#Raylan Givens x Reader

[grugruel]

I need to grind on a hot older man so bad rn

[bullet-prooflove]

Not That Kind of Night: Raylan Givens x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @love-affair-with-fandoms @mckinleysbones

Companion piece to:

The Only One (NSFW)

You’re a stubborn little thing but then Raylan has always known that. He thinks that’s part of the attraction, you don’t let him get away with shit like the other women in his life. You take him to task, professionally/unprofessionally.

“Those other girls, they go too easy on you Raylan.” You murmur as you clench around his cock, holding him right on the cusp of release, moaning, arching, begging. “They let you do whatever you want.”

This is the way you punish him when he misbehaves. You start off all coy with gentle, teasing kisses and then you cuff him to the bed and have your way with him. It goes on for hours. You riding him until he’s at the pinnacle of release before you leave him hanging. It’s the sweetest of tortures, one that keeps Raylan coming back time and time again.

When you finally let him climax it’s never inside you. That’s the other part of his punishment. He treats you like shit, he doesn’t get the intimacy he craves, he just gets this. His own come splattered across his stomach and the neighbours banging on the wall because when you have him like this it’s loud, so loud that every single one of them know your fucking name. When you’re finished with him, you uncuff him from the headboard before redressing in the light from the lamp on the nightstand.

“You’re not gonna stay?” He asks, trying to catch his breath as his back comes to rest against the headboard.

“No.” You say frankly as you tug your jeans up your thighs. “It’s not that kinda night.”

“You’re still mad.” He states as he grasps a tissue from the nightstand and starts to clean himself up.

“No.” You say, your voice completely devoid of emotion. “I’m indifferent. The way that you are Raylan… I don’t think you know how to be with another person.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He says, tossing the tissue into the trash before his attention turns back to you. “Maybe I am just that fucked up.”

“I must be even more fucked up because I keep coming back.” You tell him as you raise to your feet and pull your jacket on over your shoulders.

“No.” He says quietly, his thumb tracing over the bruising on wrist. “You’re just trying to love me.”

“Maybe it’s time I stop.” You say softly as you open the motel room door and step outside into the nighttime air.

“Yea.” Raylan says as he watches you go. “Maybe you should.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[the-marshals-wife]

Restless (Raylan Givens x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: More than a little inspired by the Lady A song "Need You Now", here's an impromptu Raylan fic because this gif also inspired me and it's past time I wrote something for my marshal man. ✪

Description: Raylan Givens x Fem!Reader, moody fluff | Warnings: kissing, guns and alcohol mentioned | Setting: before Primeval | Word count: 1,064 | Gif credit: user vincenzides

Imagine being unable to sleep and finding Raylan on your porch keeping watch

It was another sleepless night for you. There seemed to be million things to worry about lately, and not enough daylight hours to do it in. You'd spent the last two staring up at the ceiling before giving up hope for a restful night. You rub at your eyes as you make your way down the stairs, each creaking step ringing throughout the old farmhouse. If you were being honest, the house being paid off was the only thing not making you lose sleep.

You'd gone the route of warm milk and hot tea before, but you found the only thing that truly helped in times like these was curling up in your grandfather's rocking chair. Even just a few minutes there never failed to soothe your troubled mind and bring back the peace of simpler days.

You flip the lock on front door, pull it open as it squalls on the hinges, and switch on the flickering porch light.

"Still need to change that," you remind yourself, adding to your already exhaustive mental list.

With it well past midnight, it was almost unsettling how still and silent it was outside. You push open the screen door and step onto the weathered porch boards in your slippers. In the summer months, at least you had the comfort of the crickets chirping. But on a damp spring night like tonight, the abundant life of the hollows had yet to sing its song.

Having just crawled out of your warm bed, the cool air hits your face and sends chills right through you. You cross your arms and shuffle towards the end of the porch.

You freeze in place, however, when you see a dark silhouette sitting motionless in the rocker. Fight or flight already kicking in, you're counting the steps backward to the shotgun just inside the door when the shadowy figure speaks.

"Don't shoot me," calls a familiar voice.

"Raylan Givens, you just about gave me a heart attack," you exhale as you clutch your chest.

"We wouldn't want that," he replies, peering up in the dim light, "I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to scare you."

As your heart starts beating again, you begin to find your words. You pull your robe tighter around yourself and tentatively approach him. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't sleep," he says, as if that were an explanation.

"Well I can see that. But what are you doing on my porch?"

He leans back in the rocker and turns his head towards the pitch black yard. "Had a feeling."

"Bad?" you question, watching him survey the darkness.

"Yeah."

You sigh. That's the way it was with Raylan. The quickest draw in the county with a witty comeback or sarcastic comment, but never one to waste words on the hard days.

"Guessing you don't want to talk about it," you venture, sitting down in the wicker chair beside him.

"Not really," he answers.

You nod, frowning. "Can I at least get you a drink?"

"No, thank you. Had plenty already," he says, finally looking over at you, "I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," he sighs, taking off his hat and running a hand through his hair.

"Raylan, should I be worried here? Is something coming? Do I need to put on my 'shooting shoes'?" you laugh a bit, hoping to ease the tension.

"No, it's not like that," he chuckles, leaning forward on his knees and staring down at his boots, "I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing here. There's nothing wrong. Just the whiskey talking, I guess."

You scoff. "You're many things, Raylan Givens, and a good liar is not one of them."

He glances up at you and smirks.

"Why are you really on this porch tonight?" you ask.

He leans back again, eyes fixed on the hat still in his hands. "This job gets you a lot of enemies. That I wouldn't mind so much, except it never ends with me. People I care about tend to get caught in the crossfire."

He turns to you, and even in the dark, you see in his eyes a vulnerability you'd scarcely seen before.

"I can live with a lot of things, but I won't live with you getting hurt. Least of all because of me. I'm not gonna let that happen."

You pause as you realize that not only was Raylan being honest about his feelings, but that he has them for you. You half-expected a hallelujah chorus to follow, but there was only the peaceful quiet of the evening. Maybe you were asleep, you wonder, for surely this was a dream.

"There's only one thing for it then," you begin, standing up.

You take the hat from his hands and place it in the chair you'd just left. Before he can protest, you sit down on his lap, and he stares at you completely stunned. Tucking your legs up, you lay your head on his shoulder and rest your hand on his chest.

"You'll just have to stay here," you declare softly.

Hesitating only a moment, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer.

"Guess I'll have to," he replies.

Several moments of him holding you in comforting silence go by before he speaks again, and you can hear him smile as he does.

"I should warn you, though. I've been told, by just a few people mind you, that I can be a pain in the ass."

You sit up, snickering, "Tell me something I don't know."

His gaze softens, weighing your challenging words.

"Alright, how about this. If I stay, I don't have plans to leave."

Just when you thought he couldn't surprise you any more, he goes and says a thing like that, looking at you the way he is.

"That's good. Because I don't have plans to let ya," you smirk.

You let your words and worries fall to the wayside as you lean in and kiss him. His hand slides up your neck and into your hair as he kisses you back hard, tasting like whiskey and longing. Many heartbeats of intoxicating embrace pass before you both remember to breathe.

He grins at you and chuckles.

"You're never getting rid of me now."

[usmsgutterson]

I'm onto season three and finally logged into this account (aka the one I use for things that arent horror or horror adjacent) and REALLY want to write for raylan givens from Justified!! I've been watching the show for five or six days now bc y'know, binging stuff, and I just. is there much of an audience for him?? I feel like there should be bc timothy olyphant in justified is W O A H but idk, I felt like checking first lol

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Can you do more fluffy Raylan please?

Warnings: Moody reader; Raylan being himself; light angst, ends in fluff

You know that he doesn't do it on purpose, but Raylan doesn't do well separating his work from your personal lives. Of course, it doesn't help that your personal lives are so often infected by Raylan's work. You try to keep the atmosphere bright when he comes home, but sometimes you just...Can't.

The dampening of your mood comes after too many late nights, too many sharp words and surly glances.

It's lucky that Raylan comes home in a good mood, because you are pissed. Your day has been rotten, and long. Your boss got on your case, you accidentally sent an email before you finished it, and you forgot your lunch and your wallet home.

It's a surprise to find Raylan at your house when you get there. He's already halfway through a beer, leaning against your kitchen counter as he eyes the baseball game playing on the old set on the stool in the corner.

"Hey," He greets. "How was your day?"

"Shitty."

"Great."

You roll your eyes, knowing he's not listening. Perfect. You drop your bag on a chair as you head for the fridge to get a beer for yourself.

"What's for dinner?" Raylan adds.

"Whatever."

"Think it'll take long?"

"How long does it take to heat up a can of soup."

You grab a beer, hip-checking the door shut and opening the can. You turn your eye toward the tv, squinting at the slightly fuzzy picture.

"...What's goin' on?"

"What?" You ask blandly.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm great."

You're met with silence for a moment before Raylan reaches out, shutting the tv off. You frown.

"What are you doing?"

"Let's go out for dinner."

"Why? We have food here."

"We'll go for a drink."

"We can drink here. We already are," You point out, gesturing between the two of you with your beer.

"I think it would be good for us to get out of here for a night. C'mon."

Raylan doesn't wait for your further argument. He just takes your beer, puts it on the counter grabs your hand with one hand, and your purse and his hat with the other. You protest as he leads you out of the house, to his car. You grumble as you get in, slouching back against the seat. Raylan gets into the driver's seat, shuts the door...And just sits.

"Are we going anywhere?" You ask. "Because if I go back inside right now, I'm sure that beer is still cold."

"Tell me what's wrong."

"Look, Ray, it's been a long day, I'm so fricking hungry, and I just..." You shake your head, sagging back into your seat. "I'm tired."

You let your eyes slide shut as he takes hold of your hand, intertwining your fingers.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Oh, please. Since when have you ever wanted to talk about anything?"

"We talk about things."

"We talk about the good things. Not the shit."

Raylan's thumb smooths over the back of your hand as he seems to consider that.

"Then we start talking about the shit," He insists.

"You really want that?"

"If this is the alternative, then yeah."

You laugh tiredly, tipping your head to the side to meet Raylan's eye. His gaze is warm, and a touch worried in the dim cab of the car. You give his hand a squeeze.

"Alright," You agree. "We'll talk about the shit. But," You raise his hand to the steering wheel. "We're getting dinner first. All I've had today is water and coffee"

"One dinner coming up."

"But like, a cheap one. Neither of us get paid until next Wednesday."

"One cheap dinner, coming up."

[galactic-academia]

Dancing in the dark

Rating: G

Category: F/M

Fandom: Justified

Relationship: Raylan Givens x F!Reader

Tags: language, angst, pining, very, very lightly implied age gap (Raylan was a newbie long before the reader became a Marshal), pining, Tim and Rachel are the best, Raylan is kind of an asshole, oblivious Raylan.

Words count: 2,5K

Summary: Raylan hurt your feelings (in a stupid, stupid way). No happy ending.

Notes: There, enjoy this piece of fanfiction I totally didn't write out of spite and to cope with my own feelings 🙃 I'm not a native, please forgive my mistakes. Title from Bruce Springsteen "Dancing in the dark", obviously.

Masterpost | Ask | Guidelines | Timothy Olyphant Masterlist

"Hi there!"

You smile and feel stupid as Rachel greets you before sitting at her desk. You're so obvious it hurts.

"You ok?"

She seems genuinely worried about you. Rachel's tough, but, deep down, she's a sweetheart.

"Yup, just fine", you try another smile, one you know won't reach your eyes and make you look even more awkward, it's that even possible, "What about you?"

"She's lying", yes, deep down, Rachel is a sweetheart, but, on the surface, she is pretty insufferabe, just like all the other Marshals; maybe that's a sine qua non condition to get enrolled in the Services, "Gutterson, why is she lying?"

Wearifully tearing his eyes away from his computer screen, Tim sights and mutters "Just let it go, Brooks, alright?", before going back to what he's reading.

Tim was there, yesterday, he witnessed the whole debacle and he didn't even laugh. You love him for it.

Rachel is taking a big inspiration before - no doubt about this - pushing to know what happened in her absence when he enters the bullpen.

"Hi."

He's barely audible. For a man of his stature and a nasty little shit like him, it never stops surprising you.

Rachel looks at you as you don't smile. You don't even answer.

As she's turning to Raylan, ready to chew his head off without preamble, Tim steps in, without looking away from his screen this time, "Don't".

Rachel stays quiet, this is no fun if neither Tim, nor you are ready to harrass Raylan about whatever he did to piss you off. And if you don't want to laugh it off, it must be pretty bad.

It's not. It's so stupid it's embarrassing. And you're not pissed off. You're sad.

You're definitely not Marshal's material. Too kind. Too sweet. Too soft. But you do the job and you do it well. You're a little ray of sunshine, always smiling, babbling, putting on silly voices and making faces to make your coworkers laugh. It works. You know Chief Mullen would like it better if you were more serious, but you can't help it. With all the shit you have to put with everyday, if you don't blow off some steam from time to time, you're going to get crazy. And you know "serious" and "fun" are no opposite. You're the spoonful of sugar. You try to. And most of your coworkers likes you for it.

And then, there is Raylan, who doesn't give a shit. Except for the outlaws he tracks, Raylan doesn't give a shit about anything.

When you arrived in Harlan's Office, you first thought he was especially reserved with you because you were the newbie, and because your sweet dispositions maybe unsettled him a little. And maybe you were right, for he never was mean to you, quite the contrary. But you never managed to befriend him either. You were so impressed, so... enamored with whatever he did and said that you never could breach his shell, while you were very good friend with Tim and Rachel, and even something like a daughter to Chief Mullen.

This lack of proximity, of intimacy, it was eating you alive. All the acts of service you trip over yourself to offer him went unseen. All the little attentions you try to give him went either disregarded or kindly rejected. But you would have put yourself on fire to keep him warm. God...

Until one day, out of the blue, he did something sweet. something totally irrelevant. As the newbie, you were tasked with labelling the sealed proofs. It was no mystery, even an perfect moron could have done it, but it was tedious. You discovered that Raylan had had to do that job long before you and jumped on the occasion to have little conversations about it. Mostly about how a pain in the ass it was to wait for the machine to painfully engrave what you had typed out.

"Sweetie" he had said, "You shoulda' seen the fuckin' device I had to work with. Believe me or not, but the machine I used was even more tedious than yours."

Delighted, you had jumped on the occasion and asked more details about it, which he had willingly unveiled. As tiny and fragile as it was, it still was a bond. And when, at the end of the week, you had found the machine he used to engrave with just next to "yours", butterflies had bursted into your stomach. He had thought about you. He had thought about you, searched for the machine, moved it to put it next to the one you use and just... Waited for you to discover it. And it has absolutely no meaning, it held zero interest, but you rushed to his desk to thank him all the same. Since this day, you had convinced yourself Raylan somewhat liked you, in his own way. Why would he have showed you his old machine, otherwise?

But you were wrong. Raylan just... Doesn't care.

You manage to keep your eyes down for most of the morning, quietly typing away at your computer. Contrary to all of your coworkers, you have no problem with reports; so you agreed to review all of the ones Chief Mullen threws your way before someone hits the "send" button. You can do that all day, all week if you have to. The best strategy to avoid having to interact with Raylan is simple: just wait for him to leave in search of some action. Once he cleared the office, you can go about your own business in peace. But as Chief Mullen opens the glass door of his office to bark something to another Marshal in the bullpen, you instincively raise your head to see what the ruckus is about and you meet Raylan's gaze. He truly has the most entrancing eyes you ever saw. Before knowing him, you used to roll your eyes when you read about a character fussing other how deep and beautiful someone's eyes were, until you met Raylan and his gaze pinned you down. Until you found yourself staring into his eyes and smiling while he did the same. Until you found that, just when he's about to start some stupid shit, his eyes sort of gleams. You can't explain it, but you always know when he's up to no good before everyone.

Upon meeting his gaze, you force yourself to stay put. No smile. No tears. Then you go back to your screen. A few seconds later, you look again to see if he seems upset, but he's unfazed; annoyed with whatever he's working on, if anything. You can pout to your heart content, Raylan won't - ever - ask you what your problem is. He doesn't care.

You don't know Raylan very well; you really barely know him, to say the truth, but still enough to know he won't stay seated at his desk all morning. The man couldn't stay put, even if he wanted to. You don't have to wait for too long before his phone starts ringing and he's out the door in a heartbeat. Keeping your gaze focused on what you're working on is a true trial - no catching his eyes as he passes you by, no big smile, no little joke which always, always manages to make him laugh - but you pull it off. It seems deeply stupid, but avoiding his gaze as much as you can is very important. He could wink at you, and, by now - even if he can prove to be a true dumbass - you're almost sure he caught throwing you a wink probably is the easiest way to make you melt. Just like a goddamn schoolgirl, it makes you blush and fucking giggle, and smile to the void for the rest of the day... Hell, it's been so long since the last wink you got, you can't even remember when it was.

"So", Rachel starts once more when she's sure Raylan is out of the building and won't come back in the middle of the conversation, "What the fuck happened here?"

For the nth time that morning, Gutterson sighs, "Our coworker, here, is discovering how much Givens can be an asshole without meaning to; that's it."

"Well, that's old news, ain't it?"

"Not for her"

Brooks turns towards you, determined to set it clear; "So, what did he do, this time?"

But you definitely don't want to talk about it. This is so childish, so pathetic... You can feel the ball sitting in your sternum growing heavier each time you try to turn it into words. So Tim - hoping to get on with his goddamn report before the end of the day or before his sanity runs out, whatever comes first - takes the matter in his own hands.

"Remember the cinnamon rolls she baked that week-end?"

"Uhuh, they were delicious."

You smile to Rachel, happy that your little treats brang some joy into your office.

"Yeah, well, Raylan declines to even taste them."

Gutterson says it matter of factly. Almost sternly, like some tough truth everybody needs to take on. But Brook's loud reaction brings you some validation, "What?!"

"She went to him with the fluffiest pastry she had and, without even looking at them, he said 'no thanks' and went back to his business."

Tears come instantly to your eyes. Yes. Your crush declined to taste the treats you brang to the office and it made you sad to the point of crying; of still crying about it a whole day after the incident. Pathetic.

Eyes so round it would be comical if you didn't feel like shit, Rachel, with the hope to find some believable excuse to Givens' behavior - not to absolve him (God above, certainly not), but to soothe you - cautiously asks: "Did you tell him this was for your birthday?"

"Yes..." But he probably didn't even listen.

Rachel is fed up, now; her arms crossed on her chest and blowing air trough her nose.

"Goddamn it, girl... Why did you have to choose this moron, uh?"

"Didn't choose him."

"No, you were lightstrucked, right?", she scoffs; opening her arms wide and looking to the sky, "You saw him and you knew. I know he looks so good he could be a chippendale, but seriously-"

Rachel cuts herself in the middle of her rambling when she beholds you sob a laugh. She's right, Raylan is so, so pretty. It's not what lured you in, though. Nope. But that quiet confidence, that experience, all that knowledge coupled to that charming, disarming nonchalance... The bad temper and will for what's right are fucking sexy too. And, yes, those soulful eyes paired to that lightening smile are a true sight to behold, saying otherwise would be a lie. The imagery of the chippendale is hilarious, though; you're sure women would pay a pretty penny to look at Raylan disrobing himself, but you wouldn't. You want him to want it. You don't want a night, or a few of them, you want it all. And you know he can't give you what you want. Meh. Doesn't sound so hilarious, in the end.

You smile to Rachel, tired and wry. "Nonsense, all of it. I feel like I'm fifteen again and I hate every seconds of it, could we go back to work?"

She seems to get the memo, but not Tim.

"You should keep on givin' him the cold shoulder", he says, his brows furrowed.

"What?", you try to play it down, "Aw, please, we're not in the kindergarten anymore-"

"Come on", he insists, "You didn't even greet him back! Stop tripping over yourself to try and please him, let him mind his own business. Run away from him, and he will chase after you."

Now, you're laughing in disblief; "How in Hell can you think such a stupid plan could work?!"

"Not so stupid", of course, Rachel is going to side with Tim on this one, "If you stop being your... sugar-sweet self to him, he could scratch his stupid head and ask himself why".

You don't believe it, not even for an instant, but what other option do you have? You can do that, or you can just let it go.

You definitely should let it go.

"You know... You should keep on trying." You look at Rachel like she sprouts a second head. You would never have bet on such a piece of advice coming out of her mouth. "If you feel like it", she adds as a second thought.

"You never can tell", Tim sums up as he goes back to his own report.

You could ask to be relocated in another office, you could ignore that coworker you could easily work with without having to talk to more than once every other week, or you could simply grow up and stop all that shit altogether. But you don't want to. You want your stomach to flip when Raylans enters the room, the warmth and the butterflies, the mad blush and the feeling of your heart racing in your chest. So you decide to follow your friends' advice: no more sugar for Raylan Givens.

Ah!

A few hours later, you're tasked to tell him that someone up the ladder forgot to tell him he will have to transfer a dangerous inmate all by himself. You do it sternly, but not enough to hide your indignation about the situation from him, it seems, since it makes him laugh and just tells you everything will be alright. And you smile.

And when he almost rams into you, as he's rushing without looking where he steps and you're daydreaming and not paying attention to your surroundings, he stops a hair away from you, surprised to find you there. And you smile.

And when you have to discuss the problems in the file about the coming transfer of the dangerous inmate, he cracks jokes to you, and he laughs, throwing that 20 000 watts smile right into your face and goddamn it... How could you not laugh with him? In what parallel universe are you supposed to restist him? Is there a version on you, in the realm of infinite possibilities, who can even do that?

No.

Because, deep down, you know. You know he's not happy, that there's something broken in him, something that made him build up walls to never be breached ever again. Because you feel that loneliness and the disappointment that comes when everything he does to fill his empty heart backfires. Because you feel he's not ready for it, or only not ready to embrace it, but also that he knows he can't go on like this forever.

You know you should just give up on him; or, at the very least, listen to your coworkers, but you can't. You know you need to be there for when he'll be tired of dancing in the dark.

The end.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Bourbon Makes Everything Better

Raylan Givens x Reader

Words: 867

Summary: A long day for both of you ends with a quiet moment and a good drink. 

Notes: I wanted to do something short and sweet for Raylan because this man has taken over my life. I also started this after a really draining day, so I kind of needed a peaceful moment with my Kentucky man. Enjoy a little Timothy Olyphant drabble! 

More Raylan Imagines HERE

-

You were starting to wish you’d just driven together that morning. Even if it meant having to wait for him to finish all of his paperwork, at least you wouldn’t be sitting on the back porch alone, nursing a cheap beer and thoughts of the day. 

The assignment was supposed to be short. It was supposed to be simple. It turned out to be anything but. 

Turns out the inmate you and your partner were transporting had some buddies waiting for him on the outside. What ensued was you almost getting your brains blown out, Raylan having to shoot three people, including the inmate you were supposed to move. The only reason you weren’t at the office was because Art decided to saddle the one who didn’t get manhandled with the most paperwork for the night. 

But you were fine, really. 

Physically, anyway. 

The exhaustion ached in every limb. Your head swam with the feeling of a gun against your temple and the shooting pain up your arm when the bastard threw you against a dumpster. It wasn’t anything new, of course. You’d been knocked down before. You’d be knocked down again. 

And, you knew, you’d be this tired again, too. 

Inside, the kitchen light turned on, a cabinet opened, and the light turned off again. 

The back door swung open. 

“Honey, I’m home,” Raylan teased. Judging by the look in his eyes and the bottle in his hand, he was faring about as well as you. He kissed the top of your head. “How’s your arm?”

“Just a little sore, that’s all,” you said, reaching up to bring his lips to yours as proof. “Is Art pissed?” 

He shook his head. “Not at us anyway.”

“Think they’ll sniff around on account of… well, you know?” 

Raylan took the seat beside you, poured you both a glass of bourbon and laced his fingers through yours, shrugging. 

“AUSA shouldn’t know anything about it, so long as everyone in the office kept their mouth shut.” He chuckled, shaking his head again, “But the odds of that seem pretty slim, don’t they?” 

“It was a clean shooting,” you said. “Those sonsofbitches were going to do anything they had to.” 

“Plus, I saved your life,” he smirked. 

“Right. My knight in shining Stetson.” 

Raylan’s expression changed and it didn’t take words to know what he was thinking. What if he hadn’t been fast enough? What if that thug pulled the trigger first? What if, instead of sitting here, he was cleaning your brains out of his suit jacket. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder, taking in the quiet of the night. “Let’s not worry about it now,” you whispered. 

He didn’t say anything, just took a drink. You did the same. 

 Crickets sang through the night,  that sharp noise the only sound for what seemed like hours. The longer the two of you sat in that immense silence, the heavier your entire body felt, like you were being pulled down by a force stronger than gravity. It was like being underwater and allowing yourself to drown. 

You weren’t sure when the tears started. You were too numb to feel them. It wasn’t until you felt Raylan’s thumb brush them away that you realized you’d started crying. 

“Come here,” he said softly, urging you into his lap. You laid your head between his neck and collarbone, enveloped by his arms. 

You weren’t scared of them. Those hillbilly prisoners didn’t have that kind of hold on you. You’d faced worse and come out the other side before. It was the deep exhaustion you were afraid of. The kind of tired that seeped to the bone like a particularly nasty rain storm. The kind that made you want to stop trying. 

“I’m tired of being this damn tired,” you said against Raylan’s shirt. 

“I know,” he sighed. “I am too.” 

“But there’s nothing we can do about it, is there?” You pulled back, looking into golden eyes filled with the same tired frustration, but also, what you needed most- love.

“No,” he said. “There isn’t.” Raylan kissed your lips, slow and soft. “But that doesn’t mean we stop tryin’.” 

You wiped the rest of your tears with the back of your hand and downed the rest of your drink, letting the sweet burn cool your nerves. Raylan stood up, placing you on your feet in front of him. 

“Let’s not waste good bourbon on sitting here feeling sorry,” he said, holding out his hand. 

Your head tilted curiously. “But we don’t have any music.”

Raylan pulled you to him, one hand on your waist and the other holding yours up. “When has that ever stopped us before? Now come on.” He gave you a smile that reached those perfect eyes. “We’ll dance until we’re too tired. Then we can go inside and try something else.” 

You laughed, tucking your head under his chin as the two of you started to sway. 

“You’re lucky this is good bourbon, otherwise I’d be kicking you to the curb.” 

“Well gee, I love you too.” 

And so the two of you danced, slowly in the quiet night, before pouring another drink and heading off to bed.

[redpool]

I wish there was more fanfiction for Justified.

[coopswhxre]

Word's Mean Nothin'

Boyd Crowder x (Fem)Reader

Word Count: 3,224

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie

Synopsis: Boyd confesses his feelings for you and things get a little heated.

This is my first time writing anything for tumblr, so please be nice XD

It had been three weeks since your sister Ava allowed Boyd Crowder to stay in the attic of the home you both shared. He had kept to himself, spending his days reading the Bible and listening to the radio. Frankly, you preferred it that way; seeing his smug face was the last thing you wanted after all the trouble he'd brought upon Ava.

On a quiet Sunday afternoon, you decided to enjoy your coffee on the porch, relishing the crisp air, only to be startled by Boyd sitting on the bench by the door, his expression one of deep thought.

With a sigh, you considered him for a moment before turning to go back inside.

"Y/N," his voice was low as he called out your name, his gaze fixed on the woods beyond your property. "Would you sit with me?"

You paused, your foot hovering over the threshold. "Why should I?"

"Please…" His eyes met yours—wide, hazel, and piercing. To your surprise, they seemed to shimmer with what looked like genuine remorse.

"You've got two minutes, Crowder," you conceded, walking over to take the rocking chair opposite him.

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossed defensively as you leaned back. "Well, I ain't got all night, Boyd."

"I've been thinkin' 'bout these past few weeks, what my daddy did to your sister… to you." He gestured towards your shoulder, where a bullet from his father, Bo, had grazed you, sending a chill of remembered pain through you. "I know I can't undo what happened or clear away the bad blood between us, but I need you to know, I'm sorry."

Your gaze hardened, not quite ready to accept his apology, yet you couldn't help but notice the earnestness in his tone—something you hadn't expected from Boyd Crowder. The silence lingered for a moment, punctuated only by the distant calls of evening birds and the soft creak of the rocking chair beneath you.

"Why now, Boyd?" you finally asked, your voice a mix of curiosity and skepticism. "What's changed?"

Boyd sighed, looking down at his hands before meeting your eyes again. "I've had a lot of time to think, up there in that attic. 'Bout my life, the choices I've made, the folks I've hurt." He paused, his voice faltering slightly. "I've realized if I keep goin' down this path, I'll end up all alone. I don't want that. Not anymore."

You watched him, trying to decipher if this was another one of his manipulations. Boyd was known for his silver tongue, and trust was not something easily given, especially to a man like him. Yet, there was something different this time, a vulnerability you hadn't seen before.

"And what 'bout Ava?" you pressed, the concern for your sister surfacing. "What assurances do I have that you won’t put her—or me—in danger again?"

Boyd nodded, understanding the weight of your question. "I can't give you guarantees, Y/N. All I can offer is my word to do better. I wanna protect Ava, not cause her more pain. I hope, in time, you'll see that."

You remained silent, mulling over his words. The evening chill began to seep through your clothes, reminding you of the fading light.

"Time'll tell, Boyd," you finally said, standing up from the rocking chair. "Words mean nothin' without action. You better prove yourself, or you're out."

As you lay in bed that night, the conversation with Boyd replayed endlessly in your mind. His voice, earnest and somber, seemed genuinely filled with regret—a side of him you hadn't seen before. But deep down, you suspected Ava was his true motivation. Boyd had always harbored a soft spot for her, even during her marriage to his brother.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the radio playing upstairs, its volume carrying through the quiet house. With a muttered curse, you threw off the covers and made your way to the attic to tell Boyd to turn it down.

Reaching the attic door, you knocked sharply before entering. The sight that greeted you made you gasp—Boyd, just out of the shower, clad only in a towel around his waist, his skin damp and his hair slicked back. For a moment, you faltered, taken aback by the stark contrast between his usual rugged demeanor and the vulnerability he now displayed.

"Boyd, the music—it’s too loud," you said, striving to keep your voice steady despite the distraction.

"Oh, sorry bout that," Boyd replied, his tone apologetic as he reached for the radio, turning it down immediately. "Didn’t realize it was carrying through the house."

You nodded, your eyes inadvertently scanning the sparse, dimly lit attic. It was clear he lived simply here, with just a few personal items. The vulnerability of his living situation, combined with the unexpected intimacy of the moment, softened your stance just slightly.

"Thanks," you added, pausing at the doorway. "And Boyd—about earlier… I’m thinking about what you said."

Boyd’s eyes met yours, hopeful yet cautious. "I appreciate that, Y/N. Really, I do."

You were already halfway out the door when Boyd's voice halted your steps. "Wait, Y/N," he called, his tone hesitant yet earnest. You paused, your hand on the door frame, and turned back to face him.

"I just… If you've got a minute, I'd like to say a bit more," he said, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. The soft light from the single bulb overhead cast shadows that played across his features.

You sighed, your initial irritation fading into a cautious curiosity. "Alright, Boyd. What is it?" you asked, leaning against the door frame.

He took a deep breath, searching for his words - eyes searching the dimly lit attic before settling back on you. The air was thick with tension, his usual confident demeanor replaced by something more tentative. "I know this ain't the time or place, and maybe it's not my place to say, but…" His voice trailed off as he took a cautious step closer, his expression earnest.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms defensively. "Boyd, if you've got something to say, just say it."

He took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on you. "It's just… these past weeks, being here, seeing how you handle everything… it’s made me realize a lot more than just my mistakes." He paused, swallowing hard. "I’ve come to… care for you, Y/N. More than I should, given everything."

The confession hung between you, startling in its sincerity. Boyd looked vulnerable, almost afraid of how you might respond. "I know I don't deserve a chance, not with my history… but if you'd ever think it possible—"

"Boyd, I—" You started, your mind racing with conflicting emotions.

He stepped forward, closing the gap slightly, his presence overwhelming. "I know it's a lot to ask. I don't even know what I’m asking for. Just… don’t shut me out. Please."

The intensity in his eyes, the raw honesty in his voice, it broke through your defenses in a way you hadn't anticipated. You were about to speak, to chastise him or perhaps to dismiss his words, when impulsively, Boyd leaned in, his hesitation melting away in the moment.

His lips met yours, and for a brief second, the world seemed to stop. The kiss was tentative at first, questioning, as if he was still seeking permission. But as you stood frozen, surprised by your own stillness, something shifted. Maybe it was the isolation of the attic, the soft hum of the now-quiet radio, or the genuine remorse he had shown earlier; whatever it was, you found yourself not pulling away.

The kiss deepened slightly, Boyd's lips firm yet cautious. His hand, tentative at first, found its way to the small of your back, pulling you slightly closer. The warmth of his body contrasted sharply with the cool air of the attic, and you could feel the dampness of his hair, the remnants of his shower, as his fingers gently brushed against your cheek.

The softness of the moment, the gentle pressure of his lips against yours, was disarming. It wasn't rushed or fraught with the intensity of passion often depicted in stories; rather, it was a slow burn, a flicker of something new.

As Boyd finally pulled away, the slight catch in his breath was audible in the quiet of the attic. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of regret or rejection. What he found instead was confusion.

Boyd's gaze was unwavering, his brow furrowed slightly as if he was trying to read your thoughts.

"I… I'm sorry if that was too much," he whispered. "I just needed you to know, to really know, how I feel."

The weight of his confession, the unexpected intimacy of the kiss, left you silent for a moment. You were still processing, still trying to align this new Boyd with the one you had known, always calculating, always a step ahead.

His eyes held yours, searching for a sign of how you might react next. The tension was palpable, a mix of anticipation and fear. You took a moment, your own confusion swirling with the unexpected emotions stirred by the kiss.

After what felt like an eternity, you made your decision. Stepping forward, closing the gap Boyd had just created, you reached up to touch his face gently, the touch sent a shiver down your spine. Boyd looked at you, his eyes wide.

Without saying a word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his again. This time, there was a certainty in your movement, a decision made. Boyd responded almost immediately, his hands moving to your waist as you wrapped your arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, and you invited him further, parting your lips.

Boyd's response was immediate and intense. His tongue met yours, exploring softly, cautiously at first, then with growing confidence as you responded in kind. His fingers pressed into your waist, pulling you flush against his warm chest. The heat from his body enveloped you.

The world outside seemed to fade away as the kiss grew more passionate. You could feel Boyd's heart racing just as fast as yours, his breath mingling with yours, creating a rhythm that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. The soft hum of the radio now seemed like a distant memory, replaced by the sound of your joint breathing and the occasional creak of the attic floor beneath you.

As the kiss finally broke, you both stood there, forehead against forehead, trying to catch your breath. Boyd's hands remained on your waist, not willing to let go just yet, and you made no move to step back.

Boyd finally spoke, his voice husky and low. "Y/N, I—"

"Shh," you whispered, placing a finger on his lips. "Don't. We don’t need words right now."

As the tension in the room shifted from apprehensive to charged, you took Boyd's hand. The air in the attic felt thick, almost tangible with the turn of emotions. Leading him to his bed, you were acutely aware of every sound—the slight creak of the floorboards, the distant call of the night, and the rustle of the towel as it shifted against Boyd's form.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. The soft light from the single bulb cast shadows that danced on the walls, adding to the intimacy of the moment. You could see the outline of Boyd's form under the towel, the tension in his body, and the undeniable evidence of his desire.

Boyd stood before you, his breathing deep and uneven.

You reached up, your fingers gently touching the edge of the towel at his waist. Your eyes met, and there was a silent question in yours, a pause as you gave him a moment to decide.

Boyd's hand covered yours, his grip firm yet gentle. He nodded slightly, a wordless agreement, a surrender to the moment and to whatever it might bring. You pulled gently, and the towel fell away, leaving Boyd exposed.

You let out a soft gasp, your eyes widening in both surprise and desire as you took in the sight of him. His swollen tip, coated in glistening precum, called out to you and you couldn't resist. Your mouth watered with anticipation as you enveloped his length with your lips, savoring the velvety texture against your tongue. He groaned and grasped tightly onto your hair as he pushed himself deeper into your mouth, never taking his piercing gaze off of yours.

You moaned as his hand guided your movements, taking him in deeper and savoring the feeling of being completely filled by him. The sound of your moans vibrating around him was like a symphony to his ears until he suddenly let go, creating a soft popping noise as your lips released his member.

"Damn, Y/N," he gasped. "If you keep that up, I won't be able to return the favor." He laughed hoarsely, that toothy grin of his shining in the dim light before his expression turned dark. "Lie back, baby." The intense heat between your legs threatened to consume you at his words, and you couldn't help but melt at the way the word ‘baby’ rolled off his tongue.

You followed his instructions, shifting towards the head of the bed and easing yourself onto the soft pillows. He moved over you, taking in the sight of your body spread out beneath him, his arousal pressing against your thigh through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts.

His lips trailed down your neck, his warm breath sending shivers across your skin as he pressed himself against your thigh. You let out a gasp as he tugged at the neckline of your singlet, exposing one of your erect nipples. His tongue darted out to flick at the sensitive peak before taking it into his mouth, gently sucking and nibbling.

"Boyd…" you moaned, overwhelmed. "please, more."

Sitting up on his knees between your open legs, Boyd’s fingers gripped the waistline of your shorts, slowly pulling them down. Your heart raced as you felt the cool air against your bare skin. He tossed you shorts aside, eyes filled with desire, as he took in the sight of your glistening cunt.

You clenched your hands in the sheets, your breath hitched as you eagerly awaited his next move. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Boyd leaned in closer, his face just above your quivering core. You felt his breath against your most sensitive spot, making you squirm. His finger traced your outer lips, teasing the entrance of your heat.

And then, finally, he slipped a finger inside, pushing gently against your tight walls. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through your entire body that left you gasping for breath.

"Fuck, Y/N," His voice a mix of lust and awe. "You're so tight."

His fingers delved deeper into your core, twisting and curling to ignite a firestorm of sensations that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Your hips eagerly moved in rhythm with his movements, yearning for the release that felt so tantalizingly close.

As he worked his fingers, his lips met yours in a fiery kiss. His tongue matched the rhythm of his skilled digits inside of you.

Just when you thought you couldn't handle any more pleasure, he withdrew his fingers, leaving you longing for more.

He spat into his hand and slicked it over his pulsing member, preparing himself for you.

Your heart raced as he slowly positioned himself at your entrance, pausing to meet your eyes.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, your body begging for the connection that was moments away. And then, with a single, powerful thrust, he entered you, filling you completely.

A gasp escaped your lips, and a wave of pleasure washed over you as you held onto him tightly. Your inner muscles contracted around his length, drawing him in deeper.

Boyd let out a loud grunt, his teeth gritted and eyes squeezed shut as he adjusted to the tightness of your walls. His hands fisted the sheet on either side of your head as he paused for a moment, collecting himself.

Slowly, he began to move, setting a rhythm that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through both of you. You met his thrusts eagerly, your hips moving in tandem with his.

Your breaths became heavier, your bodies glistening with perspiration as the room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and the occasional curse from Boyd.

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging deeply into his skin as you pulled him closer. The friction was exquisite, and you could feel the aching need building within you.

Boyd's eyes were locked onto yours, his face a mask of raw emotion. He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a fervent kiss as he thrust deeper. You moaned into his mouth, your body responding to his every move.

Your climax was building, the pressure growing with each thrust. You could feel it, the tightening coil of pleasure, threatening to unravel. You dug your nails into his back, arching your hips to meet his. The sensation was too much, and you cried out as you peaked, your orgasm washing over you in waves.

Boyd watched you in awe as he continued to thrust into you. The sight of you in the throes of orgasm was more than he could take, and he quickly joined you, his body shuddering as he released deep within you, ropes of hot cum painting your walls white.

Your legs shook with the aftershocks of your orgasm as you melted into the bed. Boyd's weight rested on top of you, his face buried in your neck as he caught his breath.

You ran your hands through his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers. "That was…" you began, the words barely escaping your lips.

“Somethin’.” Boyd finished your sentence, his words muffled against your skin when a knock at the door made you both jump.

Boyd quickly rolled off you, grabbing the towel from the floor and wrapping it around his waist. You straightened yourself on the bed, pulling the sheets around you, heart still pounding.

Dear god, you'd forgotten all about your sister downstairs!

Boyd cracked open the door just enough to peek through, and Ava's voice floated in, laced with a hint of amusement. "Y'all planning on making that racket all night? Some of us have a busy day tomorrow," she teased, her tone light but carrying a knowing edge.

A sheepish grin spread across Boyd’s features. "Sorry, Ava," he called back through the slightly ajar door, his voice a mix of embarrassment and mirth. "We'll keep it down."

"Better," Ava replied, her voice now softened with laughter. "Just remember, thin walls in this old house."

[powderblueblood]

200 CIGARETTES SENTENCE PROMPTS! sentence prompts from the greatest new years movie of all time, iykyk

who i write for - anyone in the tags

"I've dated enough narcissistically neurotic men to know that you are all just a pack of roving babies in search of a giant teat from which to suck the lifeblood out of me until I am a hollow shell."

"Did you know that cigarettes are a shield against meaningful interaction with people?"

"Throwing a party it's like... it's like an invitation for abuse. It's like the last desperate act of someone who hasn't had a lasting relationship since Junior High."

"So, how do you like your eggs done in the morning, scrambled or fertilized?"

"Those clothes and my clothes would look good on my floor."

"Look, what happened between us last night is like this ongoing problem with me. It happens all the time: I meet someone, we go home together, but then the next day it's.."

" A woman falls in love with you and you think that's a curse?"

"What are you saying, that every woman you go home with falls in love with you or something?"

" I mean, there are some people who wait their entire lives for somebody to tell them they feel that way about them, and you, you just throw it away like it's nothing, like it's a minor inconvenience!"

"You need to find somebody that likes you the way you are."

"And who would possibly like me the way I am?"

"Look, just tell me one thing. I'm not a vain person. Was the sex any good at all?"

" Look, I'm just gonna go home and kill myself. You want to share a cab?"

"You think I'm a slut!"

"I don't think you're attracted to half the men you sleep with."

"I dare you. [name], I dare you to fuck me."

"I don't want to look desperate."

"Desperate? You could stand there naked with a mattress strapped to your back and still look like a vestal virgin."

[bullet-prooflove]

The Only One: Raylan Givens x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989

There is no one in this world who leaves your sheets more messed up than Raylan Givens. The shit that man does to you would make the devil himself blush. He’s in your bed again tonight, his lips chasing all over your skin, his tongue licking over the love marks he left on your thighs the night before.

He’s gotten a little territorial. There had been another man touching you at the bar, tucking your hair back behind your ear and Raylan, he just couldn’t stand that, not even if it was to get a little information on one of his fugitives. You’d spent the rest of night with his face buried between your thighs as he made you holler out his name.

“Louder honey.” He’d demanded as he fucked you  into the mattress, his palm resting on your throat. “I want God himself to know who you belong to.”

Your whole goddamn neighbourhood knows by the time he was finished with you and that’s the way he likes it. It stops any of those other boys getting ideas about coming around when he’s away.

He’s gentler tonight, more tender. His hands roam all over your body, stroking, caressing, teasing you until there’s a pleading to your voice that needs sating.

“Oh baby, you don’t have to beg.” He mumbles against the corner of your mouth as he sinks into you. “I always take care of my girl, don’t I?”

And he does, he takes care of you in that way that only Raylan can. Rising you up until your cresting, cradling you close as you fall. He makes love to you until the sun comes up, until it cascades across your skin bathing it in a pretty warm glow as you hit that high for the third time tonight. You take him with you, his release spilling inside you as his mouth covers yours, drinking down your pleasure.

“You always know how to show me a good time don’t you Raylan?” You whisper as your fingertips ghost over the stubble on his jaw, his eyes meeting yours. “The only one who truly knows exactly how to love me.”

“Yes ma’am.” He murmurs as his mouth captures yours once more. “I certainly am.”

Love Raylan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[lim-boe]

A Marshal's Talents Part 2

Pairing: Tim Gutterson x Reader

Warnings:

mentions of guns, shooting, and other typical canon violence

Chapter Text

Media: Justified

Word Count: 1294

Part 1

Part 2

That night you got a call from your Aunt Helen in the middle of the night. It was something about Arlo not taking his meds that night and he was yelling at Francis outside. You got up and called one of your old friends for a ride. You had left your car in Virginia and didn't want to rent a car since you didn’t know how long you would be here. Your friend, Maggie had gotten off her closing shift at 1 am and picked you up around 1:30. It was a 2 hour drive and you insisted on paying her for the gas since it was so far and so late. She took the money but waved you off saying her house is an hour away so it wasn't a big deal. As soon as you pulled into the drive of your childhood home you could hear Arlo screaming from the porch.

Maggie stopped you before you exited the car, “ Do you want me to wait?”

“No, I'll probably be needed for a few hours.” you gave her a soft smile.

Maggie’s face was colored with concern, “ Alright then, just text me if you need a ride back.”

“ It’s really alright Maggie,” you continued, “ Thanks a bunch, I really appreciate it.”

And with that you got out of the car and walked towards the porch. You stopped half way and turned to wave to maggie as she backed out. You breathed a sigh, “ Alright Arlo..”

…

Raylan had gone down to see Boyd. There was construction on his way there so that added an extra hour to his drive. He heard Boyd had been at his cousin’s bar more recently and ended up at Johnny's bar. As he walked up to the door he encountered patrons leaving in a slight panic. Raylan bypassed them to see an altercation between Johnny and another man. Johnny had a sawed off shotgun in hand as he sat in his wheelchair. Raylan saw the man pull first. Raylan pulled faster than both of them and shot the man. At the angle Raylan was at he hit him in the arm and within moments the man was out the door. Raylan chased after him, but the man hopped in a van. Raylan knew he would not be able to keep up and it was dark so he missed the plate. He called Art, knowing the man would still be in the office. It was around 9 when he called. The local police showed up in a few minutes, but it took the Marshall’s over 3 hours to arrive at the scene. The Marshals stayed to question the witnesses. 

“So Raylan,” Brooks said as they leaned against his town car, “ I didn’t know you had a sister?”

Before Raylan could speak Tim walked from around the trunk “, I didn't know you had a hot sister.”

Raylan looked at Tim from under the brim of his hat, “ Tim, shut up.”

Rachel huffed a laugh and shook her head as Tim backed off, hands raised, with a smirk on his lips.

It was so late when everything was wrapped up that they decided to get rooms at the closest motel. It was a shithole. Raylan and Tim took one room while Art and Rachel took the other. 

Raylan’s phone rang at 3:49. He groggily picked up, forgetting to check the caller ID.

“ Hello?,” he mumbled. On the other bed, Tim sat up looking at Raylan. He had been a light sleeper ever since his service. 

“Raylan, I need you to get over here right now.” You whispered into the phone, someone was yelling in the background. 

Raylan sat bolt upright, “ Y/n?, Where are you? What’s wrong?,” he spat out. Tim’s eyebrows furrowed at the mention of your name.

“I’m at Arlo’s,” you breathed, “ He’s off his meds and waving a gun around, I have Aunt Helen hiding in your old room and I’m in the kitchen.”

“ I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. Stay away from him.” Raylan hung up and started putting in his shoes and coat. 

“ Where we going?” Tim asked, following in Raylan’s lead putting on his gear and grabbing his gun.

Raylan grabbed his keys, “ Arlo’s. My sister is there trying to get him to take his meds and he has a gun.”

They left the room and practically ran to the car. Raylan must have broken 12 laws careening down Harlan’s road to get to the house. They pulled into the drive. Jumping out of the car they could hear the yelling from inside the house. As they ran up the porch a gunshot rang out. 

…

You were trying to talk Arlo down. He had worked himself into a rage, talking about how Francis had run away to noble's holler again. You were trying to get him back to reality when you heard a car pull up. You turned back to Arlo hoping to distract him from Raylan when he came into the house, but when you looked up you say your daddy pointing his gun at you and yelling at you like you were Francis.

“ No Daddy! I’m not Franci-” You tried to say until you heard a loud !POP! And felt a burning pain in your right arm. 

The next thing you knew you were knelt down on the ground with a pretty blond man next to you. You blinked hard and your head started reeling from the pain and noises surrounding you. Tim recognized your quickened breathing and wide unfocused eyes as a panic attack. After taking a quick look at your arm he saw it was only a shallow graze and focused back on you. He said your name and rubbed the sides of your shoulders as he looked at your eyes and tried to get your attention. It took a second, but you finally made eye contact.

“ Okay good. Now I'm going to need you to breathe,” you heard yelling to your left and glanced in that direction, but Tim spoke your name again. “ Y/N. Not over there. Here. girl, breathe.” He grabbed your left hand and put it on his chest. “ Breathe with me, okay? In… out… good. In and out.” He  continued this rhythm until you looked a little more relaxed and your breath started to even out. 

Tim knew that Raylan and Arlo were still at a standstill but their voices were getting louder. He didn’t want you to start panicking again so he decided the best plan was to get you out of the situation. He looked you in the eyes and said, “ Okay, we are going to walk outside to the car, is that okay?”. 

He waited until you nodded then he grabbed your left hand and put his other hand on your waist, careful of your right arm. You were still facing each other and once you both stood up he pulled you to him so you could not see your dad or brother. He then walked you to the door while leaning his head towards your ear. “It’s okay, we are just going to walk to the car. Don’t mind them.”

As you reached the porch you tried to turn your head to see what was happening. Tim moved you to his side as he continued to hold your waist as he pressed you against his left side. He guided you down the drive and to the backseat of the car. He opened the door and had you scoot inside to the middle seat while he dropped into the seat you left empty and closed the door. He texted Art after pulling out his phone. From your new vantage point you could see the house, but not the people inside. 

Shit.

The people inside.

“My Aunt Helen,” you gasped and turned to Tim.

“She’ll be alright,” he whispered. He was looking you over when your breath started to become uneven. At that Tim pulled your face towards his chest as he pulled you into a hug, still wary of your arm.

“ Shhhh,” he cooed, “ You put her in a room upstairs right? Raylan won’t let your father out of his sight and he definitely won’t let him hurt her.” Tim continued to hug you and run his hand over your hair and back. He didn't want you to overthink yourself into another attack and you seemed to gravitate toward physical touch. As he soothed you he could hear you begin to take more substantial breaths. After about 10 minutes while he cuddled Raylan’s sister he saw Raylan exit the house with his Aunt and a few more guns than he entered with. He looked like he was on the phone as well. Tim decided that it would probably ease your anxiety to see them, but when he looked down to tell and realized you were asleep. He decided to let you be while Raylan and Helen walked to the car. Raylan opened the backseat door and peered in with a worried expression.

“ She alright?”, Raylan asked, noticing your position on Tim and his face morphed into a scowl.

“ She will be,” Tim hummed, “ but I think she is in shock and she will probably need stitches. Arlo?”

“ I called the local police to grab him, he is currently handcuffed to the stair rail. I didn’t want him in the car with either of them,” Raylan said while looking between his sleeping sister and Aunt who wore an indignant expression on her face. 

“ You can leave me here Raylan,” she huffed, “ it’s my job to take care of him.” 

Ralan sighed and pinched his brow, “ Just get in the damn car.”

[usmsgutterson]

Laughin', Smiling, Just--Existing - Raylan Givens x gn! reader

OOOOKAY!! First ever fic for raylan givens!! this one has been two weeks in the making and there are lots more on the way bc I adore him wholeheartedly and have finally gotten to season six after weeks of bingewatching.

fic type - this one is very fluffy!!

Warnings - the reader works as a PSW/CCA in a nursing home so there is one mention of bodily functions--it's more of a reference and it's completely nondescript I promise--and there are mentions of the residents getting aggressive (reader comes home with a bruise on their chin bc of a resident punching them in the face, a scenario based very loosely off my own experience working in an LTCC. They also mention that there might be a few more on their arms and abdomen bc of residents in wheelchairs landing jabs to their stomach with their knees, which has happened to a few of my old coworkers before) and Raylan's line of work is,, well, raylans line of work, so guns, getting shot at and being the one to do the shooting are mentioned. dickie bennett also holds a knife to a pregnant woman in this one (not depicted, briefly mentioned bc raylan was in a crappy mood over it, as he should be) and weed and alcohol are mentioned

Your life with Raylan is normally something close to the opposite of easy, yet still a few backwards steps away from difficult. You’re known to hate his occasionally hectic hours, hate the toll it takes on his body and you know some part of him has to hate it, too. Deep down, both from assumption and the fact that it’s something he brings up once every two or three months, you know he misses teaching shooting at Glynco, though he misses it especially after his worst days.  

You work in an area completely separate of law enforcement—you’ve been working as a PSW since you’d graduated and completed your program when you were twenty, and in the near twenty years since then, your worst days and how you feel at the end of them aren’t even slightly comparable to how Raylan feels at the end of his worst ones. 

You’d done long distance while Raylan was in Miami and were happy to do so, knew that he was happy to do so in turn, and he paid for your flights whenever your smooth weeks came up, made sure to book that time off so you could spend it together. However, when he was transferred to Lexington and moved in with you, hiding your elation was quite the task, and how well you hid it for those first two and a half months when Raylan had come home had been more impressive than not.  

But still—you were up long before he and you normally got home about an hour and a half after he did when you were working and when he had a slow day spent doing paperwork. On days where he was chasing down a fugitive or driving to Harlan, he normally came home after you had been home for at least an hour, sometimes two or three.  

The worst of his days normally meant he’d either been wounded by someone or he’d killed them, and he ended the worst of his days in the hospital to treat his wounds or at home, at your kitchen counter, nursing a neat whiskey while staring at the counter top.  

Your worst were normally a cacophony of crappy coworkers, crappy residents, and sometimes coming home with a bruise because a resident had grabbed you too harshly or, on the rarer occasion, gotten aggressive and punched you in the face or landed a knee in your abdomen. Your worst days were normally not more than shitty coworkers, shitty residents—in both metaphor and physicality—and spending all three of your breaks wanting to go home but finally giving in and having a good cry on your last one, taking an extra five minutes to make sure you’ve convincingly managed to pull yourself together before you head back onto the unit they've assigned you to.

You were never shot at while you gave the residents their food, or while you were in the middle of rolling your eyes when the activities coordinator paged for a PSW to assist when you were short staffed and the LTCA was on break.  

Raylans job was at least partly getting shot at, and sometimes those bullets landed where they’d been aimed towards. It scared the ever-loving shit out of you some days, not knowing if he’d be home at 7:30, when you’d be coming in after a thirty minute commute between the LTCC you worked in and home, or if he'd be laying in a hospital bed, recovering from a bullet wound that had found a home somewhere in his torso.  

After a particularly difficult day in the middle of April, you come home and slip out of the shoes Raylan had gifted you for the previous Christmas and the ones you’d worn to work daily since. You slip your light jacket off and pull your hands through your hair, sighing and pressing your forehead against the door for a few seconds.  

“Raylan?” You call, some part of you terrified that he won’t be home yet even though he normally gets off an hour before you do, outside of when you’re mandated to work nights or he's out in the field.  

“Kitchen, baby,” comes his response. “You doin’ all right?”  

Your scrub top feels too tight, you can feel the hemline of your scrub bottoms on your inner thigh brushing against it like it’s a demon, and you’re so happy your smooth week starts after the 18th that you could genuinely cry about it, but you don’t respond with any of that.  

You don’t respond at all, actually, first heading up to the bedroom that the two of you share to pull a brush through your hair and relax your scalp before then changing into a pair of sleep shorts and one of the Henleys he wears to work on a fairly regular basis. You drape a cardigan over it because Raylan is a big fan of keeping the house cold, pull off the compression socks you wear to work and trade them for a normal pair before you make a beeline down the stairs and for the kitchen.  

“Tough day at work?” He asks pretty much the minute he hears your footsteps as you rush down the stairs in what's almost a sprint, a smirk glinting at the edges of his lips in the last three seconds before he sees you. “Yeah--you did. How’d that happen?”  

The minute you’re within arms reach, Raylan reaches out and lets his hand grace a purple bruise that has spent the last six and a half hours since the residents ate lunch blooming across the bottom of your cheek and your chin.  

“Not tougher than one of your days, I’d imagine,” you laugh. “We have a resident—Lucille, is her name—and she got a little aggressive when she realized we’d moved her husband to a different unit, is all. She took it out on me, but it’s better I get socked in the face than a man of almost 100 years.”  

“He’s almost 100?” Raylan asks in disbelief. “Which makes me think his wife’s the same age—people who’ve been around since 1910 can’t be that strong, Y/N.”  

“He’ll be 100 in two months, and she’s just turned ninety,” you respond. “Closest to an older guy you’ve ever met or dealt with is Arlo, Raylan. You don’t got as much experience as I do, evidently.”  

He laughs, and you let him pull you in and kiss your forehead. “Evidently,” he whispers against your hair. “Glad you made it home in one piece, Y/N. Those residents can be quite the hell raisers sometimes if what you've told me in recent is to be of any indication."

You sigh, press yourself as close to him as you can physically get. “Probably got a few new ones on my arms and stomach too,” you respond, referencing your bruises. “Switched off from Harlan to Mayfield after my lunch break around one thirty. It’s the smallest unit but it’s got the most aggressive residents. They normally have three PSWs down there but all I had with me was the float because Amara, the new hire who’s been around for two weeks, called in sick and Ellie will be on mat leave until September. Had an LTCA with me to help when the float wasn’t around, but I couldn’t find it in myself to guiltlessly ask them to do shit that’s above their pay grade.”  

Raylans lips find the top of your head, one of his hands gently cupping your face. “It’s your smooth week after tomorrow, right?”  

“If I called in sick and took an extra day, how much judgement would I be dealing with?”  

“You dealt with a lot of shit today and you need to lick your wounds,” Raylan laughs, kisses the top of your head again. “No judgement—from me, at least. I was just debatin’ calling Art because I heard that door open and could sense somethin was a bit off with you, wanted to be there if you’d let me.”  

He pauses, pulls away from you enough to look you in the eye. “Are you okay?” He asks, voice somewhat hesitant. “Like--you’re not dealin’ with compassion fatigue or anything like that?”  

“You were Harlan born and raised, didn’t go into the medical field, and you know the term?” You laugh a little. “Not to make you seem dumb but—it's—I have never heard someone outside of the medical professionals I know bring that up.”  

“Art was talkin’ about it today, actually,” Raylan laughs along with you. “One of his daughters is a PSW and she’s just quit workin’ at one of the LTCCs down in South Carolina because of compassion fatigue and a bit of a mental break. Wanted me to make sure you weren’t dealing with the same—he looks out for you where he can, y’know.”  

You’ve been with Raylan since you were two fresh out of high school idiots and completely and utterly clueless about your lives to come. You’d been together since you were eighteen and he was nineteen and had only just started working in the mines with the likes of Boyd Crowder. 

It’s been two decades since those days, though. You’ve known Art for as long as Raylan has known him, have become decent friends after such a long while. He looks out for both you and Raylan where he can, even if he hates Raylans frequent dumbassery while in the field.  

He once told you he did it despite himself and because, dumbassery be as it may, Raylan was still your husband. He sometimes joked he only protected Raylan where he could because he owed it to you for the mac and cheese you’d bring to the office parties in the Glynco days, something you laughed at but sometimes believed to be the truth.  

“I know he does,” you nod. “I know you do, too. I’m grateful for it.”  

“We’ve been married for nineteen years now,” Raylan says. “I was twenty-one and couldn’t picture my life with anyone else. You were twenty and--well, I can't pretend to know your thought process as to be willing to marry an idiot like me. Now, near two fuckin’ decades later, here we stand, somehow. I’m gonna call in, baby. Even if you don’t, I’ll still be waking up for five thirty so I can worm thirty minutes of watching you sleep out of a day of housework.”  

You laugh. “I think Raimi is the RN on nights this week. I’ll give him a call at nine, but my jaw hurts right now and if I have to cook dinner I will be losin’ it.”  

Raylan kisses your forehead. “I’m gonna order us a pizza. You’re only allowed to lose it in your exit interview, should you ever quit.”  

“I’ve stuck around there outta spite, Raylan. I ain’t quittin’ til I’m at least 70.”  

Raylan laughs. “Well, whichever kids we have will just put you into the care centre by that point, won’t they? You’ll never escape if that happens.”  

“You’re goin’ there first,” you respond. “You’ve got a year on me, remember?”  

“It’s one year, Y/N,” he shakes his head. “Even if I do go in first, you’ll be followin’ close behind.”  

You shrug. “Still one year where I’m not in the home and you are, buckaroo."

Raylan snorts. You grab whiskey, glasses, and add ice to yours. You pour it out as Raylan orders a pizza for delivery, watch him walk out into your living room and are completely and totally unsurprised as you hear the sound of country music being played distantly from a record player you’ve kept in the farthest corner of your living room since you put it there upon moving in, back in the days of your and Raylans relationship being long distance and only getting to see him face to face once every six weeks.  

“So that’s a no on the whiskey?” You ask, taking a sip of your own as Raylan comes back around, leaning against the door frame that separates the kitchen and dining area from the living room.  

You hold his whiskey out to him, watch him slam it down like it’s a shot and remember, for all of half a second, being eighteen. You remember that birthday, approaching Mags about buying a few joints to help you sleep and accepting her offer with many thanks when she threw the apple pie moonshine in as a birthday present.   

You remember offering Raylan a glass of the stuff two weeks into your relationship and five months after your birthday, when you’ve been a graduate from your high school for a total of three months and have gotten a bit of moonshine along with your weed whenever you’ve gone to visit Mags’ store in search of food for the inevitable munchies.  

You remember watching him take it like a shot and laughing at the grimace that showed up on his face, kissing him on the cheekbone while you tell him he should sip it. 

Now, you’re thirty-nine and he’s forty, and you’ve been together twenty-one years and married nineteen. He takes whiskey like a champ now—unlike he used to—same with the apple pie shine you still travel to grab a jar or two of whenever you’re in Harlan for some other reason, using melatonin as an excuse to stop off at Mags’ store rather than the weed that you haven’t smoked since you’d moved to Lexington full time at twenty five.  

He extends a hand out to you, grinning slightly. “We’ve got whiskey, and we’ve got good music,” he says. “You know what I’m about to ask you, Y/N.”  

You slam your whiskey before you can stop yourself, take his hand with a smile so big that it hurts. 

“And I think you know my answer already, Mr. Givens,” you laugh as you let him pull you into the center of your living room, the two of you dancing like you used to at the parties Mags invited you to whenever she held them, the ones you always brought Raylan along to after grinning in a way that you knew made it innately difficult for him to refuse.  

Eventually, a slower song comes up, so naturally, you start up a slow dance. Raylan holds you close and you’ve the mind to let him, basking in the sheer comfort you feel whenever he’s so much as within your vicinity.  

Since you were eighteen, he’s been one of the biggest points of comfort in your life. When you started the PSW program he was there. When you’d been at the point in said program of doing on-site training, Raylan came down to Harlan from college every weekend he could manage and comforted you when the change in environment felt like too much to handle. You’ve spent more than half of your life as his partner, and you wouldn’t have it any other way, if you’re being completely honest with yourself.  

“I wake up most mornings feeling like I don’t deserve you, y’know?” Raylans voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “Even when we were younger—I'd look at you while you were laughin’, or smiling, or just—existing, I guess, and I would go “there ain’t no way in hell I deserve this person. Not a chance.”” 

You grin despite yourself, gaze softening as your eyes meet his. “You deserve me and everything I can give you,” you say it gently, like you’re trying to remind him of such when he’s drunk out of his mind and can’t quite stop rambling.  

Raylans gaze softens, and you know exactly what it means after having been with him for so long—he doesn’t believe you, and he’s had a shitty day, and all it’ll take is three seconds before you’re consumed with the urge to know why he’s so mellow when normally, he can get angry with the drop of his damned cowboy hat.  

“What happened at work today, Raylan?” You reach over, take the needle off the record. “I know something did, before you deny it. You mentioned being down in Harlan when you woke up this morning, remember? One of the only times both of us have had to be up for six. What happened down there today?” Normally, with his work hours, he’s not up until seven or going into work until eight, but Art had been up because his boss had woken him up and had decided to make it Raylans problem at six in the morning, due to his ties to the county.  

“Got called down there because of Dickie fuckin’ Bennett,” he laughs tiredly, gaze still soft as he looks at you. “Had an ex girlfriend come around, I guess—point is, she was eight months pregnant and I watched him hold her at knife-point today. Mags got to him before the back up I called in could manage it, and when she was done with him he was seeing stars. The girlfriend was scared shitless, and rightly so, and I just—I couldn’t stop thinking about how desperately I wanted to get home. I needed this, Y/N. More than I think you’ll ever be able to comprehend.”  

You bite your lip. “Well, I’m glad my mere presence could be of assistance to your mental health then, Raylan.”  

He laughs. “Don’t you get too big of an ego on me, Y/N,” he says. “And--before you start, don’t go feelin’ bad for venting to me about how shitty your day was, neither. You’re allowed to have bad days, same as me.”  

“Well--true as that may be, my bad days are just bruises on the chin and crappy people to work with. Sometimes I get bitchy when we’re understaffed, but those things should not a bad day make, especially not compared to one of yours.” 

“I would rather not sit with the knowledge that you might’ve been the one to watch DIckie do as he did today, had our places been swapped,” Raylan says.  

“And I find the idea of comin’ home and seein’ you bruised preferable to comin’ home and seein’ you shot, Raylan,” you laugh. “But--our bad days are valid as any, they just have different weights.”  

“Yeah, and I’ve had a bad day, where it seems you’ve had a bad week,” Raylan laughs. “Not once since you started working as a PSW have I ever seen you come home and debate calling in, even when your smooth week starts after your next shift.”  

You press your forehead against his shoulder, arms around his waist, and try not to break down in his arms.  

You’ve worked days every single day you’ve worked that week, and you hate them. Evenings feel like the jackpot in terms of shifts for you, normally, and you’d rather work a night than work day shifts. During the day, residents are awake. They’re easier to accidentally provoke, easier to anger at almost nothing.  

“I wanna quit,” you whisper.  

“I know, baby,” one of his hands goes to your hair. “Todays got me contemplating Glynco again, honestly.”  

You let him pull you as close as he can, want nothing more than to just fall asleep in his arms and wake up way later than you’re supposed to to find his arms around your waist and his chin tucked into the crook of your neck while he holds you as close as he can manage while he sleeps. 

But, of course, the doorbell rings. You pull away and head upstairs for your phone while Raylan pays for the pizza, call in sick with the excuse of joint pain and happen to walk downstairs in time to see Raylan asking for the next day off.  

When Raylan grins at you, you know Art has agreed to the extra day on top of the week Raylan had booked out in time with your smooth week.  

The two of you head back through the kitchen to the dining room, and when Raylan hugs you from behind while you pour out a glass of soda, all you can do is smile. 

“I adore you, Mr. Givens,” you say, passing him your glass so that he can add ice to it. You pour him one without—ironic given that he prefers it when the house runs cold—while he adds ice to your glass and grabs the paper plates so that you can avoid doing too many dishes when you tackle housework tomorrow.  

“I return the sentiment, Mx. GIvens,” Raylan says it with a shit eating grin, and you kiss him in spite of it.  

The two of you eat dinner while he lets you talk about the good parts of your day—a resident who had a fall and hadn’t been eating great since had started eating really good again, another of the residents made so many jokes that you lost count after twenty seven, and the compression socks had worked wonders and your feet didn’t hurt so terribly upon arriving at home. 

The good parts of Raylans day wound up being the look on Arts face when he was pissed off at someone other than Raylan. It was the glass of Mags’ apple pie he’d gotten when he went to question her at her store, seeing DIckie Bennett’s face bloodied to near unrecognition, and the sound of your voice when you’d come home, exhausted but relieved and, dare he say it, a little happy. 

All in all, it’s an amazing end to a shitty day, and you’re grateful for it.  

[galactic-academia]

Through The Door

Rating: T (for language)

Category: F/M

Fandom: Justified

Relationship: Raylan Givens x F!Reader

Tags: Language, angst, fluff, pining, age gap (10 years), making out, mention of violence, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of suicide (but in a cynical way, no one seriously thinks about taking their own life here)

Words : 4K

Summary: Once upon a time, Raylan Givens was the very center of your universe and you would like to think you were – at least – his favorite Moon. Then he left you behind. Now that you're face to face again, what's going to happen ?

Notes : Not canon compliant: no Winona here and Raylan left Kentucky later than in the show. This is dramatic, 4K of desperate pining 😅 I would like to say I don’t know what possessed me, but that would be a lie... 😶 Anyway, I’m not a native, please, forget my mistakes and I hope you’ll enjoy 🤗💖 Dividers are from  animatedglittergraphics-n-more 

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You look down the garden alley leading to the road as the movers puts furnitures up and piles card boxes in every room. Lexington, Kentucky; out of all the lost, forgotten-to-God, shitty places the U.S. Marshals Service could have hidden you, they chose here. All of this because you chose to not keep your damn big mouth shut - no, Hell - because you couldn’t keep it shut, never could, never would. There wouldn’t ever be any point to, now, and what could be worse than this? Whatever the answer could be, a bullet in your own temple still could solve all your problems if the time ever came, anyway.

A deep voice, far from unfamiliar, calling for your Marshal-turned-babysitter for the day wrenches you from the contemplation of the dead wildflowers. Dear God, the bullet in the head might come sooner than expected, in the end.

«If ain’t Raylan Givens in the flesh, I’ll be damned!»

You know it’s him, you would recognise his stupid, handsome face anytime, anywhere. The incomprehension written all over his face, though? It almost makes you doubt. Sure, he’s far older than the last time you saw him, and he looks like a cowboy in a shitty tv show, but the all-seeing, deep, big brown eyes? The cocky smirk? That aloof, arrogant stance? Uhuh, you’re positive, that can’t be anyone else but him.

The surprise turned into suspiciousness doesn’t make him less attractive, but the words coming out of his mouth do make you want to slap him.

«Do I know you, Ma’am?»

Ah! He doesn’t recognise you! Alright, then.

«No».

You don’t plan on explaining yourself furthermore and, after a few moments of awkward silence - when he finally understands he will have to pry if he wants anymore informations, he asks, «But ya know me?»

«Yes». Then, you turn on your heels to go back in your rented-house. It’s been a long time but knowing you were right all along, all these years ago? That you were truly insignificant to him, to the point he can’t make you out a few years later? It stings.

When you were a kid, Raylan was your god. Without any big brother to protect you, it had seemed easy to the little sandbox scums to pick on you, until a fifteen - almost sixteen! - years old Raylan, passing by the elementary school on his bike on his way back from high school, had witnessed two little boys holding you while a third lift your skirt. Two of them went back home with soiled shorts and the third - who’s been stupid enough to try and push you to the ground after Raylan had promised them a hard time if they came near you ever again - with a black eye. That day, six-years-old-you had won a friend, a big brother and a protector all at once.

Not a day passed without Raylan stopping by the playground to check on you since then, until the day your turn came to go to high school, hand in hand with Raylan - or dangling off his arm - with him carrying both your bag and his more often than not. Boys of all ages - including the densest of them - came to understand that messing with you meant messing with Raylan Givens and therefore black eyes, broken arms, lost teeth and aching groins. Even tough he went to college while you stayed in high school, no bullying of any kind would stay unpunished. You did your best to return the favour: breaking windows, puncturing bike tires, stealing and then hiding school bags (for the homework to never be found again) and even, in one memorable occasion, pushing in Harlan’s lake all the little thugs you knew were bothering Raylan. And when his father beat the shit out of him, you would always manage to pass some treats off to him, sometimes with the help of Miss Helen.

There was no Raylan without you, and no you without Raylan. All the girls threw themselves at him, and they hadn’t anything to fear of you - unless your «adopted» big brother had something to complain about them, of course - until you reached something like fifteen. Until your first seventeen years old boyfriend freaking cheated on you and you ran crying into Raylan’s always-welcoming arms. Maybe nothing would have changed - he would have comforted you, let you bundled into one of his sweat by his bed while he beat the inanity of the culprit, then take you out for some ice cream or something like that - if, as the freshly twenty-five young man he was, he hadn’t been hangover as all hell, and maybe even a little drunk still, and did the only sensible thing he could think of at that very moment to make you shut up: grab the back of your head and plant a kiss square on your lips.

It was nothing, just a little peck. The kind you gave the great-aunt who had come from the other side of the country to see you on the day of your First Communion. A desperate, non-violent measure to quiet the noise you made and that kept him from thinking. But, on your side of the story, it has been a revelation.

«Are you fuckin’ serious?»

Raylan was dumbstruck already and Gutterson’s reaction just made it worse. He has been sent to Hell for no apparent reason, right? So why was he the bad guy here?

Turning to his fellow deputy, he chose to answer the question by another question: «What the fuck just happened?»

«You tell me!» Tim was truly offended, crossed arms, exasperated tone and all, «It took me two fucking hours to get her out of her office! Two true hours, not just saying! You point your nose here and bam! She locked herself in this godforsaken office once again! What did you do this time?!»

«Me?! I just... Hell! I just ‘pointed my nose here’ as you put it and I got yelled at on every side!» The Marshal was beginning to lose his temper; he could be blamed for a lot of things, but being dishonest wasn’t one of them. He truly had no idea about why the new U.S. Marshall Services’ protegee was mad at him, he was burning to learn the answer, though. «Who’s this gal, anyway?»

«For fuck sake, Givens!», Marshall Gutterson rolled his eyes before putting his hand to his forehead, even more tired than angry, «Did you even read the fucking record? Or just the memo requiring you here?»

Raylan did his best to look indignant but Tim spoke again before he had any chance to find a good defence, «Don’t bother, I know you didn’t or you would at least know the fucking name of our witness».

«Alright, I didn’t , ok? Art told me to get my goddamn ass here, I did as I was told», the ‘for once’ was only implied, but the force of this implication only helped Gutterson to resigned himself to his usual sassy-self and just sigh your name to his colleague.

The following absolute lack of any smartass remark on Raylan’s side immediately told the deputy something was wrong, and if it hadn’t, the fact that he looked like he had seen a ghost would have.

«You do know her, then?»

«Shit, yeah...»

«And you did something to her?»

«Mate...», Raylan still looked aghast and, somehow, a little amazed, «If she took a fucking gun and shot me right this instant, I would go to the trial and advocate that I fully deserved it.»

Eyes round and mouth a little open, Marshal Gutterson watched his colleague shook himself out of his trance - going from stunned to determined - and ran to the door you were hiding behind, regretting to not have bring any popcorn.

Once again, Raylan Givens could - and should - be blamed for a lot of things, but one never gets bored with him!

The truth - sad as it may be - is that you never loved anyone but Raylan. You tried before, with your shitty first boyfriend, and you tried... After. When you were sure you would never see him again. But it never worked. They weren’t him.

The abrupt understanding of the nature of your feelings towards the one you qualified as a big brother didn’t really change your relationship. Raylan did beat the shit out of the fucker who has attended to your honor and came back to shower you in attention as he always did, and if you had been clingier, or needier he didn’t say anything about it. But less than a month later, he had disappeared. Without an explanation, without a word, without saying goodbye. Miss Helen said he was alright, that he had to leave for his own good. You couldn’t disagree with that. But surely he would come back to take you with him, right? Or at least write, so you would know when he would come back. Or phone.

He couldn’t just have left and let you there like that.

Your turn came to leave Lexington three years later. Three years too late. You came back only when you couldn’t avoid it and hoping - each and every time - that you would run into him and... Throttle him? Throw yourself in his arms? But Raylan never came back and, one day, you stopped coming back altogether too.

You had boyfriends out of Lexington, sure. They weren’t all that bad, but still, never as brave, or as kind and certainly not as piggy headed as the asshole that left you behind. They didn’t know how to make you laugh like him, how to comfort you like only him could. How to make you feel safe. They couldn’t even break your heart as perfectly as Raylan did.

You heard quiet scratches on the door against which you had slumped followed by his voice, low and muted by the wood, but so soft it made your heart ache, «Lil?»

Ah. He remembers, now.

«Lil... I’m so sorry...»

Lil. No one has called you that fore more than fifteen years. He has ever been the only one to call you that, ‘little one’ or ‘lil’. It became a habit, a nickname. Something just between the two of you.

«I figured you would want to... talk? I have some explanations to give, yeah?»

You’re sure he looks even more awkward than he sounds; apologizing has never been Raylan’s forte. You weren’t often mad at him, but when you were, a few words, playful kisses all over your face or a battle of tickles would settle everything. Nothing was important enough to endanger what you had.

«Are we gonna have this conversation through the fuckin’ door? Out of the two of us, I’m supposed to be the grumpy one, remember? Lil’?»

You can resist. He can’t kiss or tickle you right now, only talk. You have survived without him for the last fifteen years, ignoring him won’t be a big deal.

«You gonna make me beg, don’t ya? Hell, you wouldn’t believe how many assholes would pay a pretty penny to hear me beg you to open this fucking door, you know? I don’t beg. I don’t. But for you, I will.»

Hell, you forgot how the fucker can sweet-talk anyone into anything. You don’t say «no», to Raylan Givens, it’s physically impossible - to you, at least. You want to smash your own head on the wall, but you’re smiling.

«Baby», oh no, not that, «Baby, please, open the door». His voice is nearer now, like he dropped to his knees on the other side of the door. And his voice’s gone a little rough, you would think him on the verge of tears, if you didn’t know better. «If you want to hurt me, I’ll let you, I deserve it. I will let you yell at me. You can insult me. Or even just ignore me, but I need you to open this door, please. Let me see you. Let me know you’re ok. Baby, please.»

You always loved when Raylan called you «baby». It was a rare treat meant to either placate you or emphasize a praise. You’re drowning in it, now. A loud, choked sob startles you into the present moment, you didn’t even notice you had started crying.

«Ok», his voice is so soft now, you’re surprised you still can hear it trough the wooden panel, «I’ve said everything I could while on this side of the door. Now I’m gonna wait for you to go outta there and then we can speak some more. I’m not goin’ anywhere, take your time.»

Hugging your chest, you lean your head against the door. You should be proud of yourself: for the first time in your life, you were able to resist to Raylan Givens. Thanks to a door that blocked out everything except his voice, but still a victory. Maybe you could taste a parcel of it if the gaping hole that took place in your chest fifteen years ago wasn’t aching like day one once again.

The truth - the real one, this time - is that you never loved anyone but Raylan, because you never stopped to love him. Ever.

You stayed a few hours holed up in your hiding place before nature started calling. By two in the morning, it wasn’t a call anymore but a summoning. That was what got you out of your office; had you locked yourself up in your en-suite bedroom, the problem would never have occurred.

You cracked the door open as silently as you could; you were sure Raylan was still somewhere in the house, as he told you he would, but maybe you could run to the bathroom without him noticing. And you will have to face him one way or another, you couldn’t stay hidden forever anyway. But a few extra hours to put yourself together before it wouldn’t be unwelcome. With this beginning of a plan, you were ready to give it a try, but certainly not prepared for what you saw once the door truly open.

Raylan hadn’t left, neither the house, nor the hallway for he was fast asleep on the floor, back and head resting against the wall right next to the door. In a way, you shouldn’t even be surprised, it’s not unlike Raylan to be dramatic like that. But the Hell if your heart doesn’t miss a beat and then try to escape through your throat. And now that you’re looking at him, you can’t stop. The bastard has always been handsome, with this carved jaw and those hair - God, those hair - and those deep, sparkling eyes thankfully shut for now, but jeez... With the beard? The salt and pepper? He’s not a boy anymore, he’s a man now, a true one. He’s never been more attractive. And asleep? Soft and vulnerable like this, with his stupid hat resting next to him? God help you, it’s a fucking miracle that you’re still set on bypassing him altogether.

You take a few tentative steps in the hallway, careful to not bump into him, to be as quiet as possible. But it’s a lost cause.

«Little one?» His voice is rough with sleep, hushed, like you will vanished if he speaks louder. The grip he has on your calf is slack, you could easily shake him off and run away. You don’t. «I should quit calling you that, you’re all grown up now. Look at you.»

If you turn around, it’s over. If you look him in the eyes, there won’t be any going back.

«Are you going to kick me while I’m down here? You can, you know; as I said, I won’t try and stop you. But before you beat me to pulp, you should let me apologize. Not sure I still will be able to when you’ll be done with me.» He’s so calm, yet so sure you’re going to trounce him. He knows he deserves it. He’s resigned. He’s wrong.

«’M not gonna hit you.»

«Would you look at that? She does have a tongue, after all!»

Maybe you will - hit him - maybe it’s the only way to make him understand, this fucker. Before you can realise, you’re on the floor, straddling his never-ending legs, a hand up ready to strike him square in the face and the other holding him by the collar of his shirt. He’s wincing, waiting for the blow to fall, not even trying to avoid it, like he promised. But you can’t.

Stomach plummeting, sick by your own weakness, you start crying, hiding your face in your palms. He abandoned you without a glance back, didn’t even recognize you, he’s making fun out of you after charming you out of your safe place, and you can’t even slap him. Maybe you deserved all of this, maybe you did this all to yourself.

As you’re spiralling down, you feel two strong arms enveloping you, shielding you from the world as they’ve done countless times before, and you can also feel your body - this traitor - immediately relax in their hold, like it never forgot you’ve never been safer than between them.

«Shit, baby... I’m sorry, I didn’t mean... It wasn’t meant to be nasty, I wanted... It was stupid, I’m a damn fool, but I think I’m not telling you anything new here.»

The more he talks and the more you’re sobbing, hunched on his lap.

«Shh, don’t cry little one, I’m here, you’re safe, everything is alright, ok? I wanted to make you laugh and I brilliantly  failed, that’s all. I’m so glad you finally went out of there! C’mon...»

You almost can’t breath, mainly because Raylan is hugging you to his chest - tight - but also because you can’t stop relief to flood you. He’s there, and it’s enough to make you feel better, even if it doesn’t make any sense.

«Will you look at me? So I can see those beautiful eyes of yours? Mmh? Can you even breath in there? It doesn’t look like. Hey, sweetie, I need you to take your hands out of your face, don’t want you to stifle.»

You can feel his hands lightly resting on both your wrists, at first, before they become heavier and heavier and manage to gently free your face. You open your eyes and, through your tears, everything you can see is him.

«Here she is, my pretty baby! Hello there.»

His smile is blinding, lighting his features up like the sun would the world. This is why Raylan Givens ever had and ever will have you wrapped around his finger, because you would do anything to be on the receiving side of his smile. It’s his best asset, more persuasive than any weapon. It makes him look soft. It kills you. He’s back, he’s holding you, he’s cooing sweet nonsense in your ear interspersed by kisses all over your face. This is everything you had ever wanted, everything. You could die now and claim to have lived your dreams. Later, you will hate yourself for this, gone is the tough, independent woman you ever claimed to be. You’re trembling in his arms and, without thinking at all, you kiss him. It’s barely a press of lips, at first, a brush; a ghost of a kiss. You feel more than you hear Raylan’s surprised gasp before he initiates another kiss, a little firmer this time - a caress on your mouth, delicate like the wings of a butterfly, but it sets you on fire. You part your lips, letting out a silent whimper, and he comes back for more with a little, electrifying lick that finds your tongue and sends shocks trough your entire body. He groans, and everything speeds up from there. You tangle your fingers in his hair as he hold your waist and pushes you against him with one hand and hold the back of your head with another. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to escape the all consuming, nasty kisses Raylan feeds you. Even when you’re forced to come up from air, he doesn’t let you go, his forehead pressed against yours.

«I am sorry,» he whispers, «I am sorry for letting you behind. I am sorry for making you sad. But I need you to know that, if I had a second chance, I would do it again.»

Your heart has stopped. You’re sure it has. You try to jerk away from Raylan, what you will do, you have no idea, but you can’t stay there, tangled with him on the floor, not when he’s ready to abandon you again. But his hold is strong and he’s not done with you.

«You need to understand...», his eyes are so gloomy and he sounds so distressed, you would think he’s the one who’s been left behind without a second glance, «I should have said something, I should have phoned, but, in the end, it was better for you, you... You deserve so much better than me.»

It snaps. Your sorrow, the endless despair you let yourself drown for so long, your fear, your distress, your regrets, the disappointed hopes, the anger directed at him - and at yourself - all these things you felt for the last fifteen years, they gather in ball in your sternum, just above your stomach, and turn into rage. You don’t slap him, no, but he’s still holding tight onto you, so instead of jerking away, you violently jerk towards him, the back of his head hits the wall.

«Aw!»

To his credit, he doesn’t try to push you away; but you’re too mad to pay attention to it.

«You cut the bullshit right there, Givens! You left this hell hole because your fucking father would have ended up killing you, you had to leave, you had no choice. But don’t tell me you left me behind for my own sake. Who are you to decide what I deserve or not? Who do you think you are to take that decision for me? If you didn’t want anything to do with my anymore, just say so. If you don’t want me right now, just say so. You’re many things, Raylan Givens, but you’ve never been a coward, so don’t start now!»

For a few heartbeats, the only thing to disturb the heavy, thick silence is your laborious breathing. Raylan is stunned, looking at you like a fish out of water. Then he’s on you, kissing the living daylights out of you.

«’M sorry, I’m sorry», he mumbles in-between kisses, «’M fucking moron, gonna make it up to you, do want you, fuck, I do, I’m so sorry...»

You’re still mad at him, you’re exhausted, your stomach is empty, you need to go to the loo now, your head is spinning and your knees are starting to ache by dint of supporting your weight off the floor, but you’re kissing Raylan back fervently. There will be time for more explanations - and probably more arguing - tomorrow. Right now, you don’t need anything more, not even to breath. Just Raylan.

The next morning, when the Marshal Gutterson comes to your house to take his shift over, he can’t hide his surprise at finding you on the couch, tucked under Raylan’s arm, asleep and smiling. When he left the evening before, his fellow deputy was begging through a door, after all...

«Ok,» he breaths, trying to be heard without waking you up, «how did you do that?»

«’M not gonna lie», Raylan answers with a grin, looking tired as all hell, but more at peace than ever, «I’m a lucky bastard and I don’t think I d-»

«If you say you don’t deserve it,» you mutter from your resting place in the crook of his neck, «I’ll change my mind and truly hit you, this time, Givens!»

THE END(?)

Thanks for reading ❤️

[fandom-imagines-stories]

From Here on Out

Raylan Givens x Reader

Words: 3750

Part One; Part Two

Summary: Things finally come to a head as the reader turns to an unlikely source to take down Chamberlain. Raylan opposes Art’s new plan. 

Notes: I have had so much fun writing this trilogy. Raylan is such an interesting character to work with and I’ve had a blast. Let me know what you think, as always! 

Other Raylan imagines and more: HERE 

Warnings: Mentions of trafficking, violence, etc.

-

You could have used a shot of good bourbon, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, you were in enough trouble as it is, and adding alcohol to the mix was probably not the best idea. Even if you made it out of this alive, your husband was going to lock you in your bedroom and never let you leave again. Not that you didn’t deserve it, at least a little bit, for the hell you’d put him through in the past few days. 

But that was only if this worked. 

You took a deep breath and opened the car door. 

They stood at the end of the street. Silent and waiting. 

“Raylan, I love you,” you whispered and started walking. “Evenin’ boys.” 

“Mrs. Givens,” Derek greeted. “Long time, no see, huh?” 

The image of him aiming a gun at you while you laid in bed flashed through your mind like the light of his cigarette. You crinkled your nose and smirked. 

“Cute.” You threw the file to the ground in front of him. “There. That's all I could find at the Marshal’s office. I guess you guys aren’t as popular as you thought you were.” 

Derek crouched down, flipping through the file with a satisfied smile. “I thought your husband said we didn’t have a file at all,” he tsked. “I don’t appreciate being lied to.”

“I’m sure with you holding a gun to his head and all, it probably just slipped his mind,” you returned his cockiness with a tight smile. “Happens to the best of us, right?” 

Derek nodded at the man next to him and handed him the file. 

“You know that me giving that to you doesn’t let you off the hook?” You snarked. “That only works in the movies.” 

Derek chuckled, taking a step toward you. “We just like to know what we’re up against. That’s all.” 

“Always a step ahead. I imagine that’s useful for a sex trafficker.” As much as you tried, you couldn’t hide the disgust in your voice. 

“That brings us to the other matter we discussed,” he said. “The replacement girl.” 

Your breathing hitched, heart leaping into your throat. 

This was it. 

You held your arms out to the side, shrugging your shoulders. 

“You’re looking at her, Chamberlain.” 

His Cheshire cat grin made you shudder. “I was hoping you’d say that.” 

-

Two Days Earlier

Somewhere out there, you could feel your good, southern mama scolding you for not playing a better hostess and offering these people something to drink. Footsteps scuffled all around as Raylan and the others tried to figure out how Derek Chamberlain had gotten into your house in the middle of the night without making a sound. You focused elsewhere, hands gripping the kitchen counter as the coffee brewed. 

The sharp, warming smell filled the room. You watched it drip into the glass pot, letting it hypnotize you so you didn’t have to think about what was going on. 

He was in your house. 

He held a gun at Raylan’s forehead.

He smiled at you like he’d already won. 

Maybe he had. 

“Mrs. Givens?” Rachel stood in the doorway, brows knitted with concern. “Are you okay?” 

You blinked out of your trance and put on a smile. “Do you want some coffee? I made some for all of you. Thank you again for coming out. Raylan wanted to deal with it himself, but I made him call Art so we could get this figured out.”

“It’s no problem,” she said, taking a cautious step towards you. “We want to make sure you both are safe.” 

“I think it’s a little late for that, thanks to me.” You turned away and busied yourself with pouring more mugs of coffee than you needed. 

Rachel took one with a small smile. She wanted to tell you that it wasn’t your fault. That everything was going to be fine. But she knew it wasn’t her place, nor would it help ease your clearly growing panic. So she just took the coffee and for now, that was enough for you. 

You took a cup of your own and grabbed another for your husband who was storming back inside with Art and Tim behind him. 

“If I see that sonofabitch, I’m gonna kill him,” Raylan growled. 

Art sighed. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” 

“I made coffee.” 

Tim took a cup with a thankful nod. Art kept glancing at you with a mix of remorse and concern. Raylan looked anywhere but you and you pretended that it didn’t hurt. 

“Well,” Art blew out a breath, “I’m gonna have someone sit on the house at all hours and we will track down Chamberlain. If he sneezes, we’ll know about it.”

“I appreciate that, Chief Deputy Mullen,” you said, “but I only called you guys here to keep Raylan from hunting this guy down. I don’t think any further involvement with the Marshals is wise.”

“That ship has sailed, sweetheart,” Raylan scoffed, still not looking at you. 

“Says the one who wanted to turn John Wayne not half an hour ago,” you snapped back. 

Art held up his hands. “Alright, listen, both of you. I’m only gonna say this once.” He watched both of you closely. “Both of you need to get your heads out of your asses. You,” he looked at Raylan, “are not going to lone gunman this and make it out alive. And you,” he turned to you, “need to stop thinking you can handle this on your own because it has been proven that you can’t. Now I am going to have someone sit outside this house and you two are going to stay here until I can figure out what the hell to do next!” 

The chief deputy huffed out of the room, taking Tim with him. Rachel cast you one last glance before following. 

“I see why you like him so much.” You put your coffee down and ran a hand down your face. 

Raylan didn’t say another word and went upstairs. 

You wanted to throw something. You wanted to watch the ceramic pieces of every mug shatter against the tile. But that wasn’t going to help anybody. 

Instead, you took out your cell phone, checked to make sure Raylan wasn’t coming back down, and hit a name in your contacts you never thought you’d speak to again. 

Ava Crowder.

-

A car had followed you. Whether it was your marshal guard or someone from the Chamberlains you couldn’t tell, but either way, you were gonna be in a world of hurt when- or if- you made it back home. 

You downed the bourbon with a single gulp. 

Ava poured you another. 

“I take it your husband doesn’t know you’re here, hm?” 

“What do you think?” 

She shrugged with a smirk. “Alright.” Ava sat down across from you. “What brings you here, then?” 

Luckily, Johnny’s bar was empty this time of day, so you didn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing. But the possibility of the bar’s real owner returning made you a touch uncomfortable, so you figured you’d get straight to the point. 

“What do you know about the Chamberlain family trafficking ring?”

She raised a brow. “What makes you think I know anything?” 

“Because I know what circles you run in. I just want to know if Derek Chamberlain is in any of them.” 

“The name rings a bell, but I don’t think I’m the one you want to talk to.” 

The door to the backroom swung open. 

You stood up. 

“Mrs. Givens,” Boyd smiled. “This is a pleasant surprise.” 

You swallowed. “Boyd.”

“Baby, she wants to know about Derek Chamberlain,” Ava said, pouring him a drink. 

Boyd took a seat and motioned to your chair. “Please.” 

You sat back down.

He took a drink. 

“Now, from what I hear, the Chamberlains are a nasty bunch.” Boyd narrowed his eyes at you. “What business could a sweet and innocent marshal’s wife, like yourself, possibly have with a man like Derek?” 

“He took a friend of mine’s daughter.” You picked up your glass and watched the contents swirl around. “Then he killed that friend of mine.” 

“Well now, that sounds very serious. I’m sorry for your loss,” Boyd sighed. He leaned forward, clasping his hands on the table. “Seeing as we’ve known each other a long while now, Mrs. Givens, I would be more than happy to step in as a favor to you.”

As appealing as the thought of having Derek Chamberlain wiped from this earth was, you shook your head. 

“I just came to get some information. That’s all.” 

His lip quirked up in another smile. “I would still consider that a favor. One I may or may not ask to be returned at some point.” 

You leaned forward, holding his gaze. “If I wasn’t desperate, do you think I’d be here?” 

A spark lit in his eyes and you forced your regret to be a later issue. Boyd leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head while a cunning smile spread across his face. 

“Well, then, Y/N, what exactly do you need to know?” 

The door to the bar burst open before you got the chance to speak. You didn’t have to turn around to see who it was, thanks to the self-satisfied smirk on Boyd’s face. 

“Raylan,” he exclaimed. “Now it really is a party.” 

Your stomach sank. 

You were so, so dead. 

“This your idea?” Raylan growled. “Dragging her out here when I’m sure you’ve heard all about the trouble she’s dug up?”

Boyd held up his hands innocently. “I came home to find her gracing my bar with her presence, a total, but welcome, surprise.” 

“I called Ava,” you said. 

“I was thinking we could maybe go on a double date after all this,” Boyd mocked. “Doesn’t that sound fun?” 

“Believe it or not, I am nowhere near the neighborhood of being in the mood to deal with you today.” Raylan’s hand locked on your arm, pulling you up out of the chair. “We’re leaving.” 

“I couldn’t just sit in the house and do nothing,” you whispered angrily. 

His eyes flashed to yours, fuming. You didn’t say anything else. 

“Y/N, honey, you call if you need anything else, okay?” Ava said, actually sounding genuine. 

Raylan started to lead you out of the bar when Boyd called after you. 

“Alright, wait! Raylan, wait.” Boyd rolled his eyes at himself and hurried to catch you at the door. His smarminess had faded, replaced by something resembling real. “Chamberlain has a notebook where he keeps everything. Abduction plans, times of moves, locations of the girls, the works. You ask me, I think it’s pretty stupid to have everything in one place, but he always has it on his person. Always.” 

Plans started clicking in your head. You gave him a nod. 

“Thank you, Boyd.” 

His sly grin returned. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.” 

Raylan pulled you outside. The sunlight stung your eyes compared to the neon of the bar. You squinted at your husband’s furious face. It was an expression you were growing increasingly familiar with. 

“Raylan-”

“Don’t,” he snapped. “Don’t say a goddamn thing.” He let go of your arm. “Just get in the car.” 

You opened your mouth. He cut you off. 

“Get. In. The. Car.” 

You got in the car. 

-

Art was waiting when you got home, sitting on your front porch with a look of frustration that almost matched your husband’s. 

Raylan hadn’t said a word the entire drive. It was suffocating. 

“Art, long time no see,” you greeted snarkily. 

“I take it you’re responsible for this little field trip then?” You were right. He was pissed. “What the hell did I just tell you, Raylan? All you had to do was stay in the damn house.” 

“Raylan was just coming to get me,” you defended. 

But your husband pushed past you both without a word, slamming the door behind him. 

Now was probably a bad time to mention that your car was still at the bar. 

“What was so important that you had to leave?” Art asked, ignoring his brooding agent. 

You swallowed. “Boyd Crowder had some valuable information.” 

Art froze. 

He blinked. 

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. “You Givens’ are going to be the death of me.” 

The two of you followed your husband inside. Raylan had already poured the drinks. His eyes bore into yours as he downed his bourbon in one gulp. 

“Art,” you took a deep breath, “I think I need a moment alone with my husband.” 

“If it means figuring this shit out, then by all means,” he huffed, going back out onto the porch with his drink. 

You kept your voice as calm as you could. “I went to see Ava. Boyd happened to be there.” 

He didn’t say anything, just kept… staring. 

“That detail about the notebook could mean everything,” you said. “I mean, if we get our hands on that, we not only take out Chamberlain, but we can find and help the rest of those girls.”

Raylan remained silent. 

Your hands started to shake. 

“I couldn’t stay in the house, Raylan.” 

Nothing.

Something inside you broke. Your lip trembled. Your eyes watered. You tried blinking away the tears. 

“I can’t stay here,” you cried. “All I hear are those bastard’s footsteps on our stairs. In our home. I see him pointing that gun at you with that goddamn smirk on his face everywhere I turn. When I close my eyes, I imagine him shooting you in the heart. So I’m sorry if I had to get out of here and do something about it!” 

Raylan closed his eyes.

You crossed the kitchen and grabbed his flannel shirt by the collar with still shaking hands. 

“I want to finish this, Raylan,” you said, voice heavy and broken. “But I will finish it my way.” Your words cracked in your throat. “Without having to watch you die.” 

His honey-colored eyes gazed deeply into yours, but he still didn’t say a word. 

You started to step away. 

His hand grabbed your hand and pulled you back into his arms. Raylan locked around you like he could shield you with his body from the whole world. You melted into him, pretending that he really could protect you from everything and that you could protect him. 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he sighed against your neck. “I can’t keep running after you, wondering if you're lyin’ cold somewhere.” He pulled back with a raised brow. “And, I gotta admit, it hurt a little that you went to the Crowders instead of me.” 

“I’m sorry, do you have connections with Kentucky crime enterprises that I don’t know about? Any inside secrets that you care to share?” 

“Fair point.” He leaned his forehead against yours. “But you should have come to me first anyway.” 

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have been able to bust into the bar all angry like,” you teased. “It was kinda sexy.” 

Raylan chuckled, shaking his head and pressing his lips to yours. “What the hell am I gonna do with you?”

“I can think of a couple things, deputy, but we, unfortunately, don’t have time for any of them.” 

Raylan’s eyes returned to yours, narrowing. “Why do you got that look in your eye?” He asked. “You know, the one I don’t like because it usually means me getting in trouble.” 

“Because I,” you smiled, straightening his shirt, “have a plan.”

-

“I can’t believe we agreed to this shit,” Raylan said through gritted teeth, hunched down behind a crate between Art and Rachel. Tim was on the roof, setting up in case anything went sideways. 

“Well, the way I figure, we could either go along with her for this one, or she was gonna keep running off on her own, eventually getting herself killed,” Art fired back. “Is that what you wanted?”

Raylan scoffed. 

“That’s what I thought. Now pipe down.” He looked at Rachel. 

She nodded and spoke into her headpiece. “You got a view up there?”

Tim’s voice came from over the com. “If Little-Miss-Plan would get her head out of the way, I’ve got a clear shot on Chamberlain.” 

“Do not shoot my wife,” Raylan said. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, asshole.” 

“Will you be quiet?” Art snapped. “If they see us, Tim’ll be the last of Y/N’s worries, alright?” 

Raylan blew out a breath. “I really hate this plan.” 

This was it. 

You held your arms out to the side, shrugging your shoulders. 

“You’re looking at her, Chamberlain.” 

His Cheshire cat grin made you shudder. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Derek reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black notebook. 

Thank you, Boyd Crowder.

“My only condition, of course, is that you leave my husband out of this,” you added. “I won’t drag him into any more of this shit.” 

He put the notebook back.

“You must think I’m an idiot, sweetheart. The wife of a U.S. Marshal as one of my girls?” Derek chuckled. “Tempting, but no.” He clicked his tongue. “I will enjoy gutting that cowboy husband of yours, even if you won’t be around to see it.” 

Derek took his hand from his jacket and aimed the pistol in his hand at your chest. 

“Tim!” Raylan exclaimed.

The two shots rang out together, echoing through the darkened street. 

Marshalls and thugs alike descended upon the scene. Chaos of gunshots and running feet filled the air, but none were louder than the sound of Raylan’s pounding heart in his ears. Everything was laser-focused and a blur all at once. But with it all going on around him, he could only see you. 

With Derek Chamberlain lying across from you in a growing pool of blood. 

As more deputies joined the fray, more and more of Chamberlain’s men started dropping their weapons, smart enough to recognize that this was a fight they weren’t winning. 

Raylan fell to his knees at your side. 

“Y/N,” he gasped, pulling you into his lap, “Y/N, baby, talk to me.” 

Your hand slowly moved, unbuttoning the top few buttons on your shirt, revealing the kevlar underneath, along with the shiny, smashed bullet stuck right where it should have pierced your heart.

“That wasn’t as cool as I thought it was going to be,” you coughed. He tried to help you sit up, but you groaned, the pain of the hit still radiating through your chest. Raylan’s worried eyes stayed glued to yours. “I’m fine, honey, I’m fine,” you said. “Get the notebook.”  

Raylan nodded and set you down gently. 

You turned, saw one of Derek’s creeps dead eyes staring back at you, and turned back, watching your husband approach the man who’d just shot you. 

Raylan reached into Derek’s pocket and, sure enough, pulled out that little black notebook. He flicked through the pages and chuckled. 

“I thought he’d at least have it in code.” With notebook in hand, he started back towards you. 

Derek sat up.

“Raylan!” You shouted. 

With the gun of Chamberlain’s goon in your hand, you fired. Blood and brains burst out of the back of Derek’s head. 

He didn’t sit up again. 

Raylan rushed back to you and lifted you up in his arms. You winced. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. He kissed the top of your head. “Nice shot.” 

-

Turns out, Tim had been attacked by one of Chamberlain’s men who were patrolling the warehouses, otherwise, it would have been his bullet in Derek’s brain. 

The rest of the raid went rather well. The notebook pointed to other warehouses where girls were being kept and the Chamberlain’s were brought in by the FBI and the Marshalls, who claimed to have been working together all along to hide the fact that they used the civilian wife of a deputy as bait. They even found Beth’s daughter. She was alive. Derek was just trying to get you to do something stupid- which, of course, you did. But it was worth it. 

After a check up in the hospital for your bruised ribs, you got to go home. And Raylan didn’t leave your side for a second. It would have been entirely sweet if it weren’t for the occasional suspicious look in his eye. 

“I’m not planning on flying the coop any time soon if that’s what you’re worried about,” you snarked, wincing as you shifted your position on the couch. The bullet may not have killed you, but it sure left a mark that hurt like hell. 

“Considering your record the past week, you’ll forgive my paranoia.” Raylan plopped down beside you, moving your legs into his lap. Despite his smarmy expression, you could see the mix of guilt and relief and fear in his eyes. No matter how many times he saw the bruise on your chest, all he could see was a big, bloody wound where your heart should be. 

If you hadn’t been wearing that vest…

“Hey.” You took his hand. “I’m okay.” 

“You just got shot in the chest almost point blank.” He didn’t look at your face. “You are not okay.” 

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” 

He gave you a dark look. With a little pained effort, you sat up.

“Raylan, honey,” you took a breath and let your tone change from teasing to genuine. “I’m okay.” You kissed him long and deeply to prove your point. 

Raylan sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. You could feel every ounce of panic he’d felt for the past few days. Panic you’d caused. 

You gave him a small smile. “Baby, if we agreed not to scare each other, you’d have to stop walking out that door with your badge and gun every day.”

He opened his mouth to argue. 

“But-” You cut him off. “I will promise that if I come across another case like the Chamberlains and find myself in a similar type of trouble…” You kissed him again. “I will shoot you a text.” 

“At least have the decency to call,” he pouted playfully. 

“Hey, a text is more than you give me half the time,” you fired back. 

He held up his hands. “Alright. Fair enough.”

Raylan wrapped his arms around you, kissed your forehead, and held you until the exhaustion overtook you both. 

You weren’t a simple couple, sure. But you liked it that way.

[awaterfalls]

Tim Gutterson

"Miami to The Holler"

Summary: Lia Martines transferred shortly after Raylan Givens from Miami to the Lexington U.S. Marshall courthouse only to be met with disdain from Tim Gutterson. After an undercover stakeout to catch a drug transport went south, feelings come to a head.

A/N: OC Intro: Lia Martines, Tim GuttersonX!FemaleUSMarshall, She/Her Pronouns, Angst, Enemies to Lovers.

• Hey guys! This is my first time ever posting something I write here. I hope you guys like it!! I want to thank my amazing, incredible, espetacular friend, Nat @she-wolf09231982.. thank you for helping me with these! ❤️

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How can I begin to explain the situation I find myself in? Well, I'll from the beginning. Before becoming a U.S. Marshall, I always thought it would be easy. Just like in the movies. You shoot people and make arrests. But it's totally different. I was a U.S. Marshall for the Miami department when I met Raylan Givens. He already had a reputation, but even a bigger one after he had his showdown with the big drug king, Tommy Bucks, shooting him down for not leaving the city like he had asked him.

Our superiors arranged for Raylan to be transferred away from high profile Miami to Eastern Lexington, Kentucky. I soon followed in his footsteps looking for a quieter life in the country. I transferred to Harlan, Kentucky and it was terrifying. Being a newbie in a place you know is bad enough, imagine being in a place you don't know... It was a nightmare. It was bad in some parts, in fact, but one person made the environment worse. Tim Gutterson is my partner at work. Basically, we're assigned to do everything together. All the missions... everything. In addition to Tim, I also have Rachel and Raylan, but Tim was the most annoying.

Since I arrived here, he has always picked flights with me and done everything to show that he didn't like me. And because of this, every time we had a mission together, Art would lecture us saying he would destroy us if we messed up and how much it would ruin our careers. I never thought this day would come, but it did. Art had gone over the details of our next undercover stakeout.

" Martines and Gutterson, you are going to stay at the hotel where the supposed drug dealers are lying in wait. Lucky for you, they're not very smart and probably don't know that we're after them. But it's still important that you be cautious and avoid any kind of confusion, ok? You guys know how important this is to us, so don't screw it up."

That's what Art told us before we were sent to this hotel. Basically, Tim and I were to pretend to be a couple and staying at the hotel where the suspected drug dealers were, so that we can collect as much evidence as possible and arrest them. It's something quite easy. After all, it's just a few days away from Harlan, watching two people. Easy... That's what I thought.

Tim and I arrived at the hotel on a Monday and settled in as best we could. We arrived the day of the mission, so we had to be quick.

"Are you ready? We don't all day." Tim said looking at me irritated while letting out a bored sigh.

" Are you that excited to be my husband?" I said smiling and he rolled his eyes.

"The day I get excited about doing anything with you, you can be sure that I was abducted... I'll wait for you in the car." He said, leaving without giving me the chance to respond.

He's an idiot. I wonder what I did to make him hate me so much. I met him in the car and we were soon on our way to where we believed a drug deal was going down. The journey was long and tedious. He didn't say anything and neither did I... It was irritating me.

"So what were you doing before all this?" I asked breaking the silence.

I've always been curious about him. I always asked about the lives of everyone around me. And I've also always been an open book to everyone. When I met Tim that all changed. Because of our relationship we never spoke, but something about him always intrigued me. People talked about him and what he did before, but I wanted to hear it from him. He looked at me sideways but didn't respond. It seems like he was thinking about whether or not to respond. His face had an expression of doubt mixed with anger. I don't know how to explain what I felt when I saw him like that.

" What does this have to do with what we're doing now?" He snapped before continuing. " Why are you so interested in knowing? All this time you've been here, the only thing you've done is insult me and now you're interested in my past? And let's be honest, right? As if you didn't know, I'm sure Rachel or Raylan told you about me. Please, let's stop pretending we care about each other. I want to do the work and go home, be at peace and not hear your annoying voice." Ok, that one hurt.

It was always like this with him. Every time I tried to talk to him or try to clear the air, he always verbally attacked me. He didn't give me a chance to get close to him.

"Why did I always react like this, Tim?" You thought to yourself before spoke up. " Every time I try to get closer to you, you always push me away. There's always something bad to say. I never did anything to make you treat me this way. I don't know anything about your life. I have nothing against you. But for some reason you seem to hate me. I don't understand. Why do you treat me like this? What did I do wrong? People around us speak very highly of you, they say you're a great guy. But you prove me wrong every day. The question I asked wasn't intended to provoke you, but you're right, I did already know what you did or what you were before here, but I wanted to hear from you. Because I like you. I know that despite everything, you are a good man. But I'm tired of proving myself every day to someone who doesn't care about me. I'm sorry for bothering you so much and I promise I will never talk to you about non-work topics again." You finalized. It really was very tiring. I always tried really hard to get closer to him, but he never let me. It's tiring to fight over something you don't know for what or why.

We continued the journey in silence. Everyone in their own thoughts. At least the landscape was beautiful. This is a beautiful place, the nature around everything leaves me at peace. I was taken out of my thoughts by an abrupt bang. A car just hit us from behind, causing us to be projected forward sharply. We didn't have time to think, as the passengers in the other car started shooting at us. Tim and I did what we could to defend ourselves taking ducking inside our vehicle. There were so many of them firing that I didn't even know where they were coming from anymore. As we returned the fire, we managed to hit one of them, because we had heard a scream as their car came to a screeching halt. As we cautiously approached their car, they opened fire again. Tim pulled me back behind our car to take cover. The fire fight didn't last very long, as they left when they saw that we were outnumbered. We definitely got one of them right.

Tim looked at me with concern.

"Are you okay? Your forehead is bleeding." I hadn't noticed. The adrenaline was so much that I went blind. It was probably when we were thrown sharply at the time of the crash. I remember hitting my head somewhere, but I couldn't quite see where.

"Oh, I'm fine." You said touching your forehead where it hurt. " It's no big deal. We need to let Art know they found us. We can leave it like this. " I said taking my cell phone when Tim snatched it out of my hand.

" Are you crazy? You're hurt and the only thing you care about is this shitty mission? We're going to the hospital. The work can wait and I'm sure Art can too." He said pulling me into the car.

The ride to the hospital was quiet. Tim didn't say a word to me, but I could tell he was worried. Obviously, it wasn't about me, it was about the mission and probably what Art was going to tell us. I was too, because ruining everything wasn't in the plans, but life isn't always the way we want it to be. We arrived at the hospital and while I was waiting to be seen, Tim went to call the office and explain what happened. The nurse called me and immediately started cleaning my wound. I had forgotten how much it hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but I had to get two stitches on my forehead. Another scar for the collection. Yay!

When we left the hospital, Tim informed me that Art was already aware of what had happened and that he was going to send us back up the next morning and that we were to stay at the hotel and wait for them. We got back to the room and I went straight to take a shower. Tim seemed weird, more than usual. It was as if he was bothered by something beyond himself. I don't know how to explain. But I won't dare to ask, the last time I asked him something, I almost got shot. I got out of the shower and left the bathroom, Tim wasn't in the room. I could've waited for him or even called, but I couldn't stay awake for long so I went straight to bed. I needed to lie down and rest. My head was hurting so much and these thoughts never left me alone. What do you need to do to have a little peace? To die? Perhaps yes. But it wasn't my time yet. I fell asleep like a rock.

Around down, I woke up scared. I had a nightmare.

"Damn it! I hate these kinds of dreams. I don't have any peace even when I sleep. " I thought to myself. I turned to the side and found Tim sleeping.

"Okay... He's sleeping with me... In the same bed as me... Wtf? It's the end of the world." I thought. I couldn't help but notice how serene he was. His mouth forming a pout, it looked like a baby. The messy hair... He's beautiful. Asleep and awake. "Stop staring at me and go back to sleep." Tim mumbled at me. It scared the shit out of me. How does he know I was looking at him if he had his eyes closed?

" How do you know I'm staring at you?" he smiled. A beautiful smile, I must say. " I know everything you do, Lia. " It was the first time he called me by my name. And it sounded so beautiful in his voice.

" Okay... You're weird! And I wasn't looking at you, I was just checking to see if you were breathing, that's all. " I said, trying not to seem so obvious, even though I had the impression that he already realized how stupid I was looking at him. And once again he smiled. What possessed him to keep smiling like that?

"Lia, you don't fool me. I know everything you do. I know what you like and don't like. I know how much you love chewing gum because it helps you stay calm throughout the day. I know you like to tease Raylan that the coffee he buys is horrible, even though it's from the same place that Rachel and I buy it. I know you twitch your lip when something bothers you. I know you wear the same leather boots to work because they bring you luck. I know the place you love most in the world is your home and yes, that's cliché. " He paused to take a breath before continuing. "But that's okay, I'm not judging. I know you. I've noticed you since the day you set foot in that office. It felt like an angel entering hell. I couldn't take my eyes off you, but I had to contain myself because I didn't want you to notice. Damn Lia, I always paid attention to you. The moment I understood that I like you, that I was in love with you, I panicked. What would a woman like you want with a guy like me? I thought you weren't a woman for me, because I always thought you deserved better than this... But today... Lia, today I almost had a heart attack. I thought I was going to lose you... I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. This makes me see how much time I wasted leaving you out of my life. Lia, I want to apologize for treating you so badly all this time. I was in a state of denial and the only way I found to keep you away from me was to treat you the way I did. I thought you would realize how stupid I am and leave me alone, but you always came back and I somehow, always came back to you. My thoughts most of the time, are you. Damn, I really hope you can forgive me. I really do." He explained.

Okay... He threw all this at me and I don't know what to say. I'm confused. This entire time I thought he hated me... But he actually likes me? My gosh! This is a lot for me.

"Tim, I don't know what to say... I'm confused. I mean, you like me? I really don't know what to say. And of course I forgive you. And I care about you too. I like you. I'm just puzzled because I always thought you hated me. Never in my life would I think of you telling me those things." I said as he looked at me relieved.

We stared at each other for a few seconds until he pulled me towards him and hugged me. It was a sincere and totally affectionate hug. It felt like home. I felt comfortable in his touch. He smells so good... Like heaven. A smell I could easily get used to. We held each other all night and I never felt so good. Tim wouldn't let me go, not even to go to the bathroom. He said he didn't want to waste any time with me ever again. And to be honest, neither do I. I can't wait to tell Rachel this.

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Guys!!!! It's a very long one shot... I really hope you guys like it! Also, English is not my first language so please be nice, ok? Thank you!! ❤️