined some men to be carpenters.”

He wiped off his hands with a frayed cloth and tossed it on the counter. Mr. Daniels shuffled behind you and down the bar with a huff as the patrons’ chatter began again. He quickly walked to the saloon doors and gave them a sharp push, stepping into the hot afternoon sun.

“’M leavin’ at dawn t’morrow,” Brown Eyes said into your cunt.

A hot lick of his tongue made your hips buck. He swiped it side to side over your clit as he planted his hands on your hips and forced them into the mattress. You clawed at the sheets underneath you, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Another obscene slurp and moan from the bounty hunter sent you reeling and added to the growing tension in your belly. You forced yourself up to recline on your forearms, looking down at the hatless man hungrily eating you out as if it were his first meal in weeks.

You choked out a breath when the tip of his tongue swirled itself around your hole and then pushed inside of it. Lusty eyes met yours, and you felt his lips curl into a smile against your spit and slick-drenched center. He held your gaze and sucked on the hardened nub, squeezing the meat of your hips when you moaned.

“You like that, darlin’?” he asked, gently sucking again and chuckling at your gasp.

You nodded emphatically. “Fuck, yes, I do, Brown Eyes,” you panted, the muscles in your gut tightening when he groaned at the nickname, your legs starting to tense. “I really, really do.”

When you closed your eyes and let your head fall back with a whine, he shook his head and nipped at the sensitive bud, making you jump and look back down at him. He was staring up at you, something menacing in his eyes. It made your walls flutter, it thrilled you, it made your heart race even more. He was reminding you that even though he was serving you, he was still in control—he was always in control, no matter where he was.

He licked a slow, broad stripe up your cunt, then pulled back. You groaned in frustration at the cruel loss of contact, the heat and tension within you backing away from the glorious peak he’d gotten so close to pushing them over.

“You’re so mean,” you whined.

You heard him suck in a breath between his teeth. “You’re breakin’ my heart, baby.”

His room at the inn had a few lamps to combat the dark desert night, but only one was lit. The lamp on the bedside table to his right cast a little light on him, but the curve of your thigh and the bend of your knee had shrouded him in black shadows while he knelt on the floor and ravished you with his tongue. Now that your legs had dropped to rest and bend over the edge of the mattress, you could see the corners of his brown eyes creased with a smile that he hid behind your dripping cunt. He dipped one thick finger inside of you and snickered when you gasped and startled. Your pussy was still throbbing and aching for release, and it wouldn’t stop until he pushed you over that heavenly edge.

Warm hands massaged your flesh and trailed down to grip the underside of your thighs. His fingers dug in and lifted them a little bit so he could turn his head and press wet kisses on your inner thighs. You felt the ridge of his nose as his lips worked. Delicate eyelashes fluttered against tan cheeks. Brown Eyes gave you one last kiss and a playful nip that made you giggle.

“See, darlin’?” he murmured into your sensitive skin, opening his eyes again. “I can be nice.”

When you raised your eyebrow, he dramatically rolled his eyes. He turned around and stood up with a grunt that made you bite back a chuckle. Yellow light flickered on his bare back and revealed a few scarred splotches; you’d convinced him to take off his shirt and vest earlier, and now it was time for the rest. You swung up to sit on your knees as Brown Eyes hummed and took off his dark denim pants and underdrawers in one motion.

He walked over to the chair next to a short dresser beside the door, meticulously folding the clothing and setting it underneath his folded shirt. His poncho and vest were draped over the back of the tiny chair, his hat resting on top of the shirt, a beige cloth peeking out beneath it. Dusty brown boots waited on the floor. The brown leather holster weighed down the poncho. A rifle leaned against the dresser—“A Winchester 73, m’favorite”—to finish the cowboy’s closet.

Brown Eyes cleared his throat and ran a large hand over the back of his head, fingers teasing his soft brown curls. He turned around to face you, striding over, his thick cock hard and bouncing with each step. It nearly distracted you from his face—his bare face, the handsome one he’d been hiding all this time.

He lifted your chin with two fingers and you nearly melted into the mattress. Your eyes wandered all over his features, greedy for every detail. You were finally seeing the curved nose you’d felt against your thighs and folds. A neat mustache lay above the pink lips that had brought you to shambles. Scruff lined the jaw you’d stolen a look at a few days ago and crept up his cheeks. You noticed a bare patch in the scruff to the right of his chin, and your eyes traced the thin canyons on his forehead left behind from years of erosion and desert sun.

“My mama told me it’s rude to stare,” Brown Eyes chastised, the corner of his mouth quirking up a bit.

“I didn’t think it was rude to stare at art,” you quipped back, leaning forward a bit more when he brushed his thumb over your lips and massaged one of your breasts in his hand.

Your heart sped up when he bent down, his face only inches from yours. You could feel his steady exhales heat the air you inhaled through parted lips, his handsome face stealing every bit of sense from your head and making you weak.

He clicked his tongue. “She also told me lyin’ is bad.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. “Why would I lie to someone like you? I’ve seen what happens. I’ve seen what you can do, Brown Eyes.”

You trailed off, biting your lip when he sharply inhaled. Damn, he sure loved when you called him that. He hooked his thumb into the corner of your mouth, his lust-blown eyes watching it as he swept it across your lower lip and your cunt ached with want.

“You’re right, darlin’,” he acquiesced. “Didn’ take you for the lyin’ type anyway.”

He gave you a soft smile you didn’t think bounty killers were capable of and you simpered. Brown Eyes pinched your chin before sitting next to you and laying back, pumping his cock in his fist. You adjusted yourself so you could trail your hands across his hot skin, explore its ridges and softness, soak in its warmth. Your hands graced across it until they cupped his jaw, startling him with a sensation he probably hadn’t experienced in years.

You bent down with half-lidded eyes and gently parted lips. Chestnut eyes locked with yours right before you crashed your lips into his and let one of your hands reach and grasp his cock. The interruption made him moan into your mouth, the sound desperate and low in his throat. You shared a whine with Brown Eyes when his right hand forced itself between your thighs and shuddered when his fingertips stroked up and down the seam of your folds. He smiled against your lips when you began rolling your hips to steal more of his scalding touch.

He pulled back from your lips and whispered, “You wanna go for a ride, darlin’?”

You bit your lip and nodded. Brown Eyes grinned at you—this man was full of surprises tonight—and turned himself to lay in the center of the mattress. You moved and knelt between his slightly spread legs, your feet touching the wooden footboard as you stared down at him. He was biting his lip and let them part when you massaged your tits before bending over, making sure to arch your back, your lips hovering near the fat head of his cock. You looked back up at him coquettishly—you were in control now, teasing him with hot exhales and smiling after he gave you a few needy groans.

When you swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, you felt him tug the sheets with a hiss. A lick from the base to the tip made him swear; he was finally getting a taste of his own medicine. You planted your hands on his hips and held his gaze for a few more seconds before closing your eyes and wrapping your lips around him, slowly bobbing up and down, working lower and lower as you went. Your brow furrowed, spit starting to dribble down your chin, and you opened your eyes just in time to see him throw his head back and curse.

“Fuck, baby, god damn,” Brown Eyes rasped, groaning when you pressed your tongue against him as you slid back up again before twisting your head back down, just over halfway down his throbbing length.

He choked when you took every inch of him, your spit-covered lips pressing against the curls at the base. You could only hold it for a moment—his girth and length pushed you to the limit—and then you bobbed back up and swirled your tongue around the bulging head before releasing him from your mouth with a wet pop. He looked down at you as you licked up a few beads of liquid leaking from his cock, wrapping a hand around his shaft before sucking him back into your mouth, wildly working your tongue around the head as you stroked. Your pussy throbbed when he whined, one of his hands coming to clasp your forearm as you snaked your free hand up his torso, splaying your fingers out for stability.

He’d grown even harder somehow, and your hand trailed down to give his balls a quick, light squeeze, eliciting an even louder whine; you hoped that nobody occupied the room next to his. Your hand went back to work his shaft, but he tugged your forearm and his other hand held your cheek. You looked up at him and slowly let his cock fall out of your mouth, watching his eyes scrunch closed and eyebrows knit together, his plush pink lips falling open. His chestnut eyes opened again as you straddled his torso, your ass bumping against the leaking length, making him hiss and smile.

“Baby, if you kept that up, I would’a come down your throat.” He panted and shook his head. “But I wanna see you painted in it.”

You giggled when his large palms clapped on your cheeks, grabbing the meat of them and spreading them.

“Go ‘head, darlin’,” he urged. “Ride this cowboy’s cock.”

“Don’ have to tell me twice,” you chuckled, giving him a kiss before sitting back on your knees.

You started to slowly lower yourself onto his cock, lips parting as his fat head notched inside of your slick and needy hole, already splitting you open. His hands traveled up the curve of your ass and over your hips to rest on your thighs, low groans coaxing you further down. You planted your hands next to his ears and stared into his eyes as you slammed your ass against him, hissing as he filled you to the brim. His eyes squeezed shut and he whined, hands moving back to your ass.

“You take me so well, darlin’, fuck,” he growled. His eyes bore deep into yours, and he gently squeezed your cheeks. “Now, c’mon, baby girl. Move those gorgeous hips.”

You slowly rolled your hips back a few times, feeling your ass shake and letting your cunt adjust to his size. When you started to speed up, the man nodded and grunted along with your pants. The tension inside of you had returned with a vengeance, your walls already fluttering after only a few minutes of riding him. You picked up the pace and added another movement, sliding up and down, hammering back down with a filthy, wet sound. You threw your head back and shifted to rest on your knees, sinking down to the base and holding his gaze as he groaned. You began massaging your breasts and circled your hips, remaining fully seated on his cock.

“F-fuck, feels amazing, Brown Eyes,” you moaned, your index and middle fingers landing on your clit and rubbing small circles around it.

You lifted your head to look at him when he swatted your fingers away. Brown Eyes gave you a sly smile. “Allow me, darlin’. You keep on ridin’, and don’ stop ‘til I say so.”

You nodded and then moaned when he pressed his thumb against the sensitive nub. You fell forward and planted your hands next to his ears again, your face twisted in ecstasy as he pushed you to the peak he’d denied you earlier. You kept pounding your ass back, picking up the pace when his pants began to grow louder, riding towards his own climax along with you.

“Oh, fuck—fuck—Brown Eyes, I’m gonna come,” you gasped, something white hot threatening to scorch you from the inside out.

“Do it, darlin’, come for me,” he growled, his thumb working your clit frantically as the roll of your hips became erratic. “Clench my cock, soak me—”

You cut off his encouragement with a cry of pleasure, your entire body shaking and burning, your cunt pulsing around him and drenching him in your juices. You slumped forward to rest on your forearms, and he went to work, thrusting his hips up into you, grunting and growling into your ear. You stared at him, your head heavy as you basked in the afterglow of your white-hot climax. When you sloppily kissed his lips, spit still wet on your chin, Brown Eyes growled and pushed you onto your back, bending your sweaty legs and forcing your knees towards your ears as much as they could. You whimpered when he fucked into you with feral grunts and growls, your slick-coated walls letting the head of him push deep inside of you. The force was pushing you towards the footboard, and he placed his large hand on the top of your head to shield you from it and hold you in place for his cock.

“Fuck—your pussy feels fuckin’ incredible,” he opened his eyes, and there was a familiar dark storm brewing in them, his pupils blown as he gritted his teeth and increased his pace.

“Come on me,” you whispered, still drunk with pleasure, eyes brimming with tears from his brutal strokes. You reached your hand up and cupped his jaw with pleading eyes.

Your touch sent him over the edge, and he pulled out of you with a moan. You let your arms fall back and bend behind your head, watching him give his cock one final pump before thick ropes of his spend painted your body. You closed your eyes and smiled listening to his choked moans, then opened them again to see his head thrown back and cock throbbing as his body started to come down from his climax.

Brown Eyes stared back down at you and smiled, eyes trailing up your torso from your hips to your breasts. You blissfully sighed and smiled, and he flopped down at your right side with a huff. You looked over at him, his head propped up on his hand, his handsome face and body masked by a little darkness with the light behind his back.

“You look mighty lovely covered in my come, darlin’.” He gave you a gentle kiss and smiled against your lips. “Prettiest thing I ever seen.”

“Surely I can’t be prettier than a bunch of money in your hand for a bounty,” you half-teased.

He pulled back and furrowed his brow, shaking his head. Your eyes fluttered close when his hand cupped your cheek—it was trembling against your skin—and you leaned into his warm touch.

“Darlin’,” he said sternly. You opened your eyes to meet his again, the storm in them suddenly gone. “Didn’ I tell you my first day here that I’d found somethin’ better than money?”

You furrowed your brow. “I..I think so,” you responded hesitantly.

“I know I did, darlin’,” he confirmed, brushing his thumb across the apple of your cheek. “An’ didn’ I tell ya I’m not a liar?” You nodded and he pressed a kiss against your sweaty forehead, then pulled back and murmured, “You’re lovelier than any sunset I ever seen.”

The compliment made you shyly smile and giggle, but it quickly faded as you stared into his eyes. A question weighed on your chest, and you worried your lip between your teeth. You’d covered it up and hid it, and now you couldn’t hold it back any longer—especially since he was leaving town tomorrow.

“Brown Eyes, will you ever come back?” you asked meekly. You quickly added, “Here, I mean. To the town. Not to me.” Your skin warmed with embarrassment.

He hesitated, glancing at the sheets before looking back into your eyes. “Well, you want me to?”

Did you really want him to, even after all he’d done since he stormed into town and held it—and you—captive in his fury? The man with a revolver on his hip and a Winchester 73 and a belt of bullets? The one who’d sent John to his death, who’d threatened Mr. Daniels, who’d killed three men without blinking? Did you really want the bounty killer to return and shroud you in his stormy shadow again?

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I want that.”

He smiled against your lips as he kissed you, and you wondered if he ever smiled after killing a bounty as you tangled your fingers in his hair.

masterlist a/n: whew! thank you for reading all of this! it really ran away from me. please let me know what you think with comments and reblogs !!

taglist (join here):

@bbyanarchist @threeheadedlamb @dindjarinsmut @djarinslove @saradika @tortor-mcgee @sofasoap @hardlystrictlystarwars, @hrtsforpascal @notsosecretspy @totallynotastanacc @elinedjarin @maddiedrmr @kaqua @fairy-tale-writer @charlottetownwaffles, @theamuz, @jellybeanstacey0519 @tizylish, @graciexmarvel, @dheet, @kalea-bane, @mymindfuckery

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #thank you for reading this if you made it through #it was a beast to write but I loved it #the mandalorian spoilers #din djarin fic #mando x reader #mando x you #din x reader #din djarin x f!reader #cowboy din #old west au #the mandalorian #my fic #din x you #din djarin smut

610 notes · View notes

idkelly · 1 year ago

Text

Painting

Travis bickle x reader

Summary: 3 encounters lead to 3 words on their minds.

Warnings: none; fluff

FIRST ENCOUNTER

Her knuckles were turning white.

Her grip didn’t soften as she pressed her notebook into her stomach. She stood on the edge of the sidewalk, shivering in her boots. She cursed herself for going out of her comfort zone that day. It was an important day on her calendar, yet at the end, she regretted her outfit. Upon moving here two months prior, she came to the realization that not many people had ‘style’. or at least a pop in what they choose to wear, everyone is so mundane in New York City that it clashes with what actually happens in the shadows.

As she stood there waiting, her mind wandered off to earlier that day. She had officially made it, and her agency is finally letting her step foot onto the field. Back in her hometown, she had worked tremendously for years on end on her craft; art wasn’t easy to master, or at least memorable art. Now that she's achieved what she’s been wanting, her work is recognized and in high demand.

But that was all on paper; she, on the other hand, wasn’t. She felt as if she were a ghost roaming around, creating what people thought were the most breathtaking paintings ever. At the back of her mind, an encounter a few months ago had stuck with her. She heard a higher-up phone call about the upcoming sales, and the topic switched to the products. Then he rambled on and on about how her paintings are basically Renaissance-made today. She was never much of a talker, yet she mustered up the courage to go up and talk to him, though his confused gaze threw her off.

"Uh, who are you exactly?"

It was fate; it had followed her everywhere. Sometimes she thinks that it’s because she was bland, basic, ordinary, and vanilla. But those thoughts left as soon as they came; she knew she wasn’t any of that. She was someone’s cup of tea for sure—not the vast majority thought so—and she was okay with it. Most of the time, she was alone, yet she never felt lonely.

Her cowboy boots were killer, red and bright, but so was the blood running down the back of her ankles; it was the first time she wore them. but she didn’t think it would mean a miserable way back home. Someone was supposed to pick her up, but guessing by the time they'd probably forgotten, she didn’t have anywhere near to go; her apartment was almost an hour away, and she hadn't seen a cab in a long while.

Behind her, illuminatingly, was a night café. Shaking her purse, she guessed she had enough money for some coffee and waffles.

She sat on the bar stool; she always liked it better than the regular seats; it was taller and bigger, almost like she was on top of the world. She liked the little stuff like this; it seemed silly to an outsider, but at least she’s having fun on her own, especially facing the window and looking at whoever walks by. A few minutes later, the waiter brought her food. She kicked off her boots to rest her feet a bit. It was going to be a long walk home.

She sat her bag on her lap and pulled out her small sketchbook. As if on cue, she noticed small rain drops clinging to the window before her; it added to the atmosphere, making her smile to herself. In her ear buds, killing me softly by fugees played, and her head swayed with the rhythm.

Half an hour passes as she’s lost in her sketchbook, her pencil dancing along the page, creating another beautiful portrait. That was her specialty. Her train of thought stops for a second when she notices someone sitting at the end of her row. Her head turns around, and she realizes that the place is basically full.

She glanced beside her at the figure; it was a guy in a green jacket and some jeans; he seemed to have ordered a coffee and some waffles; he had a mole on the side of his face. She didn’t spend much time staring at the man; it was rude. She just went back to drawing. but out of the corner of her eye, she saw what shoes he was wearing. cowboy boots.

"Cowboy boots!" It slipped out of her mouth before she could think.

The man looked startled. He looked at her, then turned his head behind him, making sure she was talking to him. His eyebrows rose as he looked at her confusedly. "Huh?"

She smiled, a bit embarrassed. I'm sorry, I meant—your boots! Cowboy boots, I like ‘em."

Her eyes never left his; they were dark, almost black, yet pretty. He hadn’t spoken a word yet, but he was smiling now.

"These are mine," she pointed to the pair that’s beneath her. I had to take them off because my feet were all bloody. She laughed, not taking it seriously at all. He looked at them and smiled, saying, "Hey, they’re just like mine, just in a different color."

She looked closer, and he could see her eyes light up at the realization. "we’re matching!"

"matching?"

"Yeah, matching"

A moment of silence passed, not an awkward one, though; they were both staring at each other, smiling a bit, her eyes drifting to his plate, then back to him.

"We don’t have matching taste buds, though; I hate waffles. This surprised him, making him chuckle and take a sip of his coffee. He wasn’t used to this; he didn’t know how to act when people approached him. Whenever he responds, he usually says the wrong thing, ruining the encounter. He didn’t respond to her; he simply didn’t know what to say. It felt like her eyes burned holes through his side, but soon enough she went back to her small book.

Her legs were crossed, and her black skirt hiked up to her mid-thigh because of her position. She wore a colorful dress shirt that was predominantly red, matching her boots. Her hair rested on her shoulder. A few pieces kept falling in front of her face, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Staring is rude, you know. "His head whipped straight back. She laughed; it was almost contagious, creeping on his lips. He mumbled an apology.

"What’re you writing?"

“I'm not writing, I'm drawing."

"oh"

She seemed focused now, unlike a few seconds ago, when she was pushing him to have a conversation. He felt a bit blue, but once he mustered up the courage to talk to her, she was over it. After the incident last year, Travis has been more weary of how he talks with other people, though that didn’t stop the screw-ups from time to time. He now understands how to read the room.

He was already done with his food; the coffee turned out to be bitter, so he barely touched it. As he got up and put on his jacket, he heard her.

"Wait, where’re you going?"

“Uh, I finished my food; I'm going home. Why?"

“Just," she started scribbling faster on her paper without looking at him, "sit down for a few more minutes, ‘kay?"

He stood still for a few seconds before agreeing to the request. He looked around the place; everyone had left by this point. Subconsciously, he yawns. He never feels sleepy, but he could feel his eyelids getting heavier by the second. She spares him a glance, smirking.

"Don’t fall asleep on me, alright? Here—ya go, take this." She handed him her right earbud between her slender fingers, and suddenly Travis took hold of it. They were sharing earbuds.

"Just two cowboys listening to music."

"You’re a cowgirl, not a cowboy."

"Saying cowboys is much easier than saying cow enthusiasts," they laughed.

She stayed quiet for a while, then suddenly stood up with her book in hand. The earbud fell out of her ear, and her face displayed an ear-to-ear smile. He had never seen someone smile this much in this city.

"It's done!" "Here you go. She ripped a piece of paper and handed it to him. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name."

"I'm Travis, he said, looking down at the paper in his hand, absolutely stunned. She could tell he almost lost control of his face as his mouth hung open.

"Well, Travis, you might want to close your mouth, or a fly might fly in there." She was getting her boots on with a bag over her shoulder with all of her belongings in it.

Travis was flabbergasted as he looked at the drawing of himself; it was almost like someone had taken a black and white photo of him, but she barely looked at him while drawing. How did she do this? She saw him. She’d seen him. The man’s hands started to shake a bit. He composed himself and looked up at her figure; she was smiling, as she always had. Words couldn’t leave his mouth once again. Don’t say the wrong thing. Don’t say the wrong thing. Don’t say the wrong thing.

"Well, if you didn’t like it, it's completely fine; don’t sweat it."

"No! No, I, uh, do like it; I'm just, uh, surprised, that’s all. Thank you." He didn’t catch her name, but she chuckled and told him. He made a mental note that she wasn’t from here; it was the first time he heard a name like

"Now it’s time for me to go, Travis. See you around, yeah?"

Yeah, he breathed.

As she walked towards the door, his eyes couldn’t stop following him, but he raised a brow once she stood dead in her tracks, turned around, and headed towards him again.

"Did you forget something?

She kissed his forehead and went away, like it was nothing. Travis wasn’t sleepy anymore; his mind was working full force, and he was only thinking of one thing: the way her lips felt on his skin.

#taxi driver #travis bickle #travis bickle x reader #x reader #travis bickle x fem!oc #robert de niro #robert de niro x reader #fanfiction

95 notes · View notes

akwolfgrl · 9 months ago

Text

LFT PART 37

Sanji made his last round inside his galley, Mr. Noodles sat perched on a bar stool watching him. The roses that Zoro got him were still sitting in the jar where he left them. He needed to figure out what he wanted to do with them. Sanji slid some butter into his apron pocket to soften.

Sanji finished unloading everything he had bought at the market this morning. There were still a few cartes of things waiting for him to deconstruct. Sanji had scored a crate of fresh unwashed eggs. He would water glass them later tonight. He left out the stuff he needed to make a batch of kimchi and a new marinade for Luffy's jerky. The meat was in the freezer to firm up for easier slicing. He also left out the prime rib he got on sale for dinner tonight. He had the perfect seasoning for them.

Sanji cut the core of napa cabbages out, placing them into the bucket he was using for a compost pile, they used to have one on the Baratie they would give it to a local farmer who they worked with to get fresh produce. There were things that even he could not salvage and use, but the compost was a good compromise since it fertilized and grew more food. He split the leafy vegetable apart with his hands. It was hard to get used to such a quiet kitchen. He was used to the hustle and bustle of the Baratie. The chefs arguing, the waiters yelling out food orders. Everything about the kitchen was loud and controlled chaos. Well, Sanji did sort of miss having someone he could talk to.

“OK so I know you're a cat, and you don't understand what I'm saying, but I don't care. Right now, I'm making kimchi. It's spicy, sour, and so good. A chef who used to work at the Baratie before settling ashore and marrying a sweet woman showed me how to make it,” Sanji began to chop the pieces of cabbage up. “I'm doing the shortcut method. Usually, you don't chop it up, but I like it better this way,” Sanji put all the cabbage into the large bowl. “Then we just wash and salt the cabbage until it wilts and the water from the inside of the cabbage is drawn out by the salt,” Sanji would leave it overnight with something heavy on top.

Mr. Noodles had at some point hopped from his stool to wind his way around Sanji's legs purring. He was ecstatic to have something small and cute to care for. Clementine may have been Zeff’s cat but she did like him and barely tolerated the other chefs. It had been his job to brush her long silky golden fur. She had been a very pretty kitty, with one gold eye and one blue. Mr. Noodles was of course very handsome with his soft slick black fur.

“Zeff my old man, although I'd never call him that to his face, had a ship cat, her name was Clementine,” Sanji took out the bowl he used previously for the marinade. Mixing soy sauce, worcestershire, orange juice, and zest , he whisked in honey, brown sugar, grated ginger, and chopped garlic. He threw some habaneros into his mortar and grinded them down into a nice paste before adding them as well. “I remember the look on Zeff’s face after we got off the Rock. Clementine had gotten off their pirate ship shortly before they attacked the Orbit. It's said that cats can sense doom. Anyway, we stayed on an island while we recovered, and one day, she walked right up to Zeff as if she had only been out for a stroll. She died shortly before Luffy came crashing in. Zeff had been practically testy lately, so that didn't help him at all,” Sanji covered the marinade and placed it into the fridge.

“I think after I'm done with my prep, I'll head back out for some personal shopping and check out the fish market. Maybe I'll be nice to our sentient plant life and pick up a sword cleaning kit. He doesn't have much money and would be more focused on buying swords. Why he needs three? I'm not sure, but that's his thing, I suppose,” Sanji took a paper towel to dry the prime ribs, or else it would reject the butter. He stabbed holes into the top of the meat. While he did know how to trim meat, it had come pre-trimmed and on sale to good of a deal to pass up. “I haven't seen him use it at all while we've been on this ship and there's no way that his sword hasn't been well kept in the past,” He took the softened butter out of his pocket and upwarped it, placing it into a small bowl. “Maybe I'll grab some ink for Nami-swan! I can't get Marimo and not my sweet Nami,” Sanji tossed in chopped rosemary and thyme, salt, pepper, Dijon mustard, and a bit of worcestershire then he mixed it. “I should pick another notebook while I'm out, I might as well grab something for Luffy and Usopp while I'm at it. Just so I don't have to hear them whining.”

Sanji stabbed holes into the fatty part of the meat and used butter to lube up the sliced garlic and rosemary, slipping them into the holes. He coated the prime ribs in the rest of the butter before placing them in the fridge. After a quick clean-up, Sanji was ready to head out. With a goodbye scratch to Mr. Noodles Sanji left the Going Merry

#one piece #fanfic #lust filled thoughts #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #mr. noodles #cooking

13 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 years ago

Text

The Bookstore 1

Warnings: None as yet.

Summary: A mysterious strangers comes to your bookstore.

Character: Jorah Mormont (Modern AU)

This if for my Jorah Bean, they know who they are ;) and to anyone else who likes this teddy bear. Darkness to come, promised. As well, as usual, as I so desperately beg of you, please let me know what you think. Love!

The small bookstore is like a second home. It’s almost sad to say that your job is the only thing going on in your life. In a small town like this, however, it’s not that unusual. What is, is the only customer in the store. The stranger who just walked through your door.

You look at him over the top of your book, lowering it and smiling at him. His mouth holds a firm line and he nods in acknowledgement, “good afternoon.” His voice is low, gritty, yet somehow, soft.

You return his nicety before offering help, “anything in mind, sir?”

“Only browsing, if it’s okay.”

“I’ll be here,” you assure him, still smiling. He looks at you a little longer before carrying on.

You stay perched on the stool behind the counter and turn your chin down. You smooth the pages and reach for your bookmark. You place it at the center and let the book close around it. You try not to be distracted when you have someone in the store. Besides, you can’t help but wonder.

Bellhaven is a small place. So small it is often lost on a map, if written at all. Everyone knows everyone and a newcomer is always met with fanfare and whispers all the same. You didn’t hear of the new arrival but perhaps if you took your nose out of your books.

You hook your short heels in the bar of the stool and lean forward, trying to see around the shelf. You see his shoulders between the rows but nothing else. You sit back, realising how odd that might come off.

You turn and step down from the stool. You wander into the aisle closest to you and work at tidying the rows of incense and candles for sale in your novelty section. You hear his soles on the creaky floor and the soft scrape of books leaving the shelves. You smell a stick of vanilla incense before placing it in the proper slot.

He enters the middle row, just behind you, and takes his time as he makes his way to the front. You gather an errant wrapper left on a lower shelf as he pokes his head around. You glance over at him as he strode into the aisle.

“I hear frankincense is good for stress,” he says as he comes closer. He’s tall, with broad shoulders that top a slender body. He’s older too, face lined but handsomely so. You take out a stick of the indicated scent and hold it out.

“I didn’t know that,” you hold it out to him. He takes it and gives it a long sniff. “The quilting club mostly comes in to buy it for their get-togethers.”

“It helps with breathing thus it aids anxiety,” he explains as he pulls it away from his nose, two books under his other arm. “Is this your shop?”

“Yes,” you answer proudly, “small but all mine.”

“Ah,” his lips twitch, just a touch, his expression stoically hard to read, “and do you frequent the quilting club?”

“I don’t think I meet the age minimum,” you joke, “you ready to check out?”

“Do you want me gone? Are you closing soon?”

“No, no, but if you still want to look around, I’ll take your books to the counter,” you offer.

He considers you, his narrow blue eyes meet yours and he takes a breath, “thank you. This is a quaint little place you have.”

“Thanks,” you say as he turns the books and holds them out to you. You take them and retreat to the counter. He wanders along the aisle, still in your sight, and selects several other sticks of incense.

“Much like the rest of this town. I’ve just come here. Retired and all that.”

“Oh, well, this is the place for it.”

“Is it?” he wonders as he takes a candle and sniffs in. He checks the label and puts it back, grabbing another instead. “You don’t seem that old. Or retired.”

“Well, my demographic isn’t exactly the majority.”

“And mine? Which do I belong to? Do I qualify for a senior’s discount.”

You don’t laugh, though you want to.

“No, sir, that’s not what I meant.”

“A joke,” he says as he holds onto the pine candle, “I think I’ve spent enough money.” He comes to the other side of the counter and places the rest of his wares beside the books there, “moving and all that nonsense.”

“The incense is five for two. Good deal,” you assure him as you slip the sticks in a long paper bag. “And the books are mostly used and don’t sell for sticker price.”

You punch in the numbers and hit total. You read it out as he takes out his wallet from inside his tweed jacket.

“Well, I can’t imagine they’re that hard to sell then,” he muses as he lays out a bill, “especially with such a beautiful shopkeeper.”

“Did you really want that senior discount?” You evade and for the first, he smiles.

“I’m not that old,” he taps the bill and slides it across the counter.

“Noted,” you accept the money and count up his change, “well, sir, you have a good night.”

He takes his change and scoops up the paper bag in his other arm. “Jorah,” he introduces, “no ‘sir’, please. As I said, retired.”

“Alright, Jorah,” you fold your hands over your book, “my name’s on the marquee.”

“Noted,” he counters your previous response, “I’m sure we’ll come to know each other well.”

He turns and marches to the door. You watch him go as the bell rings above him. There isn’t much to do in Bellhaven, you won’t be surprised if he’s back for more.

#the bookstore #jorah mormont #jorah mormont x reader #dark jorah mormont #dark!jorah mormont #game of thrones #drabble #series #au #modern au

134 notes · View notes

abyssal-ali · 1 year ago

Text

She's A Knockout

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown, minor Bill the Henchman x Goon Named Jeff

Rating: T

WC: 2.7k Ao3 Masterlist

A/N: Inspired by this reel. Beta'd by Bambi<3

Steph blinked in confusion as the waiter appeared beside her with a pair of boxing gloves and what looked like a ring girl.

All she’d asked for was a box for her leftover chicken and waffles.

“Alright folks! This lovely lady right here will be squaring off against the reigning champion, Bill the Brute! I’m Jeff, your announcer for this fight. Round one!”

Steph slipped off her bar stool, the gloves an appropriate tightness and her hair swept back in a hasty ponytail by the helpful ring girl.

She wasn’t going to let anything get between her and her waffles. If that meant fighting a random Gothamite who thought it would be funny to let her waffles sog, so be it.

Feigning reluctance, she let Jeff guide her hands into a protective guard for her face as she swayed nervously on her feet.

“I’m not gonna punch him!” she protested, sizing up Bill the Brute. He was fairly lean, dressed only in shorts and a black pair of gloves to match her white ones.

“Stick to your jab,” Jeff encouraged her, dropping his hand. “Fight!”

“I’m not gonna punch him!” she repeated, stepping marginally closer.

Steph gingerly landed a left hook, eyeing up his reflexes and how serious this situation (which she assumed to be a prank, considering the laughter and cheers of the other patrons) was.

“Harder!” boomed Jeff. “Knock him out! Hit ‘im in the head!”

“No! That’s mean!” she cried, bouncing a little closer, pretending to ham up the fight for the audience.

“Do it!” they began cheering, along with Jeff.

Bill the Brute ducked the first slow jab, but he missed her surprise right hook, collapsing at Jeff’s feet dramatically.

Steph’s mouth dropped in horror, thinking his decent boxing skills would have protected him from the full force of her blow.

The server behind Jeff banged his fork against his skillet, signalling the entire fight was over.

Jeff seemed to think Bill was hamming it up for the show, raising her hand in victory as the ring girl wrapped the fake championship belt around her torso.

“And after one hard round, we have the winner by TKO, the new champion of the Hood and Dagger Pub!” Jeff and the patrons cheered.

Steph frantically piled her waffles and chicken into the box that the girl behind the bar had provided while she fought Bill the Brute, ducked her head, and fled the pub, ignoring his sales pitch for a boxing gym(?).

Steph mourned the loss of her new favourite pub as she ran down the street, waffle box tucked under her arm to help her aerodynamics.

They’d always had good food when she went, usually at the weirdest hours (which was strange that the pub was open that late–or early, if you preferred–but she didn’t dare go digging into its ownership or management lest she be conscience-bound to shut down her new haven).

Her musings were cut short by the sound of someone pursuing her. She glanced back, seeing Jeff running behind her.

Dang, what did he want? She’d paid before she requested the box. Had he found out she’d knocked out Jeff for reals and it wasn’t for show?

“Miss!”

It was noon, and there were several other people out and about on the fairly well-travelled street, so Steph made the executive decision to confront him here, and not accidentally acquire a stalker and expose her new Batgirl-haven.

“Yeah?” she twirled her ponytail.

Jeff bent over a decent distance away. “You’re almost as fast as Boss,” he gasped. “That was amazing!”

Steph blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Your moves, miss,” Jeff panted out an explanation. “Boss saw you and wants to talk to you. You wouldn’t be needing a job, would you?”

“Excuse me?” she repeated, shriller this time.

Steph reluctantly entered the back room of the Hood and Dagger. It was a lot different from most back rooms she’d been in, and that wasn’t even counting the daytime and front door entrance she was unaccustomed to.

Jeff cleared his throat. “Boss, I got the lady!” he said proudly.

“Thanks, Jeff. I do hope you didn’t use your uh…work…tactics?”

The only thing she could see was the black-and-white hair of a man behind a computer setup so large Babs would be jealous, but just his voice sounded nice.

“Of course not, Boss! I can be subtle!”

Aw, poor Jeff sounded genuinely hurt.

Mentally preparing herself for another middle-age, morally dubious at best, sleazebag, Steph was entirely unprepared for the Boss who actually stood up, arm outstretched for her to shake.

He was young, though the jury was still out on his morals, but was inclined to acquit him on account of his face, which was handsome and graced with a gorgeous smile and– he had dimples?!

Steph had clearly been knocked out by Bill the Beast and this was what her concussion-wracked brain had conjured while she was unconscious.

“Uh, hi. Um. Steph.” She shook his hand, which was large, warm but not sweaty, and had neatly trimmed nails. Steph was a sucker for nice hands.

He withdrew his hand after the shake, twisting it in a way that meant his veins were highlighted for her to drool over.

“Jason. Hi, I’m the owner of Hood and Dagger Pub. I apologize if Bill and Jeff’s little promotional stunt scared you off,” he smiled warmly, teal eyes meeting hers familiarly. “They’re a bit passionate about the boxing and all-round gym opening a couple blocks over, and when I gave them the greenlight to promote it, I didn’t quite expect such…creativity in the way they went about it.”

“Better creative and original than dull and mainstream, right?” laughed Steph. “It was fine. I thought I actually knocked Bill out.”

“His skull’s taken worse, I assure you,” chuckled Jason. “He likes to ham up his performance when pretty ladies are around…even if he’s happily in a relationship with Jeff,” he shook his head at the duo’s antics. Jeff had left to gossip with inform the other employees about the potential interview taking place, so he wasn’t there to defend himself from his boss’s slandering.

“I’m just relieved I can show my face here again,” Steph smiled. “I was so sad at the thought that I’d be banned for knocking out one of your employees, just when it’s become my new favourite restaurant and haven. The hours are a godsend for someone with weird hours like me.”

Jason inclined his head, silently requesting she continue her hot-guy-induced ramblings.

Steph would just like to state for the record that it wasn’t her fault he was almost as hot as she imagined Red Hood was behind the mask. He was her celebrity crush; sue her. She’d seen girls thirsting over Ghostface; this wasn’t any stranger.

“Yeah? What draws you to the Hood and Dagger, if I may ask?”

“The food is amazing; I love the privacy between the booths, so I can study in relative peace even at the height of the rush; it’s seemingly open 24/7, so I can get food when I’m too tired to cook, and I’ve even been able to have a nap after I stumbled in here for breakfast after pulling an all-nighter–in short, have you considered renaming this Steph’s Heaven?” she joked.

Jason grinned at her. “I will now. I’m glad you’re so pleased with my establishment. It’s my goal to have it open as much as I can, so people have a safe space to rest, study, sleep, just like you said. It’s a pub, but it’s not just for food and drink. I want to make this a safe haven for everyone as long as I can.”

“That’s really commendable,” Steph nodded. Her curiosity about Jason was urging her Bat-research (aka stalking) skills on, but now she really didn’t want to ruin this illusion he’d woven around her. He was the perfect guy, she could overlook some tax evasion or him secretly being Kite-Man.

“You look really familiar, though. Have we met somewhere before?”

“I…don’t think so? I’m fairly sure I’d remember a face like yours.”

He raised an eyebrow at her comment.

“I’m usually in the back cooking when I’m working here, so I wouldn’t have seen you here before as a patron,” he mused. “You’re at Gotham Gen?” he waved a hand at the hospital intern badge hanging off her shirt.

She nodded.

He frowned. “I haven’t been there in ages. Probably not. Hm, maybe I just need some sleep.”

“Long night? I can go,” Steph took a half-step towards the door.

“No, please stay. I asked Jeff to bring you here so I could meet you. I was going to ask you if you needed or wanted a job.”

“A job?” She raised her eyebrow. So far Jason had been quite decent, but if he suggested-

“At my new boxing gym. You look like you know how to fight–that’s a compliment, I assure you. I think a female employee would really help draw more female clientele.”

“A boxing gym and a restaurant? Wow, Jason, you’re sure not one-dimensional.”

He shrugged, dropping his head in a pitiful attempt to hide his grin. “I’m a well-rounded guy, or so my mom says when she tries to marry me off.”

Steph snorted. “What type of job were you thinking about at your gym? ‘Cause depending on how well you sell this, I just may quit the scourge of med school.”

“And the pressure is on,” laughed Jason. “Do you have formal training in any martial art or physical activity?”

Steph considered her Cass-mandated and Bat-supervised training. “Yep, although I don’t have any certificate to show for it.”

“Would you say good enough to be a trainer or coach?”

“Yep.”

“Confidence, I like that. Barely took you a second to reply. Thoughts on Red Hood?”

Steph blinked at the non sequitur. “Smash?”

Jason choked. “Sorry?”

“Uh…morally I don’t support him, but as a Gothamite?” Steph glanced around, leaning in. “And as someone attracted to men? Absolutely.”

Jason blinked again. “I…see. Well, if you want a job at Jill’s Gym, just talk to Jeff or Bill. And yes, they’re the ‘Jill’ in ‘Jill’s Gym’.”

Steph snickered. “That’s a clever name.”

“It’s apparently their ‘ship name’ or whatever,” Jason air quoted.

At that, Steph outright guffawed, tears running down her cheeks while Jason eyed her stiffly. “You’re such a grandpa! ‘What’s a ship name? Kids these days and their newfangled names for each other’.”

Jason opened his mouth, but he didn’t retort Steph’s teasing, much to her surprise. What came out was much worse.

“Batgirl?”

Shit.

“Uh. No? I’m Steph.”

And why hadn’t she used an alias, maybe Minnie Malone, she bemoaned with all the clarity of hindsight.

“Yeah, but you’re also Batgirl, aren’t you? I’d know that mocking laugh anywhere,” Jason said. “It’s okay, I’m Red Hood.”

Heck!!!

She’d just thirsted over the guy to his face! About his alter ego! Steph debated just making another mad dash from the Hood and Dagger–wow, what a subtle name. Well, he literally wore bright red over his head and heart; she supposed that was on her for expecting subtlety from the man, who’d clearly never heard the word.

“Please tell me you’re lying, not the least of which because I just told you I’d smash your alter ego to your face,” she gritted past her hands covering her face in shameful horror.

Jason snickered. “No can do, BG. If it’s any consolation, I’d say the newest Batgirl is pretty smash-worthy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His teal eyes were right in front of hers. Was it hot in here? It was hot in here.

“Can I maybe get your number?”

Steph looked up at him, worrying her lip between her teeth. “Sure, as long as you don’t give me one of your burner numbers.”

“Deal.” Jason fished his phone out of his back pocket.

Steph typed in her contact information and texted herself, then handed it back to him.

“Best Gotham Blonde Girl <3?” Jason read off her self-appointed contact name and laughed. “Cute.”

“I am,” she batted her lashes at him. “So, I hear you know the owner of this really great restaurant?”

“I’m not taking you to my own restaurant for our first date, Steph. Give Alfred’s teachings a little more credit, please.”

“First date?” Steph asked. “Sounds good. In that case, I enjoy the Italian restaurant opposite Wayne Enterprises, the churro truck by Amusement Mile, and the diner in Robinson Park.”

“I’m aware,” Jason said dryly. “I've seen you demolishing a stack of waffles after patrol several times.”

Steph flushed. “Yeah, well, you stay up way too late reading on the gargoyle overlooking the Harbour!”

Jason’s hand gently settled on her cheek. “Been stalking me, have you?”

“I see you on my way to my much-too-early classes at Gotham U,” she retorted, leaning into his touch. “Kiss me.”

“Whatever the lady says.”

Steph’s arms wrapped around his neck as he kissed her sweetly, drawing him in and deepening the kiss.

His free hand ran up and down her side before settling on her hip and pulling her flush with him.

They broke apart at the knock on his door, where Jeff stood.

“Uh, I’ll come back later. Congrats, Boss!”

Bonus:

“Boss?”

Jason looked up, waving Jeff and Bill into his office.”’Sup?”

“Uh, we’re really happy you’ve found this girl, but…we thought you liked the new Batgirl?” Bill was brave enough to say what the whole Goonion had been wondering since Jeff breathlessly updated them on Boss’s love life an hour ago.

Jason considered them. “I do. She kind of looks like Batgirl, though, don’t you think?”

Bill and Jeff exchanged looks.

“They’re both…blonde…”

“As long as you’re happy, Boss,” they assured him. “Does she know about Red Hood?” “Yep, she’s cool with it.”

“Okay, thanks for telling us, Boss.”

Jeff and Bill left to update the Goonion. “She knows he’s Hood and she’s cool with it, and he still likes BG but he’s dating her because she reminds him of the girl he can’t get.”

Bill blinked the moistness in his eyes away. “I hope she doesn’t break Boss’s heart.”

Bonus Bonus:

“Move over, I can’t see,” hissed Jeff, nudging Gary with his bony elbow until he could peer through the window at Boss’s date with Steph.

They seemed to be having a good time, laughing and chatting, but the Goonion still secretly rooted for their OTP, RedGirl (unfortunately, the two vigilantes’ names weren’t the most conducive to ship names). Steph wasn’t bad as a second-place contender for Boss’s heart, though, and they’d rather see him happy than with a vigilante who didn’t see their Boss for the good man that he was (duffle bags with dubious contents notwithstanding).

Boss and Ms Boss stood to leave the restaurant, and the Goonion started their car to be ready to follow the couple to their next destination.

Interestingly, Boss took Ms Boss to his warehouse headquarters. They were sure moving fast, but if Boss trusted her, so did they.

“It’s usually a lot busier at this time,” Boss was telling Ms Boss when the Goonion entered the building through the back entrance, pretending they’d been out on a mission.

“Oh, there you are. I’d like to introduce you to Steph.”

The Goonion shook her hand and introduced themselves, taking her measure personally and agreeing that she seemed to fit Boss well.

They nodded at him approvingly before they tactfully peeled themselves away to their respective tasks, where they could more surreptitiously keep an eye on the couple, who were chuckling about something as they continued the tour.

They disappeared into Boss’s office and the Goonion winked at each other, preparing to give Boss some privacy, when the door swung open and out walked Boss in his work uniform…hand in hand with Batgirl.

Well, that explained some things.

Jeff pulled out his phone to gather evidence for the other lieutenants. Too bad they were out on patrols and couldn’t see this for themselves. Dennis and Alicia weren’t going to believe this without his proof!

Now seemed like a good time to revive the Boss Dating bets they’d had running…

#jaysteph #fic #ali writes #jaysteph fic

9 notes · View notes