#small town girl tex fic

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 1

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

A little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. I love you bool!!! I hope you like this. It’s a mix of you and me and shit i made up and The Gift and conversations we’ve had and that silly rodeo fic we talked about and probably some sookie stackhouse and justified and longmire and other cowboy media that lives rent free in my brain at all times 😆 this is like 7000 words i apologize in advance…🙃 ILYSM!!!

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by strangergraphics-archive

To be fair, you saw the trouble coming from a mile away.

Or at least…a hundred yards, because that’s where he parked his ‘69 Chevelle outside the diner in the middle of your shift. You watched him swagger up in denim, boots, and a bitchin’ fringe leather jacket out the corner of your eye, because you were taking someone’s order. And you cursed the gods when he sprawled himself in a seat in your section, long legs extended out partly in the aisle. He was going to trip someone–or maybe he was just hoping you’d ask him sweetly to move those fancy-tooled shit-kickers to their proper position.

Your capacity for sweetly went up in smoke about an hour ago.

“Hi, can I get you started with something to drink?”

He looks up at you, all dark eyes and smoldering charm–yes, you’re sure he knows it, too–offering up a half smile that makes your heart stop even though you tried to brace yourself. And wow, goddamn if he doesn’t have the balls to look you up and down before answering, “Think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet.” His smile widens as you narrow your eyes down at him. 

“You want a milkshake?”

You swear there is a sparkle in his eye as you ask it. 

“Why yes, I believe I do. What flavor you got?”

You blink, heat blooming across your chest and up your neck. He sees it too, the cheeky bastard, that devil-may-care curl of lips widening more. 

“We have chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and banana.” 

“Hmm. That’s a hard choice, darlin’.” 

“You need some time to think about it?” 

He chuckles at your sass. “Nah. How ‘bout vanilla. With a cherry on top?” 

“Hard to find ‘round here, but I’ll see what I can do,” you deadpan, doodling with concentration on your order pad. 

This tickles his funny bone something fierce, those lovely eyes shining. Good Lord, it’s just not fair, the types of temptation the Devil is allowed to set in front of you mere mortals. 

However, you’re not falling for it. You’re not. You learned the hard way to be wary of tall, dark, and handsome men with a bit of the devil in them. Because before you were y/n y/ln, your name was Mrs. Donnie Barksdale, and you’ve got the scars to prove it.

“Comin’ right up, mister.” 

“Tex.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s my name. Tex.”

He is a charming bastard. You’re not falling for it. You just gotta keep telling yourself that. 

“Obviously an alias.” With the tip of your tennis shoe you nudge his big booted foot out of the aisle. “You’re gonna hurt someone with them things.” 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”   

You were not playing footsie with this gorgeous stranger. You were just moving a tripping hazard. 

You’re not falling for it.

You’re not so convinced either, as you go to make his drink. 

***

A little later, when you bring out his burger and fries, he asks, “Why don’t you set with me a while?” 

You roll your eyes, withdrawing a roll of silverware from your apron. “I can’t sit down and jaw with you, I’ll get fired.” 

He gives you a pouty face, and it should be illegal for a grown-ass-man to look so cute. “When’s your break?”

“Not for hours,” you lie.

“I’ll wait for you, darlin’.” 

You snort in answer to that, even while a storm of butterflies goes crazy in your belly. 

“Surely you have somethin’ better to do.”

He shrugs. “I just finished a job. Takin’ time for a little vacation on my way home.” 

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

“Erm…I’m in situational…solutions…management.”

“Wow. That’s not vague at all. You in the mob or somethin’?” you tease.

He lifts a brow, but doesnt answer immediately. It gives you an uneasy feeling, before he flashes that good ol’ boy smile again.

“Wouldn’t that be some shit?”

Sometimes you get feelings about things, and there is something about this man that makes you uneasy. You think your first instincts were right about him. He needs to be kept at arm’s length. Or maybe the proverbial ten foot pole would be more ideal. The sooner he moves on down the highway, the better. 

He lingers long after his burger and shake are gone, people watching, looking out the window…and looking at you. You can feel his gaze on you, like he is a wolf waiting patiently in the treeline for his opportune moment. You have to walk past him after taking a family their order of food, and he asks you, “So what do you do for fun in a little town like this?” 

“We’re all Baptists ‘round here, mister, no fun allowed.”

He scoffs, eyes still shining, but you can tell, his patience is finally wearing a little thin. Well, good. Hopefully he’ll get the hint and go. You’re sure a man who looks like him, tall and strapping and handsome as a movie star, is used to women throwing themselves at him. Maybe he thought you’d be a quick score because you’d be grateful for the attention. Boy howdy, did he read you wrong.  

“Did I see a sign for a rodeo a street back?” 

“Yeah, the fair and rodeo’s here this weekend.”

“Not your idea of fun?” 

“Yes and no. I don’t like seein’ the animals get mistreated.” Not all of them were, of course. But the boys could be a little rough when they were roping the young steers, and you knew you’d have a bone to pick with the owner of the local petting zoo later. 

“Huh. No, that’s not fun. Someone should do something about it.” That sparkle has returned to those polished onyx orbs, and you are equal parts intrigued and wary. 

“Easier said than done, believe me.” 

“We should team up tonight. Give ‘em hell.” 

You raise an eyebrow to that. Is he asking you out? Your heart does a little flip, before leaping in a swan dive to splat on the pavement. Don’t be stupid. 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Aww, come on, honey, give me a chance. I’m not a bad man.”  

He’s charming as a snake with an apple to sell, and you’re pretty sure he’s lying. 

“That’s exactly what bad men say.”

“What would a sweet thing like you know about that?”

You sigh, suddenly feeling about fifty years older than you are. “I know enough.” You don’t really mean to, but in a tick you can’t quite break you brush your hair behind your ear, touching the scar on your temple from the last time Donnie beat the hell out of you. The flesh is still raised, if not faded, the span of a few years softening the evidence, if only on the outside. 

You move your hand as soon as you realize what you’re doing, but not before this sharp-eyed man before you notices. His affable expression darkens, and you decide you would not like to meet him in a dark alley on a moonless night. “Give me a name, darlin’.” 

For a moment you are taken aback. You don’t know this man, and he doesn’t know you. The offer to play white knight for you is both titillating, and tiresome, if you’re being honest. You’ve heard it before from men who wanted to impress you. None of them panned out. No one wants to take on Donnie Barksdale. 

“I don’t need a man to protect me. I’ve got a shotgun for that. You want any dessert?” 

Like flipping a switch, he grins up at you, and though he is being friendly, there is still a hint of fang in it, like a wolf on the scent of something to hunt.

“I believe you, honey. I better skip the pie. Gotta watch my girlish figure.” He pats his slim waist, and you can’t stop yourself from looking. Inwardly, you sigh. With your lip between your teeth you add up his final bill on your notepad. “Feel free to add your phone number on there,” he teases, to which you just shake your head sadly. 

“There are plenty of pretty girls in this town who will be more than happy to entertain you, Mr. Tex,” you assure him.

Again, he shoots you that pout, and jesus god it should be illegal in twenty states, it gives you such a high. 

“But none of them are you, darlin’.” 

You roll your eyes, even if you kinda feel like you’re floating on a cloud right now. Goddammit. 

“You can nurse your broken heart over at TJ’s by the creek, it’s where everyone goes around here.” 

“Including you?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm, Miss Hard To Get. You’re really gonna make me comb through the whole crowd to find you at the fair tonight?” 

“Who said I’m going to the fair tonight?” 

“My gut.” 

You hand him his check with a smile that does not hide your annoyance. “You can pay at the register.” 

You hide in the back, finally taking your break, and deep in your idiotic heart you are sad to see him go. You hear the engine of the vintage sportscar rev from all the way in the kitchen, and you come out just in time to see the back end of him rolling down the road. 

Good riddance. You think it, but a part of you doesn’t really agree. Ah well. You’ve always had a weak spot for strays, but that one would have taken the cake. He was A Bad Idea™ and you were much better off without him. 

When you go to check the table you see he’s left you a cash tip that will cover your feed bills for a whole month, and your knees go a little weak. 

***

When your shift ends you get in your old car and head home, out of town, down the highway and through the woods, to the old farmhouse your grandparents left to you. Maybe you won’t be on the cover of Country Living any time soon, but the battered old clapboard house is home, and has been home to members of your family since the mid 1800s. 

Now, it is also home to the assortment of rescued animals you have picked up along the way. If your grandmother, god rest her soul, knew you kept a five-foot tegu lizard in an enclosure in her parlor she would probably expire all over again. But then again…if anyone had ever forgiven you for your stranger quirks, it was your Mawmaw. 

Your parents, not so much, which was ironic, considering. There was a reason the family farm went to you and not your mother. She never really got the hang of the whole adulting thing, falling in “love” with dirtbag after dirtbag after your parents divorce, ping ponging between bouts of addiction and religious righteousness. How you came to dread the words, “I am saved!” 

You find it funny, that the people who bang their bible the hardest are usually the ones who have the biggest sins to answer for. 

But when it came to bad decisions, maybe your apple didn’t fall far from the tree, considering your ex, but in your defense you grew up with Donnie Barksdale. His family’s land adjoined yours, and they had been in this holler just as long as your own ancestors had. They were well regarded around your tiny rural community, and half the folks in your town could hardly believe the rumors of the horrible things that man used to do to you. The other half thought you must have been asking for it–what can you count on in these parts, if not good ol’ fashioned Christian misogyny?

Once upon a time, Donnie Barksdale had been your best friend. You ran wild through the woods in your youth, building forts and catching critters. You fished in his pond and played in the hayloft of your grandparents’ barn. Then you got a little older, and your shirt filled out and the hormones kicked in, and maybe it was to no one’s surprise when you became lovers. Highschool sweethearts to a married couple, right after graduation. You could have gone to college on a scholarship, but Donnie wanted you home. 

It was easier to control you that way, you came to find out.

He didn’t beat on you at first. It took a while, for the disappointments of real life to set in. He never got drafted to play pro ball, and he was too proud to take up an honest trade. The pressures of living in a depressed rural area, with no good jobs and few good prospects, took their toll. Reagan-era policies made it easy for corporations to run all the little brick-and-mortar businesses into the ground, and trickle-down economics left your little community behind. Alcohol, meth, and Walmart filled in the voids.

With nothing better to do, Donnie started having affairs, and drinking too much, and when he finally got home he took his frustrations out on you.  

You try not to think about it now, but you do, every day. You’re not sure what hurt more: the actual physical beatings, or the betrayal by the boy who you’d loved madly since you were just eight years old. 

But there is something to be said, for the healing to be found with your hands in the dirt. You were such a broken thing, when you took over your grandmother’s overgrown garden years ago. Now, your little farmstead is a pollinator’s paradise filled with flowers and food. There’s something about sitting in the quiet with the butterflies flitting around that makes you feel like you’ve done something right in the world. You feed the birds, and you care for your animals, and you take life day by day.   

It’s a simple life, but a good one. You’ve run a long road, but you’re finally starting to feel like you’re going to be ok. 

And, you intend to keep it that way. That means not going for rides in fast cars with handsome strangers, no matter how lonely you are, or if it seems like he would be good to you, even if just for a night. 

You did good today, sticking to your guns. 

You need another man in your life like you need a hole in the head. “Boys are so rude,” you expound to your chickens, and your hens seem to cluck in agreement, their feathers so silky soft against your ankles as they wait for a treat. The last rooster who hurt your girls for his own gratification lost his head and ended up in your cookpot. If only it was so easy to dispose of belligerent human males.

You get your scoop, doling out some extra scratch grains to lure the chickens into their pen to lock them up early. 

You’ve got somewhere to be.  

As it turns out, Tex  was absolutely right about your intention to go to the rodeo, though you’re pretty sure he was blowing smoke about trying to find you. It’s a small town, but everyone will be there. You’ll be a needle in a haystack, and you take some comfort in that as you put on a black sunflower print sundress and your battered boots. 

You feed the cat, the dogs, your ancient conure parrot, and lock up the house. You have to go see a man about a horse–and you’re kind of dreading it.

***

You are not the only adult in the petting zoo area, which is some small relief. It takes a little while for Dale to even notice you are there, sneaking his skin and bones mini horse molasses treats from your purse in an attempt to help the poor thing put on some weight. It’s starving and its hooves need a trim and you could strangle Dale Manes with your two bare hands. 

You pass his place on the way home, and you regularly throw hay and treats over the fence in an attempt to feed his animals–something he clearly doesn’t seem to think it’s necessary to do much. 

He’s a cousin of Donnie’s, which has never kept him from ogling you. With some extra cash in your purse thanks to your handsome stranger, you’re hoping that maybe you can sweet talk Dale into relinquishing ownership.

Maybe it’s a lost cause, but maybe you can’t help but think about how many times people had looked at you in a bedraggled state, knew you needed help, and kept on walking with a “Bless her heart,” muttered under their breath. 

This little horse gobbles his treats down and bumps his head against you for scritches, leaning on you like a dog.

“Y/n, I see you spoiling my horse.”

You grit your teeth, before facing the music. “Hi Dale.”

“You know, I got you on my game cam trespassing on my property.” You can’t tell by his tone if he’s mad or not. It feels like you’re walking into a trap. Donnie used to play this verbal kind of game with you. It must be genetic.

“Trespassing’s a strong word,” you say, pouring extra sugar into your drawl.

“I don’t know what else to call it. Illegal feeding of animals?”

You give him a sheepish smile, when all you really want to do is kick him in the balls.

“Oh come on, Dale. You know this horse is skinny. It’s ok, I know how things go. I had some extra so I spread it around.”

It is not ok and you have literally lived on ramen cups some months so your animals could eat well and get the medicine they need. 

“Well ain’t you a peach?”

“Dale?”

He leers at you, sidling closer, and your skin crawls.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Sell me this horse.”

He gives you a look. “You’d ask a man to sell his livelihood?” 

You happen to know he gets by on government draw and dealing pain pills just fine.

“I like Ziggy. He’s my buddy. Let him come live with me.” The little horse in question is trying to nuzzle into your purse for more molasses treats. 

Dale takes a step closer, and it takes every iota of your self control not to step back. 

“You really are a piece of work.”

“Excuse me?”

“You conniving little bitch. I know it was you that called Animal Welfare on me last month.”

The sweetness drains from you like a flushing toilet. “Fat lot of good it did, I guess.” 

“You little bitch. You know how lucky you are? If you were my wife I would have killed you and buried you somewhere no one would find you.”

“Wow. I guess that’s why your wife ran off to Florida.”

“Cunt.” He raises his hand to you, right here in front of children and mothers and God and the whole damn town.

“What’s goin’ on here?” A strong arm loops around your waist, pulling you back out of striking range. “We horse tradin’, or are we pickin’ fights we can’t win?”

With wide eyes you look up to see the man from the diner, somehow even more handsome than before because he’s cleaned up and changed his shirt, the good looking bastard.

“Were you raisin’ your hand to this lady?” he asks. His tone is jovial, but there is an edge beneath the surface that does not escape your notice. You learned the hard way, how to dissect the subtle cadences of a man’s words.

“Believe me when I tell you she deserves it.”

“Huh.” Out of the blue Tex’s fist connects with Dale’s jaw, knocking him out cold. Ziggy startles at the body hitting the ground, darting on his little legs to the other side of the enclosure. All the families stare, shocked that someone would dare, though no one rushed in to see if Dale was still breathing. 

“Well, that’s our cue to go.”

“What?”

You are in shock, and it does not even occur to you to fight him when Tex takes your hand and pulls you through the crowd. You do not stop until you are on the other side of the fairgrounds, amidst the games and the dubiously safe rides. 

“Oh. My. God,” you wheeze, when finally you pause by the Whirl-A-Gig. “Do you know what you just did?” 

“You’re welcome,” he answers with that shit-eating grin, and you almost want to sock him yourself. 

“You should have let him hit me!”

“What?” Eyes wide, Tex is incredulous before you.

“God, I didn’t plan it that way but it would have been perfect! He woulda gone to jail, and the county would have to seize his animals.” At least the local Human Society would feed the poor things. 

Tex blinks, looking down at you like you’ve grown a second nose. “Did you miss the part where he was going to knock your head off?” 

“I’m used to it,” you muse absently, annoyed to the soles of your boots that you missed this opportunity. “If I were you I’d git while the gettin’s good. The whole Barksdale clan is going to come after you now.” 

His grin is like a baring of fangs. “Sounds like fun.” 

“Huh. You ain’t gonna think so when ten of ‘em roll up on you in your fancy sportscar.” 

“Meh. I can handle a pickup truck full of cousin fuckers. Wouldn’t be the first time.” 

A chortle escapes you before you can stop it. You cross your arms defensively, trying not to smile.

“The Barksdales are some tough customers, mister.” You had to be, to survive back in the day, but somewhere along the line it just got…out of hand. 

“Sounds like you know ‘em pretty well.” 

“I was married to one of them for the worst six years of my life. Believe me, you don’t want none of what they got.”  

Tex takes this opportunity to step into you, and now that the excitement is over you are reminded that you have six feet of pure cowboy standing in front of you. The pretty tooled embroidery on his shirt emphasizes how wide his chest is. You can smell the heady spiced scent of his cologne, and it hits you like a drug. Goddammit. 

“Sounds like you’re worried about me, darlin’.” His voice is like warm molasses. 

“Psshh. You better worry about yourself,” you grouse with extra venom, annoyed. “I don’t think you have the sense God gave a chicken.” 

He chuckles at that, and you try to back away. Try is the operative word, because he has your hands in his again. “Oh come on, darlin’, don’t leave me yet. Is this the thanks your knight in shining armor gets?” 

His hands engulf yours, long strong fingers wrapped around your palms, and you feel more than a little weak inside.  

“Knight in shining armor my fanny. Your little stunt is going to get us both hurt.” 

“My stunt? Were you or were you not trying to buy that horse when you knew damn well he wasn’t going to sell it to you?” 

You sigh. “Well…I had a little windfall burnin’ a hole in my pocket, and I had to try.” 

He pulls you a little closer–amazingly, you let him. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I left that for you.” 

“Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?” 

“Well…” Goddammit, if he does not take the opportunity to sidle even closer, so that your fronts are nearly pressed together, and you think you just might faint. “I was hoping you might treat yourself to somethin’ nice. Like a pretty new dress.” He looks you up and down, making a low sound in his throat of appreciation. “But I see you already had that handled. Mmm, you look good.” 

You sigh, a long suffering sound of exasperation. Is there something wrong with this man? Because he can’t seem to stop running his mouth. And maybe you’re losing your mind, but…you’re kind of starting to like it.

“I think you might have a screw loose, mister.” 

He grins wide for you, in that moment looking every bit the outlaw, with his shining dark eyes and hair brushing his collar. 

“That may be true…” He leans down towards you, and you think you just might die. “But I’m pretty sweet.” You’re afraid he’s going to try to kiss you, and you’re even more afraid you’re going to let him. But he just bumps your forehead with his before paying you that devil-may-care grin, and you swear your heart stops in your chest. 

This man is such a mistake, but you feel your defenses dissolving like sugar in hot tea. 

“Want to split a funnel cake?” 

As it turns out, it’s the nail in your coffin. 

“Yeah.” 

He grins like a man who just won the lottery, tucking you into his side under the shelter of his well-muscled arm like you’ve always belonged there, and goddammit if it doesn’t feel good to feel protected. Too good, maybe. It’s something you cannot allow yourself to get used to.

“I knew you’d come around, darlin’.”

It’s been a while since you made a big mistake. Like…less than an hour, at least, so you guess you were due up. As bad decisions go… You look this tall cowboy up and down, his denim-clad legs about a mile long swaggering beside you. 

“How did you find me?” it occurs to you to ask.

“I remembered what you said about liking animals, and figured the petting zoo would be a good place to start.”

You pause in your step, almost tripping as you look up at him. Maybe it shouldn’t be this surprising, that a man actually listened to something you said. But god. It twists and squeezes something inside you. It’s painful and wonderful and you really should run before this gets out of hand. But he is looking down at you with those smoldering dark eyes, and a part of you already knows that it’s too late. 

***

“So, my babygirl likes animals,” muses Tex beside you, taking a bite of funnel cake with a grin. “Let me guess. You’ve got a whole house full of strays.” 

You sigh, tearing off a piece, a good crispy bit with plenty of powdered sugar. “And a barn.” You have chickens and ducks and rabbits and goats that came to you post-Easter after people realized the fuzzy little things turned into full grown animals that needed housing and room. You have a conure that outlived its previous owner, and a bulldog whose tongue doesn’t quite fit in her mouth, and the world’s only sweet chihuahua who loves to snuggle and needs medication that seems to get more and more expensive every time you have to buy it. The reptiles came to you from a family whose child changed their mind, and the cat just kinda showed up at your door one day, the way they do…

Most men who hear the extent of your menagerie swiftly run in the other direction. They think you’re a hoarder, or if they stick around they want to be the sole focus of all your attention–and it’s just not going to happen. They leave after a month or so, or you run them off. 

You have no reason to think this won’t end the same way. 

“That’s alright, darlin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with havin’ a soft heart for critters.”

They all say that at first. 

Ah well. It’s not like you’re looking to get married again, anyhow. You just…get a little lonely, sometimes, when it’s just you and the dogs and darkness outside. 

“Hmm. That’s not the review I usually get. So what about you? You know I have to ask if you’re really from Texas.”

He grins. “Guilty. But I live in L.A. now.” 

“Oh yeah? Are you an actor?”

“I was a stuntman for a little while.”

“Anything I’ve seen?” 

He laughs, an open guffaw of mirth that makes his eyes shine and your heart fill to bursting. “Well, you look like a diehard fan of Death Charger II.”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch that with my Grandma,” you tease. 

He snorts and pulls off another piece of pastry. “It was fun for a while, but I could tell I was just going to end up with a broken body and an empty bank account.”

“So…what do you do now?” 

He looks up at you through those long dark lashes, and you swear to god your heart does a pirouette in your chest. 

“I can’t really talk about it,” he tells you, which you guess is actually a more honest answer than feeding you some bullshit lie. “Pays well, though.” 

“Okay…that’s not creepy at all.” 

 He pays you that open grin and offers you the last little crunchy morsel from his fingertips. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darlin’. You’re in good hands.” 

After a long pause you take the bite, your lips just barely brushing the tips of his fingers. But it ignites a fire in his eyes that has you squirming in your seat, your thighs unbearably moist. Thank god you’re wearing a black dress. 

“Let’s walk around,” he proposes, and you agree, even if you’re afraid your legs might not work anymore. 

***

Hand in hand, you wander the fairgrounds, people watching, talking, and playing a few games. Tex is fun, and he is sweet, never once letting go of your hand, except during the clown toss which he swears is rigged (and you agree). He makes a crack about his balls being too big to fit in its mouth, and you break down in a giggling fit as the two of you walk away. It feels a little bit like magic, wandering around amidst the bright lights and the warm night and for the first time in a long time, you realize you’re not afraid of running into one of Donnie’s clansmen with an axe to grind or family honor to hold up or some other testosterone-driven bullshit that terrorizes your waking hours and your nightmares. 

“Haunted house?” 

“No way.”

“Swings?” 

“Don’t trust them.”

“Roller coaster?” 

“I like my spine aligned right where it is, thank you.” 

“How ‘bout the ferris wheel?” Tex proposes with a lift of brows, and even though you know exactly what he’s up to, you finally agree. Tucked into the tiny bucket together in a space that is not meant for adults but god is it lovely to sit with your side molded to his, Tex sneaks his arm around you with a come-hither curl of lips. 

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn him with a venom you absolutely do not feel at this point. You make a show of leaning away, even though there’s absolutely nowhere for you to go in the little compartment.  

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it,” he assures you with a devilish glint in his eye, pulling you closer, and off you go in a big vertical circle. It is fun, to see all the lights and the people below, and the rodeo round pen on the other side of the grounds. 

Then the ride stops with a grinding halt that doesn’t feel quite right. The two of you are at the very apex of the wheel, on top of the world. You look around, a little nervous. Oh god, please don’t let you get stuck here. 

“It’s alright, darlin’” he soothes you, with a wolfish grin that is not comforting at all. 

You can see the roping event with a bird’s eye view. You flinch as a cowboy throws a loop around a steer’s neck, jerking it around. At least the second cowboy misses the ankles. You stick your tongue out at them, knowing no one can see. 

“Aww, that little grass puppy’s fine,” Tex tries to assure you. “They’re pretty tough.”  

Once upon a time your family made part of their living running cattle. You know they’re tough, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair to treat them that way just for fun. “There are ways to train them without the rope, you know. They’re very food motivated.” 

“But what’s a cowboy without his rope, honey?”

“A farmer.” 

He chuckles at that. “It just lacks a certain prestige, don’t it?”

“Fuck you very much. My family’s been farming since before this place was even a state.”

He chuckles at your fiery response, clearly enjoying getting your goat. “Erm–no offense.” 

“Pssh. It’s not about prestige. It’s men and their testosterone poisoning, always havin’ to show off at everyone else’s expense.” You’re sure he won’t like it, but you say it anyway. You wait for him to get surly, like all men do when you say what you’re really thinking, and it occurs to you that maybe you should have waited until you’re not trapped in a tin can of an amusement ride with him before insulting him. 

“Hmm. Well…there might be somethin’ to that.” 

He could have knocked you over with a feather…if you weren’t already mashed into an enclosed seat with him. 

“Yeah, there might be,” you say more softly, quickly looking away when he tries to meet your eyes. 

“Hey now.” He strokes your arm with his fingertips lightly, drawing little circles and driving you crazy. “We’re silly creatures, ain’t we? I get it.” 

The fact that this man, who is 6 feet plus of pure masculine energy, would say such a thing to you–well frankly it blows you the fuck away. 

“Showin’ off is fine,” you sigh, still unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just…why does someone always have to get hurt for the sake of it? Usually…someone innocent.”

“You’re right,” he agrees gently. “It shouldn’t be that way.”

Now you do get up the courage to look at him, though it feels like you’re drowning when you do. You really thought you had this man’s number. He dresses like a cowboy and drives a vintage muscle car, walks with James Dean swagger and he even punched a man out for you not but over an hour ago. But here he is, talking to you…like women matter. Like you matter. 

“We’ve been up here a really long time,” you muse, blinking the tears out of your eyes while you peer over the side. 

“Ah well. I’m sure they’ll get us down eventually.” He does not seem worried at all. “I like the view.” He’s looking at you while he says it, curling a little lock of hair from the nape of your neck around his finger, and an embarrassing shudder gallops down your spine. “Hmm, someone’s sensitive,” he says with a little smile. 

You shoot him a glare out the corner of your eye. You don’t think you’ve convinced him by half. 

“It’s just cold up here.”

It is the tail end of summer, and still 80 degrees out with the sun down.  

“Sure it is, sweetheart.” 

You sigh, and you don’t know how it’s possible, considering your position, but somehow he seems to sidle closer. 

“Tex?” 

“Yeah, beautiful?” 

You don’t really know what you intended to say–you look at his mouth, those full, well-drawn lips, and you forget how to breathe for a few crucial seconds. You are lightheaded, the world spinning as he closes the distance, and gently presses his mouth to yours. 

Someone moans, and only belatedly do you realize it’s you. 

You feel him smile against your mouth, before going in for the kill, his long fingers sliding up into your hair to hold you to him. If you’d felt trapped you would have fought him, no matter how stupid and no matter how high up you were sitting in this rattletrap of a ride held together with rusty bolts and bubblegum. But you feel…free, like for a few blessed moments, you’ve found a part of yourself you left somewhere. A part of yourself you needed, even though you didn’t realize it at the time of losing it. 

You let this man devour you, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance you feel all the way in your clit. Pressing your thighs together does not help at all, and he smiles again like he knows exactly what your problem is. When his paw of a hand settles just above your knee, squeezing the soft flesh of your thigh, his thumb finding its way just past the hem of your dress, you smack your hand over his. “Hold up, cowboy,” you pant, knowing you sound ridiculous but unable to put any real steel in your tone. 

His eyes glitter like the night sky as he pulls back to look at you, breathing heavy through his nose. “You sweet little thing. I could just eat you up.” He nibbles your lower lip again, and you think you might expire. He doesn’t force the issue, his hand staying right where you’re holding it. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, a steady timpani roll that does not help with your lightheadedness. The carriage sways slightly in the summer breeze, and you’re not sure that you’re not floating in mid air with nothing to catch you. Your grip on his hand tightens, desperately seeking something to ground you. You’re not sure if this is a panic attack, or vertigo, or unadulterated lust. 

“Don’t get too full of yourself…but I think I might faint.” 

The hunger in his expression turns into concern. “You alright, darlin’?”

“Just…hold on to me, ok?”

“Alright, alright. You gotta breathe for me though. Deep breath.” You do as you’re told. “Then out.” You do this, and you close your eyes, and you start to feel better just as the wheel finally starts to turn again.

As excruciatingly fun as it was to be squashed together with this delicious specimen of a man, you are so grateful when it’s time to get out and put your feet on terra firma once more. Tex steadies you with an arm around your waist, and you just happen to be looking up at the right time to catch the ferris wheel operator’s conspiratorial wink at your ad hoc date. 

“Sonofabitch. Did you bribe him to stick us up there?” 

Tex chuckles, flinching as you poke him in the ribs. “Hey, you ain’t even met my Mamma yet!”

“Did you?” you demand, unrelenting in your attack. He wiggles like he is ticklish, and you feel like you have stumbled upon crucial intelligence of the enemy. 

“I might have slipped him somethin’...”    

“You imp! I thought we were stuck!” 

He is laughing as you tickle him and poke him, until maybe your fingernail goes a little too far in between his ribs and he grabs you up with a growl that you feel in your loins, putting a stop to your antics with your arms pressed to your sides and your body pressed to his. “You ok? I didn’t know you were scared of heights.” 

You’re not really. Scared of feeling things, is another matter. 

“I’m ok.” 

“Good.” He dips his head to kiss you again, and you let him for about 2.5 seconds before turning your head. 

“Tex…” 

“Yeah, honey?”

“I think…I think I better go home.” 

His expression falls like you kicked his puppy. “Oh. Did I…do somethin’? I’m sorry, darlin’.” 

He did somethin’. He’s done everything right, and suddenly you are scared shitless of where this could lead. 

“No, I’ve had fun,” you tell him honestly. “But I have to work tomorrow, and I’m tired. I should go home.” 

“Oh.” He sticks out that pouting lip, and it really should be illegal for a grown man to look so adorable. “Can I…come see you for lunch then?” 

“I guess…I can’t stop you.” 

“Would you want to though?” 

Therein lay the million dollar question. 

“Maybe not?” 

He smiles, and it feels like a special gift, just for you. “Alright. Tomorrow then. Let me walk you to your car at least.”

Considering what you got up to earlier that evening, it wasn’t a bad idea. “Ok.” 

You exchange one last lingering kiss before he tucks you down into your driver's seat and makes ao show of buckling you in. You know it's a ploy to feel you up a little but it makes you giggle anyway. “Tex…I can buckle my own damn seat belt.” 

“I know, darlin’.” He leans on the roof of your car, looking down at you like you’re something precious, preventing you from closing your door. You need to go because if you stay in his company any longer you are going to melt into a pile of goo. 

“Tex…” 

He sighs. “Alright, fine. Tomorrow. You better be ready to take your break with me.” He makes sure your legs are out of the way before shutting your door and tapping on the roof. Why do men do that, like a car is a horse? Giddyup. You think it would be horrifyingly hilarious, if your late-model car decided to play it’s occasional game of let’s not start until you try five times. But no, the old soldier dutifully responds to the turn of your key, and carries you away through the grass parking lot, onto the highway, and away from the man you’re afraid you would like to curl up in bed with and not leave for a month. 

That man is pure trouble…and you are pretty sure you want more of him. 

[haven-in-writing]

Queen of Peace

A/N This is a self insert with no specific pairing. So I guess it’s a  AvengersxReader fic! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything and I have spent a lot of time perfecting this plot so I hope you guys enjoy it!

Also, this is set four years after the first snap, so half of the world has been gone and Lang hasn’t made it out of the quantum world yet.

The thrumming in your veins pulsated rapidly, your heart heavy with the weight of knowledge. What had yet to pass was approaching and you knew there was hardly any chance that this would work. The opening to the portal was about to open, your opportunity to fix this grievous issue was several worlds away. Kissing your daughter's forehead lightly, careful not to wake her, you leave the letter you had written and your locket, an heirloom, and quickly stalk away to your ride. The sacrifice would be worth it in the end.

Gripping your sword for comfort, you feel the bifrost hit you with a wave of energy. The magnificent colors hummed with life and vibrancy unlike anything you’d seen before. She knew this would be your last lift, old girl was giving you a beautiful farewell. 

“Blessed be the travelers that have you as their guide, my colorful companion,” you whisper as you feel yourself touch the midgardian soil. Your arrival seems to have caused quite a stir with the midgardian people, as many of them in their white building began rushing outside. You quickly teleport yourself to the last place you stayed when visiting the silly creatures planet, landing in an old ghost town.

“Welcome to Tex-ass?” You quietly ask yourself as you read the sign that wasn’t there the last time. The wooden home shaded by a large willow tree looked just like you had left it, if not a little worse for wear. It would have to do for now. Not that you would be visiting long anyways. The mortals would catch up to you quickly, you had no doubt. 

Not bothering to change or refresh yourself, you start a fire under the large kettle in the corner. Softly flicking your hand the large pot is filled with water, enough for the visitors bound to come. Setting your sword on its holder attached to the wall, you quickly work in the old kitchen. In the garden outside, there are remnants of vegetation left from that summer's harvest. 

The old caretaker must have known I was coming, you think as you carefully manipulate the different vegetables to grow. Gathering the bunch in a wicker basket, you make short work of the stew. Finding some rabbits were easier than you thought, catching three that were mature and plump. Stirring the vegetables and cooking the meat was a welcome distraction. The methodical process gave you time to think, approaching a group of wary superheroes that would assume the worst had you on edge. They couldn't hurt you, but that wouldn't help them trust you. So lost in thought, you almost missed their entrance.

Of course they would send in the spider first, she's good, the thought briefly flickered through your mind. Continuing to stir in the rabbit with the vegetables, you address the woman staring you down.

"One would say staring so pointedly is improper etiquette," the light tone meaning no more harm than a mother's teasing quip. 

"Says the woman that left a gathering without a proper goodbye, or an introduction for that matter," the spider with hair like a flame quickly retorted. You could feel the grin coming from the other woman, and taking that as a good sign you turn, laughing lightly at the quick response she managed to come up with. 

“Introductions would be a waste of time considering there is little time left for me as is, though I’m sure it would ease many of your team's concerns,” you quickly state as you feel uneasy tension from the group beyond the door.

“It would be smart to just tell us who we are before we have to assume the worst,” the spider says nonchalantly.

“Be a dear and fetch my nephew, he owes you all a proper introduction,” you wave your hand as you speak, “I believe you know him, Thor is quite hard to miss.” You laugh lightly as the dots connect in the spider's mind momentarily. It was unnecessary for her to make her leave to retrieve your nephew as he had a habit of eavesdropping. He bounded through the small door, excitement radiating from him. 

“By the Norns, I thought I would never see you again!” Thor exclaimed loudly in the cozy space. He bounded up to you and gripped you in a fierce hug, you hand caressed his hair lovingly. You had truly missed the darling. 

“Thor, do tell your friends to make themselves at home, I haven’t much time I’m here strictly for business,” the regal tone he had heard from his own mother reflected in your voice as you got down to business. 

As he regaled the team with how your sister was his mother, the Queen of Asgard, you made quick work of the rabbit stew. Using a couple of barely legal time spells the meal was ready, summoning a bottle of Pinot Noir to complement the stew. You noticed several eyes carefully calculating you as you work, not that you minded. The table was bare and needed setting, time to put some boys to work here. 

“Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind,” you gestured towards the cabinets and towards the table, they worked out the rest. 

“Now, tell me, what has happened here on Midgard to cause such a power surge through the cosmos?” Your question imposing a tone of authority naturally. Without hesitation, Thor relayed the events, filling you in on how he had been searching and had found a few of the infinity stones, and how they had lost them to Thanos, taking half of the world out with him. 

“Thanos has already been here... Thor, this isn't your whole team now is it?” The question pauses everything in the room, silence taking her queue in the old wooden home. 

“It’s been four years since the incident, y/n.”

[chloca-cola]

Resonance Chap 3 Color My World

Chapter 3 of my The Last Of Us fic. Travel back to ten years ago, Joel and Mickey get closer and Gina is noticing this and isn't happy.

TW: None, a little bit of angst.

Word count: 2,665

~

~10 Years Ago~

Tommy and Joel were beginning to overstay their welcome as far as Mickey was concerned at first, but Gina had seemed to have taken a liking to the Texas born brothers quickly. They kept putting ideas in Gina's head about over throwing the camp here, and Mickey kept changing the subject.

She couldn't deny having the two men around was helpful, she was loath to admit it though. They helped fix up different things around their small house, that Gina nor Mickey were good at repairing. She learned Joel used to work as a carpenter in construction and even wanted to start his own business before everything went to shit.

She also was loath to admit that the more she spoke with Joel, the more she began to warm up to him. Before hell broke loose, if she had known him, she feels they would have been friends, or at the very least drinking buddies.

"So, what did you do before all this?" Joel inquired, Mickey chuckled, handing Joel another nail, holding the bucket against her chest, and she smiled up at him.

"I was a singer." She admitted, shrugging. "Nothin' big time, just local bars and shit." Joel lowered his hammer, looking down at her from his spot on the ladder.

"Seriously? You know I wanted to be a singer too." Mickey laughed, not at him, just at how they shared something in common, it genuinely surprised her. 

"I did not know that. Why didn't ya?" His face became stern again, his mind going to his past once more, and he shook his head.

"Things just...changed, and I couldn't." Mickey's smile faded, wondering what happened but didn't want to pry, after all, she wasn't sharing all of her secrets either. The "bars" she had been singing at weren't regular bars, she had played in several gentlemans clubs because the money was good. She fucking hated having to sing there, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do to pay the bills that just kept mounting. She had to lie about her age and everything, luckily the clubs were very shady and didn't ask too many questions. As long as the girls were attractive enough and could perform, they didn't care. 

"I wanted to go to Nashville, make it a career, but things changed for me too." She confessed, shrugging her shoulders again. "My dad got sick, and I had to work at...unsavory places." Joel's eyes were fixated on Mickey's face as she spoke to him, and he climbed down a few rungs to be closer to her. 

"What happened to your dad?" Her eyes welled with tears, as she her gaze left his to look up at an eagle gliding along the high winds above them.

"Cancer. He didn't make it. About 4 years before the infection hit." Joel hung his head, moving the hammer to his other hand so he could place his free one on her shoulder. He nodded to her when she looked back to him.

"My girlfriend got pregnant in highschool. We ended up getting married and it didn't end well. I took care of our daughter, that's why I took up that carpenter job." 

Gina watched from the window at the two of them conversing between themselves as she sipped on some mint tea, Tommy joining her soon after seeing how rapted in contemplation she was.

"What's going on?" He asked, following her gaze to his brother and Mickey, and he made a surprised noise. "Holy shit they look close, huh?" Gina looked over at Tommy, her eyes holding a feeling akin to jealousy, and it confused Tommy but he shrugged it off.

"Yeah, real bosom buddies." It was the first time Tommy heard Gina sound so negative, and he clapped her on the shoulder, nearly making her spill her tea.

"Hey, I wouldn't worry about it too much, girly, she's still your cousin, no matter what, right?" Gina eyeballed him again and Tommy sighed, shrugging his shoulders in a defeated manner. "I would tell him to leave her alone, but that would just make him talk to her more. He's stubborn like that. Besides, if they fall in love, y'all can come along with us." Gina frowned heavily at him, before turning and leaving him by the window. "What'd I say?" He asked, holding his arms out at his sides, confused, before he shook his head. "Women." 

Tommy looked out the window again, watching how Joel was interacting with Mickey and he smiled to himself. He hadn't seen Joel look at any woman like that since his ex, and his older brother was dense enough that he probably doesn't even realize he's doing it.

"I'm sorry about your daughter." Mickey stated, softly, as Joel came all the way down from the ladder, and he nodded quickly.

"Sorry about your dad." Joel offered and Mickey shrugged, setting the bucket of nails down on the porch before leaning onto the railing on her forearms. 

"Sometimes...when I really think about it, I think he was lucky." She admitted, blushing at her confession, because it sounded weird even to her, and she motioned out across the encampment. "To not have to deal with this. Sometimes bein' alive is exhaustin'." Joel leaned on the railing beside her, bumping his shoulder against hers, looking out over the small shacks and houses that dotted the area.

"I get that, but...if I had the chance to have Sarah back...I would in a heartbeat." Mickey turned her head to study his profile as he then looked up at the same eagle and a pregnant silence fell between them as they both thought about their past before Joel finally broke the silence with a small scoff. "Look at us, for the first time we aren't going for the jugular." Mickey softly laughed at him, bumping against him, before pushing off the railing to go inside.

"Don't get used to it, Tex, maybe I'm just gettin' ya to let your guard down." She joked, shooting him a finger gun, before waving for him to come inside. "We will finish this later. Let's get some food."

"You've never told me where you're from originally." Joel pointed out as he followed Mickey into the kitchen where Gina and Tommy were already eating.

"We are from North Carolina." Gina replied tersely, causing both Mickey and Joel to exchange a look of concern before Mickey sat next to Gina.

"Boone to be exact. Not too far from here." Mickey continued as she got herself a helping of baked beans and some of the fresh vegetables they had grown from their garden out back. Gina stabbed her food rather aggressively causing Mickey to look at her again, her face asking her what was wrong.

"You guys given any more thought to attacking this town?" She asked out of the blue, causing Tommy to choke on his water. He coughed and sputtered, wiping the liquid from his face, shooting a look at Joel.

"Well, no, because Mickey said that she wanted to stay here because you felt safe." Joel stated and Gina rolled her eyes, and Mickey finally cleared her throat. 

"Yeah, I did tell him that. Because it's true." Gina scoffed and waved her hand dismissively to Mickey, before forking more veggies on her plate.

"I'm done with this town. I want to try." She placed her fork on the table, before stabbing her finger on the table repeatedly to drive her point home. "This place isn't living. They're controlling and I'm tired of it."

"We can just leave-" Mickey began but Gina held up her hand to silence her girlfriend, which caused Mickey's own anger to rise.

"I'm not leaving these people to suffer, we have to do something!" She slammed her palms onto the table, causing the plates to rattle, and Mickey just glared at her.

"I'm not gonna risk your life for these people either. We can't risk killin' ourselves for 'em, we can't save everyone Gina!" Mickey snapped back, slamming her own hands on the table with more force than Gina had, and Joel and Tommy just leaned back to watch. Joel was beginning to feel a little tinge of guilt because inadvertently he caused this fight between them. He rubbed a hand over his face as the two girls continued to argue.

"That's all you ever do, only think about us, never anyone else. That is...until he came along." Everyone at the table froze, Gina's green eyes glaring fire at Joel, and Mickey just looked at Gina in confusion.

"You're the one who wanted 'em to stay here!" Gina turned her green fire to Mickey.

"Yeah, and ya were fuckin' threatenin' him a month ago, and now look at the two of ya." Gina's normally tame accent grew thicker as her anger rose, and stood from the table so fast her chair toppled over and Mickey stood up not long after her, pointing up at her slightly taller girlfriend.

"Isn't that what ya wanted? Me to be miss popularity?" Gina growled turning on her heel quickly, storming off to their shared bedroom. Mickey pinched the bridge of her nose, before gathering all her blond dreads to her left shoulder, and she looked at the men. "Sorry, finish your dinner. I'm gonna go calm her the fuck down." 

"Gina, what the actual fuck?" Mickey whisper shouted at her as she slammed the door behind her.

"I see the way ya look at him, Mickey!" She shouted, gesturing in Joel's general direction and Mickey was honestly confused.

"What are you talkin' about?" Gina gave her a warning look, balling her fists tightly, she would never strike Mickey, but the thought of punching Joel out has crossed her mind a few times.

"Like just out there on the porch! The way ya were smilin' at him! It's how ya used to look at me…it's just like how ya used to look at me." Gina's breath hitched in her throat and her sentence faded, and she hugged arms around herself, her anger quickly fleeting to heart break. Mickey's eyebrows were raised in surprise, until she barked out an incredulous laugh, slapping her own knee as she doubled over in her mirth.

"Me? Like Tex? Please Gina, be serious." Mickey reached out and placed her hands on Gina's shoulders, giving her a small shake to get her to look into Mickey's eyes. "Are ya really that worried about him? I'm just tryin' to like 'em both like ya do." She shrugged, pulling Gina in for a tight hug, which Gina was about to return when a knock on the door startled them both.

Mickey released Gina and turned to the bedroom door, opening it to reveal Tommy, who had a pretty concerned look on his face.

"Guy named Ansen is at the door." Mickey's pale face grew slightly more pale as she looked over her shoulder at Gina. Ansen was the leader of the cult, why was he here suddenly? Mickey brushed passed Tommy to find Joel at the door talking to Ansen, whose gruff face void of any emotion until his steely blue eyes landed on Mickey, and a dark smile crossed his face.

"Ah, Mickey, there you are. Just the girl I wanted to talk to." She tilted her head, smiling just as darkly at him, before motioning to the couch for him to sit. "Thank you." He nodded to her, moving deeper inside the room to the couch.

"Would ya like some mint tea?" Mickey offered, his tight smile was unnerving as he shook his head.

"No thank you, I have business to discuss with you and your...friends." His eyes slid to Tommy and Joel as Mickey motioned for everyone to sit. "You have been here with us for...a month now, is it?" Tommy nodded, trying to sit comfortably under this man's scrutinizing gaze. "Been using some of our resources as well." Mickey knew where this was going, and she sat forward on the edge of her armchair, waving her hand.

"We have been havin' 'em eat outta our own personal garden, Ansen." She corrected him, but all he did was smile, his eyes hard as he watched her as she spoke to him.

"They have used our water. Attended our feast two weeks ago. They have been interacting well with the others in town. I think the time has come to ask if they are planning on staying here permanently." Mickey cut her eyes up at Joel who had absentmindedly sat on the left armrest of her chair, her hazel green eyes trying to convey to him to tell Ansen they were leaving soon.

"We were all just discussing this before you showed up, actually." Gina interjected herself into the conversation, her voice and accent calmer now and Mickey glared at her girlfriend. She had no idea what Gina was trying to do here. "They want to join." Joel's hand gripped onto Mickey's shoulder to keep her seated, shaking his head subtlety at her when she glared up at him, now was not the time to lose their cool.

"Splendid!" Ansen cheered, slapping his palms down on his thighs, standing to his feet. "That's wonderful to hear. I'll get the preparations together and four days from now, we will set up the ceremony for them to join." Gina smiled at him, taking his arm as she lead him back to the front door, discussing how much fun this was going to be. 

Mickey cursed under her breath, frustration mounting as Joel gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Tommy was watching them closely. Whatever Gina has planned, Tommy had a bad feeling about it all.

Gina came back in the house after walking Ansen away, smiling to herself, shutting the door behind her.

"We have four days to prep for this." She stated vaguely and Mickey made an incredulous noise. "This is gonna be easy. All we have to do is cut the head off the snake and everything dies." Mickey shook her head, standing from her seat, Joel's hand getting knocked away, and she glared at Gina.

"This is a bad idea. We should just leave. We could sneak-" Gina cut her off with a simple look, storming back into their room, slamming the door closed.

Mickey sighed heavily, slowly sitting back down in the chair, leaning back, rubbing her hand over her face.

"If you want, we could still sneak away." Joel suggested and she looked up at him as if he just spoke in another language to her.

"I'm not leavin' Gina here. After all this, if we turn up missin', they may decapitate her in front of the camp, usin' her as an example." She explained, punching the armrest on her right side. "She's basically fucked us all, and now ya guys either have to join this fuckin' cult, or we go through with your plan to overthrow them." She stood up from her chair, and walked outside to breath in the crisp early evening air.

"Joel...what have you been talking to Mickey about exactly?" Tommy asked, once they were in the spare bedroom and Joel hummed in question. "I'm assuming when you said 'we' you meant you and me, right?" Joel turned to Tommy then, looking at him strangely before shrugging.

"Obviously." Tommy blinked, chewing on the inside of his cheek, still feeling off put by this whole situation. Had Joel not noticed that Mickey had subconsciously included herself in this sneaking off scenario? Something is telling Tommy they shouldn't leave, because they would kill both of the girls, but something was also telling him they shouldn't fight these people either. What if Gina's thought of cutting off the head of the snake was wrong? There's so many people here that if they retaliated, they would all die. Those thoughts kept Tommy awake that entire night.

[sculptorofbeginningslibrary]

Black Eyes & Bloodlust - Chapter 11

THIS IS A RE-POST SINCE THIS CHAPTER WAS POSTED RIGHT BEFORE THE PURGE. THIS STORY AND ALL MY FICS WILL BE POSTED FROM HERE AND REBLOGGED (POSSIBLY POINTLESSLY) TO MY MAIN BLOG UNTIL TUMBLR UN-BLURRIES ME.

My Masterlist

Black Eyes & Bloodlust Masterlist

Summary: Dean has never met his Omega, never even thought there could be one waiting for him–but she’s out there, and they’re connected in ways they could never have imagined.

Characters: DeanxReader, Sam, Cas, a few OC’s

Warnings: SMUT so typical A/B/O warnings, Slow burn (and I mean it. SLOW BURN GUYS.) Language, depictions of mental illness, Gore and Violence. (Warnings will apply to all chapters just to cover all the bases.)

Word Count: ~ 3800

A/N: Pretty Dean-centric chapter :)

Beta’d by @justcallmeasmodeus

AS ALWAYS,

ENJOY!

__~*~__

“Didn’t we just have a conversation about how you liking serial killers is weird?”

Sam rolled his eyes as he fixed his tie in the motel mirror. “I don’t like serial killers, Dean. I just…like studying them. It’s an interesting statistical anomaly that–”

“Woah there, Einstein. You start talking statistics and I’m gonna take a nap.” Dean snagged Baby’s keys from the table and looked over at Sam. “I’ll be in the car when you’re finished primping.”

“I’m not–” Sam started, but the door slammed shut, cutting him off yet again. He rolled his eyes good naturedly, just glad that Dean seemed to be in better spirits knowing that Cas was actively searching for Y/N.

They still hadn’t told Dean what Cas knew, but he seemed to appreciate their new-found enthusiasm enough to agree to check out the Omega serial killer Sam had been following in Colorado. Dean had insisted it ‘wasn’t their kind of thing,’ because monsters didn’t take their time to mutilate their victims only to steal their eyelids before moving on–that was crazy human shit–but after a few days of nagging, he gave in.

Which led to now, with both Winchesters headed up to the police station to interview the sister of a missing Omega. The missing girl fit the victim profile, but normally a body would have been found by now.

Dean was sure it was unrelated, but the sheriffs were insistent that since she was an unmated Omega, they had to treat her case as if it were related to the others.

Sam dropped into the passenger seat of the Impala just as Dean started her up. The comforting purr of Baby’s engine always lulled Dean into a sense of peace he couldn’t find anywhere, especially now that the Mark was assaulting him with new and improved spats of unrest that tested his control in new ways.

“Alright so what are we lookin’ at, Sammy?” Sam pulled up his laptop and went through the case file again.

“Well, uh, the sister’s name is Lane, and Y/N has been missing for almost a week. They found her apartment all torn up. Lane is staying in town even though she lives two hours away so she’s agreed to come in and talk to us.”

“Y/N?” Dean asked, his gut twisting at the name. Sam’s eyes flicked to Dean’s hand tightening on the steering wheel.

“Yeah,” Sam replied softly, “Dean it’s probably not–”

“Yeah I know.” Dean brushed off what he knew Sam was going to say. It probably wasn’t his Y/N. That would be too much of a coincidence, even for their crazy life. “So what else?”

__~*~__

Tex had arranged to meet the witch somewhere on the Colorado Wyoming border, and you drove non-stop to get there. You had been in contact with her through Tex’s phone, and she seemed eager to meet you despite the weirdness of your request.

After assuring her that Tex had kept you safe and given you his phone as proof that he had sent you, she texted you an address.

Another handful of suppressants and Benadryl didn’t help the swelling in your arm or the cramps occasionally rolling through your body, but you chalked it up to lack of sleep. You hadn’t gotten one wink in since killing Tex, nor had you wanted to.

There was a pull guiding you to where you needed to go, and it wouldn’t let you rest until it was satisfied. Like some kind of psychic GPS it was leading you straight to Rowena, as she’d said her name was. The strong feeling made you wonder absently if she really was a witch. If magic was real and this whole time you’d been living in a sweet bubble of normal life not knowing that the supernatural existed, what would that mean for your life? How had it found you  after twenty-odd years of boring normalcy? It all seemed too ridiculous, but then again you were certified crazy and officially a murderer but couldn’t bring yourself to care, what did you know?

Your fingers tapped on the steering wheel in time with the soft rock playing on your stereo, not a care in the world despite the growing pile of problems and  the blistered wound on your arm. You had a good feeling about this woman.

She had the answers you needed. You didn’t know, like everything these days, how or why you knew that, and the part of you that cared was slowly being replaced by the beast that had been shredding away all sense of who you were.

__~*~__

When Sam and Dean arrived at the station there was a small group of people waiting for them.

Three officers and two doctors were crowded around a crying woman Sam could only guess was Lane. The closer they got to the group, the stiffer Dean’s body went. Sam scented the air, but nothing seemed amiss despite the stomach churning mix of smells that accompanied places like this.

“Hello,” Sam said as the group glanced up, finally noticing their presence. The male doctor looked visibly uncomfortable as the Winchesters stepped close enough for their scent to carry. The female doctor, however, looked ravenous. Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean, who was glaring openly, and without reason, at the male doctor. “We’re Agents Allman and Betts,” they flashed their badges before stuffing them back into their jackets, “We’re looking for an Officer Bishop?”

A sturdy looking officer stepped forward, removing his arm from around the crying woman. “That’s me.” He reached his hand out and Sam shook it, Dean seemed lost in his own world and missed the hand offered to him, looking as though he was trying to solve a particularly aggravating puzzle. Sam cleared his throat and Dean shook himself out of it, glancing suspiciously around the group.

“Are you Lane?” He managed to ask gently towards the only obvious civilian. She nodded, appearing to collect herself and step forward.

“Yes. T-Thank you for coming.”

“It’s not a problem Ma’am, we’re here to help.” Sam tried to smile reassuringly, and started to speak but he was cut off by the female doctor.

“Is there a reason the FBI stepped into this? Is it because you’ve read Y/N’s file? Because I didn’t authorize—”

“Woah woah woah,” Dean said quickly, shutting down her rant. “You mind telling us who you are? Actually, I’m gonna need each of you to provide identification before we discuss any specifics of the case.”

“And…” Sam glanced around, noticing the rising interest in their gathering. “We’re going to need somewhere more private. I think Lane here has had enough being ogled for one day.”

Bishop hopped into action, ushering everyone towards a back room with two couches. Sam let Dean, Bishop and Lane enter before stopping the two doctors and other three officers from going any further. He shut the door, separating the two groups. The officers took the hint and left, leaving only the doctors.

“Excuse me what do you think you’re doing?” the male doctor demanded.

“I need IDs. From both of you.”

“My name is Doctor Mara, and this is my colleague Doctor Cameron,” offered the female with a sultry smile. She produced her ID and piqued an eyebrow at the man beside her until he did the same. “I was the head of Y/N’s medical team while she was in our facility.”

“Your facility?”

“Yes, a psychiatric facility. With Y/N being a missing person of questionable mental integrity Lane called us in, hoping we could provide some help. I’m afraid, however, that a warrant will be necessary for you to access her files.”

She smelled like too-strong cinnamon as she stepped into Sam’s space. It was a seemingly innocent movement, but Sam knew she was trying to bully their way into the room behind him. Doctor Mara seemed like the kind of woman who was used to getting her way.

“Well Doctor, the warrant isn’t necessary in an active missing persons case because of relevant information that might lead to the victim’s whereabouts. I’m guessing you have the file on you or you wouldn’t have brought it up, so how about we cut the crap and you tell me what’s going on here? Since when do contracted psychiatrists make house calls to family members?”

“Y/N is a special case,” Doctor Cameron spat. He had decided he didn’t like the FBI Agents the second he scented them. The way they carried themselves and the way the shorter one smelled rankled him. He reeked of gunpowder and old leather–a combination that had been intolerable since Y/N had almost killed him.

Their attitudes didn’t help. Like all Federal Agents they thought they owned every piece of ground they walked on, he could see it plain as day.

“A special case?” Sam asked, waiting patiently and making it obvious they wouldn’t be going any further until they told him something worth knowing.

__~*~__

“Knowledge? Dearie, I know everything worth knowing.” The red-headed woman with the thick Scottish accent was beautiful as she sipped her wine, looking other-worldly. You felt mildly self conscious sat at the same table, but mostly you were curious about her.

How did someone so gorgeous know someone like Tex?

“Then you can help me find them?”

Rowena grimaced. Perpetually, the fucking Winchesters were a pain in her ass. Even hundreds of miles away she couldn’t escape them.

“Why d’you want the Winchesters? I can teach you everything you need to know. I can feel the magic wafting off of you, dear. You shouldn’t want them for anything. What is it? A spell?” Her eyebrow arched perfectly as you stared blankly at her, unsure of what to say. “For your heat, dearie. Doesn’t take a witch to smell that too.”

“You can do that? Take it away?” You voice lowered excitedly as you surveyed the room suspiciously, missing her comment about your magic.

“Of course! Didn’t Tex tell you who I am?” She seemed slightly offended, but you shrugged.

“No…I mean, nothing other than you being the most powerful witch he’d ever met.” He hadn’t said that, but you had a feeling it was something she liked hearing.

“Well,” she gushed, feigning bashfulness, “he wasn’t lying there. I can do just about anything you need.” Rowena contemplated you for a moment before reaching some kind of decision. “Give me your hand.” She held hers out across the table, smiling encouragingly for you to do the same.

When you slid your arms across, your sleeve rolled up, revealing the rash on your arm. You didn’t miss the widening of her eyes as she spotted it, and you quickly covered it back up.

“No no no, love. Let me see.” Rowena caught your arm, her delicate fingers clasping you with a strength her petite frame hid well. You hissed when the fabric brushed against the raw flesh as she gently rolled your sleeve up. “Oh my,” she mused, taking in the oddly shaped blister on your arm.

It was raw and red, seeping where spots had popped. There were tinges of black beginning to vein out around the edges which usually meant infection…but you were sure that wasn’t the case here.

You could practically see the gears turning in her head as she examined you. The warmth of her touch was soothing and discomforting at once.

Rowena knew more about you than you could ever imagined. She had divined your purpose right after talking to you for the first time and now, after touching you and the vicious curse on your arm, she understood your predicament fully.

Dean Winchester’s Omega had the Mark of Cain, just like her Alpha. It was an interesting development, one that Rowena knew she should be working in her favor, but she found herself feeling bad for you. She could see the black ooze overtaking your aura, smell the curse on you as surely as she could smell your heat, even with her Beta nose.

The power emanating from you had her wondering just how someone could acquire a curse in the way you had. Your personality was hidden under layers of desperation she didn’t think even you could see any longer, but she could tell you were an innocent buried under the blanket of evil the Mark had thrown over you.

She wanted to help, but as of yet the Winchesters were her enemies, and no matter how much she liked you, pride wouldn’t let her. Better to let the pains in her ass have a pain of their own.

“What?” You asked, suddenly worried as something flickered in her eyes. It was the first real emotion you’d felt since leaving Tex.

“Oh it’s nothing. Just…” her well manicured nails ghosted across your palm and she closed her eyes, feeling the magic there. “I can feel him. Your mate.”

You snatched your hand back, astounded. Maybe she really was magic after all.

“How do you know about Dean?” You hissed. Her smile was patient.

“Your body told me. And the magic. He is the source of it.” Her smile formed into something more sinister as she continued, taking in your shock. “He’s there you know. I saw him when I touched your mark. He’s at your home, standing in your living room as we speak.”

__~*~__

Dean stared at the file, fighting the urge to vomit. Sam had strong-armed the doctors into giving up Y/N’s file while Dean had interviewed Lane. She hadn’t been able to offer much besides Y/N suffering from nightmares, being committed, and the strange turn of her personality. None of it seemed relevant to the serial killer, but his gut was telling him something he couldn’t understand.

The file was thicker than any patient file either brother had ever seen, and contained more than just the pictures Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from. It was a record of everything Y/N had said while interred, every procedure and every move she’d made, but Dean hadn’t made it past the pictures.

It was her.

She looked like shit in the first one, dark bags under her eyes, hair ratty and unkempt, her body swallowed up by an unflattering patient’s uniform. In the other she was smiling wide for the camera, lit up eyes sparkling out at him under perfectly styled hair. His finger traced longingly down the center of her happy face, wondering if being connected to him had done this to her.

“Dean? What’s going on?” Sam closed the door, leaving Officer Bishop to lead Lane to his car for the trip back to her hotel. Sam didn’t like the look on Dean’s face, at all.

“Sammy…” Dean started, his voice cracking as he laid the folder flat so they both could see. “It’s her…It’s…this is her.”

New panic was taking him over as he realized how close they had been, and now she was ripped from his grasp. “God Sammy, what if she’s…” he broke off, voice cracking and unable to form the words.

Sam wanted to object, but the pure emotion and certainty on Dean’s face stopped him.

Looked like his hunter senses had been more on point then expected.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Dean removed the pictures and handed Sam the file. There was one photo remaining Dean hadn’t seen, and Sam slipped it to the back of the pile before he could dwell too long on it.

The last thing he needed was to analyze the familiar looking rash.

The most recent files were on the top, and it only took three pages for Sam’s stomach to finish dropping to his feet. He swallowed thickly as he read the lines she had babbled while unconscious.

They were transcripts of Y/N’s last, and apparently most intense, episode. Behind those were the transcripts of her hypnosis session with…Doctor Cameron.

Sam’s head snapped towards the door, eyes narrowing as he tried to put all the pieces together. When he looked back at Dean, his brother hadn’t moved, still entranced in the glassy eyes staring up at him from the lifeless photo paper.

Turns out it was their kind of thing after all, and it was time to call Castiel.

__

Dean had Y/N’s picture safely tucked into his jacket the minute Castiel had convinced him to move from his stupor. Cops had watched warily as the terrifying Agent stomped his way through the precinct and slammed his way out the door, Castiel in tow. Sam had waved apologetically, hoping they wouldn’t attract too much more attention.

The ride was awkwardly silent.

Castiel revealed Y/N’s prayers and the life he thought she’d taken once they’d gotten into the car and Dean hadn’t said a word since. Dean’s pounding heart practically filled the empty space as he raced to the address they’d been given. Sam’s stomach felt like it had pushed up into his chest as Dean took a few rough corners, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Dean…”

“Shut up Cas.” Dean’s tone was shaky, but firm. No words would suffice now that he knew the truth of what Castiel had seen.

Dean was furious at both of them for so many reasons. A week. She’d been missing for a week. If they hadn’t searched so hard for Cain they might have found her before this.

As if sensing Dean’s thoughts, Sam’s were running along the same line. His guilt was compounding with every word he read from Y/N’s file. He turned another page.

From the looks of it, she’d been suffering a breakdown since Dean had taken on the Mark.

In the silence, all they could do was think. All they could do was ponder their mistakes and every sign they’d ignored.

Every time they’d brushed Dean off in favor of curing the Mark. They’d told themselves it was for Dean. It was for the greater good.

As Sam handed Cas the file, open to the pages where she had directly quoted Dean while he was being cured, he knew it was a lie.

__

Dean was tapping her song onto the steering wheel as he glared at Y/N’s apartment building. Sam had cleared his throat twice, but nothing was pulling Dean out of the car until he was ready.

Castiel had a habit of not realizing awkward situations, but this one was unavoidable. He knew finding Cain had been the right thing, but it didn’t feel like it at the moment. He exchanged a loaded glance with Sam in the rearview mirror that felt endless, their shared guilt simultaneously connecting them and separating them from Dean.

Then the driver door was flung open and Dean was gone. He was on the landing by the time Sam and Castiel entered the building, his head dropped against the door and eyes tightly closed as he inhaled the scent of death seeping thick though it.

Sam and Castiel smelled it too, and wondered what the police could have missed that was causing it. Dean’s hand hovered over the doorknob before he shoved it open, taking the crime scene tape with him when he stepped inside.

The smell of her was faint, it was obvious she hadn’t been there in a while, but it still smelled just like he expected–minus the rotting flesh somewhere in the apartment. His experienced eyes searched everything from the blood stains under his feet to the vomit stains by the couch.

The room was a disaster unlike anything he’d seen, but some part of him knew there hadn’t been a struggle. She’d done this herself.

His connection to her was singeing his arm, digging in and giving him flashes of emotion that came and went, flitting about like a hummingbird in search of nectar. His eyes followed the line of destruction until they found the room he was searching for. The one that contained her scent stronger than any other.

His feet were moving before he told them to, carrying him into what he discovered was her bedroom. Castiel and Sam hovered in the entryway surveying the damage as Dean had, but not seeing the pattern Dean had followed. Dean had no care for them as he stood just inside her door with his eyes closed, letting his nose and the Mark lead the way. He could hear them moving around despite the carpet muffling their steps.

“Get out!” He yelled suddenly. The feel of them inside her space was too much combined with the scent of Y/N, death, and the dozens of people that had traipsed through collecting evidence. Dean heard them stop then shuffle out the door. He waited until he heard the click before he really started searching.

The idiot officers couldn’t have used their noses because the scent of rot was strongest here. The knot headed alphas probably only scented her panty drawer, while the Betas probably hadn’t smelled anything besides the rotting flesh somewhere in the apartment.

Everyone was operating on the assumption that her body was hidden somewhere inside the apartment from the smell, but Dean’s instincts were telling him different. There was something dead, but it wasn’t his Omega.

The song playing in his head was evidence enough of that, but it didn’t mean she hadn’t been taken. Maybe the man she’d killed was the one who’d taken her…maybe she was on her way home.

Dean didn’t need to open any drawers considering they were all on the floor already. All but one.

His Alpha raged at seeing her panty drawer placed on the bed, two familiar Alpha scents lingering around it. They’d been at the police station.

There was only red as he grabbed the wooden drawer and slammed it into the wall. His chest heaved with the effort as he tried to control himself, forcing himself to remember that they hadn’t actually touched her. That crime was reserved for someone else. Someone who was possibly dead, and if they weren’t…they would be.

The Mark amplified his anger, but he was dealing with it better than anyone else would have. He caught a whiff of the death through the disturbed air and followed it to where the drawer had shattered against the wall.

Almost absently he grabbed a pair of her panties, barely a scrap of fabric, and tucked it into his pocket before moving the broken pieces of wood. Underneath, a small pile of books had been tossed just as carelessly as everything else around him.

“Sam!” He called, knowing they would come.

Everything in him knew what he was about to find, but he couldn’t believe it until he pulled the Bible from the bottom of the pile.

Dean almost gagged as his hand touched it, violent visions of sticking knives into innocent Omegas assaulting him.

“Dean?” Sam called from the doorway, knowing better than to step inside. His nose rankled as Dean crossed the room with the Holy book in hand. Castiel arrived just as Dean opened it to pages that were bulging the book out at the center.

The three men stared, disbelieving, at the Bible in Dean’s hands.

Castiel covered his mouth as realization set in, his eyes taking in the multitude of emotion the brothers were expressing.

Pressed between the pages, rotting, slick and wet, staining the pages black, were eight sets of dismembered eyelids.

__~*~__

Questions? Comments? Incoherent screaming?

Bring it on!

🖤

__~*~__

Story Tags:

@allaboutbailey @alligator210 @amarokofficial @antiscocialfanwarrior​ @bodhi-black @deanna-s-winchester @deliciouslydisturbed365 @edensparks​ @erinmcd1234 @faith901t-blog @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​ @fangirlanotherjust​ @flamencodiva @getnaildbyme @hennessy0274-blog @hotterthanfire-colderthanice @jodibullock1 @karouwinchester​ @katkit73 @kbl1313​ @kittenofdoomage​ @mannls​ @mbbevans @mistress-sassafras @ne-gans @pickleporkupine @rainbowkisses31 @secretlysage​ @shatteredabby @spnskinnyballs​ @starfirerules​ @tamtamlov @tgwge @thatrandomredheadchick @tumbler-tidbits @ultrahviolent @violentmommabear42 @weepingwillowphoenix @whisperingwillows @wildsageleon @winchesterprincessbride @witchyhoeski​

4ever&ever Tags:

@ain-t-bovvered @bamby0304 @curly-haired-disaster @dean-winchesters-bacon @ldyhawkeye @justcallmeasmodeus @maddiepants @mogaruke @mrs-meghan-winchester @stormy-skies-1997 @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @waywardbaby

Dean Tags:

@adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278 @bobasheebaby @paranoiadestroyah

[whipplefilter]

(Just need some emotional headcanons right about now): What if Cruz had a small accident when she's training with Lightning one day and she gets amnesia? How would the RS townies (especially Lightning) react and how would they try to regain all her memories?

Oh no, not Cruz!

Fic: Comeback Story

The headlines have a field day with this–Lightning McQueen’s protege getting electrocuted. (And because Guido and Luigi put the hospital on lockdown, after that first shock the press has nothing to occupy themselves with but an overabundance of their own puns.)

At first, it doesn’t seem like there’s anything wrong. The nurses jump her battery and everything comes back online. When her eyes flutter open she sees Lightning and she smiles. She recognizes him. Hamilton needs to be re-installed and–Cruz notes with dismay–her radio pre-sets are scrambled, but that’s not really a problem Lightning can empathize with. She can drive without assistance and and her brakes and transmission all check out. No computer issues. Everything checks out.

“I can’t believe you’re spending so much time with me,” Cruz tells him after the first few days. She bites her lip, looks a little starstruck.

“I mean… Of course,” says Lightning, a little self-conscious. He’s never sure if he’s yet outrun the shadow of who he was his rookie year. Like maybe people still see him as that guy, or maybe when he lets his guard down he is still that guy. “I’m not gonna let you sit in here alone, Cruz.”

“But shouldn’t you be doing your own PT?” she asks.

Lightning cocks a brow.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? At the hospital, I mean. Because of your big crash last week.”

“Cruz, what–” Lightning breaks off. “Cruz, I–”

He stares her down, every bright expectant inch of her. Dread clenches in his heart so hard that it feels like hitting that wall again. “Cruz, it’s–”

His gaze flicks to the doorway, where Luigi and Guido are peering in. “Never mind,” he says tightly. Then he asks Luigi to please go get Cruz’s doctor. 

Now.

–

She doesn’t remember anything. The last eight months are just gone.

It’s lucky, says the doctor. Electrocution can be wild like that–if it doesn’t burn your circuits irreparably to begin with, and kill you outright. In the scheme of things, eight months is very lucky.

The last patient she had in a similar situation? He lost three years. Had an accident working in his garage and woke up to a Lexus he didn’t recognize, thinking it was 2004. Except it wasn’t 2004. It was 2007, and he was in the middle of a divorce and the Lexus–apparently she’s his girlfriend. The girl who broke his marriage and whom he now cannot remember.

“Yeah, but–” Lightning shrugs.

Yeah, but he doesn’t care about that guy. Yeah, but these eight months weren’t like everyone else’s eight months.They were special, they–

“You’re right.” The doctor sighs. “You’re not like everyone else. Because like I said, Ms. Ramirez is lucky.”

She writes Cruz a reference for a number of follow-up appointments with this or that specialist and sends them on their way.

–

“Well, obviously,” says Sally, as she maneuvers a push broom around Wheel Well’s trickier sconces. Lightning is supposed to be washing windows, but he’s even worse at it than usual. He keeps getting lost midway, his thoughts falling back to Cruz and forgetting about the soap suds, which leave aggressive streaks on all the windows.

“Things aren’t the same, so of course acting like they are isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“I don’t know how else to act!” Lightning exclaims. “I thought maybe if I just acted normal, it’d help her–remember, maybe, or something–I don’t know. Am I just supposed to pretend those eight months never happened? She’s not an idiot. She knows that they happened. Or I mean, she knows I know.”

They can’t just start blank slate. Time, memory, whatever you want to call it–it happened, and none of it can be undone. Even if apparently, it can be forgotten. If Lightning could just meet Cruz all over again and start at square one, he’d do it. In a heartbeat. That’s what it had taken after his crash–long months of learning his body again, learning how to make it move. Really move.

That, Lighting can do.

But memory? He and Cruz, it’s like they had their first shot at getting to know each other. There aren’t do-overs. There’s no room for that.

It’s not really memory loss, Lightning figures. Loss implies emptiness which implies a void that can be filled again.

Forgetting takes up too much space.

“Nice job with the windows,” says Sally.

When Lightning snaps to, he’s parked next to an empty bucket and Sally’s the one with the squeegee. He doesn’t remember her taking it.

–

Cruz makes better friends with the town than she ever was before the accident. Part of it’s they’ve spent so much time here. Tex pulled them from the rest of the Cup season, so they haven’t had anywhere to be. It was the right thing to do–a no-brainer, frankly–but part of Lightning still wanted to shout, No!

No, because if everything is different, then she’ll never remember what it was. Nothing will ever go back to normal.

It’s Mater who reminds him that nothing is ever going to be the same. That’s how time works. Living in a junkyard, he gets real contemplative about stuff like that sometimes, he says. He says it comtem-PLATE-ive.

Cruz is laughing with Flo and Ramone. She’s been interested in painting lately, and Ramone is only too happy to send her out to the junkyard with some of his old paints. She misses her old job at the Center; hasn’t said much at all about racing.

She knows, by know, what those eight months had entailed. Or at least, the public beats of it. Being employed to train Lighting, being in the Florida 500. Racing in the Piston Cup. Lightning hasn’t had the willpower to tell her about the beach, or the school bus of death, or rushing through the Carolina forests, all moon dark.

Cruz is already working on trying not to feel guilty about forgetting. About not caring about that stuff–she can’t; she wasn’t there; her brain now wasn’t there, anyway. The last thing she needs is more guilt.

Maybe it’s better this way, Lightning tells himself. Cruz and Sally are becoming fast friends. It’s not that they hadn’t been pleasant to each other before. But Sally’d always been Lightning’s lawyer, Lightning’s girlfriend. Old Cruz had known Radiator Springs through Lightning, and perhaps by virtue of that had always regarded them at a polite remove. Like he’d been in the way, somehow.

Maybe those memories were roadblocks. Maybe he is a roadblock.

Maybe it’s better this way.

–

Tastes, temperament. The doctor nods, tapping her front tire on the ground as she lists things off.

Yes, all of those things can change after an electrocution. Electrocution is–

“Wild. Yes, you said that,” says Lightning, impatient.

Electrocution is wild, and the mind is wilder. Sometimes it changes in utterly random, unpredictable ways. Silly ways. Cruz likes Pearl Jam now. She’s thinking of painting herself green, because she doesn’t know if yellow really feels “like her.”

Not that it’s any of Lightning’s business what color Cruz is, but it’s this kind of stupid stuff that makes him want to drive off a cliff. In lieu of a cliff, he resolves to go red again. He doesn’t think he can handle this otherwise.

–

Lightning feels himself unspooling. Which is unforgivably selfish, because this is Cruz’s issue, this is Cruz’s journey, and this is not about him. But it’s like even his version of those memories begins to fray and tangle. Like maybe now they were only half as real. Like maybe they belonged to some other universe, and their power dwindled as their home planet receded to its outer orbit. (This is a Mater analogy. Something about UFOs. Lightning’s not really sure, but at the time, and in Mater’s words, it had felt like a lot of sense.)

He can feel himself drawing back. Back through the dread, the threat of failure, the frustration. Back to the four months he’d spent sitting in Doc’s garage–Doc’s garage that was still a garage because Lightning hadn’t let them expand the museum, because Lightning is hopelessly slow to let go of things like that.

As the weeks pass and Cruz’s new memories paper ever-thicker over the old ones, Lightning ties his best to keep to that pace.

But he’d needed her. That Cruz. Old Cruz. He’d needed those moments.

He still has them, he reminds himself.

He’s not the one with freaking amnesia.

Sally tells him it’s okay to feel the way he does. “If you really care about someone, and they go through something terrible, it’s natural to feel wrecked, too. Believe me.”

Lightning looks at her, wants to kiss her. Wishes he’d never met her. Wishes he’d never wished about never meeting her, because he knows he cannot live without her. And he knows exactly why Sally might know how he feels. “Sal, I’m so sorry.”

Sally shakes her head. “Stop. I can see you missing the point,“ she says. “Lightning, you have to be kind to yourself.”

–

Cruz may never recover those memories, says the doctor. If she can build a life without them, then maybe that’s for the best.

“She can,” says Lighting, because he believes that Cruz can do anything. Except, maybe, remember. “She is.”

“So, your doctor is nice,” says Lighting, on the drive home.

“Sure,” says Cruz.

“Nice weather.”

“Lightning, come on.”

Lightning, not Mr. McQueen. Because everyone back home calls him Lightning, so now Cruz does, too. He never imagined his own name could sound so awkward, magically less familiar. He hadn’t even liked being called Mr. McQueen. But he’d liked what they’d had. He can’t help that.

He doesn’t know if he can get over that.

“I’m sorry I don’t talk to you so much,” says Cruz, turning him back to the present. “I guess I just– It feels hard, you know? ‘Cause I know that you and I, we– And I just–”

“I know,” says Lightning.

Maybe if he were older, this wouldn’t be so hard. Eight months weighed against a couple decades–that’s nothing. And they have so much more time to make more memories together. And that’s a positive, right? That’s a bright patch, a silver lining.

It doesn’t make Lightning feel bright, though. It makes him feel old. Now he feels too tired to make friends with Cruz all over again.

He wants what they had.

–

One night, Cruz wakes up screaming. She doesn’t remember her nightmare.

What she cries about afterwards is this: What if she does remember? One day, after all the work she’s done to be okay with forgetting. To make some new life. What if she does remember and her whole life turns into a giant fork in the road?

“I’d explode,” she sniffs. “But like, you’re supposed to want your memories back. In the movies, that’s what makes everyone happy.”

In Lightning’s mind that’s what makes everyone happy.

“But I can’t just sit around, hoping that maybe that happens. I’m here, and I gotta just–be me, and not keep trying to hold on to the past. Like, I don’t even have it–I can’t hold onto it. But every memory I make, at the back of my mind I keep wondering, what if I do? What it it happens? And every day, every memory, I know I’m just going to make it worse if it ever does happen. And I just–”

“Shhh,” Lightning murmurs. He nudges her side gently and taps a pleasant vibration against her front tire with his own.

There’s not really anything he can say to her, and it seems foolish to try. He’s her crew chief, not like, her fairy godmother. Or a psychic. Or a time traveler. Or God.

But he stays with her. They sit in the dark together and it doesn’t feel like old times but it doesn’t feel like less.

“I think you’ll be okay,” he says eventually. “And you’re definitely not going to explode. So, uh, there’s that.”

Cruz does not believe him. At all. “What if I remember, and I regret leaving all those memories behind? What if I’m just like, shoot, I should have just waited for them to catch up? What if those memories just turn into one big fiery ball of regrets? And then I explode? I mean, you can’t scientifically prove that won’t happen.”

“Oh, never wait for anything to catch up,” Lightning says immediately. “You start doing that, and life’s just gonna lap you.”

“That’s very sage, Mr. McQueen,” says Cruz.

“I think I meant that really, really literally,” Lightning admits. “Wait, what did you just call me?”

“I called you Mr. McQueen,” Cruz repeats sleepily. “I dunno. It just felt right.”

–

It’s been eight months and thirteen days since Cruz’s accident. The doctor reminds them, once more, that her memories may never return.

But even if they do, there’s no turning back the clock. There’s no “back to normal.” Normal is already here. It’s Cruz’s paintings hanging in Mater’s yard. It’s her late-night jam sessions with Fillmore. It’s being Sally’s best friend. It’s nightmares, all the time, about nothing. It’s that pang of loneliness Lightning feels sometimes, even when Cruz is bouncing right in front of him, even when he’s surrounded by family and friends. It’s that strangeness that never quite leaves.

Because memory is “–wild, I know, you say that every time we come here,” say Lightning and Cruz in unison. The doctor blushes.

There is no going back to the way things were. But, Lightning figures, that’s not what “comeback story” means.

Never has.

[johnwickb1tsch]

🌻Small Town Girl🌻 ~ Part 2

Tex Johnson thought he was just passing through…until he set his eyes on you. 

Part 2 of a little Tex x Reader fic for my beloved @treedaddymcpuffpuff. ILYSM!😘

Warnings: mentions of past spousal abuse, mentions of animal abuse, religious trauma...you know, the usual social problems of depressed rural america... I can say that because I live here. divider by saradika part 1

2. 

You’re a heavy sleeper, but this takes the cake.

When you stagger into your kitchen and look out the window Tex’s Chevelle is parked half in your gravel driveway, half in your yard. And tethered to your fence post munching green grass to his heart’s content is a certain miniature equine who you’d tried to acquire with cold hard cash the night before.

Fuck.

You march outside in your threadbare nightgown and your bare feet, finding Tex asleep in the driver’s seat. How the hell did he even get this horse here with that car?

If he put Ziggy in the trunk you are going to murder him.

You pound on the window, and he wakes with a violent start. “Popsicles!”

“What?”

He looks around, before fixing on you, and seems to relax a hair. “Mornin’, darlin’.”

“What. The fuck. Did you do?”

“Uh…funny story…”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What? Didn’t you want this horse?”

“Yeah, but…” You pull at your hair, feeling a migraine coming on already. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

You turn in the dew-wet grass to go check on Ziggy. You hear Tex exiting the car behind you. “Don’t be mad, baby.”

“I’m not mad,” you answer sadly, running your fingers through the little horse’s coarse blond mane. “I’m scared.”

Ziggy nibbles at your fingers with his meaty lips, wanting the treats he associates you with. He was going to need a whole lot more than molasses cookies though. You could already tell how your day was going to go.

“Don’t be scared either, darlin’,” Tex says behind you.

“Easy for you to say. You realize this is the first place Dale is gonna come look? And he’ll probably bring Donnie too.”

Nevermind the restraining order you have. It won’t stop him. He’s friends with half the sheriff’s deputies anyway. The Barksdales are damn near untouchable. You learned that the oh so hard way.

“Honey, I’m not going to let them hurt you.” 

For the sake of the horse you keep your temper in check, moderating your voice when all you want to do is yell. “What are you going to do? Watch over me every minute of the day?” He lifts his brows like he likes that idea–you do too, which is batshit insane, because you don’t actually know a goddamn thing about this man.

“Hold on. How did you even know where I live?”

He shrugs. “Not hard to find out, if you know where to look.”

“Well that’s not creepy at all.”

You guess all he’d have to do is ask at the gas station–your family’s been here long enough that it’s basically common knowledge.

You stand there in your faded floral muumuu and your bare feet, toe to toe with this tall dark man and if you had any sense you would be afraid…but you’re not. You’re not because you just don’t think he’ll hurt you. You feel it in your bones and you haven’t had that certainty about any man in so long you can’t remember, and it’s driving you a little wild inside.

“I need my boots,” you sigh, and brush past him to go back to the house.

***

You put Ziggy in the farthest back stall of your barn, where he’ll be out of sight should anyone come looking. With a flake of hay and some grains in his bucket, he seems perfectly content, the sweet sound of him munching filling the old oak building. You lean on a rough sawn post and watch him with a storm in your heart, wondering how long its been since he’d been able to eat his fill.

There will be a price to pay for this little horse’s well being, and you decide whatever it is will be worth it, even if you are afraid. Tex’s presence might deter vengeance for a little while, but he won’t be here forever. You know he won’t, no matter how nice it is to think it, so you’d better be ready.

You were going to have to think on this.

But first, you were going to have to call the ferrier. Luckily you had a friend who wouldn’t rat you out to the Barksdales. Angela was tough as nails and didn’t kowtow to their bullshit. 

It occurs to you that maybe the best thing for Ziggy, and the best thing for you, might be to get this horse far away from here. You wouldn’t put it past Dale or Donnie or one of his other heartless relatives to sneak into your barn in the dead of night and do something awful. There wouldn’t be a whole lot you could do about it either.

You’ve had this horse for about 5 seconds, and the thought of giving him up already breaks your heart.

Tex has been standing silently beside you. You feel his eyes on you, but in what you suspect is a rare occurrence, he’s not running his mouth, giving you space to think. But when you give a heavy sigh he finally breaks. “Come on, darlin’, I thought this would make you happy. It kills me to see you sad.” He opens his arms to you, but you eye them warily. It’s too tempting by far. The way this man is dangerous to you, is that you could get too used to his company too quick.

“You want breakfast?” you deflect.

He nods, those dark eyes taking the measure of you, looking through you, you’re afraid, right into your soul. “Sure.” But he doesn’t move, still just looking at you. 

“What?” you grouse.

Your annoyance only makes him grin.

“Did I mention you’re the cutest little thing in a muumuu and muck boots this side of the Mississippi?”

You roll your eyes, not believing him for a minute. Your hair is still in its bird’s nest of a sleeping braid and you haven’t had your coffee yet. With hands on your hips you look him over too. He’s still wearing the same shirt as last night, and his eyes are a little bloodshot.

“Did you tie one on last night and steal that horse?”

He scrubs at the back of his neck, looking all the while like a guilty schoolboy. “Well…about that…”

This is the thing that finally breaks through your black mood, lifting your sorrow like a blanket. The thought of this man committing grand theft pony–dare you think it, for you–brings a small smile to your lips, and a whole lot of sunshine to your heart.

“Tell me in the house. I’m hungry.” When he doesn’t immediately budge you turn him by the shoulders and give him a shove. Without really thinking about it, you smack his ass for good measure. That tight little behind is round, and firm, and you bite your lip without meaning to, wishing it was something else.

He makes a show of jumping with surprise, smirking at you knowingly over his shoulder. “Watch it, baby girl, or I’mma get myself a handful next,” he warns you with a wicked glint in his eye that makes your insides churn. 

You don’t know what insane notion possesses you, when you stick out your tongue at him– and run. 

You're smarter than this. You know you don't run from a predator. You face them down and smack them on the nose. 

His laughter from right behind you makes an electric thrill zip from your heart to your toes. Dear Lord. No man should be this much fun. 

He really is like a drug, and you don’t know what you were thinking running from him, because you are not fast, and you are clumsy, but somehow it’s him behind you who lets out a surprised yell.

You turn to find Tex with his foot in a hole up to his calf. “Oh my god. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” He extricates himself, and you both peer down into a tunnel running under the aisle of your dirt floor barn. You look at the direction, and follow it to an unoccupied stall. Throwing open the door, you find mounds and mounds of freshly disturbed earth.

“Motherfucker. That groundhog is back.”

Tex looks at the impressive damage with eyebrows raised high. “Goddam. You sure it ain’t a bear? Or a rogue bulldozer?”

“Yes. I can’t deal with this now. Come on.” You take his hand, pulling him towards the house, and he happily follows.

You pause at the front door. “Umm…it’s going to be chaos for a minute. Fair warning.” Then you lead him into the fray.

Chichi is a tiny black and tan tornado at your feet, yipping and screaming. You shake a treat can and hand one to Tex. “Give this to him if you want to live.”

Raising an eyebrow, Tex complies, crouching down to the little dog’s level to offer the morsel. Chichi gobbles it and quiets down, switching to sniffing and licking as Tex scratches his side. His hand is almost as big as your dog, and it touches your heart, how sweet he is to the little creature. Satisfied, Chichi runs back to you for a snuggle.

“We good now?” you ask the little chihuahua. He licks you fervently, and you laugh, setting him back down on the floor. Your bulldog reacts in the exact opposite manner, not even getting out of her bed, only deigning to open one eye to regard your visitor. Your conure has joined in the cacophony, and will not quiet until you give him a piece of apple.

“I hope you like fresh eggs and bacon, it’s all I got.”

“Alright.” He seems amused by you, and the happy mayhem of your home, looking around with a sparkle in his eye. “Can I use your bathroom?”

“Sure.” You point him in the right direction and go to the kitchen, lighting a burner under your cast iron skillet. You busy yourself with frying bacon and cracking eggs and filling the kettle for coffee. You are so concentrated on your task that it takes you a moment to notice Tex leaning on the door jam–sans shirt.

You blink, and nearly put your hand in the hot pan. “You forget something?” you ask, trying like hell not to stare at the broad expanse of muscled torso before you. Jesus fucking christ, that’s not fair.

“My clean shirts are back at the motel,” he defends. 

His hair is slightly damp from washing up, looking unfairly edible.

He sidles closer, and you notice the top button of his jeans is undone. A long scar runs down the center of his abdomen, leading your eye to a dark patch of hair that disappears into his waistband. 

Evil. This man is pure evil–and you want to taste every inch of him.

“My eyes are up here, darlin’,” he says with a smirk. 

“You are a menace,” you grouse, holding up a spatula in defense as he just keeps getting closer. He smirks, looking down at the implement.

“You gonna spank me, sweetheart?”

“I would, but I’m afraid you’d like it.”

You are warm all over, and it has nothing to do with slaving over a hot stove.

“Can I help?”

Like he hasn’t helped enough.

“Sure. Pour that hot water into that carafe.”

He looks between the french press, the kettle, and you. “Ever heard of a Mr. Coffee?”

“We don’t tolerate weak coffee in this house.”

He grins at you, doing as he’s told. He even knows to stir it with a wooden spoon, which makes you think he was just pulling your leg.

While you are flipping bacon you feel him zero in behind you, the line of warmth from his body like a heat lamp at your back. “Smells wonderful,” he says, daring to touch your waist.

“It’s meat candy, what do you expect?” You’re not sure if you’re talking about the bacon, or him. 

“Hmm.” His chuckle is a low rumble behind you. You feel it reverberate in your bones. The tips of his fingers press into your sides as he grips fistfuls of your nightgown–and you–as he nuzzles your hair. The sound you make as you wiggle in his arms is almost cartoonish. He takes no mercy, laughing and holding you closer. The warm, solid line of his body behind you is divine, so wonderful you can hardly stand it.

“You are going to make me burn the bacon!” you screech in an attempt at self-defense.

“That’s alright, I’ll just eat you for breakfast,” he tells you in that low growl that makes your knees weak, ducking to nibble at your ear. It’s possible you give in for a few seconds, your head rocking back against his shoulder as he holds you. Why does it have to feel like you fit together so well? When his long fingers bunch in your skirt, pulling it up as his other hand reaches for your breast you think you might combust. In a panic you smack his hand with the spatula with a little scream, trying not to giggle. 

“Go sit down!”

With a wicked chuckle he skips out of reach before you can smack him again, collapsing into one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. His smoldering gaze meets yours, and you feel unsettled. 

This man. Lord save you.

Or not. Maybe…you don’t want to be saved.

“I don’t know how you do things in Texas, but here you don’t get to feel a girl up just because you rustled a horse for her.”

He grins, baring his teeth like he means to eat you.

“Sorry, darlin’, blame the muumuu.”

You try to keep a straight face, but in the end you fail utterly. 

“You gonna tell me how all this happened?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“No, but I should.”

“Hmm. Well, after the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met abandoned me at the fair–”

“Oh save it, Mr. L.A. stuntman.”

He grins but goes on, “I had to do something to nurse my broken heart. So I went to the aforementioned TJ’s by the creek…”

“Ok, this is starting to make sense.”

You start setting dishes of food and plates on the table. Eggs, bacon, toast, butter and jam, and of course, coffee. “And I only had one drink, because I’m a cautious sort of fellow…”

“Yes, that has been made glaringly apparent in the short time I've known you.”

He nods in agreement with a fey glint in his eye all the while. “And who walks in, but our friend Dale…”

“Oh god. You didn’t pick a fight with him, did you?”

“I did not. I went out to the parking lot, to find his horse trailer still full of petting zoo employees conveniently two cars away from mine.”

You cover your mouth, so he can’t see the absolutely feral grin forming on your lips. “You didn’t.”

“I so did. Let the goats out to disperse in the woods there, and wouldn’t you know Ziggy fit right in my passenger seat?”

You are picturing this big tough man in his muscle car peeling out down the road with that cute little horse as a co-pilot. That must be the point when you officially lose your sanity, because you crawl into his lap, planting a big kiss right on his mouth. He lets out a low moan of appreciation, cupping your rear end in his two big hands.

“Tex?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“You’re a goddamned hero.”

“I know! I’ve been trying to tell you,” he says with a grin, stealing another kiss.

You try to extricate yourself to go sit in the opposite chair, but he will not let you. You eat breakfast together, sitting in his lap, his big warm hand on your thigh while you giggle and feed each other morsels and talk, and you can’t help but feel like things might turn out afterall.

***

Tex is helping you do the dishes, or maybe distracting you from doing the dishes, because he keeps plying you with toe curling kisses, when the two of you watch a battered red Chevy pickup pull down your driveway.

“Shit,” you say, recognizing it immediately.

“Here we go. Later than I expected.”

You look up at him open mouthed, an involuntary fear response coursing through your veins, turning your limbs ice cold. “You expected?”

“It’s alright, darlin’. Stay inside.” He kisses your forehead, cradling your cheek with a sweet assurance that you want to believe in, more than anything. It would be too good to be true, to have a man who could really protect you. Someone you could just…depend on. You want it with every fiber of your being, and rather than get your shotgun and run out to the porch on bare feet, you stand there in the kitchen and watch Tex go out the door, pulling a white t-shirt down over a blocky black object tucked into the back of his jeans.

Oh Lord. 

Predictably, Dale is driving, and your blood turns to ice as your piece-of-shit ex spills out of the passenger seat. And even though you know the very Devil is standing there in your driveway, your first thought, as ever when seeing Donnie Barksdale, is damn he looks good. 

There really is something wrong with you. 

He’s wearing a flannel with the sleeves cut off and his usual trucker hat advertising some manner of farm implement (as if he’s ever worked that hard). As always, the sight of Donnie feels like a sharp knife shoved up between your ribs. No matter what he did to you, a part of you will always love that man, or at least, the boy he was when he was your friend, your first love, before he became so hell bent on destroying you. To this day, you do not understand what you ever did to that man, to make him turn on you so violently. You offered him all the love in your heart, and in turn he made you feel worthless. For a time, you actually believed it was true. Now you know better, but it’s been a long, hard road.

“Who the hell are you?” barks Donnie up at the self-assured man standing sentry on your front porch. 

“That’s not what you should be worryin’ about right now,” answers Tex, leaning on the post. 

“That a fact?” 

“Yep. The thing you should be worryin’ about is that you’re trespassin’.” 

Dale exits his truck, leaning on the dented hood. “That’s the fucker that hit me last night, Donnie.” 

Donnie nods, sizing Tex up. The thing about Donnie is…he doesn’t like to get into a fight he doesn’t know he’s going to win. And Tex is a helluva wildcard. It’s possible your no-good wife-beatin’ ex finally met his match. 

“He’s leaving out the bit about askin’ for it. Is beatin’ on y/n y/l/n just a universal pastime in this county for you boys when you run outta pigs to fuck, or what?” drawls Tex, picking at his fingernails. 

Donnie bristles at this, taking a step forward. “Motherfucker–” 

“That’s as far as you go, son,” warns Tex, producing the object from the back of his jeans. You knew it was a gun. You did not know it was that big of a gun. Donnie is wearing his usual inscrutable aviators, but Dale’s eyes go wide. 

“We’re just here to get my stolen horse, mister,” says Dale, holding his hands up. 

“Aww, you boys missin’ your lil’ pony? Better check the lost and found then. It ain’t here.” 

“We’ll have a look for ourselves,” spits Donnie, stepping towards the barn. 

Boom!

The report of the pistol is deafening, and the bullet sends up an explosion of gravel right in front of Donnie’s feet. The dogs and the bird go crazy, starting up and barking and screeching. Donnie jumps backwards three feet, his glasses falling off into the dirt. The expression of fear on his face is as rare as it is priceless. 

“You crazy asshole!”

You scoop up Chichi, trying to comfort him. The little dog trembles like a leaf in your arms. You murmur nonsense to it, but your eyes are glued to the confrontation outside, adrenaline rolling through your veins like flash flood water. You realize you’re shaking almost as badly as the dog. 

“Guilty. Ever seen a Desert Eagle? Shoots a big fuckin’ bullet. A .50 caliber round will explode your kneecap like an apple.” Tex whistles with appreciation, and you’re pretty sure Donnie goes pale. “Wanna test my aim today? I might miss and hit you in the balls.” 

You shouldn’t be enjoying this the way you are, but God did that man have it coming. 

 “We should call the Sheriff on you!” 

“Please do. This is a ‘stand your ground’ state. We can tell him about how you’re trespassing, and I’m pretty sure you ain’t supposed to be within 300 yards of that pretty little thing watchin’ us from the kitchen.” 

Donnie’s attention zeroes in on the window, and you sense it like a laser sight fixed upon you. You hate it, how just that hateful look makes you flinch. 

“Y/n!” Donnie calls. “Come out here!” 

“She don’t need to come out here,” says Tex. “She ain’t gonna save you.” 

Donnie seems actually surprised, when you do not obey him, staying put in your spot in the kitchen. 

When the two men just stand there in the driveway, frozen and speechless, Tex cocks the pistol for show. “You need another demonstration? Git!”

“This ain’t over, fucker!” spits Donnie, pointing menacingly–from a safe distance. 

“You better hope it is. Don’t come back, and if either one of you ever touches her again I’ll kill you. That’s a promise. Now get the fuck out of here!” 

Spoiling for a fight but clearly outgunned, the two men back towards the truck, slowly climbing in. “There you go. See ya, bronies!” 

Tex waves the pistol in their direction, and you hear Donnie yell at Dale, “Fuck! Drive! Drive!”

Dale peels out, leaving ruts in your gravel and a dust cloud as they go.

Tex stays on the porch watching until their truck is good and gone. When he finally makes it back into the house you are a teary-eyed little mess. When he sees you the flint in his eyes immediately softens. “Aw, don’t cry honey, c’mere.” You do, and with your head resting on the solid warm wall that is this man’s chest you start to lose it. 

“You actually did it.” 

“Course I did. I told you I would,” he says, stroking your hair as he holds you.

“But…you actually did it,” you say again, because you still cannot believe what just happened. No man has managed to stand up to Donnie Barksdale since your Grandpa, at 80 years old, who stood between you and Donnie in the very same spot on the porch, with the same 12 gauge you still keep behind the hutch, and threatened to cut your then-husband in half if he took another step closer. 

It was the last night Donnie beat on you, and broke your orbital bone, two of your teeth, and your arm. You’d escaped into the dark woods that night, and even though you are not stealthy or fast you managed by some miracle to make it through the brush and thorns and barbed wire fences the two miles to your grandparents’ farm house. It was the last straw, and you finally set the wheel in motion to divorce him the next day. 

You are not a pretty crier, but Tex lets you soak his shirt with tears and snot, holding you and murmuring sweet nonsense. “That’s right, honey, get it out. It’s ok.”

For once, it doesn’t sound like an empty placation. Donnie seemed genuinely scared of Tex, and Dale is an even bigger coward than Donnie. Maybe…they really will just leave you alone. 

Stranger things have happened. 

“I’m sorry,” you wheeze, trying to pull away to get a tissue. “I’m a mess.” 

But Tex pulls you back, not seeming to care one bit, and when his lips touch yours it really does seem like everything in the world has turned right. 

Amusingly, Chichi has been sandwiched between all this in your arms, and only just begins to put up a grumble of protest. “Oh hush, lil buddy,” says Tex, not unkindly, scratching the little dog under the chin. He does nearly the same thing to you, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “You alright?”

You nod and offer a watery smile, setting the dog down on the ground. It’s not what Chichi wants, but he’ll live. “Yes. Thank you.” 

If Donnie believed what Tex said…you do too. There is something dangerous about this man. A wildness that makes his threat feel like a promise. You guess that when the law fails you, what you truly need is an outlaw who keeps his word. Yet you truly believe he’s not a danger to you. You feel safe with him, and maybe that’s the biggest miracle of all. 

“As silly as this sounds after the morning we’ve had…I really do have to go to work.” 

“Alright. I’ll drive you.” A part of you wants to say it’s not necessary. But the other half of you? Just wants to bask in this new found feeling of security while it lasts. You can’t expect Tex to stick around forever to babysit you. But for right now…god, it feels good, to not have to carry this weight all on your own shoulders. 

You kiss him again, and it is warm, and sweet as sugar cookies fresh from the oven. You melt into him, and with his strong arms around your waist, then lower, it is very hard to get up the motivation to go clean up and put on your uniform. 

“Honey, you keep kissin’ me like that and we’re not goin’ anywhere.” 

It’s embarrassing, but you know the sound you make in answer is something like a cat in heat, your fingers curling in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. You feel his words inside you–in the rhythm of your heart, and the throb of your loins. It’s damn near unbearable, this sudden restlessness you feel inside.

You don’t have anyone else to depend on, so you always have to do the responsible thing. Go to work. Get the money. Pay the bills. No one escapes the bullshit death march of Capitalism, except the fuckers who are running the game.

And yet. Maybe…just this once…you could call in sick. 

You stand on tiptoe to kiss him again, grabbing fistfuls of the fluffy waves of his now dried hair. “Tex?” 

“Yeah, baby.” His voice is pure honey dripping golden in the sun. 

“Let’s go upstairs.” His big hands flex against the soft curves of your hips, grabbing fistfuls of nightgown like he’s thinking about tearing it off of you. Incredibly, he says nothing glib, just nods. But when he looks down at you for a long, heated moment–you think he could burn down the world, with the fire in that dark gaze. 

“Lead the way, darlin’.” 

You take his big, beautiful hands in yours, and pull him towards the stairs.

[johnwickb1tsch]

( most y/n fics are fem gender but [attempted] no real mention of specific appearance, race, body type) ✨️=COMPLETE!

The Night Nurse - John x Helen CH 1 │ CH 2 │ CH 3 │ CH 4 │ CH 5 │ CH 6 │ CH 7 │ CH 8 CH 9. CH 10. │ A03

you're the worst thing (i'm addicted to) - John x Helen'sSister!Reader fic │ Part 1 │Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 A03

John x Helen'sSister!Reader Imagine✨️ John Wick x Tarasov'sDaughter!Reader Imagine✨️ Constantine x Reader x John Wick Imagine✨️ Young!John Wick & Model!Reader Imagine part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4✨️ John x Wife!Reader Fix it Imagine✨️

BITTERSWEET

Yandere!John x fem!reader coffee shop au (this totally turned into a fic) All Chapters

gentleman john wick headcanon✨️

just a warm up drabble✨️

bodyguard!Wick x shy!curvy!student!fem!Reader fic✨️

OTHER KEANUVERSE CHARACTERS:

THE GIRL NEXT DOOR- Constantine x Vampire!Reader (ft John Wick/BRZRKR) + Don John Fic ALL CHAPTERS ✨️COMPLETE!✨️-- BONUS: the deleted scene

Constantine x Vampire!Reader Neighbor Imagine✨️

Donaka Mark x MartialArtist!Reader Imagine ✨️

Donaka Mark x Secretary!Reader Imagine✨️

THE DEVILS' TRIANGLE - Tex Johnson x Reader x John Wick (x Constantine) Yandere Collab with the diabolical @treedaddymcpuffpuff & @sweetwolfcupcake *so many dead doves here be warned...* Original Imagine COVER Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5. Part 6 Part 7. Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

EXCESSIVE FORCE - Tom Ludlow x Nurse!Reader collab w the AMAZING @treedaddymcpuffpuff CHAPTER MAP

THE BASTARD'S MISTRESS - a don John x servant!Reader fic✨️

break me, softly - a Jack Traven x fem!NurseReader fic✨️

Vino Veritas - A Frank x Reader Destination Wedding Fic PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 EPILOGUE ✨️NOW COMPLETE!😛✨️ CHAPTER MAP

peep toe pumps - a kevin lomax x femSecretary!reader fic✨️

Andar Conmigo - A Walk in the Clouds Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John Fic Chapter Map bonus: don john's charro suit ✨️complete!✨️

enigmatic stranger - young!john wick x fem!reader collab fic w sweetwolfcupcake & treedaddymcpuffpuff pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4

young!Constantine x witch!Reader imagine in India Pt 1

Sympathy for the Devil - Donaka Mark x housekeeper!Reader fic ALL CHAPTERS

naughty neo x reader drabble✨️

🌻Small Town Girl ~ a Tex Johnson x Reader fic (Donnie Barksdale mentioned) Pt 1 Pt 2

rager. a donaka mark x reader x john wick oneshot. 6500 words.

Some drabbles/outlines/imagines: US Marshall!Reader x Donnie Barksdale revenge fic snippet When John Met Helen fic outline assassin!Reader x John Wick fic outline john wick x reader x helen threesome imagine

BOTS

-Donaka Mark - He's your security consultant.

-Donaka Mark - You meet on a yacht.

-Martin Loader - He wants to run away with you. (From Tune In Tomorrow)