#i gotta start tagging ranch

[frostbite-the-bat]

i can't fuckign sleep but i shall try again as my fever has gone down. have an almond as i felt like doodling this beart

[keeps-ache]

ggghhg i hate vehiclessssssss ghghghhghhhhh [dies dies dies forever]

[ravengards-rogue]

i thought of you so often.

arthur morgan x reader.

✧ tags : fem!reader (gendered language, explicit use of she/her in reference to reader), children / planning on children, generally sappiness, fluff, au where nothing bad happens to arthur hdskjsdkfhsj.

✧ wc : 2.4k (???)

✧ a/n : arthur morgan.... save me arthur morgan....also not a super original thought but i can't Stop thinking about it.

✧ synopsis : a collection of love letters, all unfinished, tucked somewhere you aren't meant to find them. oh, arthur loves you more than you knew.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

You try to keep out of Arthur's belongings.

He's owed some privacy, for one. More than that, you've never felt any reason to look into it. Arthur isn't a man of many words, though you catch moments of his introspection should you pry. He isn't stoic, neither. And above all things, he's kind. Really truly kind in a way that makes him different from other men.

You don't have any complaints about him is what you mean. Unlike the men you've loved before, there are no short-comings of Arthur that would drive you to wanting to investigate his own personal things. Especially something so personal like his journals, prior or present.

On top of that, you were there with him through everything. You were part of the gang and stayed by him when it all fell apart. It was towards the end of that that Arthur came to you near frenzied, told you his plans, his thoughts. Confided in you and no less than begged to go with him where he ran.

You loved Arthur enough to stay, and so things ended - and you ran. There isn't much his journal could tell that you couldn't surmise on your own.

It's been years now, and you've long since left that life. You live with Arthur quietly, peaceful in the moments with a garden and kitty sweet as sugar.

It's a good life. An honest, quiet one sometimes to the point of being boring. You rarely miss the action, though occasionally you'll take up a bounty just to feel alive and make some money.

Mostly though, you live as unassuming folk. No bloodshed, no wardens, no gunslinging.

Been talk between you both about having a baby, recently. Serious talk. You've made some money between here and there, and you've got a good life. You've traveled too. But it gets a little lonely, and you don't really get your fill with just Jack when John and Abi are ways away.

Before anything like that, though - you need to clear some space. Empty out some belongings and things collecting dust. Living in one place for too long creates all sorts of mess, you find. When Arthur is home to help, he does - but he's been busy lately figuring something out with Charles. Some business venture related to ranching that you know nothing about so far. They'll tell you when its ready.

Usually when you're tidying, you keep to just your things, or your shared things - but Arthur has lived more life than you. It shows in that big closet space filled with nick-knacks he has yet to toss.

You'd mentioned it to him not too long ago and he'd given you permission to go through them.

(A kiss to your forehead from chapped lips and hands holding your waist, Arthur hums in acknowledgement as you ask his permission.

"Ain't nothing I gotta hide from you. Do whatever you need.)

But like you said - you try to keep your nose out of his business if it's not necessary for you to be in it in anyway.

You weren't trying to look through his things, really. You started cleaning, worked your way to that last box. Up on a shelf in his closet, a little too high for you to reach easily. You made a misstep and dropped the damn thing. It barely missed your head as the whole thing fell open, and out came journals and papers and photographs.

You've always known Arthur to be sentimental, so none of it has been particularly surprising. A photo of wolves and him on a horse, the picture from John and Abigail's engagement. Some other scraps of sentimental value.

And then there was a journal. Not Arthur's journal that he's always using, but another you've never seen before. You know Arthur journals, seen the thing plenty though you never look unless he shows you first.

A journal with a dark brown stained leather binding, fallen open and your name scrawled out in pencil lead at the top of it.

The curiosity got the better of you, okay? Not your damn fault.

So you're thinking on it.

The fabric of your skirt is pooled out underneath you as you hold the thing in your hands, sitting down on the ground surrounded by things. You've stowed away everything else that fell out from the box after ensuring it was intact, including Arthur's journals. Everything with the exception of the one you're holding.

Some guilt eats at you. You don't wanna upset him potentially by having looked. Even if he gave you permission, looking in the damn thing is a little different. But your name was there so clearly, and well - you didn't think he wrote about you. Apart from here and there, maybe.

You hold the book out in front of you with a sigh, looking fondly at his name ingrained in the leather. You press your forehead against it with, resigning yourself completely.

"Lord forgive my pryin'," You mumble, hoping it's enough to absolve you.

Your heart feels funny as you let your fingers trace over the hard edge of the front cover, one eye shut as you start to open it slow.

The first few pages are nothing special.

A page outlining who the journal belongs to and when it was started, and some doodles of yarrow and oleander. The pages after that filled with mundane entries. About people he met or things he saw, all endearing to you. The corners of your lips tug up slightly.

You really love this man helplessly.

You flip through a few more pages, many of them blank before writing starts to appear again. Little by little, you find passages. You look to the dates up at the corner (though not all of them have one) and trace the timeline. This is from all the way back in Horseshoe Overlook.

It feels like ages ago now.

You look at a page with no date, and reading the writing in it. There's doodles of flowers and trees along the bottom of the page. The words are easy enough to make out - because Arthur has the most unusually beautiful handwriting.

There's some entries about you. At first, they all include your name in some context. Mentioned in the same way Arthur might mention Hosea or Abigail. The further you go, the less you see it. The more you become her and she.

It's a trend. The longer you read, the less there is about anyone else. Just you and all your silly idiosyncrasies tucked between pages. Something lovestruck and foolish lights its match in you.

Saw a body hanging at the tracks at Valentine. A gruesome sight. I told her about it and she laughed. Asked me to take her to see it. A strange woman, by all accounts.

You feel yourself smile a little as you continue to flip through the pages.

She joined me riding into town today. Said she had some business to attend but would not tell me any details. After, she came with me to purchase a new gun. I engraved a snake into it's handle, per her request.

Another few pages littered with drawings of delicate berries and waterfalls before you stumble across more writing. The more you flip, the longer the passages become you.

You can't tear your eyes away.

Rained today. Nothing too terrible or worth mentioning, except that she nearly caught a cold playing in it. I brought her coffee to keep her warm, but could not scold her further upon seeing her delight.

Another passage, this time written with messier hand writing. A coffee stain splatters on the white of the page.

Your heart tugs on itself. Swells about a thousand sizes. To think he wrote so much of your time together between these pages.

You read and read and read - and each passage is a little more mundane at the last. Some pages go on in vivid detail, but others are so short you aren't sure what to make of the fact he wrote them at all. As if such little details were important enough to keep in mind.

I picked a flower for her. I thought it would suit her taste. It was white with delicate petals. I did not know the name.

She wore it in her hair this evening. I find I can't stop grinning.

One passage on the next few pages, longer than the rest, catches your eye. From later in your time together, written when you were in Leymone. Near Scarlett Meadows and before the mess in Saint Denis.

After Arthur had been kidnapped.

I have gone on and on about the business with Colm O'Driscoll in many entries before this one. Yet, I find it difficult to forget. Many times I have come close to death, and still no experience lingers on my mind quite like this one. Everyone has done their best to look after me. For that I am grateful, though I do not care for being looked after. What use am I like this, I wonder? Perhaps, I should simply be grateful to be alive and in one piece, if a little uglier than I was. Alongside Miss Grimshaw and Miss Tilly, she has been by my side while I recovered. Such a carefree woman and yet I have seen her cry and weep over me countless times in the last few weeks alone. The decent man in me is apologetic for causing sorrow. Perhaps, it is the outlaw in me that feels some strange relief or satisfaction. Her fussing does not give me any grief. If anything, I find myself all the more endeared. Such a decent woman does not belong in a place like this. I hope she is able to go somewhere far away and live peacefully. I am not so shameless to want anything more. The time together we have spent, I will make sure to cherish.

Something painful and pitiful tugs at your heart. Even when Arthur admitted his feelings for you, he had started it on a similar tangent. You tell him often that you're the one who feels out of bounds with him. That a man as decent and as honest as him often feels like too much for you to have so easily.

A tear slips from your eye and you laugh at your own sentimentality, wiping it away before it can splatter onto the pages.

The further you read, the more sporadic entries become. You find that there are pages filled with sketches of you, but many of them are scratched out or half erased - like he did not find them good enough. Of your side profile, of your hands, of you pointing at a target with a gun. You feel a strange feeling of love wash over you.

Instead of concrete thoughts, you're met with Arthur's abstract. Subtle complexities and studies. There's honest tenderness in the way he sketches you and the words he chooses to caption each with. Lighter, thinner lines. Smaller doodles like stray daydreams caught onto a page.

You've never doubted Arthur in his love for you, quiet man he is - but it proves to overwhelm when presented to you in such a way.

You get to back pages. There, you're finally met with more writing. Except, instead of journal entries, there's the start of letters. You find your name at the top of the page.

Over and over. Love letters, all unfinished or scrapped. Written over and over and over, but not completed. There's tens of them at least. You've never received a love letter from Arthur before, though it's nothing you fault him for.

Now you're almost glad. You like this much better.

My darling girl My muse The better half of me, I must find some way to tell you all of what I think of you. It seems no words do it justice, I'm afraid. Still, it is in my best interest to try.

Damn that man.

When you find yourself starting to weep, you don't fight the feeling. You merely shut the book closed and set it in your lap before crying into your hands.

Such overwhelmingly happy tears. You feel off balance. If the whole world turned on its head this very minute, you're unsure you'd notice. What a decent, honest man you've come to love. What a tender one.

In the middle of your crying, you don't hear the door open or close. Nor do you hear Arthur's heavy footfall until he's in the doorway, with a voice worried half to death.

"Sweetheart, what in the hell?"

You turn your head to look at him, watching his eyes widen at your tear stained face. You clamber to your feet hurriedly, book dropping onto the ground next to you as you throw yourself at him as soon as you can.

Arthur is a steady enough man not to stumble when you do, though you can feel his apprehension. Eventually, he circles his arms around your waist. His hugs are strong. Bout strong as him and then some. An arm wrapped around your waist, the other crossed over your back all around your shoulder. Full pressure as he squeezes you tight, patting the back of your head.

"I leave you alone for a few hours. What has gotten into you, little lady?"

You pull back and and look at him, wet lashes and all, before leaning up to kiss him. Arthur meets your lips chastely at first before making a noise of surprise as you kiss him further. You use both hands to grab his face as you do, scruff scratching against your skin. His lips are soft, welcoming. He melts into the touch, so easily - blue eyes lovestruck as you pull away.

"You know I love you, don't you Arthur? More than anyone in this crazy world we live in,"

His face softens visibly. He smiles at you, touching his head to yours.

"Somehow, I do. Though, I'm wonderin' what the hell brought this on."

You tuck your face against his chest, feeling his laughter reverb through you at the way you cling to him so fervently. You sniffle as you talk.

"Found your journal. The one about me,"

He goes stiff, then silent. When you look up again, he's blushing red. He pinches his brow.

"Lord, I'd forgotten all about it,"

You shake your head.

"Ain't nothing for you to be embarrassed about. You are so wonderful,"

He pouts at you. Your heart swells. "You ain't helping with the embarrassment."

You hold him further. Hug him so tight, worried he'll disappear if you don't.

"I love you, Arthur."

"You already told me once, didn'tcha?"

"And I'll tell you one thousand times over," You emphasize, pouting at him. "Really. I love you,"

"I love you too sweetheart," His hand cups your face, thumb brushing along your waterline. "Don't cry no more. Spoils that pretty face."

"I'll try but I don't know if it's all out of me,"

Arthur laughs, pressing a kiss against your hairline. "Guess I'll just have to wipe your tears."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[bitchesuntitled]

Softer

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader

Summary: Joel’s feeling a tad self-conscious

Warnings/Tags: Humor, No outbreak AU, Tommy being an asshole in a brotherly way, fluff, pregnancy, sympathetic pregnancy, blended families, strip tease, nothing bad happens to Sarah ever and Ellie's your kid, and I think that’s it?

A/N: Thank you much @strang3lov3, @whocaresstillthelouvre, @jay-zzle for your eyes and Jai also for the moodboard!!! 😍🥰😘

This is for @beefrobeefcal’s Joel Sat on Me challenge! I hope you laugh at this as much as I did writing it 😅

Masterlist||AO3

Divider by @saradika-graphics

The gender reveal/baby shower was going off without a hitch. Maria was making sure people knew where to put gifts, Tommy was helping Joel at the grill, while your mom was helping you put the Boy or Girl banner around you. You hate this kind of attention but Maria and your parents both wanted to make a show of it. Despite your arguments on tradition being only for the first baby.

“Well, it’s you and Joel’s first baby together,” Maria deadpanned, all while your mom nodded along.

“Can’t beat that logic!” Your dad grinned.

“Fine,” you relented, rolling your eyes, “Good thing it’s the last one too.” 

Joel smirked, his palm caressing your thigh, “It’ll be fine,” he whispered in your ear, “Least there will be cake,” he added with a shrug. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Can’t beat that logic!” You reply mockingly, sticking your tongue out.

—

“Mom!” Ellie shouts, “Sarah’s trying to sneak into the cake!”

“Quit being such a narc!” Sarah laughs, playfully smacking Ellie’s arm, “You want to know just as much as I do!”

“Girls!” Joel hollers. “Come help your uncle Tommy set up!”

Both girls walk to the grill, helping Tommy carry hamburgers and hotdogs to the table.

“Alright everyone!” Maria announces, raising her voice to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s eat! Parents-to-be first!”

“Hey momma,” Joel grins, meeting you at the food table and placing a soft kiss on your temple, “What ya in the mood for?”

“More like what is the baby in the mood for?” you grumble, trying to adjust the sash around your body. “I hate this fucking thing,” you hiss.

“Just gotta eat, cut the cake and get through presents then I’ll kick everyone out,” Joel reassures.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you mumble, grabbing a plate and staring at the food. The baby decided it wanted corn on the cob, a burger with all the extras, potato salad, and a small salad with more ranch on it than lettuce.

“Jesus Joel,” Tommy laughed when you both got to one of the tables. “Your woman’s the one eatin’ for two not you!”

Everyone looked at Joel with his plate piled high with two burgers, two hotdogs, and plenty of sides to feed a small army. You saw the flush creeping up his neck as he sat next to you. Joel opened his mouth to say something but Maria interrupted.

“Oh hush,” Maria said, smacking Tommy softly on the shoulder.

“Probably going through that sympathetic pregnancy thing,” a guest piped in. “My husband did that too!”

“Sympathetic pregnancy?” Ellie asked with her mouth full of potato salad. Your mom begins to laugh, shaking her head at Ellie.

“Ellie, gross,” you hiss. “Finish eating before you speak.”

Ellie makes a show of swallowing her food before speaking again. “What the hell is sympathetic pregnancy?”

“Ellie,” you groan. “Language! I haven’t spent the past 13 years raising a hellion!”

“And just think, you’re starting over!” your dad laughs.

Joel, meanwhile, keeps pushing the food around on his plate, taking smaller bites of the sides.

“Okay, googled it!” Sarah announces to the table, wagging her phone and clearing her throat. “Google says, c- cou- nevermind, I’m not even gonna try. Sympathetic pregnancy is a proposed condition in which an expectant father experiences some of the same symptoms and behavior as his pregnant partner. These most often include major weight gain, altered hormone levels, morning nausea, and disturbed sleep patterns.”

“That why you were asking for Pepto the other day at the site?” Tommy asks, nudging Joel’s shoulder before sitting down. “Dealing with some morning sickness as well?”

“Damn it Tommy,” Joel growls, balling up his fist. “If you don’t cut it out-“

“Alright, alright,” Maria hisses. “Enough.” She adds pointing at Tommy.

—

Joel stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself. Marriage had been good to him. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed overall a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline the moment he got you pregnant. He hadn’t thought about it before but Tommy got in his head. Especially when he announced to everyone at the party it made sense now why Joel had to move his tool belt to the next hole for it to fit.

“Whatcha lookin’ at hot stuff?” You smirk, standing in the doorway of the adjoining bathroom with your toothbrush in hand.

“Thinkin’ I need to go on a diet,” Joel huffs out, turning towards you with his hands on his hips.

“The fuck would you do that for?!”

“Tommy’s ri—“

“I swear if the next words out of your mouth are Tommy’s right.” You pout, trying your best to not let the toothpaste escape your mouth as you move back into the bathroom, spitting into the sink, “I’m gonna kill ‘em.”

Going back to the bedroom, you sit on the edge of the bed, watching Joel find his pajamas for the night. Sure, he’s gotten thicker in the middle since you got pregnant. His pants fit a bit tighter around his thighs. His chest, oh god his chest, the way your hands grip onto the meaty pecs he has now. You make a small noise at the memory of this morning before the girls woke up, and how you rode him as best you could with your swollen belly in the way, slick pooling in your underwear.

“What?” Joel asks, turning to look at you, noticing that feral glint in your eyes. He’s seen it more and more as the months have gone by. Sarah’s mom was nothing compared to you at this stage in pregnancy. Revved up and ready to go 24/7 these days.

“Tommy’s got it totally wrong,” you grin, “I love the way you look these days Joel.”

“Yeah?” Joel smiles shyly, rubbing the back of his neck, turning to face you, “what.. uh.. what about it?”

“Dad bod through and through,” you hum, adjusting on the bed to sit a little further back. “Was thinking about this morning, how I can hold onto your chest a little better with your pecs being a little softer.”

“Yeah?” Joel grins, watching your eyes track his fingers as they open the first couple buttons of his flannel, his chest barely peeking out through the fabric, “Should I put on a show?”

“I wanna see my man!” you let out a breath nodding your head eagerly.

“Feel like we need some music or something,” Joel says, letting out a shy laugh, trailing his palms down the front of his shirt, popping open more of the buttons. You begin humming 70’s porno music, “No thank you, that’s enough.”

You shrug letting out a giggle as he continues unbuttoning his shirt, his strong chest and thick belly being revealed as he rips the flannel shirt back in a dramatic fashion, spreading his legs wide and tilting his head to sway his curls behind him.

“Jesus Christ, Napoleon Dynamite. Ya gonna take it off or what?”

“‘Scuse me?” Joel asks, straightening up, pinning you with a look, pulling his flannel back over his shoulders, “Listen, I’ve never done this for anybody. I’d ‘preciate if ya didn’t make rude comments.”

You clear your throat and lean your arms back against the bedding to prop yourself up, “Sorry, horny goblins took over, proceed.”

With his flannel shirt open, he starts flipping his belt open, stalking towards you, nodding your head at this new development, sliding his belt out quickly from his belt loops causing a gasp to escape your lips.

“Mmmm,” you moan softly, thighs squeezing together, and squirming on the bed “Joel. You look so fucking good like this.”

Joel spins around to show you his backside before slipping one shoulder of the flannel off, turning his head to the side with a smirk as he slowly slides it off his arm, followed by the other. You hear the button and zipper of his jeans sliding down. He begins teasing you with his jeans, dropping them some before pulling them back up and swiveling his hips, he puts one foot on the opposite leg to try and help pull the leg out.

“Fuck!” He yelps, as he falls back sitting on you, “Shit that wasn’t supposed to happen!”

“Ow!” You groan, smacking his ass to get him to move. He rolls off you to lay beside you on the bed.

“You good?” Joel asks, laying on his side next to you, placing his palm on your belly.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you grin, placing your hand on top of his with a sigh. “No Magic Mike in here, but for your first attempt that was good Miller,” you add with a smirk.

“Fuck you,” Joel grins, leaning up to kiss you.

“Fuck. Please!” You groan, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

[shadow4-1]

“Dying alone.” You hummed, running the brush through your horse’s hair. “Y’know, it’s been weighing on me.”

Price huffed out a soft breath and nuzzled his graying muzzle against your palm. You smiled at him, rubbing your knuckles over the soft fuzz of his snout. When you’d first got him he’d been a young workhorse too ornery for any ranch hand in the county. After doing some research, you figured out he was a European breed, one not meant for the rough hands of your fellow Americans. You’d gotten him cheap, and yet his training came at a ‘price’. It took awhile for you to learn his ins an outs but he quickly grew to become your favorite - as well as your oldest. He was the first member of your ranch after all.

“I’ve never wanted to look for a man. They’re so gross, Price.” You sighed, working a few tangles out of his short, dark mane. “They always say they want me for me, but really they just want the ranch.”

There was a short bark from the door of the barn. A black and white, muscular dog stood waiting for your command. You tsked at him and he slowly came trotting up to you, head low to the ground in a submissive posture. The closer he came, the more you noticed the white fur surrounding his eyes and snout - starting to gray like Price’s.

“C’mere Ghost.” You hummed.

The dog obliged and pressed the top of his head into your hand. Ghost was such a mutt. You’d picked him up as a pup from a mean roadside vendor. If you had to guess, he had some kind of German Shepherd in him. Maybe some Rottweiler or Pit Bull? You couldn’t be sure. But what you did know, is that -

“Aw, look at my best boy! You’re my best boy!” You baby talked, squishing his chunky face. Ghost just licked his lips in indignation but made no move to escape your hold. Price snorted loudly and pawed at the ground, upset that you stopped brushing his mane.

“Okay okay. I get it.” You laughed. “Let me just finish up here!”

-

There wasn’t any field tending that needed to be done, so you sent Price off to the fenced in pasture. Despite his age, he kicked up dirt and pranced about in delight. You smiled at the old horse before heading back to the barn. Ghost sat patiently outside, his metal tags glinting in the sunlight.

“Okay, boy. Show time.”

And just like that, all hell seemed to break loose. Ghost ran into the barn and started to bark. While usually subdued, this time his bark was loud and mighty. The sheep and cows stirred in their pens. The chickens squawked from their roosts. You threw open the barn with a mighty heave. And just like that, the animals were also let out into the fenced pasture.

The cows bounded out happily, their bells clanging. Then came the half dozen sheep and their young lambs, followed by a dozen assorted chickens. You sprinkled chicken feed and enjoyed the morning mayhem. A rooster made himself known from the pack by standing up straight, puffing out his chest, and crowing with so much might you thought he might hurt himself. You poured a bit of feed in your hand before crouching down.

“Here Johnny, Johnny.” You giggled, shaking your hand.

The large rooster strutted up to you with absolutely no fear. He ruffled his feathers and clucked at you before eating the feed right out of your hand. When he was done, he let you pet him. If you wanted to pick him up, you easily could’ve. Most mornings you spent with him on your hip. Despite how amazing of a rooster he was, he never got violent with you. Now, any other hired help, it was a different story. Come to think of it, none of your animals really worked for anyone else but you.

“Sorry Johnny.” You sighed, standing up and taking a step back. “Gotta trim-woah!”

Something hard nudged firmly against your rear. You regained your balance and looked behind you.

“Kyle!” You scolded. “Yes, yes! You’re going out to the pasture too!”

The large billy goat bleated at you and rubbed the top of his de-horned head against your hip, as if to scratch himself on your belt. With a soft pat to his head, you lead him through the pasture and farther into the green grass. It took him a minute, but after taking a glance at Price on the other end of the field, he began to run towards him. The two creatures met in the middle and began to play.

You weren’t entirely sure why those two got along so well, but they certainly did. Price playfully nipped at Kyle’s short tail. Kyle just bleated in excitement and tried to ram his head into the old horse’s leg. They were a funny little duo, that was certain.

And with that, you began to finish up your morning chores. You collected the eggs and the fresh milk from the gallon jugs in the barn. You cleaned up the stalls and polished Price’s riding tack. Once you made sure everyone had fresh food and water you decided to go inside and clean up. Today was an easy day. All you would be responsible for was to bring the animals back in as well as feed yourself.

You showered, dressed in a flowy white sundress, and headed outside. You sat out in the pasture, under the shade of the old oak tree and your floppy sun hat. This day was like no other. After enjoying a bowl of fruit and a glass of iced tea it didn’t take long for you to doze off in your favorite lawn chair.

-

You dreamed that you were taking Price back to the stables after a good ride around the ranch. It was late, and the southern heat was oppressive. You wiped the sweat off Price’s back with an old towel as your removed his tack.

“Y’know. Despite your age, y’ still give a girl a great ride.” You chuckled at the old horse. You rubbed his snout. He snorted at you and you giggled. “You have no clue what I’m talking about.”

With another laugh, you turned to the stall's gate. You opened it just enough to reach to the built in shelf next to it. You dug your hand into a small box and swiped a handful of sugar cubes from within it. You turned, hand outstretched to offer it to Price. Except, when you turned, there was no longer a horse.

Standing there, completely nude, was a human man.

You gasped in shock and took a step back, hitting the edge of the stall’s wall. He took a step forward, blue eyes glittering. He eyed the sugar cubes you now clutched tightly in your palm. He reached forward, prying them from your grip, before hungrily tossing them into his mouth. He ate them with no discomfort and even smiled as he swallowed them down.

“Thanks, Love.” He licked his lips, remnants of the glittery sugar still caught in his mustache.

“P-Price?” You squeaked.

“Who else would it be?”

You had half a mind to run, but you were so enamored with the thought that your precious horse could be a human. He stepped even farther forward, boxing you into the corner of the wooden stall. Your head hit the wall, making the various items hung up shudder from the impact. Price unhooked one of the ancient reins away from the top of your head before dropping it into the fresh hay at your feet. He admired his hands for a second and so did you.

“I-you-wh-what is going on?” You managed out. “This is some kind of joke, right?”

Price didn’t seem to hear you as he tried to get a feel for his own body. You watched in shock and arousal as he flexed his arm muscles and observed the firm ripples of his own chiseled abdomen. He petted down his belly and admired the thick curls that trailed over his cock. He gripped at it, tugged at it experimentally before seeming to realize something important.

“Ready for that ride, Love?”

[arcane-vagabond]

Don't Hang'em Til Noon Masterlist

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a notorious leader within the Dagger Gang of the old western territories of the United States. You, a recently orphaned socialite from the eastern seaboard, find yourself swept off to live with your older brother who has set down roots in said western territory. Determined to to make the best of your situation, what will you do when said outlaw sets his sights on you?

Series CW: Swearing, violence, period related violence and swearing, slow burn, fluff, (eventual) smut, enemies to lovers in a way, suggestive language, references to prostitution, firearms, etc. Chapter specific warnings will be included.

A/N: This is gonna be my first ever fanfiction series that I've ever written. Kind of excited for it, not gonna lie. Anyway, started this blog because I have very specific needs for fanfic, and apparently I've gotta do everything myself, so...enjoy. This work is also being published on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator.

All posts related to this series will be tagged as "DHTN" and "Don't Hang'em Til Noon"

*Denotes smut

Meet our heroine!

Last updated: 11.27.23 (Complete)

Masterlist || DPU Masterlist || Fan Art || Moodboards || Playlist 1 || Playlist 2

Series;

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five*

Chapter Six*

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine*

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve*

Drabbles;

The first time Jake sees Scout...

Scout gets the laundry

Jake teaches Scout how to play baseball

Scout and Jake spend Christmas together

Scout finds Jake asleep

Scout and Jake wake up

Pregnant sex with Jake*

Jake gets hired on as a ranch hand

You call Jake "baby boy" in bed*

Isaac's attack from Jake's POV

The morning after Chapter Six

Scout talks to Jake while he sleeps

Jake carves the horse for Scout

Jake thinks about his and Scout’s fight

Jake's POV while being arrested...

Penny and Mav talk about Jake and Scout...

Scout meets Sarah and Billy

The jail scene from Jake's POV...

Tom and Jake's Relationship...

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Fuck It Friday It’s Saturday what if i try to just write a whole fic right here in a tumblr post

Okay Brick from the future here after i have indeed written a fic right here in a tumblr post, warning for some homophobia (described past high school experiences from Eddie). Based on this post. Have not reread it at all before hitting post so good luck hopefully it’s more or less cohesive

Was tagged in fuck it Friday by uh somebody probably but i can’t find it in my notes. Tagging — oh it’s like 11 o clock, so this can be for seven sentence Sunday? — @bigfootsmom @iinryer @shitouttabuck @chronicowboy @eddiebabygirldiaz @queerdiazs @butchdiaz @homerforsure

The music is turned down low now, because it’s late, and even though the sprawling backyard of the ranch house is far, far away from any neighbors the event coordinators were still firm about a noise curfew and it would be a shame for such a lovely wedding to end with a visit from some of Athena’s coworkers. Most of the lights in the house are off or dimmed — beds and couches littered with the young and the old and the drunk — so the only lights out here are the strings of fairy lights and little jars with bulbs in the lid that remind Buck of sneaking out to the park with Maddie to catch lightning bugs back in Pennsylvania. The murky light and the quiet make everything feel soft as Buck stands on the porch, bare feet on creaky wood. He’s not sure where his shoes got off to, removed at some point when the dancing had started to pinch his heels. His throat burns a little from all the talking — and maybe that last vodka sour — and his eyes sort of itch from all the crying earlier. (Eddie had frowned at him, three of his fingers pressed into his elbow, as Buck had wept through the ceremony. A clear are you okay? And Buck had only nodded, because talking would have been rude, and despite everything that might make it seem otherwise, he really was.) He thinks Eddie might be the only person left here that he knows, the rest of the 118 departing in the last hour or two, though he’s not sure where he is, either. Maybe the same place as his shoes.

“Buck.”

Not with his shoes, then. Buck watches as Eddie stumbles towards him across the lawn from wherever he’d been. Dancing, maybe. He’s sweaty, his cheeks are cheerfully pink and he’s grinning with all his teeth showing. Buck steps down into the grass to meet him. “Hey, Eds.”

“Hello,” Eddie says, soft and pleased. He looks all over Buck’s face, over his now disheveled suit with the jacket hanging on the railing behind him and down at his missing shoes. Eddie frowns at that. “Your feet’ll get cold.”

Buck wiggles his toes in the dewy lawn. “I’ll be okay.” When he looks back up Eddie has an expression on his face that he can’t quite read but has been frequently present, lately. And then there’s a laugh across the yard, and both turn to look. Tommy. Loud, and full of that kind of breathless, disbelieving joy that- well, Buck hadn’t really heard from him before recently.

“I don’t-” Eddie stops, and Buck watches out of the corner of his eye as he shakes his head, looks up at Buck. “How are you just okay with this?”

Buck tilts his head almost sideways as he turns back to look at him. “It’s true love, man. How could I be upset with that?”

Eddie doesn’t roll his eyes, but Buck can tell he wants to. “I don’t even know- if that even exists. You gotta- you work on it. Or… I don’t know. He just saw this fucking guy across a crowded bar, and, what, fucking bam, Cupid’s arrow?”

“There’s a little more history than that,” Buck protests, even though, yeah, that is kind of what happened. They’d been at a club over in WeHo and Tommy had stopped frozen-dead in his tracks on the way from the dance floor to the bar, staring with some combination of awe-fear-grief-anger-longing all over his face at some guy, around Tommy’s age or maybe a little older, sandwiched between two big jock types all grinding on each other, one of them sucking an impressive hickey onto his shoulder next to the strap of his tastefully tight tank top. Tommy had stumbled closer like a man bewitched, and had gasped out “Sal?” In a way that had made Buck think, Ah. Time’s up. He’d lingered a respectful distance back as the two of them had an intense little conversation, though the club was loud enough he probably wouldn’t have heard much if he’d come closer. And he went home with Tommy that night and sat on his bed as he’d paced around his little bedroom and talked about years shitty jokes and stupid, over performed masculinity, and wanting, and “-the last I heard he was fucking married, I’ve met Sandra, he has two kids-”, and when Tommy got a phone call the next day — an invitation to lunch, to talk — he’d looked at Buck and said “I’m so sorry- I’m so sorry, but I-” and Buck had kissed his cheek and said “Go.” And, now, not even quite three months later, a wedding. The whole 118 had been invited, and had gone mostly in solidarity to Buck, and everybody had been making a lot of meaningful eye contact over their drinks as he’d elbowed them to quit it.

“Dance with me.”

“What?” Buck blinks back to the present, feet in the grass, Eddie warm and close next to him.

“Dance with me, Buckley,” Eddie sighs, dramatic, petulant, a smile shining through his put upon attitude. He’s been cutting it up all night, spinning Karen around and around, dancing with Sal’s mostly cordial ex-wife and sisters and aunts and cousins. He even took Tommy for a turn at one point, while Buck had busied himself with downing whatever was in the glass Ravi handed him so he wouldn’t have to look at either of their faces.

“I’ll step on your toes,” Buck warns, turning fully towards him and vaguely holding up his hands for Eddie to do whatever it is that needs to happen to make the dancing start.

Eddie snorts, moves one of Buck’s hands to his shoulder and holds the other, and taps his shiny dress shoe very gently into Buck’s big toe. “Do your worst.”

Buck, historically, by any metric you care to measure by, is a terrible dancer. Bobby, who himself only manages the old man party shuffle, has looked on his lack of rhythm in abject despair. Eddie, though, Eddie can dance, and he does it so well it makes his dancing partner’s look good, too. They move through the grass halfway competently, movements kind-of smooth. Buck only feels polished leather under his feet once or twice. “You’re real good at this.”

Eddie nods as he pulls Buck into a little spin. “Took lessons, back in high school.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm.” He’s staring at Buck’s shoulder. “Sophia had lessons I had to drive her to, one of the instructors mentioned classes for older kids.” He shrugs. “Seemed fun.”

“In high school?” Something about the question makes Eddie’s shoulders get a little tight, but he nods. “And you played baseball? Damn, I never knew how anybody could have multiple extra curriculars, I barely made every football practice as it is.”

Eddie shrugs again, eyes still fixed on rumpled cotton. “I liked it.” Step, step, step, spin. “Took Shannon a few times, but she didn’t really like the structure of it, just wanted to get to the dancing part.” A little smile. “You bet I gave her shit when she got a leg cramp line dancing one time. Shoulda stretched.”

Buck laughs. “Did you stretch before coming here?”

“Yeah.”

Buck laughs harder, throwing his head back. They’re far enough out of the city that there are stars in the sky, and he gets distracted looking up at them for a moment, finding any constellation he knows. When he looks back down Eddie’s staring at his shoulder again.

“I could dance because of the baseball,” he says, quiet. “Because… Shannon, and I played sports, and I… you know.” He looks up at Buck, eyes dark away from any bright light. “I could laugh it off. When people said it was gay. Because I wasn’t.”

“Oh,” Buck says. He doesn’t know what else to say, about the reminders of what high school was like in the aughts, or about the past tense. He thinks maybe he should apologize, but Eddie keeps talking.

“Not in like a- I wasn’t tortured about it. I didn’t even think about it. It was- that’s not- it wasn’t even a possibility.” His palm sweats against Buck’s and his other hand burning against his side, and still they keep dancing, never losing the beat of the song. “One time… Aaron Dewitt called me a… you know. And everybody just started laughing, because, like. Man. That’s Eddie, he was just making out with his girlfriend under the bleachers, what the fuck are you on about.” He smiles, all wrong, and the way his voice gets lighter isn’t very light at all. “All those guys were begging me for moves before senior prom.”

“Eddie-”

“Buck!” Tommy stumbles in from the side, not even waiting for Eddie to retreat so his arm ends up awkwardly trapped between them as he plasters himself to Buck, hands on either his side of his face. He’s had a lot of champagne tonight, as Buck thinks is his right, and it’s made him unsteady on his feet in a way he knows most other drinks don’t. It’s the sugar, he’d said once. Goes right to my head. “Buck.”

“Hi,” Buck laughs a little, smelling the drink on his breath. “Hey, Tommy.”

“I love you,” Tommy says, sincere and eyes watering. “Thank you for coming. Thank you for- for everything. I didn’t- I never thought I’d get to have this.”

Buck thinks that he’s practically glowing, has been all night, getting even more supernova bright every time his now-husband touches his arm or side or back or anywhere and smiles a private little smile at him. “I’m really glad you do, Tommy. Love you, too.”

Tommy kisses his cheek, a little slobbery. “We’re gonna leave now, but I just wanted to say bye. I hope you had a good time. Sorry for- or- thank you-”

“I had a wonderful time,” Buck says, releasing Tommy from drunkenly trying to find an end to that sentence. They’ve had some version of this conversation several times already, Tommy always guilty and happy in dizzying little circles, and Buck hopes he can bury the guilt in the soft dirt they’re standing on and go on to live with just the happiness. “Have a great night.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, laughing and nodding. “Yeah. Bye, Buck.”

“Bye, Tommy.”

They watch him hurry back across the yard, falling into Sal’s arms with the easy confidence of someone who knows without a doubt that he’ll be caught. Eddie’s arm is still across Buck’s chest where it had been stuck.

“I know you’ve said you’re fine with it-”

“About a thousand times, yeah, to you and everybody else we know-”

“Come on, man.” Eddie shifts his arm a little, up, so he can grab and shake Buck’s shoulder. The angle they’re standing at has caught the light, and Eddie’s eyes are gold again. “It’s me. Are you okay with this?

Buck thinks about high school, and all the things he didn’t think about either right up until Tommy Kinard kissed him in the kitchen. He thinks about Hen’s sky high eyebrows when she heard the news, and her and Chimney’s stories about the bad old days and the kind of person Sal seemed to be. He thinks about change, and how much it can happen to a person and how quickly, and how you just have to trust, sometimes, that people have grown and learned. He thinks about Eddie, and things that are impossible, and dancing, and- he laughs, sudden and loud enough that Eddie startles, because, fuck. This is exactly how it happened in the club, too. Seeing someone you know like the back of your hand in a new light and- bam.

When the laughter calms in his throat, Buck looks down at Eddie. “Really, I swear I’m fine with it. I had a really nice time with Tommy. He was… kind, and safe, and patient. I really liked him- I really like him. I hope I keep getting, you know, Christmas cards or whatever. I’m really happy he got his romcom ending. I mean- I kind of wish it was with a guy who doesn’t seem so much like an asshole-” Buck grins as Eddie snorts, “-but, uh, Hen says judging your exes taste in men is, like, a gay right of passage or something, so.”

Eddie nods once, twice, and then his eyes get a little wide, the way they do when he’s being brave. “So then, what does it mean if I’m judging Tommy for you?”

“He’s your friend, too,” Buck protests past the way his heart is thudding in his chest, because Tommy deserves defending here, probably. He kicks softly at Eddie’s shin. “You came to the wedding, don’t-”

“You’re not my ex,” Eddie says. He steps backward, and again, and they’re dancing again. “So. Still a right of passage?”

Buck’s palms are sweating, now. “You’ve never liked my taste in women, either.”

Eddie makes an unconvincing noise of denial. “I… thought…”

“Yeah?” Buck raises an eyebrow, and Eddie’s face twitches with how hard he’s trying not to grin.

“That… Ali… was fine.”

Buck cackles, and Eddie pulls him in closer and laughs into his collarbone. “You were so judgy when she dumped me, are you kidding, your fucking stink face every time-”

“You’re not my ex,” Eddie says again, loud, getting them back on track, standing upright but not moving any further away. They’re pressed together chest to knee. “Buck.”

“Yeah?”

They spin in a slow circle. “I’m pretty good at dancing, and- probably not so good at baseball anymore, but- well I dunno, maybe. We could go to a batting cage sometime. Anyway.” Spin and spin. “I guess I… do think about it, now. I think about- and there were a lot of things I thought were impossible, and weren’t, really. And- and I’m not in high school, and…” They slow, and stop, and Buck thinks Eddie’s hands and eyes are, probably, the warmest things on the whole entire planet. “We could go home and I could wait till tomorrow to ask you to lunch to talk about things, but we’re both already here.”

Buck laughs, and wonders if anyone listening to him would hear a kind of breathless, disbelieving joy. “You wanna take me to lunch?”

“Mhm. I was thinking we could get sandwiches.”

Buck laughs, and laughs, almost falling over with it, but that’s fine. He knows Eddie will catch him.

[stridersdiner]

Rancher!Graves x gn!Reader

Quiet mornings with Phil.

The ol' rambler house, on the ranch property.

For once, he sleeps in. Not by much, only just as the sky starts getting lighter. The sheets are crumpled over the both of you, legs tangled together and arms sprawled. He pulls you closer subconsciously as he slowly opens his eyes, grunting at the sight of one of the dogs staring up at him from your side of the bed.

He tries his best to slip out of bed without waking you, bless his heart, but it's difficult when he's just pulling himself off the mattress and you paw over his side, eyebrows furrowing when you don't feel him near.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he leans back down to kiss your forehead. "You can go back t' sleep if you want."

You pull at his shirt, trying your best to pull him back to sweet slumber, but his chest rumbles with quiet laughter.

"C'mon, baby, y'know I gotta get up." He runs a hand through your hair, thumb brushing over your cheek before his hand settles on the nape of your neck. "I'll make y' some tea, alright?"

He pulls away hesitantly, tucking you back under the blanket before he pads out of the room to brush his teeth. You drag yourself up eventually, clutching one of the brightly coloured throws around your shoulders as you make your way to the kitchen.

Phil can't help but smile as you waddle in, and he hugs you until the kettle starts whistling.

Mugs of tea and coffee in hand as you two sit on the big rocking chairs on the front porch. It's serene; gentle breeze brushing through the grass, birds chirping, dogs resting by their feet. He sighs, sinking back into the rocker as the sun pulls itself up from over the horizon.

He decides to take an easy day, making up his mind after making his rounds to check up on and feed the animals. The kitchen is warm, low hum of the radio as you work over the stove. He smiles as he kicks off his boots and pulls his gloves off in the mudroom, and he slips into the washroom to scrub his hands.

"Phil?" Called from the kitchen.

"Yes, puddin'?" He says, pulling himself around to the kitchen, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans.

You turn you head to look at him over your shoulder, and you smile at him. His heart melts.

"Made us some breakfast."

"Little late for that, ain't it?"

He slides up behind you, strong arms snaking around your waist and his nose burying in the crane of your neck while he watches you twirl the handle of the spatula in your hand.

"Better late than never."

"Thank you, angel."

Babes that wanted to be tagged:

@mockerycrow @kivino

[i-heart-yellowstone]

1 - Lot Happens in Ten Years

Part 2

Raised Fair Share Of Hell

I’m not sure all of the chapters will be this long but here’s the first part. If you have any questions my ask is open for them

Tag list - send an ask to be added @bvbwestfall @hcwthewestwaswcn @child-of-of-the-sunshine @elenavampire21 @keep-the-wolves-close

“This is Kayce, leave a message and I’ll try to get back with ya.” I dialed his phone number but it went straight to voicemail so I put my phone in the cup holder. I put my attention back on the road in front of me with the rain hitting the windshield as the sun was setting on the land.

Tapping on the call button I dialed him again, getting a voicemail where I sighed deciding to leave him a voicemail and he’d call me back later. “Hey Kace, I’ve tried callin’ you a couple times but you haven’t called me back. I just really need to talk to you about something - I uh - went to the baby doctor today. I won’t get into the details on a voicemail - but I just need you to call me.”

Kayce and I had been in each other's life since we were five years old. It wasn’t too hard when we finally started dating at our eighth grade prom. Although the sheriff when we were in high school ain’t too fond of us when we would throw parties at my families ranch and we would get in trouble when Kayce’s dad came over to pick up his kid. Only to find that we had snuck alcohol out of the basement. That only turned into a few more charges giving us the nickname of “Montana’s Bonnie and Clyde”.

My phone started vibrating and I saw Kayce’s name pop up on the screen so I immediately hit answer. “Kayce?”

“Hey Lissa Rae, I’m sorry I missed your calls. I’ve just been dealing with Monica.” He responded through the phone. “The one that I hooked up with at Kelsea’s party a few months ago.”

I gripped the steering wheel in my hands. “Oh believe I remember.”

“Look, I know what you’re thinking. But there’s nothing going on between us - or at least there wasn’t supposed to be.”

Knitting my brows together in confusion. “Kayce, where are you at right now?”

“Monica’s house.”

I slammed my foot down on the brakes and nearly threw my phone through the windshield. “Kayce John Dutton! I have something really big to tell you and I don’t want to have to be around the girl who nearly destroyed our relationship when she came to brag to me about sleeping with you a few days later.”

“Alissa, please believe me when I say I would never destroy what we have to be with her. There’s just something I have to take care of with her.”

Brushing some hair out of my face I leaned back against the seat headrest. “Kayce, just come out and say what you need to talk with her about.”

“I think it’s just easier if she tells you herself.” He responded.

Sliding a hand down my face I quickly tried to think of what could be going on between them. But I kept drawing a blank so I had to just go see it for myself in person. “I’m coming to your location.” I turned the truck back onto the road nearly speeding to her house address that he had texted me.

Slamming the truck door closed when I got out I stomped up the porch stairs, banging on the front door where it was opened by the very girl I wanted to punch. “Alissa - Kayce said you were coming by.”

“Where the hell is Kayce?” I snapped at her pushing my way past her and she gently shut the door.

“In the kitchen. Can I get you something to drink?”

I ignored her question entering the kitchen seeing my best friend sitting at her kitchen table avoiding my gaze when I came in. “I’m here. So what is happening that I needed to see in person?”

“I didn’t think it would happen.” He ran a hand over his mouth not answering the question.

Monica stepped into the room we were in, reaching inside her pocket taking out a tiny white stick. “I’m going to try and keep it if he agrees to help me.” I took it from her hands finally realizing it was a pregnancy test.

“You gotta be kidding me. Kayce, you aren’t thinking about it are you?”

He ran his fingers through his messy brown curls. “I just didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t want us to break up but I know this isn’t the life you wanted. Especially when your dad doesn’t really like me at the moment.”

“My daddy ain’t probably let you ever step foot on our front porch now either.” I clutched the pregnancy test in my hands.

Kayce lifted his head up, soft brown doe eyes meeting my gaze. “Alissa, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it with her in the room.” I spun around in my boots running out the front door out onto the front porch and to my surprise the front door creaked open and closed shut before I felt his arm touch my shoulder.

“Alissa, hey talk to me. What’s happening, what has you so upset?”

I stared out at the empty scenery in front of us. “Are you going to choose her now that she’s keeping the baby?”

“No! I mean yes she’s pregnant but she was more drunk than I was that night. And besides it’s her choice on what she does with her body and the baby. But I don’t get it. What does that have to do with us?”

Spinning around to face him I began sobbing heavy tears, reaching into my jacket taking out a picture the doctor gave me. I had been getting sick for almost two months before my mother took me to the doctor and we found out why. But I hadn’t told my father yet - or the father yet until now. “I went to a doctor today when my momma thought I had gotten really sick from a cold and we found something out.”

“What is this, Lissa?” He takes the printed out picture from my hand scanning it over.

I wrapped my arms around my body leaning against the fence still letting some tears fall down my face. “The night we first slept together apparently put a baby in me easier than we thought it would be.”

“You’re pregnant.” Kayce finally put the pieces together.

I nodded my head slowly yes, scared for his reaction. “We’re pregnant, Kace.”

He didn’t say a word for a very long time making the nerves in the pit of my stomach grow bigger with every passing second. I didn’t want to pressure him to be a part of the kids' life but I knew it would be hard if I kept it. Regardless of the reassurance my mother gave me at the hospital. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

“Yes and I understand if Monica’s pregnancy was enough of a scare. Then I can figure out what I’m going to do on my own.” I gulped feeling the nervousness getting the better of me. I did my best to run around the young Dutton and head down the stairs to leave. “I should go. I’ll see ya later Kayce.”

He spun around grabbing my wrist quickly twirling me around so I was facing him. “Woah there. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

“Oh yeah right. Because I bet you are just overjoyed to be a teen dad.” I sent him a snarky remark. His father and mine could likely agree that us as teen parents wouldn’t work out in the long run.

Kayce gently held onto my shoulders looking down at me since I was just barely shorter compared to the height he was. “I’m not gonna lie and say I’m not scared of this but I am happy to be with you. And I’ll be happy when we have this baby together.”

“Awe Kayce…” I sniffed through tears burying my face into his shirt and he wrapped his arms around my body holding me close. I wrapped my fingers around the fabric of his jacket crying happy tears into his chest.

Footsteps came out onto the porch where we separated from each other slightly seeing Monica scowling at us. “So you’re picking the ranching Lambert girl over me now.”

“I’m dating her, Monica.” He responded to her.

I glared at her. “He can choose whatever he wants to do. Just like we can choose to keep the babies we’re having.”

“She has a family that can help her. I live on the Resveration so we don’t have everything you do.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

Kayce draped an arm over my shoulder and I laid my head against his chest before he began planning a way out of this situation before it got more intense. “Monica, look I’m choosing Alissa. But I am willing to help you out if you’ll let me. What do you think about that?”

“I suppose so.” She swayed from side to side.

I stared at her silently for a few minutes. “Maybe one day we’ll look back on this moment and laugh. And who knows we might just be able to work this out as a team.” She didn’t say anything yet I felt Kayce’s comforting hand intertwining down with mine telling me no matter what she did we would make it through this.

10 years later

Sliding my muddy brown work boots I rose to my feet looking at myself in the mirror while I finished twisting the end of my braid together. My eyes scanned over the rack with hats and jackets inside of our bedroom near the door. A familiar dark tan hat hung above my brown jacket. I heard a patter of footsteps run down the hallway and stop outside the door. “Little Rae, what are you doing up this early?”

“Couldn’t sleep when daddy promised he’d take me on a ride.” Her innocent voice replied back.

I snatched my hat from the hook and opened the door seeing my soon to be ten year old daughter standing in the doorway. “Well I think we will have to go find your daddy cause he’s already started work for the day.” His side of the bed covers was tossed over and I didn’t see his familiar black Cowboy hat in the bedroom.

My nine year old daughter stuck her tongue out. “But he said he would and he never breaks a pinky promise.”

“Don’t worry, Faith. I’m sure he just was expecting you to still be sleeping. Your little butt doesn’t normally wake at six in the morning.” I bent down picking her up in my arms and made our way down the wooden stairs of the Dutton house.

She laid her down in the crook of my neck. “Pinky promises are important, mommy.”

“Believe me I know.” I answered in agreement looking down at her in my arms. Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy braid that resembles a younger me. Yet her eyes always show me a younger version of her father. We had finally made it out of the house and onto the porch seeing John was saddling up his horse for the morning ride where I walked over to him. “Morning John, have you seen Kayce?”

He shakes his head no opening his arms for his granddaughter. “No I haven’t. Come here Faithy Rae and give grandpa a hug.” She ran forward once I sat her feet on the dirt ground embracing him.

“Oh I think I see him but why’s he in his truck?” I heard the sound of a truck pulling in down our long driveway of the ranch recognizing Kayce’s truck that parked directly in front of the house.

The driver and passager doors were open and closed before I saw some black hair blowing in the wind and a set of small feet behind whoever it was till I saw who it was. “Hey baby.” Kayce walked up to me with Monica and her son Tate followed.

“Don’t hey baby me, Dutton.” I snapped at him crossing my arms over my chest. “What are they doing here?”

Kayce dropped the half smile he had on his face, rubbing the back of his neck and shifted his gaze over to his father. “He asked to know his other grandkid.” I glanced over my shoulder with John and our daughter looking at our interaction.

I certainly still wasn’t used to this situation that was created ten years ago.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[itsthesinbin]

Sins in Stardust [Chapter 6: Code Dorito: Cool Ranch] (Bill Cipher/Reader/Stanford Pines

Should go without saying that this is partially inspired by the Handyman Bill AU. I didn't wanna tag it as that, though, cause I'm not taking from that comic series' canon, just liked the general idea of it. We'll get into more shenanigans in the next couple chapters :3

Feedback appreciated!

Read the fic on AO3 here!

If you like it, reblog it!

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

Wendy went from half asleep to predatory as soon as the words left Soos’ mouth. She grabbed an entire handaxe from under the counter, hopping over it in an instant. People screamed and ran for the exit.

Bill yelled as Wendy ran at him with a war cry. He dropped the expensive merchandise, scurrying behind your legs and trying to shove you in the girl’s warpath. Good to know you were expendable, after everything. You held your hands up, grabbing the handle of the axe as she swung. Your arm trembled at the impact- she was swinging to kill. She looked at you angrily.

“Why’re you trying to kill me, lady?! I wasn’t gonna steal it!” Bill paused. “Yet.” The axe-wielding woman frowned, looking at her boss. Soos looked between all three of you, concerned.

“You tried to KILL us, you little freak!” Wendy reached around, grabbing him by the hoodie and dragging him out from behind you. His hood fell back, exposing his triangle head. Not that he was particularly well-hidden to begin with, admittedly. His brow furrowed.

“I’ve tried to kill a lot of people, but I do NOT remember you. And I’d remember a face like THAT,” Bill protested, pointing at Soos. Soos let out a sad “oh…”, before Bill’s protest hit them both. Wendy’s grip loosened enough for you to wrench Bill from her. He hurried to your side, instinctively trying to snap them dead. Of course, nothing happened. Soos and Wendy looked at each other.

“I think we gotta talk, dudes,” Soos said as Wendy groaned. Your jaw tightened and your eyes flicked to the axe in her hand. Looks like you didn’t have a choice. Bill looked at you incredulously, throwing his hands up.

“They just tried to kill me and you’re gonna TALK? You’re not gonna defend me with your life?! I thought we had something, Stardust!” He feigned betrayal, hand to his forehead. You took a deep breath.

“Bill, I felt you shoving me toward them.” “WITH YOUR LIFE!” You grabbed the finger that was pointing at you, moving it out of your face, and turned back to Soos and Wendy. You motioned for them to lead the way. Soos walked through the employee’s only door. Wendy used her axe, subtly reminding you who was in control, to gesture for you to follow her boss. Bill started to say something, but you grabbed him by the hood and dragged him with you.

“Don’t argue with the axe-wielding woman twice your size,” you hissed. He slapped your hand, jerking away from you. He glared at you, walking ahead of you so you were between him and Wendy. You crossed your arms, looking down at the floor.

You were led into a small living room. Soos offered you the chair, since you were the technically-innocent party. He went to grab a couple dining chairs to bring in. You vaguely heard him talking with someone off in the kitchen, before he returned with chairs. A woman with light brown hair and kind eyes followed him, said eyes going wide when she saw Bill. Bill shoved himself up into your seat, sitting on the arm rest next to you. He definitely wasn’t scared of a few humans and a sharp object. But he’d rather you be the meat shield. 

Soos sat down and, after she introduced herself, Melody went to get tea for everyone. Wendy stayed at the doorway, blocking the exit and swinging her axe at her side threateningly. Bill looked away from her. You wrung your hands nervously as Soos spoke.

“So uh… Thought you died, dude. How’d you avoid that?” Bill blinked, looking at Soos like he was an idiot. Then he laughed, kicking his feet back and crossing his arms as he got comfortable on his perch.

“Funny! I wouldn’t get killed by a few fancy water balloons!” Wendy rose a brow and Soos furrowed his own. Then they both snorted and started laughing. Bill turned red immediately.

“Do NOT laugh at me or I’ll slice out your tongues and feed 'em to you!” Wendy laughed harder while Soos clammed up. He turned to you instead, figuring he’d get a more coherent answer out of you.

“How uh… How’d you meet Bill? Did he possess you or something?” Not what you were expecting him to ask, but you guess a dream demon would be able to possess people. Thank fuck you met him when he was powerless.

“No. I was driving into town and went to camp for the night. I, uh… found his statue, I guess. Thought he was an abandoned art project and said I’d take him with me. Had a weird dream and I think an… Axolotl dropped him off in it? When I woke up, he was there.” Bill’s eye snapped to you. His pupil constricted like an angry cat’s. He jumped up, grabbing you by the collar.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING? THAT STUPID AMPHIBIAN, I SHOULD’VE GUESSED HE WAS INVOLVED,” Bill yelled, voice growing deep and layered again like it did that first day. You flinched. Wendy moved to grab him, but Soos was closer. With a harsh yank, Bill was pulled off of you. You barely knew Soos, but the look of anger was clearly not something that was common. Wendy’s shocked face was proof of that.

“Listen, dude. Only reason you’re NOT in one of Mr. Pines’ cages is cause I wanna figure out what’s goin’ on. Do that again and I’ll quit bein’ nice.” Bill struggled, slipping out of the hoodie to get away from the huge, angry man. Soos sneered slightly as he sat back down. He motioned to you. You swallowed.

“The guy didn’t know where… he was at first, and said he might have friends in town, so I brought him here. My car was totaled by some kinda… bear, so we’ve been crashing at the motel.” Soos nodded. Melody brought tea out for everyone, placing a hand on Soos’ shoulder. He turned his attention back to Bill, who was still pissed.

“So… you don’t remember almost killin’ us? When Mr. Pines wiped you out?” “What about weirdmageddon, you remember that bullshit?” Bill snapped to Wendy when she asked her question. He was still pissed, but it was mixed with confusion.

“Weirdma- DID IT ALREADY HAPPEN? How I- I don’t remember-? Who built the portal?” Bill asked frantically. Wendy’s jaw unclenched as she stood up straighter. Melody had a hand over her mouth. Soos leaned down, hand on his knee to balance himself. Bill whipped back to him.

“Does the name Stanford mean anything to you?” Bill stared for a long moment, going red again. His eye inverted colors.

“Who the FUCK is Stanford? Is that who built the portal? WHERE IS IT, YOU OVERGROWN FUNGUS?” He tried to swipe at Soos, but the guy jumped back. Wendy stood, slack-jawed. Soos rubbed his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. Melody squeezed his shoulders. He nodded to Wendy, cutting his eyes at you. Wendy seemed to understand as she tucked her axe into her belt loop. She came over to you, motioning for you to follow her to the kitchen. You hesitated, but followed. Bill tried to follow, but Soos blocked his path.

Wendy grabbed a couple sodas from the fridge, handing you one. She sat and kicked her feet up onto the table, taking a swig before pointing to you. You sat down slowly.

“You are one lucky son of a bitch,” she huffed. “If he was all there, you’d be dead.” She circled her temple with her finger, the universal sign of “that shithead’s crazy”. You frowned. Wendy ran a hand through her hair with a sigh. Then, she began to explain.

“We’ve all had dreams about that Axolotl- did it say anything to you?” You shook your head. You just remember Bill- or at least him as a kid- just appearing next to you. The only words spoken were from him. Wendy grumbled when you told her as such.

“Yeah, me neither- apparently he talked to Soos, though. Said it did some rap about Bill and redemption, but we all thought the guy just ate too many hot dogs in that contest. But I…” She trailed off, looking toward the door. You could hear Bill arguing with Soos, who kept asking if he remembered this or that. Bill was consistent in not remembering things, and you could hear the big guy wavering.

“I guess he really doesn’t remember anything… That throws a wrench in things.” You took a small sip of your drink, foot tapping nervously. You finally had to ask: What was weirdmageddon? Wendy cringed a little.

“I don’t know the full details, but Bill opened a portal to another dimension a couple years back that made everything… weird. He was from some nightmare dimension and brought it here. Tried to take over the world.” You were dead silent. You took a long drink of your soda, wishing it was alcohol.

“You are VERY lucky there’s a walking triangle in there, and I’ve been attacked by gnomes, or else I’d call you fucking insane.” Wendy couldn’t help but bark out a laugh. You felt… a bit at ease, knowing she wasn’t pissed at you. In fact, she even nodded in agreement.

“Man… if I didn’t live through so much bullshit, I’d agree with ya.” She rubbed her temple with her free hand. You tapped your fingers against the can. You two heard footsteps coming into the kitchen. Bill came in first, arms crossed. Soos was scratching his head.

“What should we do?” Both he and Wendy asked at the same time. Soos pulled a “jinx”, laughing as Wendy sighed. Bill groaned as he hauled himself into a chair. His tophat drooped angrily and he kicked his feet like a child. The top half of him was still a furious red. Soos coughed, ending his giggle fit. He put on his serious face again.

“Okay, dudes. I think Bill’s tellin’ the truth- that he doesn’t remember anything. He doesn’t remember Stan, Ford, Dipper, Mabel… Anything I asked.” Wendy sat up fully, planting her feet on the ground and soda can on the table.

“How do you know he isn’t lying, Soos?” “The Axolotl guy said he’d be back eventually, and that they’d explain when the time was right-.” Wendy stood up at that, pulling her axe back out. Bill jolted at the sight of it, hopping to his feet to run if need be.

“We don’t even know if THAT thing is good or not! I say we just kill him while he’s weak!” Now it was your turn to get up. You stood between Bill and Wendy, to both their surprise. You had a scowl on your face.

“I already ran from a mutated bear and a bunch of little bearded freaks with this guy- I’m not gonna just let you kill him.” Bill jumped up onto the table, putting a hand on your back.

“Yeah! My little minion here knows how to beat a gnome to a pulp- can't be too different, right?” You removed his hand from you, giving him a side eye. He was still doing his grin, not realizing you were mad at him. Maybe you should let him die, actually.

No, unfortunately you were a good person. You didn’t fully know if Bill DID actually do that weirdmageddon stuff. It’s two strangers’ word against the guy you barely know but had a prophetic dream about. One kinda outweighs the other, to an extent.

“Well… Mr Pines and Mr Ford’ll be comin’ home in a month. We could keep him here ‘til then?” Soos offered. Bill threw his hands up.

“I am NOT staying at this shit shack for a month!” You frowned.

“Do you promise you won’t kill him?” “Only if he doesn’t try anything with us.” Wendy squinted at Bill, and Soos had his arms crossed. You turned to Bill. He was pissed.

“Bill, think about it. These two out right had a code for you, and almost killed you. If you really DID do all they said, the whole town will be at your throat if they find out you’re here.” Bill started to speak. Then he deflated. He had no power, no memory of even BRINGING armageddon to this place, and only had one person willing to help him. And apparently that Axolotl was involved, somehow.

“I’m… NOT staying here alone! Not after I almost got axed!” Bill looked at you, still pissed but… He almost had a desperation to him. Your face scrunched slightly, thinking. You knew you couldn’t just abandon Bill, but you didn’t know about staying here with the axe lady and her boss. You sighed.

“We’re staying in town- I don’t have a car, and he’s a fugitive apparently. What if we just… come back sometimes?” Wendy was instantly on the fence.

“No way, I don’t trust that little tortilla chip as far as I can throw him.” “WHO ARE YOU CALLING-?” You put a hand over Bill’s eye to tell him to shut him up. He shoved your hand away angrily. Soos put a hand over his mouth in thought. Then he snapped, a grin on his face.

“You need a job for the summer, dude?”

[pretending-ican-write]

Cowboy Up - Pt. 12

A/N: Apologies for the radio silence for so long but it's been hectic getting my dissertation finished! I only have a few more weeks of assignments left and then uni is done which is very scary. For now enjoy this part! As always let me know if you want to be added to the tag list or send any requests you have for this pairing!

I make no claim that my ranching knowledge is accurate, it's all made up.

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader

Previous part - Next part

---

The first colours of the day are starting to paint the sky when y/n stepped out of the house, hat securely on her head and cooler full of food for Gator who was waiting for her.  She dropped it next to the stone grill in exchange for two steaming mugs of coffee that she took to the barn where Jimmy was opening up.

When he got to the open door she handed him one of the mugs, “learning to do this shit one-handed is vital to starting the day properly caffeinated.”

The pair worked through tacking up the horses for the day in a comfortable routine that they had perfected over the last few weeks working together.  Despite repeated reminders that it was low man’s job to tack up in the morning, y/n just glared at whoever directed the reminder at her and insisted that it was a ritual she enjoyed.  Besides, anything she could do to help Jimmy pick up ranch skills quicker and avoid ridicule from the hands.

Comanche was the last horse y/n tacked up, always choosing to leave her own horse until the end when she could give him a little bit of extra attention (and her apple core, an important part of his day).  She led him outside of the barn in time to hear Rip calling out the start of the day.  Mourning the fact that she hadn’t had time for a morning cigarette, y/n mounted up to follow the hands out of the gate towards the herd.

-/-/-

A few hours later, the hands were moving all the cattle from their grazing with the help of the helicopter.  Y/n had Comanche positioned at the back of the group with Ryan and Colby to the left of her to keep the herd moving forward.

“I thought you’d be better to deal with once we finally got over 10 years of pining but no turns out you’re just more of a soft fucker,” Colby complained to Ryan.

She laughed at her friend, “not all cowboys are emotionally stunted like you Colby, no need to be jealous I’m sure you’ll find a real girl to love you one day.”

“A real girl?  As opposed to a what girl?”

“A blow up one,” Ryan sighed, “she’s saying you have a sex doll.”

He didn’t get a chance to insult her back as she opted to leave the boys at the back to check in at the front.  She eased to a walk next to Lloyd when Rip rode up to them.

“Y/n you’re in charge of keeping everyone on track,” he directed, “I gotta deal with stragglers.”

She saluted him and shouted after him, “take Jimmy with you!”

“You’ll take all our jobs when we retire, kid,” Lloyd commented.

Y/n laughed, “old man you ain’t ever gonna retire.  I know you’re gonna die on that horse herding cattle.”

She peeled away and returned to the back next to Ryan who smiled softly at her.  Colby gagged at his friends which earned a middle finger from both of them.  Everyone’s eyes snapped to the trees when there was a shout followed by hooves at speed.

“Ryan, Colby go get those cattle back here!” Y/n shouted, “Lloyd help Jimmy with the horse!”

Repositioning her hat to keep the sun out of her eyes, y/n groaned internally as she scanned over the remaining hands to ensure no more cattle would slip through the cracks.  John had spent her whole life preparing Lee to take over the ranch but now that he was gone, it seemed that her father was desperately scrambling.  In her opinion it seemed far too convenient that John had decided to reconcile with Kayce when the ranch needed an heir, overlooking the fact that she’d been part of the operation for 8 years.  She was pretty sure that she could handle the (legitimate) side of the ranch with her eyes closed.

“You looking deep in thought there sweetheart,” Ryan cut through the anger simmering under the surface.

She smiled at him, “just wishing that dad would see I could handle the ranch.  Jimmy alright?”

“Anyone would think that you feel sorry for him,” he joked half-heartedly.

Lucy shrugged, “I do Ry.  I was born doing this and y’all chose it but he didn’t.  Least I can do is hope he adapts quick.”

She watched as the cattle slipped into the rest of the herd, keeping an eye out for any of them that might have sustained an injury going through the woods.  They were followed by Lloyd who she gestured over to the back before he could get to Rip.

“He’s finding his hat before he comes back,” He answered her question before she got it out.

Y/n huffed out a breath, “fuck knows losing that would not go over well.”

With a nod to her, he turned his horse around and cantered back to head up the herd.  Lucy patted Comanche’s neck and turned her eyes back to the cattle in front of her.

-/-/-

With all the cattle down by the barn, y/n settled into the familiar movements of separating the herd.  Even when she wasn’t old enough to be in the pen, she could remember sitting on the fence helping  John organise the hands.  When she was 10, she’d been allowed to take part on her horse and Lloyd had spent many a evening helping so that y/n would be able to keep up with her brothers.  At this point in her life, there was a chance she could do this job with one arm tied behind her back.

In the other pen, y/n watched as Kayce’s stallion continued to give John a hard time.  She rolled her eyes and leant over to speak to Lloyd, “I question my brother’s motives for giving dad that horse unless he’s tryna get his inheritance early.”

“I think it’s gonna take a bit more than a horse with a vendetta to kill your father,” he remarked.  

Y/n laughed, “here’s hoping a concussion might knock some sense into him.  That or finally kill the rest of his brain cells and I can take over the whole thing.”

She turned her attention back to the cattle encouraging Comanche forward to cut off one of the heifers that had made a break for it.  With her thoughts back on the job and not her father, y/n quickly fell back into the rhythm of working the cattle.

-/-/-

A little while later, y/n’s attention was pulled away from the cattle to Kayce’s truck pulling up outside the barn.  She watched her brother get out before helping Tate out of the other side.  Her nephew made a beeline to the corral to climb the fence, fascinated with what the hands were doing.  Y/n sought out Rip’s gaze from the opposite side who waved her towards the fence where Tate was watching from.  With a smile of thanks to the foreman, she brought Comanche parallel to the boy.

“What are you doing?” Tate asked in greeting, reaching out to stroke the horse’s spotted neck.

His aunt glanced back at the herd, “well we’ve got to split up the herd before we can send them off to make sure they all go to the right place.  Different colours mean different things.  It’s up to us to know which colour is meant to go to who.”

“Mind if I steal your nephew from you?” John leant up against the fence next to him.

She leant down from Comanche to receive a high-five from her nephew, “he’s all your dad.  Misbehave for me Tate.”

Ignoring her dad’s groan and her suggestion, she directed the gelding around the remaining herd to where Ryan had been watching the conversation with hearts in his eyes.

“Why you looking at me like that?  Someone will see you,” Y/n teased.

He rolled his eyes at her, “you’re good with him.  That’s all.”

“For all my brother’s faults he and Mon made a damn good kid,” Y/n admitted, “I just hope dad doesn’t mess it up with how he’s gettin’ his claws in of late.  Tate practically worships him.”

“He adores you too y’know,” Ryan pointed out to her.

Y/n shrugged him off, “that’s just because I’m the only part of this side of the family that’s been around since he was born.  Dad has a lot more interest to a young boy than boring aunt Lucy.”

“You ain’t boring to me sweetheart.”

---

@child-of-of-the-sunshine @kendallroydefender @qardasngan @thecobraghost @little-diable

[kingofbodyrolls]

My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | eight

🐴Chapter summary: with Jessi in a wheelchair you’ve taken on every task around the ranch, and finally realize how hard it is to run. But it’s a welcomed escape from Jimin, though it doesn’t help when Jungkook tries to push you two together again. 🐴Chapter title: Love You, Hate You 🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc 🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters. 🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst 🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!

🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 🐴Chapter warnings: mention of blood from a head wound, some blood from a cow giving birth and otherwise the standard angst and angriness. Yep, sorry again 😭 Things will somewhat start to look up in the next chapter!! ☀️ And if you feel like you need a reminder where the story is heading, read this spoiler 🫶 🐴Status: completed 🥳 🐴Word count: 9.5k

🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,

*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.

🐴Now playing 💿 “Love You, Hate You” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?] 🐴Author’s note: I really feel like I’m putting my characters through hell 😂 I really do feel bad for Jimin and MC — but we’re almost there!!!! (also, when do you think one of them will snap and finally talk to each other???). 

It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there. Wanna see the book cover?

wanna read a teeny tiny teaser for the next chapter? [here]

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“Hate you, love you, want you and I need you It’s not easy It makes me cry Need you, want you, hate you Love you, need you, want you Gotta go, say goodbye, say goodbye” - ‘Love you, Hate you’ by Rebecca Lavelle

Once more, Jungkook propels the car with an urgency that flirts with recklessness, yet you refrain from voicing concern. The unspoken agreement between you acknowledges his competence behind the wheel. Witnessing the transformation, his tears replaced by a steely resolve as he assumes control, leaves you in awe. The shift in his focus is palpable, a laser-sharp intensity that cuts through the emotional haze.

The familiar road unravels beneath the wheels, leaving a veil of dust in the truck’s turbulent wake. Your gaze fixates on the passing landscape, a silent witness to the gravity of the night. The realization dawns that informing the girls is not just a practical idea; it’s a lifeline to assuage their likely anguish. Retrieving your phone from the snug pocket of your jeans, you declare your intention, fingers poised to bridge the distance between uncertainty and reassurance. “Just gonna inform the girls.”

Jungkook nods, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the road ahead. You embark on a mission, fingers dialing Soo-ah’s number with a determined precision. The phone ascends to your ear, the ensuing silence pregnant with the unspoken gravity of the message you’re about to deliver. 

The moment Soo-ah’s voice resonates through the phone, an undertone of anxiety and fear punctuates the connection, mirroring the collective uncertainty that binds you all. “Jessi’s been in a car accident, and we’re en route to the hospital,” you disclose, your voice carrying the weight of recent tears. However, amid the distress, you impart a tentative reassurance, “She’s alive, but there’s something off—her words were slurred. I think she hit her head. But we will know more when we get to the hospital.” 

Turning to Jungkook, you observe the fierce determination etched in the pallor of his knuckles, a testament to the vice-like grip on the wheel. Traces of dried tears mar his cheeks, a visual echo of the emotional tempest that has swept through him. In that moment, a palpable lump lodges itself in your throat, an involuntary response to the profound vulnerability laid bare in the silent interplay of clenched fists and tear-stained faces. 

The remainder of the journey unfolds in stifling silence, the cabin suffused with an unspoken tension that hangs thick in the air. The specter of fear, like an insidious intruder, stealthily reclaims its place within the confines of your bones. 

Anxiety courses through you—for Jessi’s well-being, for the unknown revelations awaiting, for the uncertain terrain that stretches beyond. The all-encompassing fear becomes an insidious force, its weight rendering the atmosphere within the confined space utterly paralyzing.

The hospital materializes on the horizon, a beacon of both hope and trepidation. Jungkook, propelled by urgency, deftly navigates the maze of parking spaces, abruptly silencing the truck’s ignition before catapulting out of the vehicle with a sense of purpose. 

In tandem, you and Jungkook storm into the emergency department, urgency pulsating with every step. As you approach the desk, a receptionist greets you with a smile—her eyes, pools of warmth and empathy, mirroring the softness of her welcoming expression. 

“We’re looking for Jessi,” Jungkook declares, a pillar of tension leaning against the elevated desk. 

The receptionist’s nod is both swift and affirmative, a reassuring beacon in the sea of apprehension. “Room 134340,” she utters, the numeric sequence hanging in the air like a lifeline. 

In unison, you and Jungkook practically bolt towards the imposing doors, a shared urgency propelling you forward. The corridor becomes a labyrinth of tension as you navigate the sea of room numbers, each passing moment marked by the thunderous cadence of your hearts echoing within your chests. 

Please let her be okay.

At last, the numbers the receptionist shared come into view, and with a delicate touch, you ease the door open, unveiling a serene image—Jessi, reclined on the bed in peaceful sleep. Your gaze lingers on her slumbering form, taking in the telltale signs of the ordeal she endured—bandages encircling her head, a cast cradling her right arm, and another enveloping her left leg. 

The scene before you paints a grim reality, a tapestry of injuries that whispers tales of struggle. Yet, in the midst of this stark portrayal, the ember of relief flickers—she’s alive. 

A lump lodges in your throat once more, and with teardrops poised in the corners of your eyes, you approach your sister. Jungkook follows in your wake, settling on the bed. Leaning in, he tenderly caresses her cheek, mirroring the gentle touch that first bridged the gap between his fingers and her skin at the scene of the accident. 

Your gaze lingers, capturing the rivulets of tears tracing Jungkook’s expressive contours once more. In the soft luminescence of the room, his eyes shimmer with a profound mixture of emotion, fixated on your sister. 

A hush descends as the door swings open, ushering in a figure clad in the sterile garb of a doctor. Your attention pivots, fixating on this harbinger of information. 

“Hello. Are you Jessi’s family?” The doctor’s gaze oscillates between you and Jungkook, and your response is encapsulated in a silent nod. Words seem to elude you once more.

“Yeah, This is her sister, and I’m her friend,” Jungkook affirms, his voice carrying a burdened undertone that hints at the unspoken complexities and tensions simmering beneath the surface—an emotional undercurrent that has woven its threads through the past weeks. 

The doctor’s nod carries a weighty reassurance as he imparts the diagnosis. “Alright. Jessi has a minor concussion; the impact against the steering wheel caused some bleeding. She’s also dealing with a broken arm and leg, along with a few bruised ribs. Thankfully, that’s the extent of her injuries,” he imparts. 

“When can she come home?” Jungkook’s voice, simultaneously textured with rough edges and a tender timbre, resonates in the room. He reaches for Jessi’s hand—the one untouched by the cast—infusing the question with an unspoken urgency and a touch of vulnerability. 

“As a precaution due to the concussion, we’d like to keep her under observation for a day or two. After that, you can take her home. However, she’ll need to use a wheelchair, and rest is absolutely crucial,” the doctor informs you, leaving a weighty prescription for recovery in the air. With that, he departs, leaving the two of you alone with Jessi, still in the embrace of a healing slumber. 

Your gaze locks onto Jungkook, and as Jessi’s fingers stir against his, a soft gasp escapes you. Jungkook, attuned to the subtle movements, shifts his attention to your sister’s face. Her eyes, a slow dance of reawakening, flutter open, and she casts a weary but genuine smile at both of you. “Hi,” she utters, and the simplicity of that greeting carries a profound weight, a testament to resilience and the indomitable spirit that endures even in the face of adversity.

A shared chuckle resonates between you and Jungkook, but he takes the lead, concern etched in his question, “How are you holding up?” 

“Everything fucking hurts,” she confesses, the words escaping through gritted teeth, and a wince that lingers in the air. 

As you observe, her speech is no longer marred by slurs, and a glimmer of hope flickers within you. Offering a gentle smile, you cling to this positive sign, a fragile beacon of recovery in the aftermath of the accident. 

“We were worried there for a second,” you admit with a smile, your heart still tethered to the lingering uneasiness. 

“I’m fine. I’m gonna be fine,” she reassures with a languid smile, her eyes retaining a drowsy allure. 

Jungkook continues to tenderly stroke her hand, a lone tear betraying his emotion as it slips from the corner of his eye. 

“Why are you crying?” Jessi inquires in a weary tone, her question carrying a subtle mix of curiosity and fatigue. The fatigue in her tone, juxtaposed with the curiosity in her eyes, creates a moment of vulnerability and curiosity, inviting the reader to delve deeper into the emotional intricacies of the scene.

“Because you look so bad,” he chuckles through a teasing sob, a bittersweet smile dancing on his lips as he attempts to lighten the heavy atmosphere with a touch of humor. 

Jessi scuffs, “If I could slap ya, I would,” she drags out, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, “Sis, can you do it for me?” 

You shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you observe their usual teasing banter. Despite the ordeal, the fact that she can still summon her playful spirit brings a sense of relief, a small but reassuring glimmer in the midst of uncertainty.

Your laughter lingers in the air, but a subtle sadness creeps into your voice as you inquire, “What happened?” 

She groans, eyes rolling in frustration as she recounts, “There was this red car that appeared out of nowhere in the turn, driving on the wrong side of the road.” 

Your eyes widen with concern, a gasp escaping your lips. “What happened to the red car? Did it just drive off?” 

“Managed to dodge the car, but ended up colliding with a damn tree instead,” she says, a hint of frustration in her tone. 

“And to top it off, the guy just speeds away like nothing happened!” she scoffs, her irritation palpable and echoing the injustice of the situation.

“Do you have any idea who that was?” Jungkook demands, a mix of curiosity and sternness in his gaze, his fist clenching at his side as if ready to confront the reckless driver.

“Some arrogant city slicker. Never seen that car around here. Clearly not a local,” she scoffs, disdain dripping from her words as she curses the reckless driver.

“Can you call Namjoon for me?” she suddenly requests, locking eyes with you. You find yourself curious about why she specifically wants to talk to Namjoon at this moment.

When you shoot her a quizzical look, she adds, “I want to tell him something.”

“Can’t it wait?” you counter, not quite grasping why it’s so urgent for her to speak with Namjoon right now.

“No.” 

Fine. You reluctantly pull out your phone and dial Namjoon. Describing the situation, you implore him to come as soon as possible, and he assures you he’ll be there swiftly.

As the minutes tick by in the hushed room, the tension thickens, yet an unspoken understanding binds you, Jessi, and Jungkook together. Silence reigns, pregnant with the weight of shared concern, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.

The hospital doors burst open, revealing a disheveled Namjoon sprints in, clutching a bouquet of flowers. His eyes scan the room, taking in the sight of your sister lying on the bed, and his breath catches in a mix of relief and worry.

His voice laced with concern, Namjoon places the bouquet on the bedside table, his eyes fixed on your sister. “It looks bad. Are you okay?” he inquires, his worry echoing in the sterile hospital room.

“Fuck you. I’m fine,” she retorts, a smirk playing on her lips. The room fills with laughter, and seizing the moment, you gesture to the couch on the other side of the room, silently signaling to give Jessi and Namjoon some space. Jungkook rises from the bed, joining you on the couch.

Without a hint of preamble or consideration for the weight of her words, Jessi suddenly declares, “I want to break up.” Her words echoing through the room with a weight that sends a jolt through both you and Jungkook. You exchange a glance, realizing you’ve stumbled upon a moment too intimate for your presence.

Namjoon wears a puzzled expression, questioning, “Are you sure about this? Is it the concussion talking?” 

Definitely, she shakes her head.  “No, my mind is crystal clear.”

Regret lingers in her eyes as she confesses, “I’m sorry, but I can’t be with you anymore. I want to break up.” Her gaze, tinged with sadness, speaks volumes as she nervously bites her lip, the weight of her decision palpable in the room.

Namjoon nods thoughtfully, “Okay. No hard feelings. I understand.” His gaze shifts to Jungkook, a hint of unspoken understanding passing between them. “You can always call me—whether it’s just to talk or if one of the animals gets sick. Friends?” The air seems to lighten with the sincerity of his words.

“Friends,” she breathes out, the words carrying the weight of a burden lifted from her heart. Her gratitude spills forth, a sincere “And thank you, Namjoon,” echoing in the room.

She shares a smile with him, and his response mirrors the sentiment. From your perch on the couch, the intimacy of their moment feels oddly intrusive, and you can’t shake the sense of being an unintended witness to the delicate unraveling of their relationship.

Namjoon pivots, offering a parting nod and a soft farewell before gracefully exiting the room.

As his presence fades, you exhale the breath you’d been clutching, the room finally free from tension. “Well, that was uncomfortable.”

Jessi chuckles, seemingly unfazed by the awkwardness you just witnessed, her laughter echoing through the room.

You rise to your feet, stretching your tired body, and with a gentle tone, you ask, “Do you want to head home now, Kook?”

Jungkook remains seated on the couch, exchanging a meaningful glance with your sister. “I was actually thinking about staying and bringing her home tomorrow,” he says, his voice carrying a quiet determination.

Your eyes flicker open, but you quickly compose your expression, offering them both a gentle smile. “I’ll call Soo-ah to come pick me up then,” you say, your voice carrying a mix of understanding and reassurance.

Jessi doesn’t possess a single bone wired for relaxation. Despite the doctors’ earnest advice to take it slow and steady, does she heed it? Absolutely not.

With determined grit, she maneuvers the wheelchair around the house with one hand, attempting to shoulder every task single-handedly, only to find herself faltering at each turn.

In her quest for a simple glass of water, disaster struck – the glass slipped from her grasp, dancing precariously on the edge of destruction before miraculously escaping the fate of shattered fragments.

Your sister’s unwavering stubbornness has sparked numerous discussions, leaving you weary from the incessant cycle of repeating yourself.

“Why can’t you just stay put and let me handle it?” you groan at her futile attempt to set the dinner table. Exasperated, you snatch the plate from her hand and expertly arrange it on the table.

You’ve relocated all her belongings to the guest room, a practical move given her current inability to navigate the stairs. It’s a convenience for everyone, yourself included.

Exasperated, you burst out, “Sit your ass down!”

Her laughter rings through the room as she retorts, “I am sitting.” You can’t help but roll your eyes at her playful defiance.

Kneeling down, your eyes lock onto hers, a plea in your gaze. “I can take care of everything for you. Pushing yourself too hard will only slow down your recovery. Is that what you really want?”

Her gaze shifts away, words escaping in a soft mumble, their meaning lost in the air between you.

“What was that?”

Her response is a defiant whisper, almost a rebellion against her own vulnerability. “No. I don’t want that. Fine. You can do everything. It’s just not in my nature to let everybody do everything for me.”

When you told your sister you could handle everything on the ranch, little did you anticipate the relentless demands that awaited. Now, sweat beads roll down your hairline, and sticky shirts cling to your fatigued body—your new normal. Soreness and exhaustion threaten to overcome you, yet you persist. The unwavering support of Soo-ah, Ara, and Ha-rin becomes your lifeline, and you find yourself profoundly grateful for their presence. Without them, the daunting tasks ahead would be impossible.

Despite the relentless physical and mental demands, there’s an undeniable love that fuels your every effort. It’s in the rhythmic cadence of working with the horses, the joy of discovering ripe veggies in the garden, the satisfaction of feeding the cattle and horses. Cleaning the stable, tending to the yard, and meticulously fixing the fences become more than just chores—they’re threads woven into the tapestry of a passion that now defines you.

As if the outside challenges weren’t enough, the list of tasks inside the house seems never-ending—cleaning, organizing, tackling taxes, and conjuring up dinners that dance on the taste buds. The sheer magnitude of it all makes you marvel at Jessi’s ability to juggle these responsibilities, leaving you to wonder how she navigates this intricate dance without succumbing to the relentless rhythm of exhaustion.

In the whirlwind of responsibilities, Jungkook offers to lend his hands in fixing one of the fences on your property.

The anticipation of Jungkook’s assistance becomes a beacon of relief in your hectic schedule, and a mischievous thought flits through your mind—wondering if you could sweet-talk him into tackling the entire task, granting you a rare and much-needed moment of respite.

In the driver’s seat of your brand-new pickup truck, a lustrous shade of dark purple that gleams in the sunlight, you reflect on its arrival, replacing the ghost of the white one marred by Jessi’s unfortunate accident. The former wreck, irreparably damaged, made way for this sleek, modern model, boasting enhanced comfort that transforms every drive into a genuine pleasure.

As you turn the key in the ignition, the hum of the engine beneath you, and shift the truck into first gear, anticipation courses through you. The Eastern paddock awaits, its fence in need of repair, and Jungkook has promised to join you. The radio provides a lively soundtrack, and you find yourself singing along with joy, only to fall into a hushed silence as the familiar silhouette of a blue truck comes into view, neatly parked beside the fence.

Cursing under your breath, frustration seizes you as you realize Jungkook— that damn traitor, has sent his brother to handle the job he promised to do. 

The betrayal stings, especially considering the current strained terms between you and Jimin. Anger simmers within, escaping in a low, gritted scoff as you pull your car up beside Jimin’s.

Jimin dives into the task at hand, effortlessly measuring wire lengths and expertly cutting them to fit the fence. There’s no denying it, not that there ever was – Jimin is undeniably attractive. As you observe from the comfort of your car, your gaze lingers on his sweaty forehead, his biceps flexing beneath the rolled-up shirt. Another curse slips from your lips; why does he have to look this good?

A whirlwind of emotions courses through your veins – desire entangled with frustration. Jimin’s effect on your mind is infuriating. Yes, you still crave him, but the bitterness lingers. He chose someone else without engaging in a conversation about what transpired, a choice that feels painfully immature.

Relaxing your crossed arms, you swing the door open and step into the sweltering air. You circle the car to grab your tools and approach Jimin, who doesn’t bother to cast even a fleeting glance your way.

You scoff and roll your eyes. No greeting? This is a new low. You expected, at the very least, a bit of small talk. Seems like even that was too much to ask for.

“Hey, Jimin,” you say, attempting to mask the tension growing thick in the air. He remains silent, his focus fixed on his strong and calloused hands diligently working on the fence.

At least you’ve chosen to be the bigger person, maintaining your politeness. You dive into the task at hand, assisting him in measuring, cutting, and applying the new wire. The absence of conversation hangs heavy, a stifling silence that feels more like a heavy weight on your chest. It’s uncomfortable, this void between you two, and you can’t help but despise it with every fiber of your being.

In the suffocating silence, you realize that attempting conversation is futile, as he remains resolute in ignoring your every plea. Determined to endure the unbearable tension, you find yourself silently cursing Jungkook in your mind for orchestrating you into working with Jimin. There’s no question about it— you’ll have a serious talk with him later about this stupid plan of his!

Your hands accidentally collide with Jimin’s a few times, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a sensation you hastily withdraw from as if burned. The lingering touch awakens something buried deep within, a sentiment you’re determined to suppress. Those residual feelings must be banished, relegated to the recesses of your heart.

You can’t help but notice Jimin’s persistent gaze fixed upon you, and it’s disconcerting. The emotions swirling in the air are indescribable, leaving you puzzled about the cause of his intense scrutiny. Yet, the expression etched on his face is far from one of happiness or satisfaction; instead, it bears the weight of pain and unresolved sentiments.

The realization hits hard—there’s no denying it now. You and Jimin let your moment slip away, a truth that’s crystal clear now.

As a heavy sigh escapes your lips, you find yourself yearning for a past rewritten, a canvas of memories painted with different hues.

“It’s official!” 

In an exuberant burst of joy, you proclaim the moment, your voice echoing in giddy celebration as you sit on the grass. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, and the tranquil scene unfolds with Holly and Marshmallow leisurely grazing on the grass.

Ecstatic, he declares, “We’re in business, baby!” His laughter resonates, and his radiant smile competes with the brilliance of the sun. You join in the laughter, though the pet name doesn’t quite sit right with you.

Playfully, you groan, “God, please don’t call me ’baby’,” as laughter continues to ripple between you. His response is a simple, hearty chuckle.

As the sun dips below the horizon, a serene quiet blankets the hilltop, providing a perfect backdrop to absorb the significance of the moment. You and Yoongi, now proud business owners of a wild horse gentling venture, revel in the excitement of the journey ahead. The prospect of working with more horses and bringing joy to people through these extraordinary animals fuels your anticipation.

With a hint of emotion in his voice, a touch of longing, Yoongi shares, “I’ve already found our inaugural customer.” Intrigued, you turn to face him, your eyes prompting him to reveal more about this exciting news.

With a weighted voice, laden with deep emotions, Yoongi reveals, “There’s a guy not far from us. He’s taken an interest in Holly.” Your gasp resonates with the dread that settles in—oh no, not Holly.

“But isn’t she yours to keep?” you ask, a tinge of sadness reflected in your eyes. Expectations of Yoongi keeping Holly for himself, the first horse you both worked on, echo in your question. The bond he shares with her seems uniquely special, so why part with her?

“I truly adore her, but she’s just a horse. And this is business,” he sighs, his voice carrying the weight of the decision as he gazes at the sunset. A lump forms in your throat, and tears well in your eyes. The thought of selling Mikrokosmos, your horse, feels almost impossible. She’s not just a business asset; she’s a part of you, and the idea of parting with her is heart-wrenching.

“Well, I hope she’ll love her new home,” you say with a bittersweet smile, gently shoving him playfully on the shoulder. The mixture of emotions swirls between you two, acknowledging the business aspect while secretly hoping Holly finds as much happiness in her new home as you both found in each other’s company.

“I hope so too,” he murmurs, his lips pressed into a tight line. The deep affection he holds for the horse is evident, and you sense the internal struggle he’s facing. This decision weighs on him, and you find yourself sharing in the silent understanding of the emotional complexity tied to their parting.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting hues of warm orange and pink across the sky, you remain on the hilltop, sharing the tranquil moment with your horses grazing beside you. In the company of Yoongi, your best friend, you reflect on the genuine bond that has grown between you. His presence is a comforting constant, a reliable listener, and a confidant you deeply appreciate.

In a moment of vulnerability, you confess, “You know... I’ve never really felt at home anywhere since I left the ranch.” The weight of emotions settles over you, and tears threaten to escape. 

Sensing your need for comfort, Yoongi turns to you, wrapping you in a gentle hug that speaks volumes without uttering a single word.

Amid the hues of the setting sun, Yoongi poses a poignant question, his voice laden with a mix of emotion and weariness. “Do you feel at home now?” he asks, and a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a response teeming with a complex blend of gratitude, uncertainty, and the subtle realization that ’home’ might be more than a physical place.

“I actually do.”

Words tumble from your lips as you gaze over the ranch from the hilltop, the golden glow of the sun casting a warm aura. “I never thought I would feel at home again. But this place has a way of working its magic on everything,” you confess, a testament to the transformative power your surroundings have woven into the fabric of your heart.

His smile echoes the sentiment, and he envelops you in a tight hug, as if the embrace itself is a testament to the enchantment this place has cast upon your lives. 

“That it sure does,” he murmurs, a shared acknowledgment of the profound connection you both feel to the land beneath your feet.

In the vast expanse of uncertainties, you shudder at the mere thought of navigating through the challenges without Yoongi by your side, a reliable anchor in the unpredictable sea of life. The gratitude for his friendship lingers in your heart, a sentiment too profound to be expressed in mere words.

“Will you come over tomorrow? The guy that wants to buy Holly will come and pick her up in the morning…” You discern the unspoken plea in his eyes, and with a tender smile, you draw closer, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence.

“Of course I’ll be there, Yoon.”

After the sun’s final bow, Yoongi rides back to the Park ranch, and you descend the hill towards your home. The term ’home’ once felt foreign, but now it wraps around you like a familiar embrace, an unwavering truth – your refuge, always and forever.

The next day, fueled by a hasty breakfast, you dash to the stables, the eager anticipation of your visit to Bell Ranch propelling you forward. Your task at hand: preparing Marshmallow for the journey ahead.

In the quiet embrace of the barn, you exchange a warm greeting with Marshmallow, ushering him into the center of the space. There, you deftly equip him with a saddle and bridle. As you guide him outside, the crisp morning air envelops you, and the gentle caress of the early sun bestows warmth upon your skin. A deep inhale fills your lungs, and with a graceful exhale, you mount Marshmallow. With a subtle nudge, you prompt him into a rhythmic gallop, traversing the lush expanse of green that unfolds before you.

The journey feels fleeting, far too brief for the solace it provides. Arriving at the stables, you swiftly dismount and tenderly remove Marshmallow’s tack. Leading him to one of the paddocks, you release him to the embrace of the open space, allowing him a well-deserved respite while you prepare to work with Yoongi.

You make your way to the pen, where Yoongi bids farewell to Holly. His arms envelop the brown mare’s neck in a tight embrace, soft pats accentuating the silent conversation between man and horse. Tears trace a path down his cheeks, and unexpectedly, you find your own emotions stirred, empathizing with the bittersweet parting, even though Holly isn’t your horse.

You acknowledge him with a quiet nod, hesitant to disrupt the tender moment between him and Holly. Leaning against the fence, you observe the heartfelt exchange. Holly emits a deep, resonant whinny, and for a fleeting moment, it feels as though she comprehends the impending separation.

As the sound of a truck pulling a trailer draws near behind you, the realization dawns—it’s time. Yoongi lifts his head from its resting place on Holly’s neck, offering her a final, affectionate pat before reluctantly stepping away.

With a heavy heart, Yoongi guides Holly towards the waiting trailer in the yard. The man has preemptively opened the trailer door, and as Holly steps inside, Yoongi closes the latch with a palpable reluctance. Standing on the sidelines, you observe the exchange—the man handing Yoongi some money, their handshake resonating with unspoken emotions. As the man returns to his car and drives away, Yoongi walks over to you, a profound sadness etched on his face.

“It’s okay,” you offer a comforting reassurance to Yoongi, wrapping him in a gentle hug.

He shares a bittersweet acknowledgment, a tinge of sadness coloring his smile, as both of you reluctantly shift your focus away from the departing car.

“Do you want to work on Mikrokosmos? I feel like I need something to do to keep my mind off Holly,” his request hangs in the air, laced with a subtle vulnerability as he looks at you with a sheepish smile. A shared understanding passes between you, and you nod in agreement, both silently making your way toward the stables, seeking solace in the comforting routine of working with Mikrokosmos.

With a confident stride, you retrieve Mikrokosmos from her stall, guiding her down to the pen without the need for a rope or halter. Yoongi walks beside you, a wistful smile playing on his lips.

Swinging the gate wide, you usher Mikrokosmos into the pen, her graceful steps echoing within the enclosure. Yoongi assumes his customary perch atop the fence, his observant eyes tracking the movements of the spirited mare.

Allowing Mikrokosmos to explore your scent, you initiate a tactile connection by stroking her forehead, tracing the path down her elegant neck, and along the sinewy contours of her shoulders. As your hands ascend to her back, you apply a gentle yet firm pressure, echoing the techniques you observed from Yoongi weeks ago, establishing a silent rapport with the magnificent mare.

Feeling the mare’s ease under your touch, you gradually increase the pressure, traversing her back with a comforting rhythm. When your eyes seek Yoongi’s for guidance, a silent understanding passes between you. Without a spoken word, he reads your unspoken query. “She’s ready,” he asserts with unwavering confidence, his voice a testament to the bond you’re building with Mikrokosmos.

Emboldened by Mikrokosmos’ serene response to your touch, you decide to take a daring leap, mimicking Yoongi’s approach with Holly. With a sense of excitement and trepidation, you pull yourself up onto her back. To your delight, she remains unfazed, allowing you to settle in, planting your bum securely on her back. It’s a moment of triumph, a testament to the trust building between you and the spirited mare.

In a breathless moment, Mikrokosmos stands still, and then, breaking the silence, she releases a soft whinny. Your heart swells with a mix of wonder and joy. As you pat her neck, a gentle coaxing with the press of your legs encourages her to move. Together, you embark on a slow journey around the pen, a newfound connection unfolding beneath you. From atop the fence, Yoongi grins widely, witnessing the magical communion between rider and horse.

A surge of pride and accomplishment courses through you. It’s a defining moment, a testament to the progress made. Confidence radiates from your every move as you navigate the pen on horseback, a triumphant smile adorning your face.

As a sudden pressure builds in your bladder, frustration wells up internally. Of all the moments, it has to be now. Succumbing to the inevitable, you voice your discomfort, “I need to use the restroom. Can you look after Mikrokosmos until I return?”

Yoongi acknowledges with a nod, and you smoothly descend Mikrokosmos’ body, grounding your feet in the sand. With a burst of energy, you vault over the fence, sprinting all the way up to the main house.

You forgo the courtesy of knocking, opting to swing the door wide open as you make a beeline for the bathroom.

As your fingers extend toward the door handle, it unexpectedly swings open, catching you off guard and sending a jolt of surprise through you.

As the door swings open, you’re met with the unexpected sight Deiji, draped only in a towel. Her damp hair and glistening skin hint at a recent shower, and the small droplets of water sparkle in the light. A startled shriek escapes her lips as her gaze locks with your equally surprised and wide eyes.

Panicking, you blurt out, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Your words stumble over each other as the sound of approaching footsteps from upstairs adds to the awkward tension in the air.

Down the stairs descends Jimin, clad in nothing but a pair of snug grey joggers, his feet bare, hair wet, and your jaw practically hits the floor.

“What’s the matter, babe?” He queries, running a hand through his damp hair. His eyes find your startled form, and he instantly eases into a more relaxed demeanor.

You’re caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Your heartbeat skyrockets, and you’re torn between the urge to look away and the magnetic pull keeping your gaze fixed on Jimin. Every contour of his physique, from well-defined pectorals to a happy trail of natural brown hairs leading down to his crotch, leaves you both captivated and flustered. He is everything you imagined and more. 

A sudden wave of heat engulfs the room, making you feel as if you’re suffocating. You become acutely aware that you might have been staring for too long, as both Jimin and Deiji shoot you concerned glances, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

“What are you doing here?” Jimin inquires, casually flexing his abdominals with a smirk playing on his lips. It’s a dirty move, and he knows it. Why does he have to look so devilishly good, practically flaunting something you can’t have? It’s not fair—Park Jimin is a temptation, and you can’t help but feel he might be your downfall.

As realization dawns, you suddenly recall the purpose of your intrusion. “I have to pee,” you blurt out, a mixture of embarrassment and urgency in your tone.

Amused laughter fills the room, and Deiji graciously clears some space, saying, “You can use it; I’m done anyway.”

Nodding, you flash her a grateful smile, a strange mix of nerves and curiosity swirling within you. As you pass her, a trail of her sweet floral scent lingers, enveloping you. Just before slipping into the bathroom, you steal a glance at Jimin. His face wears a smirk you can’t decipher. 

Suddenly, it dawns on you - this is the first time he has spoken to you in weeks.

Basking in the midday sun, a gentle breeze toys with your hair, allowing its tender touch to dance across your neck as you gallop through the undulating hills astride Marshmallow.

Thundering across these expansive landscapes, a spirited gallop grants temporary solace to your heart, momentarily eclipsing the tumult within. Damn Park Jimin and his angelic and devilish looking face. The ache intensifies witnessing him with his infuriatingly perfect girlfriend; a pain that lingers, leaving you uncertain if you’ll ever get over him.

Granting Marshmallow unrestrained freedom, you traverse diverse landscapes—dense forests, the serene lake, and finally, the ranch’s Eastern expanse. Yet, an unsettling discord interrupts the tranquility, an eerie cry that echoes of an animal’s distress. Tensing the reins, you guide Marshmallow toward the source of the ominous noise.

Arriving at the scene, your eyes widen at the sight of a cow standing in the paddock, its posture awkward, and a pair of feet protruding from its laboring form. A gasp escapes you as the realization dawns – the cow is giving birth.

Dismounting from Marshmallow, urgency propels you toward the struggling cow. The rhythmic movement of the legs suggests the birthing process, something doesn’t seem right and you don’t know what to do. In a quick reflex, you pull out your phone, dialing the only person you know what to do.

The ringtone echoes anxiously, each second an eternity as you plead silently for the familiar voice to answer. The urgency in your chest intensifies with each passing ring. Please, just pick up, dammit!

Relief floods over you as Namjoon’s voice resonates through the phone, a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “This is Namjoon,” he declares, and in that instant, it’s as if the universe aligns to bring order to the chaos around you.

“Thank god! Can you come and help? There’s a cow giving birth in the Eastern paddock, and it sounds like she’s in distress!” Your urgent plea pierces through the phone, echoing the distress emanating from the laboring cow.

“You know these animals can handle calving by themselves, right?” He chuckles on the line, and you roll your eyes, dismissing the notion with a hint of impatience. There’s no time for a history lesson; immediate action is what you need.

“The baby cow’s legs are moving back and forth—is that normal?” Your voice carries a hint of sternness, convinced that this situation isn’t within the realms of normalcy. Silence greets you on the other end, and for a brief moment, you fear he might have hung up.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible!” His voice, once calm, now carries a sense of urgency and stress, and in that moment, you grasp the gravity of the situation.

“Try to see if you can pull the calf’s legs out until I arrive, okay?” His urgent plea echoes in your ears, mingling with the distant sound of a car door opening and closing on the line, signaling hope that he’s racing to your aid.

“Pull its legs out?” Your frantic voice echoes into the void as the call disconnects. A heavy sigh escapes you as you gaze at the distressed cow. Uncertainty clings to you like a shadow; you’re torn between the fear of causing harm and the weight of Namjoon’s expertise urging you to act. He’s the vet, after all, and if he says it’s the necessary step, you steel yourself for what needs to be done.

Rolling your sleeves up, you step forward, determined to help the distressed cow. Your hand rests gently on its back, employing the same calming touch you would use with a wild horse. Slowly, your hand traverses down its body to its hindquarters where the legs protrude awkwardly. With a careful grip, you attempt to pull, but to no avail. It becomes apparent that the helpless calf is firmly lodged inside, presenting a daunting challenge.

Beads of sweat mingle with the dust on your brow, the relentless struggle to free the trapped calf becomes a desperate dance. The distant hum of an approaching engine brings a surge of hope, and relief washes over you as Namjoon’s truck roars to a halt behind you. Oh thank god!

With a swift, purposeful stride, Namjoon emerges from his truck, the familiar cadence of urgency echoing in each step. In his firm grip, the vet bag swings like a lifeline as he hastens toward you and the distressed cow.

Apologies linger in Namjoon’s voice as he swiftly dons a pair of absurdly long, cerulean gloves from his well-stocked bag. His keen eyes scan the scene, assessing the situation as he poses a question that cuts through the tense air, “It’s still not out?”

Retreating to give Namjoon the space he needs, you watch in awe as he envelops the tiny legs with his gloved hands, channeling the strength of his entire body into each determined pull.

“It normally doesn’t take this long to birth a calf…” sweat beads on Namjoon’s forehead as he exerts more effort, a hint of concern in his voice. With a final determined tug, the calf emerges, first the legs, then the head and the rest of its body. Namjoon carefully lowers it to the ground, leaving the newborn covered in a mixture of slime and blood.

Namjoon discards his gloves into a wash bag, his eyes shifting from the exhausted cow to the newborn calf finding its bearings on the grass. “Calling me was the right move; it didn’t appear the cow could manage to push the calf out on her own,” he remarks, a touch of relief in his voice.

Gratitude fills your words as you express, “Thanks for rushing over and handling everything – I mean, doing the heavy lifting for me.” A soft chuckle escapes your lips, acknowledging the reality that pulling out a calf was far beyond your strength.

“No problem,” his response is accompanied by a warm, bright smile, radiating reassurance. As he stows away his bag in the truck, he turns to you, locking eyes with you.

“How’s Jessi doing?” His question comes with a warm smile, yet beneath it, a subtle dance of curiosity and nervousness in his browline. A soft chuckle escapes you as you contemplate the enduring care he holds for Jessi, even after the end of their relationship. It’s nice that they are able to stay friends and still care for each other like this.

Your smile mirrors his, genuine and bright. “She’s holding up well, still bossing everyone around. Though she’s confined to crutches for now, the silver lining is that the casts are scheduled to come off in just a few days.”

His smile widens, and he nods appreciatively. “Well, that’s a relief to hear.”

You chuckle again, the sound echoing in the air. Namjoon, a genuinely good guy, radiates warmth, and it’s a bittersweet realization that things didn’t work out between him and your sister. Deep down, you silently wish him a future where he finds someone who can fulfill the desires that shimmer in his eyes – a quest you sense he’s earnestly pursuing.

“I’ll get going then. Everybody needs my help today.” He chuckles, his robust frame resonating with the warmth of his laughter, and Namjoon announces his departure. Acknowledging his unwavering commitment to helping others, you nod in farewell, watching as he steps into his truck and drives away.

You return to Marshmallow, your hand gently caressing his neck in appreciation before seamlessly mounting him. With a swift swing of your leg over the saddle, you guide him on the journey back home.

“Why are we subjecting ourselves to this culinary chaos again?” you groan, placing yet another dish onto the grand table in your dining room, glancing at Jessi for an answer.

Jessi gracefully moves around the table, lending a hand in setting up while ensuring everything is perfectly in place. “It’s all in celebration of liberation from the cast!” She jubilantly shakes her once-encased arm and leg, now liberated. You can’t help but roll your eyes; your sister’s idea of a celebration might be a bit eccentric, but it’s her party after all.

In the bustling kitchen, Ha-rin and Ara work tirelessly to craft an array of delectable dishes, infusing the house with a symphony of tantalizing aromas. Meanwhile, you, Jessi, and Soo-ah engage in a meticulous dance, setting the table with precision and placing each carefully prepared dish, allowing wisps of steam to rise and tantalize the senses.

As the feast approaches, your sister has extended invitations far and wide, and that inevitably includes Jimin and his girlfriend. The mere thought of encountering him again prompts a preemptive groan, and you find yourself yearning for a way to evade the impending interaction. Alas, with him being your neighbor and frequent collaborator on ranch-related endeavors, avoiding him proves to be a challenging feat. You scuff at the predicament, silently longing for a different reality.

With an audible clunk, you assertively place the plates on the table, the reverberation echoing the intensity of your emotions.

“Easy there!” Your sister scolds, her tone a playful warning, as she delicately places the glasses in front of the plates.

You chuckle, a lightness returning to your mood, and set the plates down with a flourish before heading into the kitchen to collect the utensils.

Anticipation gnaws at you as you set the table, a desire to get through this dinner quickly, fueled by the looming presence of Jimin. His silence has become a heavy weight, and ever since that unexpected glimpse of him almost naked, unwanted thoughts and vivid images intrude your mind. You scold yourself, reminding that he isn’t yours to entertain such thoughts about. It’s not fair to him or Deiji, and you need to push these images aside.

As you mope around the dining room, preparing for the gathering, the atmosphere shifts with the arrival of guests. Jungkook bursts in, enveloping your sister in a warm embrace before turning his attention to you. His hug is almost too tight, prompting a small squeak to escape your lips, and he responds with hearty laughter that fills the room.

As Jimin and Deiji make their entrance, you acknowledge them with a subtle nod, instinctively creating a bit of space between you. The air seems to tighten with unresolved tension, and you navigate the space carefully, aware that every step brings you closer to a rendezvous with emotions you’d rather keep at bay.

Hoseok strides into the room, with Yoongi next to him, he’s the first to envelop you in a warm embrace, a radiant smile on his face. He peppers you with questions about how you’ve been, and with a reassuring nod, you assure him that everything’s going well. Then, seamlessly, Yoongi joins in, encircling you with his arms, a reassuring and tight embrace that momentarily eases the complexities lingering in the air.

“Missed you,” he chuckles, his arms refusing to release you as you playfully roll your eyes. Amidst the friendly banter, you can’t help but notice Jimin’s intense gaze fixed on you. His eyes darken, and the once bright smile on his face transforms into a subtle frown, leaving you with a sense of unease.

Your heart sinks, the realization hitting you like a ton of bricks. Does Jimin not know that Yoongi is gay, and that his kiss was merely his attempt at figuring out his sexuality? It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t. After all, Yoongi hasn’t openly shared his sexual orientation, and you’ve kept it confidential as well. The pieces start falling into place, and you comprehend the anger simmering in Jimin’s eyes. If he assumes that you and Yoongi are a couple, it would explain the tension and frustration etched on his face.

How do you convey to Jimin that your relationship with Yoongi is nothing more than a deep, platonic friendship, without revealing Yoongi’s sexual orientation?

And in the grand scheme of things, does any of this even hold weight now? With him having a girlfriend, laying the truth bare seems futile. Why would confessing change a thing? He’s maintained radio silence for months, a streak of silence that shows no signs of breaking, so why break it now?

Yoongi releases you, and you respond with a playful slap on his shoulder. As he steps back, falling in line behind Hoseok, you can’t help but catch the subtle way his gaze traces Hoseok’s figure.

As you glance over, you spot Namjoon and Seokjin in the hallway, each holding a bottle of wine. A smile plays on your lips as they make their way toward you, meticulously placing the bottles on the table before joining in the gathering.

Namjoon envelops you in a warm, tight hug, his curious voice breaking through the buzz of the room. 

“How’s that calf doing?” he inquires, while Seokjin raises an intrigued eyebrow at him.

Gratitude warms your voice as you assure Namjoon, “He’s doing fine with his mother and the rest of the herd. Thank you so much for helping.” A warm smile accompanies your words, and you motion for them to take a seat.

“That’s great,” he remarks, pulling out a chair and settling in beside Seokjin.

Ha-rin and Ara make their entrance into the dining room, their foreheads glistening with the sweat earned from their hard work in the kitchen.

You take your seat beside Yoongi and Soo-ah, casting a glance across the table where Jimin and Deiji have settled. Jessi and Jungkook, positioned next to each other, are engaged in a playful banter that echoes the dynamics of a married couple, the subject revolving around trucks and bikes. Despite your eye roll at their antics, a sweet smile tugs at your lips, warming your heart with the familiarity of their friendship.

Ha-rin’s exhausted yet earnest voice scolds gently, pointing with pride at the array of delectable dishes that have emerged from the depths of her labor in the kitchen throughout the day. “Please, eat your heart out. I’ve practically lived in that kitchen to create this feast,” she urges, her eyes reflecting the passion poured into every culinary creation with the assistance of Ara.

Expressions of gratitude fill the air as your entire group starts delving into the carefully crafted dishes before you. The aroma is irresistible, and your anticipation intensifies as you eagerly anticipate the first savory bite, your hungry stomach protesting its emptiness.

Savoring the heartiness of the meal, you indulge in a bit of everything, each mouthful a symphony of delectable flavors. A wave of gratitude washes over you for having Ha-rin on the ranch, as her culinary skills elevate the dining experience, compensating for your own culinary shortcomings.

Seokjin, caught in the rapture of each bite, pauses to express his culinary admiration. His eyes gleam with appreciation as he licks his lips, savoring the flavors. “Ha-rin, this is truly incredible. Would you mind sharing the recipe later? I don’t want to miss out on a single secret behind this delightful feast.”

Ha-rin’s laughter, a melodic accompaniment to the clinking of cutlery, fills the room. A subtle blush tints her cheeks, and a bashful yet confident smile reveals her teeth. “Thank you,” she responds graciously, “I can send you the recipe later, no problem.”

You can’t help but chuckle, observing her graceful gesture of tucking a strand of short, black hair behind her ear. Her eyes, adorned with a spark of admiration, linger on Seokjin as he savors every bite.

As you glance around the table, a warmth spreads through you, witnessing everyone relishing the moment. Namjoon gracefully pours wine for those seeking a more refined sip, while others opt for the familiar companionship of beer or the simple refreshment of water.

You relish a small glass of red, a rare indulgence that harmonizes beautifully with the culinary symphony on your plate, you’re about to shift your attention back to the feast when you feel the weight of Jimin’s gaze. His eyes pierce through the air, intense and fervent, as though etching a connection with the depths of your soul.

A nervous gulp courses through you, a fleeting warmth that fans the flames of self-consciousness. Your throat tightens imperceptibly, a subtle reminder of the unspoken tension in the air. Summoning courage, you lock eyes with Jimin, your gaze unwavering. The question lingers in the charged atmosphere – why is he studying you with such intensity?

Deiji’s laughter echoes, a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Jimin’s eyes. With narrowed gaze, you shoot back a piercing stare, mirroring the frustration and pain you’ve bottled up. Unnoticed, your fingers tighten around the utensils, and red begins to flare behind your eyelids.

“Calm down,” as frustration tightens your grip on the utensils, Yoongi’s calming whisper in your ear nudges you back from the edge. With an exasperated huff, you release your clenched hands. Jimin’s persistent gaze lingers, a puzzle you can’t decipher. Annoyed, you shoot him a furrowed frown, determined to focus on your meal. If he has something to say, he can use words instead of cryptic glances. You refuse to grant him more of your time without a proper conversation.

You practically spear the defenseless food on your plate, the residual anger simmering within. Beside you, Yoongi chuckles, a sound that offers a glimmer of solace. In the midst of your inner turmoil, it’s a relief to know someone can find enjoyment in this tense dinner.

Throughout the remainder of the dinner, laughter dances in the air alongside light-hearted conversations, a melody you struggle to fully engage with. Purposefully steering clear of Jimin, you catch his occasional glances in your direction, each one like an unspoken question lingering in the room.

As the final bites are savored and the dinner concludes, a collective effort ensues to tidy up the remnants of the feast. While some bid their goodbyes and disappear into the night, a handful remain, drawn to the allure of the terrace to indulge in leisurely drinks before ending the day’s festivities.

Soo-ah, Ara, Ha-rin, Yoongi, and Hoseok gravitate towards the terrace, creating a lively ensemble beneath the canvas of a sky painted with the remnants of a sunset that bid its farewell just hours ago. The air, now a gentle embrace, cradles the warmth of the departed sun, fostering an ambiance ripe for drinks and smalltalk.

You cradle the red wine in your hands, the rich hue mirroring the depth of your thoughts. It’s only your second glass, but who’s keeping track anyway?

You exhale with a profound sigh, sinking back into the chair, as if the weight of the day is lifting off your shoulders in that single breath.

Hoseok gazes at you, concern etched across his face. “What’s eating at you?”

You let out a frustrated groan, a desire to yank at your own hair bubbling beneath the surface. Uncertain about revealing the source of your vexation, you debate whether to open up about what’s truly bothering you. Given that your friends are well aware of your feelings for Jimin, it’s not as if you’d be sharing some profound secret.

“I’m just tired of Jimin,” you confess with a deep exhale, absentmindedly twirling the wine glass in your fingers, the crystal capturing the soft glow of the terrace lights.

Yoongi chuckles knowingly; he’s been a willing listener to your rants and frustrations about Jimin countless times. The girls exchange sympathetic glances, silently urging you to share more of your feelings.

“It’s frustrating, really. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since that awkward encounter when I met him and Deiji coming fresh out of the shower. The only thing he did say was to question why I was there. And now, he keeps looking at me with this strange intensity and weird look and I just can’t figure out what’s going on in his head,” you confess, letting out a heavy sigh.

Hoseok bursts into laughter, breaking the tension with his infectious humor, “Maybe he wants a threesome?” Your eyes roll at his playful comment, appreciating how he effortlessly lightens the mood, a skill he seems to master whenever things get awkward.

“I’m sure he doesn’t. Not that I’m interested!” Laughter ripples through the group, a collective release of tension that eases the weight on your shoulders.

“Maybe he just wants to talk then?” Hoseok suggests, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope beneath the terrace’s soft glow.

“If he wants to talk to me, he should just do it instead of giving me those fucking angry eyes,” you scoff, the frustration and deflation evident in your voice.

“I’m just so angry!” you declare, your body tensing with each word before finally releasing the built-up tension.

“We get it,” Soo-ah remarks, her voice understanding and sympathetic.

“Love is hard,” she adds with a touch of melancholy, her gaze lingering on Hoseok. You know that she likes him, but you don’t know if Hoseok feels the same for her. 

You let out a bitter, angry chuckle, the sound escaping from deep within as a manifestation of the frustration and tension bubbling inside you.

“By the way, does his girlfriend look familiar to any of you?” you inquire, turning to face them, only to be met with a chorus of laughter. Their unexpected reaction leaves you bewildered and searching for answers.

Ara quirks an eyebrow, suppressing a smile behind her delicate hand, and gently teases, “You haven’t realized yet?”

You shake your head. Realized what?

“She looks like you.” Ha-rin’s revelation is like a sudden thunderclap in the midst of a quiet storm, her words hanging in the air with a weight that sends a shiver down your spine. 

She looks like you? 

Every fiber of your being comes alive, reigniting the small fire you had extinguished for Jimin. The embers, once dormant, now glow and dance, casting an unexpected warmth that spreads through the chambers of your heart. The uncanny resemblance between you and Jimin’s girlfriend becomes a flickering flame, illuminating the shadows of your emotions and casting doubt on the carefully constructed walls you’ve built around your feelings.

Could this mean what you think it does?

Fuck.

Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

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[not-ur-boy-toy]

Hartbreak Ranch Chapter 2

AN: Chapter 2 has finally arrived after a massive delay!! Not much romance going on so far for the two, BUT, it is getting there, I'm trying to not get too impatient, but gotta build it up... ;D If you'd like to be tagged in this series, please let me know as well! :)

TW: foul language, addiction mention as well as drugs mentioned (lightly)

Word count: 3.4k

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“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my home?”.

The voice rang out through the living room as Shawn stood still as a statue. It was an odd situation. Shawn was in the middle of the room, in the middle of nowhere, by himself. He didn’t exactly blend in either, he couldn’t have been an ‘neighbour’ just coming to borrow some sugar. By any sane person’s mind, they would have thought he was trying to rob them. Shawn knew he should have answered by now, but his mind was elsewhere… Mostly admiring the cowboy in front of him.

“Oh uhh.. I-.. Well..-” Shawn stuttered out before being interrupted by the man who now stood in the doorway, his warm chocolate eyes now holding a dangerous glare. 

“Spit it out, I don’t need a story. Name and what the hell are you doing in my home” the guy repeated with a slight hiss, aggression now starting to build up in his tone as he moved  towards Shawn. 

This was all that Shawn needed to reply back as quick as possible. He had dealt with plenty of fights before. But, that was with a bodyguard who knew about his bad temper and sharp tongue. Cowboys weren’t his forte to fight with either..

“Sorry! Right, I’m Shawn, I’m guessing your brother, Owen, brought me here!” Shawn blurted out quickly, not risking to anger the other.

Shawn was praying that Owen would return fast, especially as the man stared Shawn down. It was hard to figure out what he was thinking, especially as the guy stayed quiet. Was he gonna punch Shawn? Beat him up? Or perhaps Kiss him?... Probably not the last one. The blond really needed to stop watching those romance films at 2AM. 

The doubtful look Shawn was given was surely about to seal his fate. His money winner face (literally) was about to get decked by an attractive, muscular guy and thrown out into the middle of nowhere again. Shawn backed up slightly, trying to give himself a bit of space in case things turned, however, fate was clearly on his side for once as he heard Owen’s chirpy voice from behind.

“Bret! Didn’t know you’d be here yet,” Owen laughed out as he walked over with a grin, oblivious to the growing tension in the room, “Shawn here is just stayin’ with us for a few days, I felt awful leaving him in town… His car had broken down and you know how far the closest motel is”.

Bret, which Shawn just learnt the man-who-was-gonna-beat-his-ass name was, stared at Shawn one last time before those same dangerous eyes softened as they looked at Owen. 

“You have too much of a soft heart, Owen… You know how I feel about bringing strangers home” Bret lightly scolded Owen, although Bret did receive an odd stare from his brother. One that clearly read that he didn’t actually know what the other was talking about at all.

“Don’t be such a grump, Ma and Pa don’t mind people being here.. Or well at least Ma doesn’t,” Owen chuckled out before looking at Shawn, “Oh! Sorry Shawn, this is my brother, Bret, don’t mind him, he can be quite the grouch after a long day”.

Once again, Bret and Shawn stared at each other, the tension building once again. 

“Nice to meet ya, Bret” Shawn hummed out trying to break the ice, however, his attempt was pushed away as Bret walked towards the kitchen instead, mumbling under his breath something about ‘lemonade’. Owen gave Shawn a small pitiful smile,

“Like I said, don’t mind him, I don’t know what’s up with him…”, Owen glanced over his shoulder to look in the direction Bret went before huffing and turning back to the blond, “Anyways.. Let me take you to the guests room!”.

Heading upstairs with suitcase in hand, Shawn followed after the cheerful man. The next floor of the house continued the rustic, homey feeling, having plenty of family photos dotted around, however this time, flowers in vases decorated the hallway on small, pine cabinets. Lavenders, some roses and a few other flowers that Shawn didn’t know were blooming from the elegant vases, filling the area with a soft, relaxing and refreshing aroma. There were five different doors, one on the left that was white with painted pink flowers and ‘Diana’ painted delicately across it, another next to it  was a pine door with painted on sunflowers, the third was a dark mahogany door with simple gold detailing. Across those doors were two other doors, one was a double door, clearly the master bedroom, and the furthest away was just a simple pine door. Owen guided Shawn past the doors until they reached the plain pine door. He opened the door with a soft smile, 

“This will be your room, if you need any blankets let me know… If you need me, my door is the one with the sunflowers”, Owen hummed slightly, trying to think if there was anything else he needed to tell the other. “I’ll knock on when supper is done” With one last smile, Owen left Shawn to get comfortable, heading to his own room.

The black boots Shawn wore clicked softly against the wooden floor as he entered the room that he’d call ‘home’ for the next few days. Compared to the rest of the house that the model had seen, this room felt rather… empty. There weren't any family photos, there weren't any carefully embroidered pillows or even any bright colours. Instead, the room had a simple double bed in the centre of the room, leaned against the right empty wall, the bedding was a cool white with a few fluffy pillows that looked like they were brand new and untouched. Two bedside tables laid beside the bed, both having a pull-cord lamp and one had a singular alarm clock that seemed to echo in the room. Next to the bed, there was another closed door which Shawn assumed was the bathroom. On the opposite side of the room, there were two panel doors, which once again, Shawn assumed was a wardrobe. A lounge chair sat in the corner of the room with a small table next to it, however there was nothing on it. No flowers, no leftover mug of coffee. This room truly felt abandoned, almost lonely compared to the rest of the house that Shawn saw. The only thing that was rather interesting to look at was the window which showed off the large farm from behind. He could see a few roaming animals around as well as an old barn by a few, large trees.

A soft huff left Shawn’s lips as he leaned his suitcase against the wall, admiring the view he had, “Just a few days… that’s all..” he quietly reminded himself.

Getting himself situated in the room didn’t take too long at all. Shawn had hung up his clothes which he deemed weren’t entirely appropriate to wear at a farm, his extra pair of shoes were lined up in the wardrobe, and he had made sure his cigs and bottle of vodka was hidden away in one of the bedside tables. He was gonna save them for when he met up with Ramon, Kid and Diesel, but desperate times called for desperate measures if he needed them. He even had some ‘extra’ measures hidden in his cig packs as well, something that relaxed him more than the cigs. But that was for extreme desperate times. Or fun times. Shawn’s shampoo and conditioner was lined up in the bathroom right next to his cherry and vanilla scented body wash, his hairbrush, toothbrush and toothpaste was also placed on the sink as well. It felt mostly like home now. Although, there was a small problem. Or well, two small problems. One was that there was no TV, did these people live like cavemen? And the second, his phone was getting pretty low and there was no plug socket.. He had double checked the whole room just to make sure! There was none behind the bedside tables, there was none behind the chair that could be hidden, there wasn’t even one in the bathroom! 

Staring at his phone screen, he weighed out his options. He could ignore his phone, save up the battery… But  having Diesel panic and get on his ass? Yeah, he needed to phone up his bodyguard. Shawn paced around the room as he held the phone to his ear, listening to the ringing before that familiar gruff voice appeared as Diesel picked up.

“Shawn? Everything alright? Are you at your hotel?” The questions instantly rang in from the protective man which made Shawn awkwardly chuckle.

“Yeaah… About that…”

“Shawn, please don’t tell me you’re lost”

The blond chewed on his bottom lip nervously, “Well… Not exactly lost… I mean, I don’t know where the fuck I am…” he started, “But don’t panic! I’m safe, I’m all good, just gonna be late for the photoshoot, y’know?”.

A deep sigh filled Shawn’s ear from the otherside of the phone, he could tell that Diesel was rubbing his temple.

“Telling me to not panic makes me panic more… and how late are you talking about?” the bodyguard questioned.

“Well, maybe a day or two… or more… I don’t know ‘kay?! My damn car broke down, but this guy is fixin’ it up” Shawn mumbled out before moving the phone away from his ear as he knew what was going to happen.

“YOUR CAR BROKE DOWN?! I KNEW I SHOULD'VE DROVE YOU HERE!” the voice bellowed down the phone as Shawn played with a strand of his silky hair. “Jesus fucking Christ Shawn, just-.. Are you at least somewhere safe?” Diesel asked with a loud huff.

Shawn moved the phone back to his ear before speaking, “Yeah, I’m safe, my phone is probably gonna die though, just gotta find somewhere to char-”

“AND YOUR PHONE IS ABOUT TO DIE?!”

A small hiss left Shawn’s lips as Diesel’s voice picked up again, “Let me finish my sentence, asshole! Givin’ me a goddamn headache, I get your point!” Shawn tried to argue back but the model was greeted by silence. “Diesel?” He hummed out, “... Big Sexy??” Shawn continued, believing the other was being petty enough to give him the silent treatment, “Kevin???”. Finally, Shawn glanced at his phone being greeted by a dead screen, “FUCK!” he hissed out in anger, throwing the phone on the bed without a care. Just what he needed. His phone dead, Diesel being pissed off and probably thinking he was dead… Shit, he really needed a smoke.

Grabbing his pack of smokes and his trusty lighter, Shawn made his way out of the room and down the stairs before making his way outside. He had no idea if they let people smoke on their property, they probably didn’t, but he was desperate for a fix. Standing outside of the house, Shawn took out one of the cigs and placed it between his thin lips before flicking his lighter a few times to produce a small flame. He held it under the cig before he breathed in deeply, relishing in the feeling of the harsh smoke filling his lungs before blowing it out of his lungs. The familiar taste of menthol was one that was always calming, something he had always chosen as a young teen, they were the cheapest, but they were perfect in his eyes. Sure, he enjoyed a good cigar, it made him feel confident- almost unstoppable. But a Marlboro blue cigarette? Nothing could beat that feeling of a soft burn, it reached an itch that some would call an addiction, but Shawn called it self-soothing. Another puff of smoke left his lips as he glanced around the farm. The sun was already starting to set. It was rather beautiful to see, watching pinks and oranges blur together as the sun started to dip behind the horizon…

Shawn was thrown out of his thoughts at the sound of footsteps behind him and a low voice filling his ears again.

“If you’re gonna smoke, at least have an ashtray nearby” Bret mumbled out as he placed a ceramic ashtray on the edge of the patio fence, “...Everything alright? I heard yelling” Bret continued as he stood at the top of the patio stairs.

Shawn turned around, cig still gently dangling from his lips, his baby blues meeting the warm chocolate ones in a stare, “I didn’t expect you to have one… But yeah, I’m fine, just peachy..” he huffed out, his eyes going to the floor as he kicked at a bit of dirt on the ground. He took another drag from his cig before moving over near the patio to flick off the ash that lingered on the edge into the ashtray. 

“Mhm, sure, peachy,” Bret answered back, his warm eyes never leaving Shawn’s lean figure. Shawn’s baby blues glanced back up at Bret, fidgeting slightly. He wasn’t one to keep his mouth shut, especially when it came to drama. Even if it was about himself. Or perhaps it was the way Bret looked at him like he was an actual person? Shawn wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t help but let the truth flood out.

“... My phone has died, I don’t know how long I’ll be here for, Diesel is pissed off at me like it’s my fault…” Shawn spat out the truth, his eyes looking back at the ground as he took another puff of the cigarette in his hand. Smoke flooded out his mouth before he continued, “Like, sure, maybe I shouldn’t have taken a small ‘shortcut’... Or actually listened to him… But still, fuck, It’s not my fault” He huffed out. Bret raised a brow. He wasn’t sure which part he was more shocked at, maybe it was the fact that this ‘Diesel’ was pissed off at him, or perhaps it was the way Shawn deflected.

“But anyways, I’ll be out of your lovely hair, you clearly don’t like strangers,” A soft, sarcastic chuckle left Shawn as he pushed the cig against the ashtray, “Thanks for the ashtray and well, that little rant” he thanked quietly.

“It’s fine… And don’t feel like you need to leave fast, you just caught me in a bad time” Bret awkwardly apologised, rubbing the back of his neck, “If you need to phone someone, we’ve got a landline phone you can borrow” he offered with a small shrug. 

“Ha, thanks for the offer handsome, but I don’t exactly remember phone numbers, got too many to remember” Shawn chuckled out again, he wished he remembered Diesel’s phone number or even Hunter’s… he knew part of Marty’s number, but even if he remember his number, they hadn’t even spoken in years… 

Bret was surprised at the name ‘handsome’, it was very sudden but he shrugged it off quickly, “I can get Owen to take your phone and charge it as the repair shop, I know there isn’t any plugs in this house- Never has been, never will, that’s the old man’s orders, but the shop has one” He offered again, hoping to ease the mans tension as well as an apology for their first meeting.

“I-... I suppose that isn’t a bad idea at all… Thank’s Bret” Shawn smiled softly, “I’ll give you it tomorrow, or Owen, whoever I find first, but thank you” his blue eyes took one more look around the ranch before looking back at Bret, “I’ll see you inside, if I stay out any longer I’ll be tempted to have another cig” Shawn tried to joke, gently shaking the box of cigs he held, but it was the truth. He would have had another cig- Or probably the whole box and his ‘fun sticks’ as he liked to call them as well. He gave Bret another small smile before heading inside of the house, brushing past the bigger man.

Bret glanced over his shoulder, watching as the man made his way inside the house. Questions continued to wrap around his brain about Shawn. Who was Diesel? Why would he be upset with Shawn? Where was he even heading to make a shortcut through the middle of nowhere? Even Bret knew it was a silly mistake to make. His thick brows furrowed together as he huffed, his eyes glancing over towards the sunset. He stayed for another moment, watching as the sun ducked behind the horizon, the sky getting darker and the warm air grew colder. He took a deep breath in, the smell of Shawn’s cheap cigarettes still clinging to the air as one final question ran through his head. Sure he had met other strange characters, like his soon-to-be brother-in-law Davey Boy Smith, but Shawn was a lot more different than him. He didn’t fit in, he didn’t fit in the town nearby nor the farm life itself by the looks of his clothes and the way he held himself. His hair and clothes were too perfect for a man who was stressed about being stranded in the middle of nowhere, there wasn’t any out of place hair in sight or a crease in his clothes… Who the hell was Shawn?... Bret shook his head slightly, he was just simply overthinking about Shawn, that’s all.

Night had quickly arrived by the time Owen knocked on the guest door to announce that supper was done. The dinner table was on the biggerside, having about twelve chairs around the table and only a few of the chairs were being used. He met the patriarch of the Harts, Stu, and his Mrs, Helen. Much like Bret, Stu wasn’t as welcoming, but Helen was his saviour. She had welcomed him with open arms, Owen clearly took after his mother. He had met Diana who was sweet, she was the youngest daughter of the Harts. He had also learnt that the family was rather large, having twelve siblings all together, but most of the kids had moved out. The supper was something he needed, something relaxing, and soul soothing from how fresh and hearty the soup and bread he ate. He did notice Bret missing from the table, which must of been the usual as Owen’s voice perked up,

“Bret usually misses his supper, he’ll be checking on the animals making sure their water is good and they have food” He explained before taking a sip of water, “He’ll have it later”. That eased Shawn’s curiosity, leaving it without another question. 

After the meal, Shawn thanked them, especially for the welcomed hospitality before heading to the guest room. He changed out of his clothes, hanging them up before fully getting ready for bed. Shawn had a strict regime that he followed, he would wash his face before cleansing it, then he would moisturise as well. He had to keep his face looking young, obviously. He would then brush his hair before tying it up into a ponytail, he’d also have a whiskey over ice and even a cigar before brushing his teeth.

Usually after his little routine, he would stay up late in his penthouse, he’d sit on his large, comfy couch that was as soft as clouds and watch a few films before going to bed. On bad nights, he wouldn’t sleep. He’d instead sit outside on his balcony, watching the bright city of New York light up the dark sky, replacing the stars he couldn’t see. It was called the city that never sleeps for a reason. Yet, being in this home, he felt as if he wouldn’t have a bad night, that he could actually rest without an issue.

The guest bed wasn’t exactly as comfy as his bed at home, but he was used to other beds, especially when he travelled. It was the comfiest he had in awhile, he seemed to sink in like his own bed somewhat, and it didn’t feel like stone like a few five star hotel beds did. The room wasn’t fully pitch black either, which didn’t annoy him as much as he thought it would. The curtains that covered the window in the room were thin, letting in the natural light of the moon and stars outside fade in which tempted him to go and admire… but he’d leave that for a sleepless night. Even the sounds of crickets outside didn’t annoy him even if he enjoyed  silence when he slept. They chirped out a symphony that lulled Shawn to a somewhat peaceful sleep.

[theplottdump]

Buckle Bunny: 𝘜𝘩 𝘰𝘩, watch out girls, unbroken bronc coming through.

Bitchy Blonde: Seems pretty dangerous letting something that wild run around in here alone. Tired Blonde: Oh leave him alone Viv.

Diego: Howdy Dani. Dani: Diego! Haven't seen you round here in a while. I thought all that ranch work had might have killed you. Diego: [ 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝 ] Good to see you too. 'Fraid it'll take a lot more than a few horses to break me. - The Horseshoe's lookin' great by the way.

Dani: Thanks, you'd be impressed what a couple coats of good deck sealant can do. Diego: Well you just let me know if you want me to come down and lend a hand with anything. Dani: Classic Golden Boy. Don't you have enough on your plate keeping the old Carey Ranch running? Diego: I always got time for good people.

Dani: Well then you know the rules- one good turn deserves a beer. On the house.

Diego: Gonna need two- got a date tonight.

Dani: Well good for you cowboy. I'll make sure to dig you out something classy.

A pair boots hit the ground as Chestnut Ridge's reining buckle bunny slid into the open seat beside the ranch hand.

Viv: Why hey there Cowboy, lookin' for a ride? Diego: I ain't got time for this tonight Viv.

Viv: Oh c'mon García, I've just missed seein' you around is all. Diego: And I'm sure that husband of yours is missin' you just as much right now too. He still stationed out by the crater? Viv: Strangerville- I'll be leavin' town to join up with him in a week or so.

Diego: Well that sounds like a mighty fun adventure for you both. Maybe you'll finally find that wedding ring of yours before headin' out. Viv: Oh you're no fun. Diego: I'm afraid I just got my priorities straight. The first of which is not rollin' around with married women.

Viv: What's so wrong with wantin' to break ya? Watcher forbid we women do anything. Girl's gotta find a way to occupy the hours somehow.

Diego: Maybe try pickin' up fishin'.

Viv: Sweet Diego. I'm sure your bottle blonde rich girl in her little clearance rack dress won't even last two minutes bareback.

Diego: I'm gonna ask ya to think 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 about what you're planning on sayin' next Mrs. Walker.

Dani: 𝙇𝙖𝙮 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙑𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙖𝙣. I don't want any trouble from you tonight.

Two ice cold beer bottles hit the counter- saving the woman from whatever Poppy/Diego tag team beat-down was surely on the way if she had kept running her mouth.

Viv: We were just havin a bit of fun, don't be jealous. But if you want to jump the line I wouldn't mind takin' you round the block either. Dani: Girl you better get your ass off my bar and start minding your own business or I'll- Viv: I'm goin, don't get your briefs in a twist.

Diego: Much obliged. Viv: Have fun on your little date Diego. Dani: 𝟭𝟬, 𝟵, 𝟴, - Viv: I'm goin- I'm goin.

[walker-extended-universe]

Bodyswap, Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Relationship(s): Geri Broussard/Cordell Walker, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester

Tags/Warnings: Bodyswap, Magic, Confusion, Paranoia, Canon-Typical Violence

Summary: Sam gets settled into his "new life" while Dean and Cas search for answers.

Written for @whumptober Alt prompt 1: Bodyswap

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks, @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

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

Dean grunted as he pulled Sam- or at least Sam’s body- down to the dungeon of the Bunker. “You gotta cut down on the burgers, Sammy,” he muttered as he strapped his brother down to the chair in the middle of the devil’s trap.

He sighed and turned to Castiel. “Can you figure out what’s going on here? He was fine when we got in last night.”

Cas nodded and walked over to Sam, pressing his fingers to Sam’s forehead. After a few seconds, he frowned. “I…. Sam doesn’t appear to be in this body.”

“What? So like he’s soulless?”

“No, there’s a soul in there…. It’s just not Sam.”

“Are you sure? Don’t you have to do that soul-fisting thing to know that?”

Castiel glowered at him. “I’m well aware of the limitations of my power. I could do that to learn whose soul this is, but I can tell enough to know that it isn’t Sam’s. The more pressing question is how his soul was transferred, and to where? Did anything strange happen on your most recent hunt? There was witch activity, if I remember correctly.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, it was a witch. A pretty strong one too, one of Rowena’s old rivals. We took her down, but she did try to do some kind of spell before we killed her. Maybe that was it?” It would make some kind of sense; he remembered that kid that switched bodies with Sam several years ago. It was possible, but it took an insane level of spellwork. Was that something she could’ve done on the fly?

“That is possible,” Castiel agreed. “I wager that since it was cast in the heat of battle, the spell may not have had the desired effect, which would explain why it didn’t work until after you two had gone to bed….”

“But that doesn’t tell us where Sam is or who replaced him.”

“No.” Castiel sighed. “I could ‘soul fist’ him, as you so elegantly put it, but I hesitate to harm Sam’s body. I suggest we wait until this stranger wakes up again and try to interrogate them. Based on what I witnessed, they seem as confused as we are. I doubt they’re malevolent. In the meantime, I suggest we figure out what spell the witch may have used or find a way to reverse what happened. The sooner we can get everyone back into their appropriate body, the better.”

Dean couldn’t agree more. “Alright. Sam grabbed some of the old hag’s books, so we can start there. Maybe we could call Rowena, just in case. She might know something about soul transfer shit.”

“I agree. I will keep a watch over our new friend while you investigate, just in case he wakes up soon or he’s not as friendly as I hope.”

Dean hated being relegated to research, but nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Shout if anything happens.”

“I will,” Castiel promised.

—-----------------

Sam had worked side-by-side with law enforcement on several occasions over the years. He’d used fake badges to get access to case files, intimidated his way into meetings with coroners, and occasionally given a lucky officer insight into what real monsters looked like.

Despite his many years of varied experience, Sam felt woefully unprepared for a day pretending to be a Texas Ranger.

Could he have called and taken a day off? Sure. But he was curious to know more about what he’d gotten dropped into so attempting to leave the ranch he woke up on was step number one. Since he was, in fact, able to drive away and arrive at a completely new location (even if he was late because he got lost), that told him it was unlikely this was some kind of simulation or heavily guarded facility. Not even the British men of letters could make a city appear out of thin air like this.

However, there was still a chance he was stuck in some sort of dream state or that he was being closely watched for…something. Whatever the reasoning was, he needed to play along and try not to break the rules, whatever those rules may be.

It never occurred to him that there might not be a game at hand at all, that he was rather just unlucky after a run in with a witch, but when were things ever that simple for him?

Unfortunately, Sam couldn’t seem to get a grip on what, exactly, he was supposed to be doing or how he was supposed to act. Getting into his computer had been easy enough as there was a well-hidden note with his password information. There were no active cases as far as he could tell and he wasn’t meant to go on patrol today. However, there were several reminders about paperwork that was due for something to do with a jackal and he didn’t even know where to start with that.

Apparently, the character he was supposed to be playing was really bad at the admin side of his job because he couldn’t even find any blank paperwork around his desk and he didn’t want to arouse suspicion by trying to ask someone. He spent a good half-hour sorting through his emails to at least find a template to go off of, which was surprisingly fruitful. Once the templates were printed out, he sat back at his desk and grabbed a pen to get to work.

Only… he had no clue what to write. He hadn’t worked this case, and searching through his computer only brought up documents from a different case that had closed five years ago. Was that case even related to what he was supposed to do now? He had no idea. And he definitely couldn’t ask someone about it. This stuff was usually pretty classified and given the amount of cluttered decorations on his desk, he’d been at this job for a while. Letting his coworkers know he’d suddenly forgotten everything would only arouse suspicion.

Maybe he should’ve taken the day off after all. He could’ve faked an illness and spent the day looking for hex bags. Or maybe he could’ve taken a bigger risk and attacked his “family” to try to get information out of them. Either of those would’ve been more productive.

“Walker? You feeling okay?”

Sam startled, dropping his pen and looked up to see a man looming over his desk. Probably the “James” that had been bugging him with emails. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just- paperwork, you know?” He tried to fake a smile. 

James nodded slowly. “Right…. Look, I understand the Jackal case was rough on you. It was hard on all of us. I know taking a leave of absence helped but…. Maybe you aren’t ready to get back into things.”

“I’m fine, sir,” Sam insisted. “I’m just trying to get my head clear on the details.”

“I’m sure.” James didn’t seem convinced. “Look, why don’t you just go home early today and tomorrow we’ll talk more. I’m going to insist you take that therapy option.”

“I don’t need-”

“This isn’t negotiable, Walker. I need you sharp; you’re the best man in my office and you’ve dealt with worse before. Just take some time off, enjoy an afternoon with your family, and we’ll talk tomorrow. Okay?”

Sam wanted to argue more, but decided to take the out in front of him. Fighting this would probably only cause problems for him later. Besides, that was more investigating time for him. “Okay, sir. I’ll…see you tomorrow.”

“Good man.” James clapped his shoulder as he walked past his desk and Sam waited until he was out of sight before packing up and leaving.

He had work to do.

—--------------

Geri had gotten the call from Cassie that something was off with Cordell at work and decided to take her afternoon off as well to help deal with it. She knew The Jackal case had been difficult for him (even if part of that suffering was self-inflicted) and she hated that it was still bothering him like this. She wished he would just open up to him about his problems, but she also knew that would be a long, hard battle.

Still, she had to try. What kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn’t? So, she drove to his house and, seeing she was there before him, decided to make them some lunch. Hard conversations usually went better with food.

By the time Cordell got home, she had freshly toasted sandwiches put on plates and ready to eat. “Hey!” she greeted, smiling brightly as he entered the door.

He looked at her wide-eyed. “Hey…. What are you doing here?” he asked carefully.

“I heard you had a rough day at work so I figured you could use a little pick-me-up. And let you know if you wanted to talk about anything, I’m here.”

He nodded slowly. “Right…. You didn’t have to do that.”

She shrugged. “I wanted to. Now, eat, before your mother decides to butt in.”

That got a small laugh out of him and Geri counted that as a win.

She waited until Cordell was well into eating his sandwich before she tried pushing the subject. “So, about what happened at work…. Are you feeling okay?”

Cordell slowed his chewing and stared at her, searching her face for…something.

Once he was done, he set down the other half of his sandwich and folded his hands in front of his chin. “Do you ever feel like…you woke up one day and now you’re living someone else’s life?”

Geri’s heart ached for him. She knew his job had caused him and his family grief over the years, but he’d always been determined for the cause. Maybe all the strain and stress was starting to wear on him and the Jackal was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. Or, maybe with Stella and August moving on in their lives, he was starting to look at his own future and past regrets. 

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “I remember when I took over the Side Step after Frank died…. It was like I was just playing a simulation game, just going through the motions until I reached some arbitrary goal.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “You know I’m always here for you, right? No matter what you decide you want for the future?”

Cordell’s eyes never left hers. “What if I’m not the person you think I am?”

“Then I’d love to get to know you better.”

“What if I told you something that didn’t make any sense?”

“Then I’d help you figure it out until I did.”

“Even if that meant losing me forever?”

“If that’s what’s best for you….” It would hurt, but she would do it. “What’s with the existential questions?”

He looked back down at his plate. “Nothing. Just- thinking.”

She nodded. “I understand. But I’m still here, Cordi. No matter what.”

That earned her a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

[mrprettywhenhecries]

don’t waste your time (on me) [g.t]

06. | 99 Problems

Gator Tillman ✘ Win Lewis (OC)

⇾ w.c. 4.1k words ⇾ tags/warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, misogynistic themes, mentions of injury, derogatory use of the word gay, blow jobs (m!receiving), hurt/comfort ⇾ a/n. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💚

Gator gets his arm broken and Win gets protective.

[ masterlist • win bio ]

The weeks following Win’s visit to the ranch slipped by and life almost fell into a semblance of normalcy.  Despite the days growing shorter and the nights growing colder, not much of any real consequence happened to distinguish one day from another, and Gator began spending nearly every night at Win’s, even if all he did was crawl into bed next to her after a long shift to fall asleep in her arms.

The more time that passed, the less Win thought about Roy’s threat, but it was always there in the back of her mind, a lurking unease, as if she were just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Gator, on the other hand, was blissfully oblivious and Win envied him that.

The end of October was drawing closer, Halloween practically around the corner and Win’s house was already decked out for the occasion–she and Gator joining forces to decorate.  It turned out the holiday was Gator’s favourite too.

Win was just adding some more fake spiderwebs to the drop down lights hanging over the kitchen island when her phone rang, Gator’s personal ringtone playing through the speakers.

Letting it ring for a second as she put up the finishing touches, it abruptly stopped and started again, Gator having called back almost instantly.

“Okay okay, I’m coming,” she huffed, climbing down from the counter to reach for her phone, bringing it to her ear.

“Y’ello?” she answered, half paying attention as she opened the fridge to reach for a pop.

“Win?” Gator’s voice sounded through the phone line, but there was an edge to it.

“Yeah, what’s up, babe?” she replied, bumping the fridge door shut with her hip, opening the can one handed.

“I don’t wantcha to freak out or anything, but… I’m in the hospital—“

“What?” Win yelped, nearly choking on her drink, panic flooding her for a moment, Roy’s words flashing through her head.

End things or there will be consequences.

“Win.  Win!  It’s okay, I’m okay!” Gator assured her hastily, his voice pulling her back to the moment, though her heart still felt lodged in her throat.

“I broke my wrist, that’s all,” he elaborated and Win let out a heavy breath. 

“How?  What happened?” she demanded, but a commotion on the other end of the line seemed to pull Gator’s attention and he answered a question she couldn’t quite hear.

“I gotta go, they’re gunna put the cast on now, but I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Wait, Gator—“

“I promise, I’ll be over as soon as I’m done.  Don’t worry babe,” he assured her before the line clicked and Win frowned, fighting the urge to throw her phone across the cramped kitchen.

“Fuck that,” she hissed under her breath, grabbing her keys and rounding the counter to the door, not content to sit around and wait for him show up while her anxious mind ran laps.

“Hi, I’m here to see Gator Tillman,” Win exclaimed, approaching the front desk, drumming her fingers against the counter anxiously, looking around for anyone she might recognize in the waiting room, though she didn’t know whether he’d been hurt at work or at the ranch.

The woman behind the desk glanced up from her computer monitor and frowned.  “You a family member, hon?”

“Oh, uh no,” Win faltered, chewing the inside of her lip.  “But–”

“Then I’m sorry, but you’ll hafta wait.  Only family can go back right now,” she explained, her eyes flicking back to her screen.  “Although, it looks like he’ll be out soon, they’re almost finished setting his cast.”

Win nodded, pushing away from the counter to hover by the double doors to the emergency room entrance to wait for Gator, fighting not to pace while chewing her thumbnail.

When the doors opened with a clang, Win gave a jump and turned to see who had emerged, expecting her boyfriend, only to come face to face with his father, her expression souring further.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Roy grunted, fixing his coat collar before turning his full attention on her.  “Thought the boy told you to wait at your place.  You got a problem doin’ what you’re told?”

Win huffed incredulously, crossing her arms over her chest.  “I don’t do well with orders, or have you forgotten that?”

Roy let out an unamused snort, looking her up and down.  “Nope, you’ve made that more than clear,” he muttered, moving to step past her.

“Wait!” Win exclaimed, stepping in front of him to block his path.  “What happened?  How’d he break his arm?” she demanded and Roy rolled his eyes.

“Well, what can I say?  The boy’s a little… inept sometimes when it comes to his job.  Not my fault he got cocky and let his guard down at the wrong time.  Maybe the pain’ll help him learn his lesson,” Roy muttered, shaking his head, his eyes meeting Win’s.

“He should count himself lucky it was only a broken wrist.  After all, I’m sure neither of us would hate to see anything worse happen to him.”

Win held Roy’s gaze despite the chill that ran through her at his words.  Maybe it was just her imagination, but it felt like there was a threat hidden within them.  Surely the man wouldn’t hurt his own son just to get to her…  He wasn’t that twisted, was he?

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”  Roy stepped around her, leaving her to ponder his words, her stomach churning.

Nearly as soon as he left, however, the emergency room doors swung open again to admit Gator, the sight of him sweeping Win’s worries aside for the moment, and she practically knocked the wind from him as she rushed to his arms.

“Win?” he exclaimed, wrapping her into a hug despite his surprise, his cast pressing awkwardly to her back.  “I told you I’d meet you–”

“I know,” she huffed, pressing her face against his chest before pulling back to look up at him.  “I couldn’t wait, I had to see that you were okay,” she insisted, her face warming at the smug grin that spread across Gator’s visage.

“You were that worried about me?” he teased, earning himself a poke in the side.  “Ow!  Hey, I’m injured, remember?” he whined, holding his arm up as a reminder, though he still wore a small smirk.

“Keep teasin’ me and you’ll end up worse,” Win warned, though her words held no heat.  “C’mon, I’m takin’ you home,” she said decidedly, hooking her arm around his and leading him to the parking lot.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmured, knowing better than to argue.  “You gunna take care of me?” he wondered hopefully, looking forward to a little pampering.

“That depends,” Win replied, opening the passenger door for him before rounding the Chevelle and slipping behind the wheel.

“On what?” Gator yelped, awkwardly trying to buckle his seatbelt until Win turned to help him.

“On whether or not you tell me how this happened,” she replied, glancing pointedly at the cast on his arm before fixing him with a level stare that he shied back from, chewing the inside of his cheek, as if deliberating on what to say, torn between his father’s need for secrecy and his desire for Win’s attention.

“This guy got the jump on me is all,” he muttered, reaching for his vape pen to take a long draw, puffing on it indignantly.  “It coulda been worse, but it wasn’t, okay?  The asshole killed a couple of our guys before he got away,” he huffed and Win wasn’t sure if he was angry with her for asking, or at himself for messing up.

“So he’s still out there?” she asked and Gator winced.

“Yeah, but the shitbird’s in the wind.  I doubt we’ll be seein’ any more of him,” he exclaimed quickly.  

“Why not?” 

“Cause he knows I’ll be waitin’ for him if he ever shows his cowardly face again,” Gator scoffed.

Win looked doubtful, but didn’t say anything as she drove back to her place.

“C’mon, let’s get you comfortable,” she said, leading him inside and crouching at his feet to untie his boots.

As soon as she dropped to her knees, Gator’s brows raised and he had to clear his throat, awkwardly adjusting his cargo pants as the fabric at his crotch started to tighten.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting turned on like this,” Win teased, tilting her head back to look up at him, a knowing look on her face.

“What, you look nice on your knees,” Gator scoffed, warmth suffusing him.

“Mhmm,” Win hummed amusedly before straightening and helping him balance as he toed his loosened boots off.  “You go sit down, I’ll get you a drink,” she said, pointing to the couch before heading to the fridge to grab him a cold Mtn Dew.

Gator obeyed, shrugging his Sheriff’s vest off and plopping down on the couch, kicking his feet up on the foot stool, groaning softly as a dull pain flared through him where Munch had kneed him.

“What’s wrong?” Win asked, noticing his discomfort as she set the glass of pop next to him on the end table.

“Fucker kneed me in the groin,” Gator mumbled, rubbing at the area with a wince.

“I’ll get some ice,” Win offered, not waiting for him to argue before heading back to the freezer for a bag of frozen peas.  “Hope your junk still works,” she teased gently, dropping the peas on his crotch as she sat down next to him.  “That’d be a real shame otherwise.”

“Don’t worry, Princess, it still works just fine,” Gator huffed, moving the peas up and over to the left side of his pelvis.  “He didn’t hit my junk, just… nearby,” he muttered.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Win replied, her teasing grin melting to something softer as she watched his profile.  “Do you need any pain meds?” she asked, glancing down at his blue gauze wrapped cast.

“Nah, I had some at the hospital.  I can take some more later,” Gator answered, taking a sip from his glass and letting out a sigh.

Win nodded, fidgeting with the corded bracelet around her wrist for a moment before loosening the knot and slipping it off.  “Here,” she murmured, reaching for his uninjured left arm and Gator frowned in confusion as she slipped the bracelet around his wrist and pulled the cords snug, nestling it next to his watch.

“The fuck’s that?” he asked, looking down at the little blue glass eye that stared back at him.

“It’s my evil eye bracelet.  I want you to wear it,” Win mumbled, ducking her head and tucking her hair behind her ear.  “It’ll protect you.”

Gator frowned, his brow furrowing.  “Isn’t it kinda gay?  The guys’ll never let me hear the end of it if they see me wearin’ this thing,” he scoffed, though he didn’t make a move to try to take it off and Win stiffened, her own brows pinching.

“Fine, I’ll take it back!” she huffed, trying to hide her hurt behind indignation as she reached across him for his arm.  “See if I fuckin’ care!”

Noticing the hurt look that crossed her face, Gator’s stomach twisted and he pulled his arm back, keeping it just out of her reach.  

“Wait, okay!  I changed my mind, if it means that much to you, I’ll wear it, okay?  M’sorry,” he exclaimed, waiting for her to stop reaching for it before he dropped his arm, giving the bracelet another once over. 

“So what exactly is it?  You called it… an evil eye?  That sounds like a bad thing,” he said.

Win let out a heavy breath and sank back into the couch cushion.  

“It’s supposed to ward off bad luck and keep you safe,” she explained.  “I know it’s superstitious and shit, but… I dunno, if there’s any chance it’ll help, I’ll take it,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze as she picked at her chipped nail polish, and Gator softened.

“What’s gotten into you, huh?  I’ve never seen you this worried before,” he pointed out.

Win chewed her lip, trying to decide if she should tell him about Roy’s threat or not.

“Yeah well, you haven’t been hurt like this on the job before,” she exclaimed instead.  “As much as I hate to admit it… I care about you, and your job is fuckin’ dangerous.  I mean, you got assaulted today, your arm is in a cast for Chrissakes!  And you said several other guys ended up dead!  I don’t want that to happen to you!” she cried, the words flying out of her in a rush.

Gator grinned, turning her face toward him.  “Aww baby, you don’t gotta worry.  I’m a badass.  Fucker got the drop on me, is all.  If it woulda been a fair fight, I’d have wiped the floor with him,” he assured her, running his thumb across her bottom lip.

“But it’s pretty cute you’re worried an’ all,” he drawled, making Win roll her eyes.

“Gator,” she groaned, trying to pull away, torn between being angry at him for making light of the situation and annoyed at his teasing, but he didn’t let her get away, leaning over her to steal a kiss, only to wince in pain when he put his weight on his bad arm, already having forgotten about it.

“Careful,” Win murmured, pushing him back gently, and he let out a petulant huff.

“M’ fine,” he grunted.  “I told you, I’m tough.  Besides,” he added, stroking her cheek with a calloused thumb, “you’re my girl, and that means it’s my job to protect ya.  I gotta be tough to protect what’s mine,” he boasted.

“What’s yours?” Win repeated, knowing she should probably be offended by the statement, but couldn’t quite bring herself to be.

“Yeah, you’re all mine,” Gator drawled, holding her gaze possessively.

“I… kinda like the sound of that,” Win admitted reluctantly, surprised at the way her heart fluttered at his words before frowning.  “But by that logic, that means it’s just as much my job to protect you,” she countered firmly, just daring for him to disagree.

Gator looked doubtful, and for a moment she thought he was about to argue when he suddenly sighed, the air rushing from his lips loudly.  Even if he didn’t completely agree, he knew better than to voice that opinion.  It went against everything his father had taught him about being a man, but then again, Win wasn’t like any woman he’d ever met–she was capable and fierce–and to be honest, the thought that someone cared enough about him to want to protect him made his chest feel tight in a way he wasn’t used to.

“Alright, I guess I can live with that,” he mumbled, hoping she wouldn’t notice the way his face warmed.  

“Good,” Win countered, patting his cheek and wrinkling her nose.  “Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

Gator snorted, dropping his hand from her jaw.  “I promise I’ll be careful and I won’t take off this stupid bracelet if it’ll make you feel better,” he said, flashing her a wry smile.

Win rolled her eyes, but smiled in relief, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.  “Thank you for humouring me,” she murmured and Gator sighed, letting his eyes slide shut at the feel of her lips.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re lucky you’re so cute,” he muttered, earning a smug grin from Win as she pulled back.

“Can I draw on your cast?” she asked, eyeing the expanse of blank canvas and Gator snorted.  

“You’re not gunna draw anything stupid, are ya?”

“Course not.  Please?  You’ll love it,” she insisted, tilting her head and pleading with her best puppy dog eyes til Gator softened, feigning exasperation.

“Yeah alright,” he relented, grinning to himself as Win jumped to her feet to fetch a sharpie from the desk.

“I’ll make it look pretty,” she teased, pulling his arm into her lap as she jumped back onto the couch, bending over his cast in concentration.

“If the guys give me shit about this–” Gator began only to be silenced with a sharp look.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Gator knew the question was a trap and he let out a huff, deciding better than to walk into that one, bringing his glass to his lips and taking several long gulps of the neon yellow soda.  

Win wore a smug grin as she began to doodle, drawing a sheriff’s badge and rifle beneath a little alligator, adding a cheeky “property of Win xoxo” as her signature while Gator craned his head to watch.

“Really?” he asked, raising an unamused brow at her.

“What?” she replied coyly, glancing up at him, a mischievous light to her stormy eyes.  “Thought you belonged to me now.  Don’t you want everyone to know it?” she teased and Gator grunted, biting back a reluctant grin.

“So, there’s this Halloween party my friends and I are gunna be performing at this weekend, just some cover songs and shit, nothing major, but I was hopin’ you’d wanna come,” Win ventured, her gaze flicking to his for a moment before returning to her doodles.  “Thought you could meet my friends and watch me play,” she murmured with a shrug, half worried he’d tell her he didn’t wanna go.  “I mean, if you’re off duty that night…”

Gator watched her, affection washing over him, taking him aback.  

She wanted him there.

“Yeah.  Hell yeah I wanna go,” he insisted. 

“Really?” Win asked, sitting up straighter and searching his face, finding only honesty in his expression.

“Great!  It’s a costume party too, so I was thinking we could do a couple’s costume,” she added.

“Yeah?  What’chu have in mind?” Gator asked, Win’s excitement rubbing off on him.

“I was thinking of going as Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas, so maybe you could be my Jack?”

Gator grinned.  “That’s perfect!  I’ll stop at that Halloween store at the old K-mart tomorrow and see if they have any Jack Skellington masks.”

“Awesome,” Win replied, finishing up her masterpiece on his cast and tossing the pen aside.  “Is this your jerk off arm?” she asked after a moment, her lips curling in amusement.  “Might make things difficult for you,” she teased.

A snort ripped through Gator’s nose and he pulled her into his lap, this time minding his injured wrist.  “Why would I need to jerk off when I have you?” he scoffed, his brows raising as if he were just waiting for her to argue, a hungry light flashing in his eyes.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Win laughed, slipping her arms over his shoulders.

“Yeah, your hands are much nicer than mine,” he drawled, tilting his chin up to capture her lips in a slow delving kiss.  “And don’t even get me started on that mouth of yours, or your sweet sweet pussy,” he breathed, his eyes flicking up to hers as he shared her breath, his lips barely brushing hers.

Win swallowed, admiring the needy look on his face, his large brown eyes blown wide with want.

“Hmm, I guess you have a point,” she hummed, tilting her head to kiss his jaw, her lips dragging down his neck while her teeth grazed his flushed skin and her hands dropped to his belt, deftly unbuckling the black leather strap.  “Since you’ve been such a brave boy, I suppose you deserve a little treat,” she purred, playfully licking into his mouth before slipping from his lap to settle on the floor between his knees.

“You’re damn straight,” he groaned, leaning back against the cushions and letting his head loll back, though his eyes stayed trained on Win as she undid his cargo pants to free his throbbing length.

As soon as she wrapped her hand around him, Gator’s breath hitched and Win smiled at his reaction, stroking him slowly–enjoying the way his long lashes fluttered with each pump of her hand.  Sitting up on her knees, she held his gaze as long as she could before pressing her plush lips to his pretty pink tip, her tongue peeking out to lap along his slit, catching the clear bead of pre-cum that had wept out.

Humming softly, she swirled her tongue around the ridge of his head before returning to his slit, teasing it with the tip of her tongue, and Gator groaned louder.

“Such a fuckin’ tease,” he growled, though his voice held a hint of a whine and Win huffed a laugh through her nose.

Instead of responding, she glanced up at him pointedly before tilting her head and licking a broad stripe up the thick vein on the underside of his length.

Gator swallowed, watching her intently, his mouth falling open when she finally wrapped her lips around him, taking him into her mouth.

“Oh fuck,” he gasped, his voice coming out breathy and hoarse, and Win hummed again in response, the vibrations sending a shudder through him, the spring in his gut constricting tighter.  “Shit, feels so good, Winnie,” he groaned, stroking her hair before threading it through his fingers and resting his palm against the back of her neck, urging her deeper.

Win moaned, Gator’s praise and the thick weight of his cock against her tongue sent arousal pooling between her legs.  Taking a deep breath through her nose, Win cracked her jaw wider, letting Gator push her head down farther.  Swallowing nearly all of him, her nose buried in the coarse dark hair at his base she fought not to choke, tears springing to her eyes and gathering in her lashes.

Wrapping her hand around his base, she began to pump her fist over the length she couldn’t fit in her mouth in time with each bob of her head, saliva running down her chin to pool messily at his base and drip down his balls, but she didn’t care, focusing only on trying to breathe and not choke each time he rut his hips eagerly, bucking deeper down her throat.

“Oh fuck.  F-fuck, Winnie–little cockslut, oh–!”  

Gator’s praise soon turned to a babbled string of sharp curses interspersed with his sinful moans of her name. 

“Shit baby, I’m gunna–” he whimpered, his fist tightening in her hair and Win squeezed his thigh, letting him know she was ready, moaning around him for extra stimulation.  

With the loud keening cry, Gator tensed, his cock spasming in her mouth as he came, spilling his load down her throat, but Win didn’t stop, hollowing her cheeks to suck him clean, leaving him squirming and whimpering from overstimulation before she finally pulled his softening cock from her mouth.

Her eyes found his, as she opened her mouth to show him his mess before swallowing it down and wiping the drool from her chin.

“Oh fuck, I lo–love how good you are at that,” Gator groaned, going limp in his seat, his face flushed and his breaths heavy, hoping Win hadn’t caught his near slip up.

Win’s lips curved into a proud smirk and she pushed herself up, stealing a kiss as Gator tucked himself back into his boxers.

“I know,” she purred, plopping back down on the couch and reaching for the remote.  “C’mere,” she said, patting her thighs as she got comfortable, propping her legs out on the foot stool in front of her and Gator obeyed, stretching out along the length of the couch and resting his head in her lap with a contented sigh.

“That better?” she asked, scratching her nails lightly through his hair as she settled on a movie.

“You have no idea,” Gator murmured, his eyelids already slipping shut at the calming way her fingers moved through his hair, working it loose of it’s stiff gel.

Win huffed a soft laugh.

“Yeah well, don’t get too used to it,” she teased, too busy watching the soft slope of his freckled cheek to pay much attention to the movie she’d picked, finally feeling at ease, knowing at least for the moment, he was safe in her arms.

Gator snorted, cracking an eyelid to peer up at her.  “Dunno, seems like you don’t mind it that much,” he pointed out smugly and Win flicked his ear with her finger in return, laughing at his indignant yelp.

After a moment, however, he sobered, carefully keeping his gaze straight ahead.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” he murmured and Win softened, her breath hitching in her throat.

“I’ll always be here to take care of you,” she whispered, stroking his cheek. “Just don't make it a habit of getting banged up like this.  I don’t think my heart could take it.”

Gator closed his eyes against the wave of emotion that threatened to choke him.

“I’ll do my best.”

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