#it has cowboys and horses and hats and they take each others boots offs very gently and it's not historically accurate in the slightlest | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

robinofinashiro · 7 months

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prompt: “you want me to show them who you belong to, don't you? put you in your place?"

characters/fandom: johnny joestar x reader

request status/note: sorry im having a SUPER hyperfixation over my cowboy husband

pronouns used: she/her and afab!

you were standing by your horse, ready to come out with your horse to the music that was playing. you were sporting your most iconic outfit, one that many knew about.

you were a pretty well known jockey, especially around the Kentucky area. you had your start right alongside with Johnny Joestar. Kentucky's best jockey really up until his accident. you took a lot of your inspiration from the blond haired boy and although he never knew about it, it wasn't really a secret to those around you.

being a jockey, that also meant that you had to participate in showcases. those were generally saved for when a big race was coming up and the one on the table was the Kentucky Derby. the big one as everyone called it.

you were in the running to the winner for the women's race and you felt on top of the world as everyone chattering around you was just as excited as you were about it.

"from her home state of ( insert here)," you didn't wait for your name to be called as you instantly kicked your horse off and ran around the track, smiling to the crowd as you waved your baby blue hat to them.

with being a horse prodigy and a current jockey, you knew it wasn't very hard to be able to do tricks with your horse. making sure that you consulted all of your friends and trainers to make sure that the horse wasn't getting hurt in the process, you managed to slightly stand up on her, blowing kisses to the crowd again.

not too far away from where you standing now with your horse was Gyro and Johnny. Gyro couldn't help but chuckle at how confident you were with the crowd. he knew how you really were. you weren't as confident or outgoing in person as you were in front of the crowd.

you were a shy one. someone who tended to keep to herself unless your were spoken too. Gyro being a 3x time Kentucky Derby winner and in the jockey game a lot longer than you were, he heard the real whispers around your name. you were smitten with his best friend.

Johnny Joestar. the star of the Joestar family was itching to get back on the race track.

it didn't help that Johnny was also just as attracted to you but the two of you hardly ever chatted with each other. it was like a game of cat and mouse but neither of you wanted to take the bait.

as you put your horse back to her stable to eat and get well rested after the showcase, you went to the bathroom to reapply makeup and freshen up. you knew that as soon as you stepped back out, you'd have to do a plethora of interviews.

you fixed the baby blue next scarf and dusted off your newly put on skirt. you were also sporting a vest with nothing underneath it. you generally liked to keep your image clean for any younger fans but you figured with the world practically praising you, you could get away with a little bit of skimpiness.

as soon as you stepped out onto the scene, a few reporters went towards you asking for an interview. you agreed to a few, wanting to just get over with it and make your way to the saloon not too far from the race track.

every now and again you noticed Gyro staring at you. you wanted to know what he wanted but with Johnny standing right next to him, you felt a bit intimidated.

once you finished your interviews, you were grabbing your chapstick from the inside of your boot and applying it when Gyro walked over. you gave him a knowing look, wondering what bullshit he was about to tell you. that was the only perk of being friends with Gyro was that the two of you treated each other like siblings.

"yes, what do you need Zeppeli," you asked, standing against a wooden pole. he chuckled, "the baby blue and subtle stars on your boots? you're not fooling anyone darling. it has Johnny written all over it." you laughed, rolling your eyes, "I didn't know Johnny owned baby blue and stars."

Gyro shook his head in annoyance.

"its just funny that the two things that the Joestar boy is famous for is exactly what you're wearing," you wanted to fight back but you knew there was no chance when Gyro had caught you, "I just thought that the outfit was cute and my designer agreed."

Gyro agreed, "oh believe me, you are a cute little thing and if it wasn't for Johnny, I'd totally go after you but there's a reason why he's glaring down at me right now," you slightly turned yourself around to see Johnny tapping his crutches with annoyance.

the skirt that reached up to your mid thigh was blowing against the wind as you started to feel the chills that the Kentucky night was bringing.

"i'm going to be at Shooters tonight with the rest of these fuckers. you and Johnny should come along," you said as you walked off

Gyro hummed in amusement as he watched you kick the dirt and go towards the hundred year old saloon that became infamous for horse jockeys. he knew Johnny was going to be there regardless but maybe a little bit of alcohol would help the two of you loosen up.

as soon as they arrive, they spotted you with your close friends, sitting as a booth with mugs of beer. you were still wearing your outfit from earlier but now it looked like you rode up the skirt a bit more and opened a few buttons from your vest.

Johnny and Gyro stayed towards the bar, talking amongst the friends that they had there when they noticed you were already on the dance floor, dancing with a friend of yours.

"Johnny, look," he whispered as he gave his friend a nudge. Johnny looked up and as soon as his eyes landed on yours. you were using your hat as a fan as you tried to make yourself look as sober as possible.

the three of you were now several mugs of beer into the night and you were more open to talking to whoever was around you. Gyro made his way to a girl that was dancing with you as he flashed her his grills and grabbed her hand. she instantly acknowledged what he was insinuating and started dancing against him.

you were moving to the music, minding your own, when you felt someone behind you. not giving a care in the world, you started dancing against them, smiling to the music.

Gyro shot Johnny a look of acknowledgement as he knew that if neither of you were sober, this would not be the situation that would be playing out.

as you turned around to drink some more of your beer, you noticed those bright eyes that belonged to none other than Johnny himself. your eyes widened as you instantly tried to remember when he appeared behind you but you had been dancing long enough that you just figured you were dancing with different people.

just as the song changed, the small bit of confidence you had left, you managed to sit Johnny down on a chair and started dancing on top of him. your closest friend, Abby, and Gyro, stared at each other as they realized what was going on.

Johnny was lax against the chair, sipping on his beer as your legs were wrapped around his waist lazily, "don't think you'll mind if i steal this from you?" you asked lazily as you grabbed his beanie from his head, tossing your own hat in the sea of people. he chuckled as he watched you fix his hat on your head.

"not at all," he chuckled against your neck, "it's like you want me to show them who you belong to, don't you? put you in your place?" Johnny hadn't had this kind of confidence in what felt like years. before his accident, during his days as that cocky jockey from the famous Joestar family, he would've said it like it was nothing but now? it was even surprising to him.

"maybe I do. maybe that's the whole reason why I'm here dressed in a very Johnny Joestar outfit," you murmured back, your lips now against his, "ever think that's why I showed up like this today?" Johnny's hands found your thighs as he rubbed them slowly.

"maybe I'll give everyone a show, just to showcase that you really are mine," he replied as stood up and balanced himself against his crutches and pointing out that now very large hickey on your neck. you rolled your eyes as you realized that the hickey he left you was nothing compared to how you left his lips. battered and bruised for the lack of a better word.

"i think you're on the right track, ( your name ), i think it's time we do show everyone that you were always mine."

and that Johnny did. the following morning, you had woken up to being tangled in Johnny's arms as Gyro and Abby were sending you the newlines that you were "befriending" Johnny Joestar at the famous jockey salooon.

you knew that befriending was far from the truth as the marks on both of your bodies told a completely different story and it didn't take an idiot to see that as the next race you were competing in, you were wearing Johnny's most famous beanie and the lipstick he always adorned.

#anime #anime imagines #anime imagine #johnny joestar x you #johnny joestar x reade #johnny joestar x reader #johnny joestar imagine #jjba part 7 #jjba imagine #jjba x reader #jojos bizarre adventure

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twosroos · 2 years

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All Grown Up [Chapter One]

( robert "bob" floyd x fem!southern!reader )

roos says ! we need more bob appreciation. i love him. my boy :) also I am not southern, so i apologize if i'm very off with this-- this chapter is a bit short since it's technically a prologue but I'm not really gonna call it such.

desc: as summer rolls into it's time in south carolina, you find yourself surprised when your old next door neighbor returns-- looking and acting completely different after a few months on the west coast. the two of you have a lot to talk about, after you remember the good times, of course.

fluff, with spicy kissing at the end

notable characters: robert "bob" floyd, and that's kinda all, it's pre-uranium mission time y'all :D!

TWs: underage drinking (past tense), mentions of hook-ups, spicy kissing?

ao3 link ! next chapter

The morning dew sparkled on the sides of every blade of grass in the long field on your parents farm. It's stark, plain green path was dotted with a dark log-cabin themed barn on the top of the hill, leaving around two acres of fenced in land for a few horses, cows, goats, and other livestock to amble about on its right, and about a half-acre to the left used for more deliberate things, like the horse training you'd planned to do today. The soft sound of a low cylinder motor hums as it accelerates up the fenced off path, you're driving the busted up farm truck with one hand on the wheel as you slide your hat-- an old stetson gifted to you from the neighbor-- on your hairline as you bring it to a park in a dead grass spot. You parked off the driveway too much, your mom had given up yelling at you for it.

Looking up, you see the sun as it begins to peek over the tops of cypresses, pines, and hemlocks, letting its golden glow dance on geraniums and indigo flowers planted by the barns entrance but far enough away from the fence so they won't get eaten by the horses inside the barn. The window stays rolled down as you climb out, the morning dew in your lungs as you take a deep breath and start whistling the same song you always do as you begin to undo the lock on the barn. Considering its the building closest to the street, its got quite a few locks on it just in case of any attempted break ins. Luckily, no one has tried in the past decade.

As you swing the gate open, you’re met by a chorus of animals, waking up for the day as you swap your boots for a set of riding boots as you yawn, moving to the side to begin opening up the side doors in each stall to let the animals out. Majority of them leave, ambling out into the grassy field to take in the morning sun. Your horse-- a black-ish brown quarter horse, bumps her head into your back and you laugh as you turn to bump back her nose.

"Relax, Fuego." You murmur as you slip into her stall, moving to open the back gate so she can do what she does every morning-- take a sprinting lap around the place. As she, and the other horses in neighboring stalls do what they want for about an hour, you spend your time grabbing the food, water, and other things the animals need from various locations around the barn. The sun rises higher, white puffy clouds rolling through the sky as planes float idly ahead. you huff, grabbing your riding gear, before theres the sound of a car door slamming. Setting down the saddle in your hands, you walk to the front door, smiling when you see your neighbor's daughter-- a five year old by the name of Molly, patting your horse on the head as she leans herself over the gate and low enough for Molly to reach on her tiptoes.

"Hey, Molly." You call and she turns, a hot pink cowboy style hat on her head as she runs over, her pink boots splashing mud puddles from last nights storm.

"Y/n!" She cheers, grabbing your hand and jumping, "Robby's home!"

"Robby?" You ask, lifting your head to look at your mother, "Floyd's back?"

"Mhm. Got in last night, he swung by the house this morning with his mom to drop off his sister for a playdate today." Your mother grins, "Genevieve ran straight for the cows, she's lookin’ at the calf, right down the fence."

Your mother pointed down the fence line where you could see your younger sister petting the cows and baby talking them-- just like you did when you were a kid.

"How long is he home for?" You ask and Molly giggles swinging herself as she uses your hand to keep her from falling.

"He's back until July when he leaves for a mission!"

"He leaves the fifth." Your mother clarifies and you nod, a soft smile gracing your sun-kissed skin from the time you've spent in the heat of South Carolina. Just like all the years you had spent by Robby's side, the sun had caused freckles to bloom across your shoulders, shown by the skin-tight tank top you wear over your riding pants.

And, oh god, Robert's home.

When he'd left, it had been awful. He refused to tell you why he was moving other than the word 'bootcamp' and you'd had a sort of half argument over it. Though, you could never stay mad at his goofy half smiles and confused squints whenever you said something he didn't quite understand. There had been multiple nights in your lifetime where you both stumbled back to your house after parties, or just drinking in the various fields around your house, climbing in the never locked storm door to crash on the basement couch. Your parents never asked, neither did his. They'd say you were Bob and Y/n, a dynamic duo, never seen without each other and never seen arguing.

But, he'd left four hours after your first time kissing him. Sure, it had been because he wanted to know how to kiss before he moved away from home, assuming the tales friends had told you two about hookups and such in the college experience; over beers in your basement, had been true.

And god, you weren't ready to see how he'd changed after your mother had told him he was in the Navy. And all you could think of was his last night in your house, right before he had to leave for bootcamp. Two weeks after the end of your senior year.

...

Senior year had been the year for the two of you, despite the revamp of the rumor you two were dating, again, and making it impossible for you to find any sort of partner other than each other for every school event, you didn't care. Bob was your best friend, and you'd never do anything to change it. You were prom king and queen, and most likely to marry for tax benefits in the accolades section of the year book. But never once had you kissed, or even romantically held hands.

From your first day of kindergarten, to graduating middle school, to your senior year homecoming game as cheer captain, and his senior year homecoming game as drum major, to your senior year graduation, you were stuck at the hip. Inseparable. You could sit in a room for silence for hours and never get bored, or watch the same movies and shows you could quote over and over and enjoy it. And you spent a lot of time gossiping over stolen liquor bottles from the back of your dad's expansive cabinet, or riding horses thorugh back trails, or taking the farm trucks on joy rides. Bob, despite being a bit socially awkward, was your ride or die.

Until you kissed him the night before he left.

The TV buzzed behind you softly as you downed another shot of Hennessy. Bob shutting the storm door as he sat down on your couch almost immediately afterwards, his lips chewed up like he was deep in thought. You reset the CD in the small radio by your hip and turned to him with a pout, walking across the room to fall by his side like natural as you hand him the bottle.

"What's a matter, Robby?" You asked, alcohol still burning your throat. In silence, he unscrews the cap before he starts talking as he gestures with the opened bottle.

"I don't know if I'm ready to leave for college." He murmurs-- that's what he called bootcamp, college, as to not scare you about it. He takes a gulp of the alcohol, making a face at it.

You shift so you’re sitting up, pressing a hand to his shoulder and trying not to notice the way he tenses up and flushes as you speak softly, trying not to wake your parents through the thin walls of the house, "Why, Robs?"

He laughs, taking another long swig before he starts talking, "Everyone else I know who's going has some sort of... ugh, romantic or... sexual, experience and I have none. Curse me being so socially awkward."

"You've never kissed anyone?" you perk up before deflating as you think, "Wait, you would've told me if you did."

"Never kissed anyone besides my Ma." he grumbled into his hand.

In hindsight, you're not sure if it's the alcohol speaking as you sit up and slide your hand on his chest, "would you wanna?"

"Kiss you?" He sputters, face flushing bright red. He'd been drinking before he'd gotten here, you could tell by the smell of Tito's on his breath. It makes you frown, he must've been thinking about this all day.

"Yeah, as practice." You chime, shifting now so you're standing above him and between his jean-covered knees.

He gulps, taking another swig of the alcohol before he caps it and tosses it down on the couch, "and you're my teacher?"

"I've had a few hook-ups, Rob. You know this." you lament, moving closer as you press another hand to his chest, feeling the muscle he'd accrued over the years of working on his family farm, and yours when needed. You expect him to vocally answer, but his hand grazes the outside of your thigh instead, thinking.

You move, straddling him on the couch as you lean close to him, lips inches away, "C'mon, Floyd," you purr, "Gimme a lil' somethin'."

He perks up at the way you say his last name, biting his lip as he adjusts his glasses before he gently takes your jaw and pulls you close by your waist. It makes you jump, a soft gasp escaping your glossed lips as he mumurs,

"Is this okay?"

"More than." You reply, leaning in to connect your lips. It's an alcohol fueled fever, the way he pushes back into you as his lips lock to yours. His hands freezing at your hips, never once moving, you dont mind snaking a hand up to his hair and carding through it, pulling back from the kiss for air before he's dragging you back down again.

But then his alcohol confidence slips and he pulls back roughly, smacking his head on the wall in true Robert fashion. He gapes at you, and you take it as a sign to quicky back off. You can read him like a book nowadays, and the way he sits shocked makes you think you fucked up.

"Sorry." Escapes his lips before he's pushing his way past you and back out the storm door, though he still makes sure to carefully shut it a certain way so it doesn't creak or bang as it closes.

You're left with a bottle of half-finished hennessey and the taste of Tito's on your lips-- too confused and shocked to move for several minutes.

When you realized he left the next morning, you also realized that kiss was the last fleeting memory you'd ever have of him in that moment. Though, hindsight would say, it wouldn't be too long until you found yourself in that position again.

#robert bob floyd #bob floyd #robert floyd #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x you #fluff

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thegoblinboy · 1 year

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Ride — 🔞

Description; This is just smut 👀 Eddie and Steve meet in the hayloft

Warning; this is my first time writing smut in a very long time so don’t expect steamy lmao

Eddie was chewing on a piece of straw as he lays back on the small pile of hay that laid in the small corner of the barn. He could hear the animals moving around in their own stalls and on a occasion he would randomly start talking to one of them. Shockingly getting some form of response back. A weird noise, or a wall being kicked.

Wearing a black flannel over a band t-shirt that was slightly tucked into a pair of black ripped skinny jeans he was the complete opposite of what the other help looked like. That and he was supposed to be gone a hour ago. Instead he was hidden in the farm waiting for his boy. Smirking to himself he hears footsteps coming towards him. He tilts his head up lazily and has a grin on his face as he catches sight of Steve. Who was currently wearing skinny blue jeans, cowboy boots, a button up flannel and a cowboy hat.

No words are exchanged as Eddie moves to stand up. Picking up his own hat that he had bought as a joke. Placing it on top of his curls as he chews on the straw a bit more excitedly. Silently following the other up to the old hay loft that was now abandoned . Eddie would most times call it the gay loft knowing it would cause a pretty blush on his lovers face. Carefully they both walked up the creaky steps. Eddies already starting to unbutton his belt. The clinks of the chains the only noises heard from the upstairs. There was a occasional noise coming from a bird but it was easily ignored.

Humming Eddie watches Steve turn around and let his persona go. Each limb relaxing and the metalhead swears up and down that he sees light starting to shine from the other when he stops putting a show on. Even though they’ve only been at this for a month, each time when the other smiled like he is now it causes Eddie to stumble a bit. Watching the remaining sunlight hit his boys face. Scratch that, watching his world shine brighter then the actual sun. Each time Eddie makes a fool of himself it only causes the others smile to turn into a cocky grin, like it is now as Steve moves forward pulling the other closer. Taking ahold of the others belt loops as he gets up close and personal. Both their hats bumping against each other their faces going pink from happiness before Steve quickly pulls his own off and tosses it to the side carelessly.

Eddie moves to do the same but Steve stops him. Carefully taking it from the other and setting it over his own hair before he moves forward kissing the other. The kiss is gentle and sweet before it turns sloppy and desperate. Somehow they went from being on both of their feet to now Eddie’s crawling between the others legs. Hands roaming the others body as they kiss. His hat had fallen off the others head in a rush but neither of them cared. They both lazily laid on-top of a blanket that was kept up here for occasions like this. It was of course taken and washed over night to only return mysteriously after lunch the day after. A routine that would never change.

Zippers are being pulled down along with pants and boxers. Shirts are being pulled off and tattoos are revealed. Hands not leaving each other before the first words are spoken. “I want you to ride me like you ride one of your horses big boy.” A cocky grin is plastered on Eddie’s face as he rolls over to lay on his back. Seeing how stunned Steve looked. Though he moves getting up as he gets on his knees and straddles the other. Looking down with a smile as he places his hands on the others vline. Tracing it carefully before he presses down a little and starts to move his hands up the others body. Squeezing the others stomach a little as he appreciated the others chub. Carefully moving to trace one of the others tattoos as he moves his lips down to had his own mark on the others skin. Eddie gasps as he laughs gently. Enjoying the slight pain, but the others hair always tickled his skin.

“Come on Stevie, don’t have all night.” Eddie hums as he slaps the others ass playfully. Hopping to get him moving. Steve jumps at the sting before he pouts playfully as he moves over to the others pants. Pulling the lube and condom out. He’s then moving to get the other situated against his rim before Eddie’s stopping him. Winking as he gets his fingers lubed up and presses them against the others entrance. Refusing to go further as he grins up at the other teasingly. “Want to see your muscles work baby, come on use my fingers love. Last I checked I’m dating a buff cowboy not some pillow princess.” He teases as Steve’s face goes pink. Moving his hips as he starts to press down on the other.

He bites his lip as he focuses on getting the right angle, not expecting Eddie to curl up or spread his fingers apart. A deep airy moan leaves him as he leans forward a bit. Placing his hands on the others shoulders to keep balance. Eddies watching the other with dark eyes and he refuses to move from his spot. Helping the other stretch open for him. He nearly combusts on the spot when he hears that soft voice crack steve gets when he’s feeling to much. They haven’t even gotten to the main event yet.

Smirking Eddie pulls his fingers out carefully as Steve rides air for a second. Whining as he looks down at the other a bit grumpily. Eddie grins shrugging as it to say, “well what are you going to do?” Moving he places his hand up not even bothering to wipe it off as he places both hands behind his head. He wouldn’t be surprised to find lube in his hair later. Steve grunts as he gathers himself together. Getting the other situated before he’s lining the other up and he’s sliding down the other.

Crickets are starting to come out and the moon is replacing the sun as Steve carefully sits down on the other completely. Eddie doesn’t move once. “Eddie.” He whines in complaint as he sees the other closing his eyes. Treating this as if nothing was happening. God was he a dick sometimes.

“Stevie boo.” Eddie whines right back. It’s starting to get dark. The feeling of the other wrapped around him was overwhelming, and he knows that if he opens his eyes and doesn’t just focus on how the other feels and sounds like he was going to get overstimulated in a good way. Steve huffs a little as if he wasn’t a grown man sitting on his dick. Eddie smiles amused before he feels the other nearly knock the wind out of him. His eyes are flying open and his hands are jumping to the others hips with a slight gasp.

“Jesus Christ!”

Steve lets a laugh go, it was deep and shook his chest. Looking down at the other with a amused look. He moves forward a bit acting as if he was going to kiss him but instead he snatches the others abandoned cowboy hat and slides it on his head with a proud smirk. Eddies going to try and say something but the other is pulling up and forcing himself down on the other with just as much force as he did before. Eddies whining in pleasure as he grips the others hips.

“What baby am I going to rough for you? Thought you wanted me to ride you like a horse?” Steve laughs towards the end starting to move his hips as he places one hand on the others shoulder and the other on his hat. Winking at the other playfully acting as if he was riding a bull. Eddie’s face is pink and sometimes he forgets who he’s fucking with. Little moans leaving him as he watches the other pretty starstruck.

What gets him going even more is how Steve suggestively rolls his hips. “Oh baby.” He moans as he tilts his head back into the blanket. Eyes closing as his mouth falls open a little bit. He whimpers as he lets the other use him. They are both sweating equally as they both start to chase their orgasms.

“It looks like you may be the pillow princess here love.” Steve jokes sounding like he was out of breath. Eddie grunts in response taking this as a challenge and quickly flips them around. Steve’s thighs wrapping around the others waist as he pushes up into the other at a rough pace. Steve’s getting louder as his hands claw at the others back, listening to Eddies soft pants in his ear. They were driving each other mad.

Biting on to the others shoulder that’s how Eddie releases into the condom. Still fucking into the other through the overstimulation. Steve’s back arches a bit as his muscles tense and his mouth opens. Cum shooting up his stomach and chest. Both of them coming down from their highs right as the sun officially disappears for the night.

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alkaliineee-old · 1 month

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is that SABRINA CARPENTER? oh, no, that’s CLEMENTINE BEAUREGARD , a TWENTY-THREE year old BOTTLE SERVICE GIRL at CATCH ME IF YOU CAN who uses SHE/HER pronouns. they currently live in VIÑA DEL MAR, and the character they identify with most is PINKIE PIE from MY LITTLE PONY hopefully they find their own little paradise here in el país de los poetas!

BASIC STATS .

FULL NAME . clementine maisie beauregard

NICKNAME(S) . clem, lemmie, lemon, minnie, teeny

AGE/BIRTHDAY/ZODIAC . 23 / july 22 / cancer

SEXUALITY . bicurious

BIRTHPLACE . cleveland, georgia

HEIGHT . 4'11 ¾

EYES . blue

ILLNESSES/CONDITIONS . sweeet(anxie)teaaa

PIERCINGS . standard lobe.

FC . sabrina carpenter

FAMILY .

FIRST LAST ( relation, alive/deceased )

blake beauregard (father/alive)

grace beauregard abernathy (mother/alive)

(half sibling/alive)

OTHER CONNECTIONS .

TBA

EDUCATION .

secondary education completion certificate

tried university for a year but it was not for her

LANGUAGES .

english. spanish.

WORK .

Position

tearista at little leaves tea house (previous)

bottle service girl at catch me if you can (current)

FAVORITE .

ANIMALS. cats. horses. ducks. cows. BAKED GOODS. lemon rolls. peach cobbler. fried apple pies. berlines chilenos. COLOURS. yellow. pink. orange. DRINKS. sweet tea. lemonade. fanta peach. fresh orange juice. mango slush. FRUIT. peaches. mangos. oranges. pineapple. cherries. HOLIDAY. christmas. ICE CREAM. peach. mango sorbet. cherry garcia. MOVIE. spirit: stallion of the cimarron. MUSIC GENRES. country. pop. SCENTS. citrus. chamomile. vanilla. SEASON. summer. SNACKS. lays original. cotton candy. cuchuflí. fruit cups. WEATHER. sunny.

AESTHETIC .

what are words? here is her pinterest instead.

PERSONALITY .

+ affectionate

+ bubbly

+ optimistic

- emotional

- indecisive

- naive

BACKGROUND .

clementine was born in cleveland georgia to her adoring parents who were highschool sweethearts. her father was a rancher and her mother was a homemaker. they predominantly had cattle, alongside a handful of horses, and then somehow (lemmie's pleading) winded up with a flock of ducks and a few donkeys. she spent most of her time outside with the animals and truly couldn't have been happier.

tw: infidelity when she was thirteen, her parents separated, the reasoning unknown to her (coughherfatherhadanaffaircoughandgotanotherwomanpregnantcough) but that was when her mother decided to do something for herself and go back to school, though instead of choosing somewhere in the state or even the country, she decided on chile, starting off as a student, and then going on to later become a professor at the very same university. there started the years of travelling back and forth from one home to the other, during the school year clem would stay in chile with her mom, and during her breaks at school she would fly back to georgia to be with her dad, though christmas' were traded off each year. post school, it was really up to her to decide when and where she spent most of her time, and while she does still go back to visit her father (and all the animals) she decided to stay in chile full time.

HEADCANONS .

has a two year old orange persian cat named marigold that she loves with alllll her heart.

naps > normal sleep schedule. there's no less than five pillows on her bed at all times and at least one of her blankets has to be fuzzy.

spends a lot of her time outside. while not athletically inclined, aside from horseback riding, she does enjoy a good hike. and picnics. and the beach.

can be found singing into a hairbrush at any given time.

habitual wearer of cowboy boots and hats, you can take the girl off the ranch but you can't take the ranch out of the girl, or something like that.

a baker ! now she's not about to be on the great british bake off or anything of the sort, but she can manage to make a little sweet treat, bonus points if it turns out cute.

has been a bottle girl for around six months, and while she's not a partier, the tips at catch are so much better than what she was getting at little leaves.

has a little southern twang that’s definitely more prominent when she gets back from georgia.

mama mia is very very close second for her favourite movie

this will be added to as i think of things but yeah.

WANTED CONNECTIONS .

platonic soulmate: the #1 love of her life, duh. give me her person pls & thx. <3

bad influence: v much naive and always wanting to see the best in people, it wouldn't be hard at all for someone to lead her astray tbh. it's like shaking a bag of treats at a good doggo.

ex: boyfriend? situationship? fling? could have been messy, or could have ended amicably, the world is our oyster.

roommate: i haven't decided on anything in regards to her living situation other than it's somewhere in viña del mar, so this is totally open to just about anyone/anything.

other: literally open 2 just about anything and everything. friends. people that find her annoying. girly group. crushes. childhood friends. second parental figures. if you have an idea i am all ears.

#❀ — 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃. introduction #valpohqintro

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blouisparadise · 3 years

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Today’s rec list consists of bottom Louis fics that take place in the country, the Midwest, or any rural area. We hope you enjoy. If you do, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Save A Horse | Explicit | 2400 words

Louis goes to a rodeo with Liam, and gets a lot more than he bargained for. Featuring bull rider Harry, obnoxious t-shirts, and one hell of a night.

“Come on Jackson ain’t you been practicin? It ain’t fun for me if I always beat you,” the boy drawls out, voice slow and thick like molasses. “You comin out tonight?” he asks, nudging him with his elbow.

“Not tonight H, me and Liam are going to grab something to eat,” Jackson replies, the blush returning to Liam’s cheeks.

“What about you, what’re your plans for the night darlin’?” Harry asks, crooking an eyebrow in Louis’s direction.

Louis, who is the epitome of outgoing and confident, is at a total loss for words. He starts to say something but freezes, Harry now raising his other eyebrow and smirking, awaiting Louis’s response. “I uh- I’ll probably just go home,” Louis manages to stammer out, and what the fuck? Who is this man and how has he turned Louis into an introvert in a matter of seconds?

2) Gunsmoke | Explicit | 6527 words

Harry 'Gunsmoke' Styles and his boys Liam, Zayn, and Niall are all traveling cowboys who come across a small town on their journey to nowhere. They hang out at a tavern where Harry meets Louis, a cute and fiery bartender, and they may or may not fall in love.

3) Hey I Heard You Were A Wild One (If I Took You Home It'd Be A Homerun) | Explicit | 12106 words

Harry came to the bar to forget. Louis gives him a night to remember.

4) This Land Is More Than Dreams | Explicit | 12878 words

Louis is a student taking a gap year, travelling through the States. His plans change when he meets a cute cowboy-wannabe in one of the towns.

5) Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy | Mature | 13356 words

Harry owns a farm and Louis rides horses (and pretty boys sometimes) for a living. Harry hurts himself by being clumsy before he gets to ride a horse with Louis.

6) Manifest Destiny | Explicit | 15210 words

Louis is a Pony Express rider and Harry runs a station along the trail.

7) Baby Blue | Explicit | 39439 words

Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head.

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin.

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

8) I Ain’t Gonna Fence You In | Mature | 40645 words

Louis Tomlinson is a 18 year old city boy who is forced to spend his summer before his senior year at his aunts farm. There, he meets Harry, a 19 year old country boy his aunt hired to help around the farm.

Maybe the farm isn't the worst place to fall in love?

9) Boiling Blood Will Circulate | Explicit | 42420 words

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

10) Your Touch Shouldn't Make Me Feel Like This | Explicit | 48883 words

Uni AU in which Alpha Harry has been in love with his omega friend for the longest time and one motorbike trip to the countryside with Louis made him realize that he could no longer hold back his feelings.

11) For the Sake of Propriety | Mature | 52360 words

Louis Tomlinson is the caretaker of an estate that is not truly his, and when his Uncle calls upon him to take it back, Louis knows he will soon be out on the streets with four overly zealous sisters to care for. His only solution: wed the eldest two off and pray for the best. When an even better solution unexpectedly presents itself in the form of the charming Mr. Styles, Louis is faced with a difficult choice. But as with all things in the regency era, reputation very well may threaten to outweigh the fleeting matters of his heart.

12) Through The Wheatfields And The Coastlines | Explicit | 52855 words

“You’re not from around here, are ya?” Hot Cowboy asks, tracking his little lamb with his eyes. Louis frowns slightly, having thought he was doing pretty well at not sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s not like he’s not from around here — it’s not his first summer he’s spent at his grandparents'. But he supposes that the Manhattan city lifestyle that he’s used to is always going to shine through.

“I’m visiting family for the summer,” Louis explains, cheeks a little pink. “Trying to get some work done without distractions.”

13) The Bachelor | Explicit | 53953 words

The one where Harry dates six other guys and still falls in love with Louis Tomlinson.

14) Apples Always Fall (As I Do For You) | Mature | 54609 words | Sequel

Louis is staying at his Aunt's farm in a small town in Minnesota for four months. To deal with the boredom that sets in a week into his stay, he starts working at the local apple orchard, owned by twenty six year old Harry Styles.

Louis quickly finds himself falling in love with the orchard, and he finds a family in Harry's friends Niall, Liam, and Zayn.

He also starts to fall in love with Harry.

Falling in love with him turns out to be the easy part.

15) Such Good Luck | Explicit | 66025 words

An Edwardian AU where Harry is a young aristocratic lord and Louis is a working class dairy farmer. Secrets are a necessary part of their relationship, but Louis has one that could topple their whole world.

16) Given a Chance | Explicit | 173511 words

Five years after One Direction took their last tour, the last thing Louis Tomlinson ever expected to happen while on a tea run at the local Piggly Wiggly was to run into his ex-boyfriend and ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

The odds of them ever running into each other again had to be super slim, right?

Wrong.

What happens when you mix ex-boyfriends with a large serving of Small Town America? Will Louis and Harry be able to set aside their differences, or will Louis be able to stay breezy as fuck in the wake of Harry’s arrival?

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #country au #midwest au #rural au #blp fic recs #blp

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vizowrites · 3 years

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That’s One Hell of a Resume

{Set during the Harvest Moon Festival competitions}

~*~

To Blitzø’s great surprise, the Harvest Moon Festival was actually turning out to not be a fuck fest invite after all.

He honestly hadn’t been sure when the games initially kicked off. The horde of imps that had come to compete for the title of “the roughest, toughest, bastard in Wrath” had a proclivity for violence that could easily--and not inaccurately--be described as a passion. Then of course there was Stolas, watching him thirstily from atop his fancy seat underneath his fancy tent, cooing and cheering out “Blitzyyyyy!!'' at every opportunity he got to speak. Yet the honored owl prince somehow still managed to keep his pants on throughout each and every event--and even more impressively managed to keep his degrading sweet talk void of any sexual obscenities. He hadn’t even been able to manage that much on a day trip to a theme park with his daughter. Yet somehow...this wasn’t even the best part of the festival to Blitzø. It was up there to be sure, but it wasn’t the toppiest top. The “dom of the disco”**, if you will.

No, the BEST part of the festival--and the thing that kept the imp grinning from ear to ear throughout the entire competition--was that this honkytonk battle royale was shaping up to be the perfect opportunity to show off and be recognized for just how much of a boss-ass bitch Blitz actually was: 2nd to absolutely fucking none.

Well...maybe with ONE slight exception.

“I gotta say, you just keep on impressin’ me every chance you get,” that one slight exception said with a smirk, the tip of his tail flicking forward into a small curl. “No wonder your killin’ biz is so successful. You do every kill single-handed there, Boss Man?” The two were standing off on the sidelines together during one of the many interims inbetween contests, where the first round winners had already secured their victories and now were stuck watching the remaining shitty losers battle it out to find out which of them would end up being the absolute shittiest loser. It was taking a stupidly long-ass time, a hell of a lot longer than Blitzø would’ve normally had the patience for, but with his present company leaning up against the bleacher stands like that.....there were definitely worse ways he could be spending his down time right now.

“Nah,” he answered with a small flick of his wrist, gesturing vaguely in the general direction of where he’d last seen Moxxie getting his ass kicked and Millie sitting in the stands watching it happen. “I know he’s not doing a great job of showing it right now--” he said just as Moxxie got elbow dropped by a shark “--but Moxxie’s not completely useless. He did get me shot on a job once while he was in the middle of being a little bitch, but as soon as he finally found his balls again, he got things back under control pretty fast. And Millie’s just a straight up badass. If her parents had allowed her to play in the games, you’d have gotten your ass handed to you three rounds ago.”

“That so?” Striker’s lips drew back into a slight smirk, just enough for the light to catch on the very tip of his fanged gold tooth. “Because I seem to remember a certain someone else bein’ the one to get themselves all roped up in a hogtie about three rounds ago.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about but it sounds like complete bullshit.”

“That’s kinda what I was thinkin’ myself to be honest after that first relay run--” Those snake-like eyes raked in every inch of Blitz’s annoyed face, feeling the corners of his own pleasantly sting as his grin spread even wider. “Right up ‘til I saw some o’that nice red color risin’ up in their face--”

“IT’S HOT--THERE ARE FUCKING VOLCANOES NEARBY OKAY!!” Blitz realized, very quickly, just how loud and defensive those words sounded, but he also realized just as quickly that there wasn’t anything he could do to take them back now. Instead, he straightened himself up, cleared his throat, pretended that there wasn’t some of ‘that nice red color’ in his face now, and said in what he thought was a much more nonchalant voice, “Anyway, I’m starving, and since these last few dipshits are taking forever to get their asses kicked, I’m gonna go find something deep-fried to shove down my throat. Catch you at the awards ceremony or whatever the fuck they do around here to finish themselves off.”

The I.M.P. Head made it a grand total of two steps before the unmistakable crunch of boots sounded behind him, followed by a faint scoff of a laugh and the distinct rattling of a tail as Striker joined him at his side.

“There’s a whole row of food stands back there behind the stage,” he said with a nod, meeting Blitzø’s stride and starting to veer them off in that direction. “And now that you mention it, I wouldn’t mind grabbin’ a bite. Besides--I feel like I might owe you one for bringin’ up such a tender subject.”

The unrepentant but non-malicious smirk he sent Blitz’s way wasn’t at all softened by the wink that accompanied it, but it somehow brought a slight smile to the smaller imp’s lips all the same.

“You got fucking lucky and that was it,” Blitz insisted with a sharp flick of his tail, not having the faintest fucking clue why he was smiling about this in the first place but subconscioiusly hoping that swatting at Striker would be distracting enough that the taller imp wouldn’t notice. “And besides, I could’ve gotten out of it if I had really wanted to.”

“Oh, so you wanted to be all tied up like that?” The grin that spread across Striker’s face was even wider than the first, his razor sharp teeth now on full display. “Well now, if that’s what you were wantin’ you could’ve just asked. I’d’ve been happy to oblige right from the start.”

“Ha! Like I’d ever make it that easy for you,” Blitzø retorted with a challenging grin, his eyes dancing with a truly impish gleam of delight as he and Striker rounded the stage together, his earlier thoughts of the food shacks that waited beyond almost entirely forgotten as they were overtaken by memories of their constant back-and-forth scuffle throughout the festival. “You beating me fair and square is one thing--even though you still totally just got really fucking lucky and also it definitely never even happened in the first place. But if you were actually going to beat me...you better believe it’s not gonna happen without a fight. I don’t just bow out like some sloppy bitch who can’t figure out where they put their car keys and has to take the walk of shame back to their shitty apartment at 4 in the morning. If you wanna come out on top over me, you better fucking work for it.”

The black tip of his pointed tail flicked up to poke Striker once in the center of his chest, punctuating the word ‘work’ perfectly.

Striker’s tail, on the other hand, began to rattle.

“Yeah?” he said, his earlier easy tone starting to become weighted with something softer, but deeper. Neither he nor Blitzø made any indication that they were aware that he was guiding them both right on past the front of the stand that they had originally been headed toward, and instead had them disappearing into the shadows behind it. “You’re okay with not coming out on top so long as whoever does earns their place there?”

“I mean...” Blitzø trailed off a bit as he casually leaned up against the back of the stand, folding his arms over his chest as he eyed Striker with that lingering gleam in his own gaze. “You have been able to keep up with me in all the other games...so I guess it might be possible for you to get the upper hand on me for at least one of them.”

“Just me?” The rattling sound intensified.

“Well there sure as fuck wasn’t anyone else who was able to keep up,” Blitzø rolled his eyes in annoyed exasperation at just how much everyone else truly sucked in comparison to the two of them, before he slowly looked back up at Striker--and realized that the snake-like imp was suddenly a lot closer than he’d been before. Much closer.

“...Striker?”

“Yeah, Blitz?”

“Please tell me we’re not actually talking about the fucking games anymore.”

A short, soft laugh was the initial answer, followed by that still rattling tail coiling around Blitz’s slender waist as Striker propped himself up on one arm against the structure behind them, his hand splayed just to the side of the crimson imp’s right cheek.

“I haven’t been talkin’ about the games since you got me with your tail, Darlin’,” he whispered, his hooded eyes narrowing to glowing slits of pale gold as he leaned in almost close enough to touch. “But I don’t know if there ain’t somethin’ to be said about that “fuckin’” part yet...”

Blitz’s words came back to him then, ringing in his head as clear as when he first said them:

“...Well if you promise this isn’t some fuck fest invite...”

“.....You gonna work for it, Cowboy?”

“Yessir, Boss Man.”

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

“So...lemme get this straight--” Blitzø finally shifted his weight, easing it off of Striker and rolling to rest his back on whatever podunk concession stand they’d spent the last ten minutes fucking up against. “--You tie me for first place in the games, you ride around on the most majestic fucking horse I’ve ever seen, you take down a hell hog with a single stab while completely and mercilessly humiliating one of my employees in front of his in-laws at the same fucking time, and you called me “Sir” when we first met? AND you’re a great fuck??”

The quirked eyebrow and smug gold-toothed grin he got in reply said more than words ever could, especially when accompanied by the satisfied rattling of that long, spiked tail.

“That’s one hell of a resume you’ve got there.” Blitzø didn’t even realize his own face had split into a grin until he saw it reflected in Striker’s eyes, hypnotized by the sheer reckless abandon he felt ignited between them. “Want to join I.M.P.?”

Striker couldn’t help but laugh, reaching up to adjust the brim of his hat from where Blitz’s tail had nearly knocked it off, his unwavering gaze sparking into an infernal glow.

“Tell you what,” he said, his tone a warm rumble of amusement meeting temptation. “You and I head on back to the stage, revel in our well-deserved glory, and--once we’re satisfied it’s been rubbed into the faces of those sorry ass losers enough--I’ll head on back up to the farm and have a little talk with Miss Mildred’s folks about finishin’ things up around here for the season. Maybe see if they can find another set of hands to join ‘em for the next one if mine are gonna be occupied with--” His hand found its way down to Blito’s face, the sharp claw-like nail of his thumb pressing under the shorter imp’s chin to tilt it up towards his own. “--other things.”

“Believe me, Cowboy,” Blitzø’s eyes were burning, twin embers of eagerness that ran so deep he could feel the heat of it vibrating through to his very core--and his vocal chords. “You’re not going to find a more hands-on job than the one you’re gonna get if you come and work for me. ESPECIALLY in that order.”

Striker’s tail snaked its way up and along past Blitz’s hip, the pointed tip flicking over his chest as it’s rattle joined in the chorus of that deep, heated purring.

“Don’t mind if I hold you to that, Sir.”

“Oh fuck me--”

And Striker did. Again.

~*~

Random Notes:

**My counterpart to the phrase “the belle of the ball”--”the dom of the disco”. I think I’m way funnier than I actually am. :D

ANYWAY tho I really hope y’all like it!! This is the first fanfic I’ve posted anywhere publicly in a hot minute so I hope it’s not a bad kickoff to something I’m hoping to really get back into!! I have plans to post the full fic of this--with the non-censored sex scene to my AO3 oohlala--so if that’s something you’d like to see, feel free to lemme know here and I can get right on that!! Otherwise have a great day, thanks for reading, and if anyone wants to hit me up for some lovely BlitzStrike talks, I’m always open to messages!!

Thanks again Lovelies!! <3

#BlitzStrike #Striker x Blitzo #Blitzo x Striker #Helluva Boss fanfiction #Helluva Boss #vizowrites

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luv-eddiediaz · 3 years

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Hi. Me again, with my obsession of cowboy Eddie and city Buck.

I was driving around the country last night looking for some cool rocks to put in my yard (I live in town, but like 20 minutes from all the ranches and wide open spaces), and I had like a Buddie version of a Hallmark movie playing in my head the whole time.

Imagine with me:

Buck has been living in NYC. He’s been working at some art gallery and dating Abby and living with her in her fancy loft while she sculpts, but something happens and she still needs to go find herself, so off she goes to abandon our boy, who, after a couple of months, and some conversations with his friends, realizes she isn’t going to come back, and he sets off to start over.

He basically throws a dart at a map, and it lands on El Paso, and so that’s where he packs his bags to go. He gets a job at a local bar, and rents a room in the back. He doesn’t think El Paso is going to be for him, so he’s just going to work a few weeks until he can figure out where he wants to go and has some more money saved up to get there.

He notices that every other night, a dark haired man comes in and orders a whiskey, neat and two beers. He sits alone and doesn’t talk to anyone except the girl who works at the bar with Buck at night (I’ve named her Desiree). To Buck, he seems kind of sad.

One night, Desiree is off, and it’s Just Buck. The guy comes in and Buck brings him his whiskey without him having to order. The man tips his hat, and Buck smiles, but they don’t say anything. When he’s finished his whiskey, Buck goes back to him with his draft of Budweiser, and again he tips his hat, and Buck smiles. They don’t talk until Buck brings him last beer.

“It’s Buck, right?”

“Uh, yea, how did you know?”

“Desiree is my cousin. She’s mentioned you a few times. Doesn’t like you very much.”

Buck laughs, “I didn’t think she did.”

“It’s your shoes. They’re too shiny, and she says you smell too nice.”

“How does someone smell too nice?”

“Girls here are just different than where you come from.”

“Everyone here is different than where I come from.”

And the man laughs so quiet Buck isn’t even sure he’s laughing, and then he holds out his hand, “I’m Eddie.”

“Nice to meet you.” Buck meets his hand, and it’s softer than Buck would have thought given his dirt stained jeans, and his small drawl, and the cowboy hat he never seems to take off his head.

So, now whenever Eddie comes in, Buck waits on him, and as the customers dwindle down, Buck ends up sitting in the corner booth with him, and they talk. About New York mostly, about Abby and art, Eddie’s son, and how Buck thinks he might do better in Austin if he was going to stay in Texas.

“If you change your mind, and want to stay,” Eddie says one night, “I have a shed I converted to a guest house. I’d be more than happy to rent it out to you.”

Buck isn’t sure why, but the thought of Eddie wanting him to stay makes him feel good, and so he decides to take him up on the offer. He meets Eddie at his place one Sunday afternoon, which is this sprawling ranch, and a large, gray stucco house. Eddie shows him around the grounds.

“So, these are Greg and Elizabeth,” he says of two goats nosing at Buck’s shoes, “those are the three Rosies,” he points to three brown cows, “the chicken coop is in the back, but you’ll have to ask Christopher their names, because honestly, I don’t know. I think he keeps changing them.”

“All these animals are yours?”

“Uh, the goats and chickens, yes. One Rosie is a boarder, and the other two are ours until I find them somewhere else to go.”

“Do you like rescue animals?”

“Sort of. I’m a large animal vet.”

“How did you not tell me this?”

Eddie shrugs and smiles this little half smile Buck has come to adore, “I don’t like talking about myself. And you love talking about yourself.”

“Do not.”

“You really do.”

Then Eddie shows him the shed/house, and Buck decides he’s going to stay there. Eddie also asks if during the day Buck wants to help out answering phones and stuff in the clinic.

Hilarity would ensue with Buck in his fancy sweaters and nice shoes trying to help wrangle the goats and the cows. Sweetness comes when he’s out feeding the chickens with Christopher, and eating sandwiches with him at the reception desk of the vet clinic.

At some point, he starts wearing flannel shirts, and faded denim. Eddie even buys him his own cowboy hat the day he takes him out horseback riding.

That same day, they sit by a creek, underneath a tree while their horses graze, and have a more serious conversation. Eddie opens up about his wife’s recent death, but how they had been on the rocks for a while, and Eddie thought maybe they were going to work things out, but she said she didn’t want to and then she had an accident in town.

Buck doesn’t think he’s crazy when Eddie puts Buck’s hat back on his head and he feels this electricity as they stare at each other, close enough to smell what the other had for breakfast on their breath. He thinks maybe Eddie is going to kiss him, but he doesn’t. And it leaves him disappointed.

So, of course. with the two of them on this precipice of something, Abby comes back!

She finds out where Buck is, and goes down to Texas. It’s a Saturday night, and Buck is working at the bar, and it’s a little bit busy, but Christopher is staying the weekend with his aunt and cousins, and Eddie is down there, and between serving Buck lets Eddie try and teach him to line dance, and they shoot a round of pool that lasts forever because Buck keeps having to go work, but it doesn’t matter, because he is having the best time, and he’s seeing Eddie laugh with his whole face, and he knows, he just knows he is falling in love with this man, and only hopes he’s falling in love back.

They are literally just about to kiss in a dark corner when Buck sees Abby in the middle of the bar, and says her name. He doesn’t forget Eddie is there, but he kinds forgets Eddie is there and walks over to her, gives her a hug.

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you too.”

“Can we talk?” she asks, “are you busy?”

“I’m working, but I can take a minute; here.” He leads her to a small booth and slides in across from her.

“Look,” she starts, “I’m not sorry I left, because I had to. I was feeling suffocated.”

“By me?”

“No, well, yes, but not you. Just my life, and you happened to be a part of that. I needed to get lost to find myself again.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s been five months, Abby. I left us. I left New York; I started over.”

“I see that. Kind of a weird choice.”

“I like it.”

Because he likes Eddie.

Shit. Eddie. Buck looks around the bar and sees that he’s gone, and he doesn’t blame him for bailing. He looks back at Abby; at the beautiful curve of her face, her bright green eyes that still pop through the lenses of her glasses. He remembers what it felt like to kiss her lips, and feel her hands through his hair. He never loved anyone the way he loved Abby - she was the first real thing in his life, but he knows now, that Abby never loved him the way he deserved.

“Buck?”

“Thank you for coming here to explain yourself.”

“I was kind of hoping I could talk you into coming to New York with me.”

“Nah, I’m good here. I’ve got all these flannel shirts now, and the concrete would just kill these boots.”

Abby laughs, “not to mention the cowboy.”

“What cowboy?”

“The one that’s been staring at us like he’s ready to pull my hair.”

Buck looks to where Abby is nodding and he wonders how the hell he missed Eddie sitting there.

“Yea, and the cowboy.”

She smiles and kisses Buck on the cheek as she gets up to leave. Buck waits a few seconds until she’s walked out the door and saunters over to Eddie with a woeful look on his face. He sits on the barstool next to him

“I’m sorry about that,” he says.

“Oh, you’re sorry for dropping me like a dirty rag as soon as you saw your ex-girlfriend? Or is she still your girlfriend?”

“No. She’s my ex. There’s uh, there’s someone else I’m kind of interested in.”

“Anyone I know? It’s a small town after all.”

“I think you may be familiar with him.”

“Him? That could be a dangerous thing here.”

“I like a little bit of danger.”

Eddie smiles, “what time do you get off?”

“About another hour.”

“Hmmm, I’ll come back and pick you up.”

Eddie tips his hat and leaves the bar, and Buck thinks the last hour of his shift drags on forever, but finally he’s cashed out and collected his tips and he goes outside to find Eddie sitting in his truck. Buck gets in, and they drive out past the town lights, past his ranch, almost right up to the border to Mexico, and park.

Buck feels like he’s in a country song as the radio hums in the background and Eddie leans over the console to touch his fingertips to Buck’s chin and pull him towards himself to give him a soft, slow kiss.

It’s the best kiss Buck has ever had, and he can’t help but smile the entire time. It’s the beginning of what Buck knows is going to be the rest of his life.

#buddie #911 fox #mj free writes #buddie fic #country eddie #east coast buck #one day i'll give it the proper treatment it deserves #long af #and i didn't cut it #omg i'm so sorry

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achliegh · 3 years

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Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

@clearsuitcasecookienerd helped me out with this one!

For some background:

Leo is a bull rider as a side hustle.

His parents breed Tennessee Walking Horses ($$$$$)

His father died when he was 16 so he dropped out of school to help his mother and cousins run the ranch.

During the winter The Ranch hands take over the Ranch so Leo and his Mother can go visit family all over the country. During the Summer Leo and his cousins handle the ranch.

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Prologue:

Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy

And James was thrown off the mechanical bull for the third time! It seems as though no one on the team could stay on that thing long enough to win the prize of a free beer tab. Finn and Logan were standing hip to hip, forearms resting on the short fence surrounding the mechanical bull in this crowded bar. They were passing a cigarette back and forth as they made fun of Thomas and James as they rode this ferocious animal on the beginner setting.

They just got done for the day at a training camp designed to make them more agile on the ice, only the wingers and centers were there. It was being put on at the old professional hockey rink in New Orleans so it can get some use. The only reason why they choose this hick bar is because it was close to the rink and apparently LGBTQ+ friendly because some kid comes here and gets in fights with people who are homophobic.

A true hero.

Finn and Logan have been friend with benefits since college, did they plan to fuck again tonight? Yee-haw! They both had feelings for each other but refused to admit them because that's the one thing you aren’t supposed to do in a friends with benefits situation. Not fall in love. Everyone knew they were completely head over heels for each other but everyone also knew something was missing for them to be able to work. Usually they only talked about their feelings when they were angry.

Everyone in the bar was friendly, all locals too, so they would tell fun stories about what has gone down in this bar. Two names that would come up frequently and always together were, Leo and Clayton. Apparently, they are best friends and the most beloved frequenters of the bar. Yes, they were undersage. Yes, they did like to fight. No, no one snitches on them. Yes, Leo is a gay boy and Clayton is a Bi boy and they ran this town.

Both are apparently from very rich old parents who only ever had one child, so they treated each other like brothers. No one messed with them. Don't forget they know how to have a good time. Finn had squished his hand into Logan's back pocket while they listened to the local next to them at the fence talk about the two boys.

Then the double wood door to the bar was slammed open, two very tall specimens sauntered in, there was whooping and hollering as they walked past people. Tipping hats and throwing winks. The local leaned over and whispered to Finn and Logan who took a glance at the door and then back at the bull tossing their friends like a fucking salad.

“Speak of the devils.” Logan's attention was brought to the two men when they hopped over the fence to help James stand back up and dust him off. Cracking jokes with him, while the other went to the machine panel to change the setting. Logan took in their appearances.

The one with James had caramel toned skin with black coily hair under a dirty baseball cap. He was very well built and looked like his muscles were made of rock, Logan guessed he was around the same height as Finn. He was wearing a black shirt with the sleeve cut off low enough to show off his abdomen. He had on some dark dusty jeans and brown square toes boots, looks like he just got off work somewhere dusty. The man looked up to check out the crowd of newbies to the bar and Logan took note of his dark dark brown eyes, which landed on him and he saw the man smirk a little before leaning over to James to ask for the names of Finn and Logan. Rolling his eyes a little he decided to look at the other man.

Oh my.

Logan felt like he had been punched in the gut, this man had soft blonde curls wrapping around the rim of his old baseball cap that's backwards on his head. He was also tan but looked more golden like he was tanned under the sun. He couldn’t see his face from under the man's hat but he could see his hard muscles from under his incredibly tight tank top. He too was wearing jeans and square toed boots. Logan could tell this guy was taller than the other and he just wanted him. The veins in his arms and the strength of his hands made his grip tighten on his drink. He knew Finn was looking to by the way he could feel his hand flexing on his ass.

There was a song playing in the background that portrayed exactly how they felt.

“SAVE A HORSE RIDE A COWBOY!” The bar cheered as the blonde boy swung his leg on the bull and grabbed the handle, nodding at his friend. The bull started thrashing around and all Finn and Logan could focus on was the way this guy isolated his body so the top half of him barely moved while his hips rotated with the machine, smoothly. As the bull got faster the tighter the guy gripped the handle the more veins showed in his arms. Logan took a drink while Finn took a drag.

When the man was finally flung off, he had won what Thomas and James were trying so desperately trying to win. When the man stood up he was right in front of Logan and Finn. Logan just about spit out his drink when he saw this man's face. Like it was chiseled from fucking god, dimples, electric blue eyes that shot electricity to their groins, sculpted eyebrows and a scar on bridge of his nose. He smiled and his teeth were perfect beside a chip on his left front tooth.

They had to have him. After hours of teasing looks and sexy line dances, which was a sentence Finn swore he would never say, they finally got this angel of a cowboy into their hotel room. His name was Leo, and god damn was he packing.

He was fucking into Logan as the smaller man fingered Finn open and sucked him off at the same time, Leo shifted a little to hit Logan's prostate, a loud moan was heard from around Finn’s cock. Logan pulled off of Finn and Pushed back on Leo like he couldn’t help it, catching Leo by surprise and asking him to pull out. Leo did because he was a literal angel.

Leo sat back on his heels and smoothed his hands over Logan's hips with a worried look in his eyes. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” His voice was heavy with lust and worry, that thick southern accent caused the other two to groan.

“Don’t you remember what song was playing when we first saw you?” Logan and Finn were now on their knees facing each other but looking at Leo with hungry eyes. Leo looked down as he thought for a moment, then it dawned on him. He looked up at them and smiled a little shy, he was about to say something but he was pushed back to lay down. He shuffles a little to get more comfortable, Finn and Logan both mentioned that they were switches so he had no clue what to expect when two extremely sex hockey players asked him into their bed. Clayton was jealous.

He groans as he feels Finn grind back onto his cock, he looks up at the red head and smiles Finn is definitely enjoying himself. Leo placed his hands on Finn’s hips to help him sink down on his cock, furrowing his brows he tries his best not to fuck up into Finn as he gets used to Leo. Which they did mention Finn hasn’t bottomed in a while but he really wanted to with Leo and that made him feel special. Leo opens his eyes from when he scrunched them shut to control himself, he sees Logan watching Finn and stroking himself. An idea comes onto Leo’s head, tapping on Logan's arm he wraps his hand around his bicep and pulls him over to him.

“How about you ride my face, sugarbug? Hmm?” Leo is pulled into an intense kiss as Finn finally sets a comfortable pace of fucking himself down on Leo. Logan maneuvers himself so he is straddling Leo’s face and facing Finn.

Leo grabs Logan's hips to pull him down on his face, nipping lightly at his rim he smirks at the shiver he feels from Logan, hearing the smacking of kisses he knows they are desperately close already. Leo starts working Logan open with his tongue as he plants his heels on the bed and fucks up into Finn. The boys are moaning his name loud enough he bets the people in the room next to them are hearing everything. Leo is getting close and he knows Logan is barely holding on, plunging his middle finger and tongue into his smaller lover, hitting his prostate head on, he feels Logan clench around him as a wet heat is felt on his chest.

Logan Moans out Leo’s name and then Finn’s as he pulls the red head into a sloppy kiss as Leo keeps his rhythm with Finn, fucking him steady and deep. Finn changes the rhythm and starts moving faster, desperate for that release. Logan reaches between them and starts to jerk Finn off in time with his thrusts, after a few strokes he feels Finn spilling into his hand. Leo groans and bites down on Logan's left booty cheek as he muffles his moan when he releases into the condom he's wearing. Resting his head back on the pillow he feels logan crawl off him.

Finn pulled off him and collapsed onto Leo’s chest with an oof. Leo chuckles and runs his hands through Finn’s hair, mesmerized by the red flowing through hands. He just wanted to hold these boys close and relax, which he hasn’t done in a while. Kissing the top of Finn’s head he hears a cute whimper from the man on top of him. Hiding his laugh in his hair Leo looks up at Logan who wanders back into the room with a warm washcloth. He slaps Finn’s ass causing the man to jolt and glare at Logan.

“Excuse you, I was being snuggled by a hot cowboy who just fucked the life out of me.” Leo laughs as Finn rolls off him, Logan tries to hide his smile but fails as he wipes the other two down. Hopping on top of them and wiggling his way between them and smiles.

“Well I want to cuddle the hot cowboy who just ate my soul out of my ass.” Leo laughs again and shakes his head wrapping his arms around bothering them.

“Shh! I want to silently cuddle with two hockey players who I just had the most intense orgasm with!” They all laugh and fall into comfortable silence with comforting touches and caresses until they fall asleep.

When Finn and Logan woke up in the morning Leo was already dressed and writing his number on the notepad next to Logan’s phone. He turns to look back at the bed and smiles when he sees the boys both sleepily reach for him. He crawls on the bed still having not put on his boots yet and gives them both a sweet kiss goodbye.

“Text me or call me anytime you want to talk.” He whispers to them as he pushes some hair out of Logan's face and rests his forehead on Finn’s cheek. He crawls away shoving his boots on and walking out the door. Morning chores need to be done.

They all felt it when Leo left, cold.

#leo knut #logan tremblay #finn o'hara #james potter #thomas walker #Clayton Bruss #o'knutzy #o’knutzy #lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast

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letterboxd · 3 years

Photo

Work Horse.

Taking on a rare leading role in his decades-spanning career, national treasure Tim Blake Nelson speaks with Mitchell Beaupre about demystifying heroes, reinventing genres and something called a quiche Western.

“This film is unapologetic about all the tropes that it’s deploying in service of telling the story... You’ve got a satchel full of cash. You’ve got gunslinging, physical violence, and feeding somebody to the pigs.” —Tim Blake Nelson

Described by Letterboxd members as “a national treasure” who “makes everything better”, Tim Blake Nelson is a journeyman actor who has tapped into practically every side of the industry since making his feature debut in Nora Ephron’s This Is My Life back in 1992. Whether you are a Marvel fanatic, a history buff or a parent trying to get through the day, the actor’s distinctive presence is a charming sight that’s always welcome on the screen.

Tim Blake Nelson is one of those rare actors who unites all filmgoers, a man genuinely impossible not to love, which certainly seems to be the case for Hollywood. Checking off working relationships with directors ranging from Terrence Malick and Ang Lee to Hal Hartley and Guillermo Del Toro, Nelson has covered the boards, even crossing over into directing and writing, both in films and on the stage.

Yet, despite being a renowned talent who can take a smaller supporting role in a massive Steven Spielberg blockbuster starring Tom Cruise and carry the film, Nelson-as-leading-man sightings have been few and far between. In fact, it’s quite a struggle to find a film with Nelson in a leading role, as even playing the titular role for directors who understand his greatness still results in him only appearing in the opening section of an anthology feature.

At last, the leading role Nelson fans were in need of has arrived in the form of Old Henry, a new Western from writer/director Potsy Ponciroli. Nelson plays the eponymous Henry, a widowed farmer with a mysterious past who makes a meager living with his son (Gavin Lewis), doing his best to leave his old life behind and hide away from the world. Things get complicated when Henry stumbles upon a satchel of cash and a wounded stranger (Scott Haze), bringing them both into his home. Soon, a dangerous posse led by an intimidating Stephen Dorff comes calling, setting the stage for an old-fashioned throwdown in this twisty Western siege thriller.

Premiering at the Venice Film Festival, Old Henry has been warmly received on Letterboxd. “Old Henry feels like the culmination of Tim Blake Nelson’s twenty-plus-year career, but from another dimension, where he’s highly regarded as a leading man”, writes Noah, speaking not only to the strength of Nelson’s performance, but also to the fact that this leading role shouldn’t be such a rarity. Todd awards Nelson the prize for “Best Facial Hair in a 2021 film”, before applauding the actor for pouring “every emotion in his body to play Henry”.

Letterboxd’s East Coast editor Mitchell Beaupre saddled up for a chat with Nelson about the intentional hokiness of the Westerns that made him fall in love with filmmaking, how the Coen brothers put other directors on notice, and the fatherly joy of keeping it all in the family.

I’ve seen a lot of interviews with you discussing your career as an actor, a writer, and a director. You always speak with such reverence for the art. Where does that passion come from for you? What made you want to pursue this field? Tim Blake Nelson: It’s funny, doing these interviews for Old Henry has been reminding me of my introduction to filmmaking as an art. I’ve realized that I had never quite located it, but it really started with the Sergio Leone Westerns, which I would see on television when I was growing up in Oklahoma in the ’70s. Before that, going to the cinema was always invariably a treat, no matter what the film, but I would just be following the story and the dialogue.

The Sergio Leone movies were the first ones that exposed subjectivity in telling stories on film to me. That was where I became aware of the difference between a closeup and an extreme closeup, or how you could build tension through a combination of the angle on a character with the editorial rhythm, with the lens size, with the music in addition to the dialogue and the story.

How old were you when this shift in your understanding of cinema was happening? I think it was across the ages of ten and eighteen, where I suddenly realized that this was an auteur here, Leone. There was a guy behind all these movies I was seeing—and in Oklahoma, you could see a Sergio Leone movie every weekend. This was a man making deliberate and intelligent decisions in everything that I was seeing.

I started noticing that a character was in a duster that goes all the way down to his boots, even though that’s not necessarily accurate to the Old West. That’s something else. Also, why is he wearing it in the desert? Would that have been very practical? And look at that cigar Clint Eastwood is smoking. It’s not smooth, it looks like it was a piece of tree root. Then later I learned it’s a particular kind of Italian cigar, but somehow it was defining this genre of Western. I marveled at that, and found it unbelievably thrilling to discover. I loved the stories and the dialogue and the intentional hokiness of it all. All of it was conspiring to teach me to venerate this form.

Sergio Leone, his daughters, and Clint Eastwood on the set of ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’ (1966).

The connection there is interesting between the Leone Westerns to where Old Henry is at now. You’ve talked before about how the Western genre is one that is reinvented over and over throughout the years— Oh, you do your homework!

I try my best! What would you say defines the current era of Westerns that we’re seeing, and how the genre is being reinvented? Well, Joel and Ethan [Coen] did a lot of mischief, in a good way, with The Ballad of Buster Scruggs. Genres are always about genres, in addition to their story. So, I would say that Buster Scruggs is the quintessential postmodern Western, if you look at it as one movie instead of as an anthology, because it celebrates the history of the form. The magic of that movie is that it engages you in each story while also being a meditation on death. That’s what connects each one of those tales, and then it’s also a meditation on storytelling to boot. In the final chapter, you have a character talking about why we love stories, and he’s telling it to a bunch of people who you’ll learn are all dead.

The stories are a way of delaying the inevitable mortality. I mean, look at that. It’s such an accomplishment. With that movie, I think Joel and Ethan put filmmakers on notice that Westerns had better always be also about Westerns, because whether you like it or not, they are. I think they probably came to understand that when they were making True Grit, although knowing the two of them they probably understood it already.

Do you feel there’s a direct correlation between a movie like Buster Scruggs and Old Henry, in this era of postmodern, revisionist Westerns? How it impacts a movie like Old Henry is that you have Potsy embracing the Western-ness of the movie. This film is unapologetic about all the tropes that it’s deploying in service of telling the story. You’ve got the cantankerous old man hiding a past, who’s a maverick who wants to keep the law and the bad guys off his property. He wants to be left alone. You’ve got a satchel full of cash. You’ve got gunslinging, physical violence, and feeding somebody to the pigs. Yet, it’s all accomplished without irony in a very straightforward way that is utterly confident, and in love with the genre.

I think ultimately that’s why the movie works, because it’s very front-footed. It’s not hiding from you. It’s not deceiving you and trying to tell you it’s something that it isn’t. It’s a good, straightforward Western.

Tim Blake Nelson as the titular singer in ‘The Ballad of Buster Scruggs’ (2018).

That’s a bit different from those Leone Westerns, with all of their anachronisms. I remember when the movie Silverado came out when I was growing up, and people were calling it a “quiche Western”, which was funny. That was what they would call it in Oklahoma because it had a bunch of movie stars in it, who weren’t known for being in Westerns. It was the Sergio Leone crowd calling it that. I went and saw it, wondering, “Well, if it’s a quiche Western, then why is everybody talking about it?” I saw it, and I loved it. Those folks putting it down like that were wrong. It’s actually a straightforward, hard-boiled, hardcore unapologetic Western. You don’t like some of the movie stars in it, but get over it. The reason that movie works is because it’s straight-ahead and well-told, and I think that movie holds up.

Old Henry is the same kind of animal. It’s more in the tradition of Sergio Leone—or, actually, I would say more in the tradition of Unforgiven. That was a big influence on Potsy.

Unforgiven was marvelous in the way it demystified that old black hat/white hat mentality of Westerns, opening up a more multi-dimensional understanding. You’re no stranger to that. A series like Watchmen takes that approach with superheroes, who in a sense hold the position now that Western heroes used to hold culturally. Do you find there’s more of a demand these days to challenge those archetypes who used to be put on pedestals—be they superheroes, cowboys, police—and provide a deeper analysis? Absolutely, yes. At the same time, I think the demystified Western hero goes back to John Wayne in The Searchers. I think it really started with that character, one of the greatest characters ever in a Western. There’s One-Eyed Jacks, with Marlon Brando, which was made just after The Searchers, and again embracing this concept of an extremely complicated man. I don’t think you get the Sergio Leone movies without that.

I always think of McCabe & Mrs. Miller as a Western that was doing something totally different than anything I had seen before. That’s another one, with that final image with the character smoking opium, going into oblivion after the demise of Warren Beatty’s very flawed character, after you’ve watched what it has taken to really build that town. You have a director, Robert Altman, making the deliberate choice to shoot in order so that they can build the town while they’re shooting the movie, and you really get the cost of it. I think there’s a lot of history to get to a place where a movie like Unforgiven can happen. Then Clint comes along and, as he often does, moves it forward even more.

Gavin Lewis as Henry’s son Wyatt in ‘Old Henry’.

That’s a film that tackles legacy, as does Old Henry, which at its core is ultimately about the relationship between a father and his son. You got to work on this film with your own son, coincidentally named Henry, who was part of the art department. What is that experience like, getting to share your passion with your son on a project together? Well, I think something that is true for the character of Henry and for myself, and perhaps all of us, is that we all want our kids to have better lives than ours. I want that to be true in every respect. Mostly, I want them to be more fulfilled than I have been. My kids look at me when I say that and say, “Thanks a lot Dad for raising that bar”, because they see that I have a pretty good life. Which I do, but I still think they can be more fulfilled than I am, and I want that for them. One of the great privileges of this movie was to watch my son—who was the on-set decorator—work his ass off.

Those are the words of an incredibly proud father. He’s a work horse, and he’s learning about filmmaking, and I think on his current trajectory he will go beyond where I’ve gone as a filmmaker, directing more movies than I’ve been able to direct. Do a better job at it, too. He’s also a singer-songwriter, and I think he can have a venerable career doing that if he wants, but he wants to make movies too, and I hope that’s going to happen for him. It was a thrill to watch him do the work, the twelve- and fourteen-hour days, and after every take resetting and making sure everything was right. It felt like an accomplishment to see him take on that responsibility and do the real work every day.

Related content

SJ Holiday’s lists of Essential Neo-Westerns and Essential Modern Westerns

The Best Neo-Westerns of the 21st Century, according to JS Lewis

Our interview with Slow West director John Maclean

Follow Mitchell on Letterboxd

‘Old Henry’ is in US theaters now and on VOD from Friday, October 8.

#tim blake nelson #old henry #western #westerns #western movies #sergio leone #clint eastwood #stephen dorff #letterboxd #mitchell beaupre #coen brothers #coen bros #buster scruggs #joel coen #ethan coen

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rodeoxqueen · 3 years

Text

DEVIL MAY GRIND

(I)- Can You Touch This?

Dante/ AMAB! Reader

Series Summary: From a surprise rendezvous to a male strip club on your birthday to a private dance, you end up seeing eye-to-eye rather than eye-to-groin with a cowboy stripper named Dante Sparda.

Work Summary: A shy and short homebody celebrating your birthday with friends, you end up somewhere you’d never expect: a male strip club. And what you’d also never expect is a certain red-devil/cowboy stripper to lay his special treatment on you.

Tags/Warnings:18+, AMAB! Reader, Stripper!AU, Minors Do Not Try It, Wholesome Filth

Rodeo’s Two-Pieces: And after months, Rodeo presents the male version of this soon-to-be filth. *tilts cowboy hat over eyes and leans in seat*

You were never one for large crowds, alcohol, loud music, and nudity. So what a mess you were in, your friends dragging you into a strip club.

It wasn’t your fault, they promised you were all going for a quiet dinner at your favorite restaurant. No loud noises, no crowds, and especially, you didn’t even know why you had to specify, no naked guys! That’s what happened at first. You went and blew out your candles on your cake at a nice place, but then things got weird. Your friends had got you thoughtful gifts, except one of them who promised to give it to you after another “surprise.”

They practically herded you to their car, blindfolding and ear-muffing you while giggling. After driving in some unfamiliar directions, you were pulled into a strange building.

So when you couldn’t hear your thoughts due to the overbearing bass in the room you were in, you realized you should’ve known better. The blindfold and earmuffs were taken off and you opened your eyes to a neon-lit room with the most hard-cut abs right in your face.

“A strip club?! W-why would you think I’d want to go to a strip club?”

“Okay, first of all (Y/N). It’s a male strip club. Second, come on! I know you want to touch some diamond abs!” One of your friends exclaimed as they threw bills at one very tan and very oiled-up man named Diego. The box from before landed on your lap, and you unwrapped it to find a giant stack of dollar bills.

“Now stuff them bills down some hottie’s pants!”

The orange thong-wearing male with the most defined quads you had ever glanced at winked at your friend and opted to dance on someone else. Clutching your drink, you swallowed thickly as other males who went to the gym every other hour thrust their hips proactively at you.

Your friends had called ahead and bought the lot of you a table to the stage, much to your chagrin.

Luckily, your ability to disappear in a room, with your meek personality and small stature, came in handy in these situations. The tall and buff guys your friends screamed over seemed to prefer the company of the more extroverted and thirsty. While other tables farther from the stage had easy contact with the not-themed strippers, you were all confronted with the stage floor dancers.

“My god, how many themes do these guys dress in?” You squeaked as an entertainer dressed like James Bond (minus the clothes except for the bowtie and gun holster) ground on the stage floor.

“Not enough! Now make it rain, (Y/N).” Another friend demanded as she took another shot.

You made a noise as your hand was forcibly placed onto an eight-pack. You quickly threw a wad of bills at the man and ran off to the bar.

“I gotta go!” You panicked, speed-walking to the bar in your favorite pair of dressy sneakers. Stomach quivering, you put a few bills down and asked for a stronger drink. Maybe you could pass out on the table and your friends would feel bad and take you home.

You sighed as you watched your friends have the time of their lives, although they noted your absence.

“First time?” The bartender asked, sliding your fruity drink to you. You fiddled with the napkin. A woman posed in the corner with the logo “Devil May Cry” to the side of her, all lined in neon pink.

“Oh!... Yeah, it is.” You mumbled shyly. You blushed at his blue-eyed stare. Luckily, he wore a collared white shirt so you could look at him without bleeding out of your nose. He was very handsome, with rugged features and slight facial hair. His stark white hair shined even in the dim lighting.

“Ah, could tell. Watched you get dragged in here.” He chuckled.

“I-I was tricked, first of all!” You exclaimed, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“It’s alright. Your next rounds on me if you stay a lil longer.” He winked, wiping a glass. A few other people came and went, requesting all sorts of raunchy-titled drinks. Despite that, he leaned on the table where you sat, making idle conversation.

“I’m Dante.”

“Nice to meet you, Dante. I’m (Y/N).” You impulsively stuck your hand out to shake and stilled at his strong and warm grip.

He whistled.

“Nice name for a nice man. It’s your birthday right?” You nodded.

“What did you wish for?”

“Peace and quiet.” He laughed at that, gesturing to your friends who screamed and clapped at a dark-skinned stripper who ripped off his pants.

“With those friends?” He chuckled.

“They’re a lot more restrained. This is an exception.” You whined.

The conversation grew longer. You learned that Dante worked here with his twin brother Vergil. He loved pizza and strawberry ice cream, along with nice motorcycles. A total manly man, if you asked yourself.

You found a safe space talking to him since you didn’t have to look at nude guys with your back turned.

You were hoping to talk the night away until a similarly white-haired male with a serious glare rounded the corner.

Swiping back a few stray hairs, the esteemed brother Vergil knocked the smile off his twin’s face.

“You fool! Your shift has been over for some time now.” He snapped. Dante rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, this is old douchebag.” You giggled at his comment, quickly stopping when meeting eyes with the frigid twin.

“Have you been speaking ill of me? I will-” Dante threw a towel at his brother’s face before leaving the bartending station. By leaving, he jumped over the counter.

“Hey, (Y/N), nice talking to you. I’ll see you later.” The white-haired man left to the employee’s room.

“Alright-” You muttered. You’d sit, but Vergil’s cold glare prompted you to leave and rejoin your friends.

“Where were you? Chatting up the bartender?”

“Look at you. Being social in a strip club.” They teased.

After a few more dancers, you couldn’t help but miss the blue-eyed bartender with his quips and casual flirtiness.

Suddenly, the music and lights went off. The crowd stirred. Your friend grabbed your arm.

“Oh boy, they’re gonna need a mop after this.”

“Ew!” You cried out. Your friends sang that one horribly sexual song from the radio. Something about parking a truck in a garage and about wet-

A shirtless DJ grabbed the mic.

“And now, for our next entertainer, we have the Legendary Lady Killer. Hold onto your panties and your wedding rings, you’re all in for the ride of your life.”

The lights were turned back on from back to front. On stage, stood a muscular man with a cowboy hat and shawl. His legs were perfectly framed by black leather chaps and boots. You turned as red as his shawl as you could see his formidable bulge from yards across.

His spurs clinked on the floor as people began to cheer at his physique. Your jaw dropped in shock.

White hair.

“Ladies and gents, I got some questions for y’all.” He drawled, lowering his hat.

“Yes! I’m single!” Someone yelled from the back. He chuckled as others screamed with agreement.

“That’s nice ma’am. But really, I got three questions.” He made his way down the stage, his shadow covering your table.

He palmed his chest and abs, showing white chest hairs and slicked-down muscles.

“Can you touch this?” Everyone screamed for yes. He tutted.

“No, no, no.” He waggled his finger. He spun and exposed his lush tush. He was packing it front and back and you blushed while putting your face in your hands.

His hands groped his butt. Even with his giant hands, he still had more ass to spare.

“Can you touch this?” The screams grew louder. He waggled his finger again, wiggling his butt.

“No, no, no.” The crowd awed. He turned back around, a cocky grin on his face.

“Now,” He pointed to the crowd.

His palms groped the leather that concealed his huge package.

“Can you touch this?” Your friend threw a wad of cash at him, hitting him in the nipple. He stood unflinching.

“No, no, no.” He drew out each word.

“These are my laws.” Putting his hands on his hips, he rocked left to right, clicking his spurs.

“But I see a hell of a lot of lawbreakers here tonight.”

He shifted to walk around the chair placed behind him. He sat on it backward, legs spread to place his groin in the spotlight.

“And I don’t see a cop in sight.” He pointed at the DJ.

“Hit it!” Music blaring, he did his number. And boy, was the DJ right to warn you. Dante practically made sweet love to the chair, flipping his head back.

Hips circling and then pistoning the air, sweat trailed down his pecs.

You ended up throwing a few bills, hoping to avoid eye contact. It failed as he slid to his knees to the edge of the stage and crawled off the ledge onto your table. Like a preying tiger, he made his way over to you.

Thank god you had health insurance, your blood pressure was going off the charts.

Your friends lost their heads, throwing bills and screaming like banshees. But he wasn’t interested in them. His eyes preyed after your own, baby blues on an absolute beast.

“Wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy, handsome?” He purred as he traced your jaw. Your skin jumped as you internally imploded. This was was too sensual and people were watching, for goodness sake!

“(Y/N), if you don’t agree I will cancel your Barnes and Noble membership.” Your friend threatened.

“Come on, spare this outlaw some sugar?” You didn’t have a moment to think. Dante threw his hat on your head and carried you onto the table and to the stage.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” You shrieked.

He ran hot. So hot. Your skin burned at contact with him, pressed up against his chest as he stood you in front of the chair he practically humped.

“Take a seat, sir.” You blushed at his sensual persona, not sure where the kind bartender and the suave cowboy started and ended.

Obediently, you turned the chair around and sat with your ankles crossed. Dante tutted in disapproval.

His hands lingered by your legs.

“May I?” He asked. You shook your head slowly, feeling his callused hands on your thighs. He firmly spread your legs and stood over you on the chair.

As if that wasn’t enough, his arm muscles bulged and twitched as he ripped off his leather chaps. He ripped the chaps. There were no zippers or velcro straps. That was all him!

Your face a hair’s width from his abs, he gently took your hands and traced his pecs with them. He growled and winked at you.

Despite the one-in-a-million situation you were in, you shrank at the many peering eyes of the other women and bar patrons. Your anxiety was seen by Dante, who tilted your head up.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just focus on me. If you’re nervous, just give me a purple nurple or something, alright?” You laughed at his idea of a safe word and nodded.

“Okay, Dante.”

And like that, it was like you pulled a trigger. Dante grinded on your form and explored his peak-conditioned skin with your own hands.

You gasped as he led your hands down his front to his leather shorts. You couldn’t stop looking with widened eyes at his crotch. You had read erotica before, describing the male member in the throes of passion, yet this was the first time you had been this close to anything like those erotic novels.

It was obscene! Why did it seem to get larger? How was he allowed to carry that thing around without a license?!

“Hey, eyes up here.” He teased as you snapped your head up.

“O-oh! Sorry.” You whispered. Your blood had rushed to your head and you had grown deaf to your friends’ yells of validation.

“Grab him by the buns!” One of your friends yelled. Dante turned around to make eye contact with her.

With a grin, he slid your hands to the back. What he didn’t expect was you to squeeze.

“Whoa now, kitty.” He purred. You gave a watery smile.

Suddenly, a water bottle was thrown at his head. With lightning reflexes, he caught it after it bounced off of him.

“Hey! Stage times’ over, you fucking show pony.” A short-haired woman with mismatching eyes called out. Dante scoffed.

“Just givin’ a nice gentleman some lovin’.” He argued.

“No, get off the stage, Dante.”

“Five more minutes?”

“NOW.” He sighed. Getting off of your lap, he kissed your hand that was resting on his thigh. Lord, if you died right now, that’d be fine.

“Glad to have this dance.” He flirted.

“Y-you too.” Taking your hand, he took you for another surprise and swept you off your feet. You squeaked as he handed you to another dancer on the ground. The club-goers cheered as dancers arrived, dressed like businessmen with briefcases.

You were promptly seated, head dizzy from everything that just happened. You watched as he took his leave as if he didn’t just cause you to get feverish from how hot he was. Your friend hugged you.

“Nice work! You were so lucky!” Another friend plucked the hat off your head.

“Ah! He left his hat!” You exclaimed as you took it from her hands.

“A souvenir.”

For the rest of the night, you held onto the hat and traced the red stitching. You never saw Dante for the rest of the night, his brother in charge of the bar service.

Finally, before the last round of dancers, you were tapped on the shoulder. You found yourself staring into much harsher blue eyes.

One of your friends threw money at him, which he growled at.

“I am not an entertainer. Well, not right now.” He explained. He handed you a drink with a napkin on the bottom.

“My buffoon of a brother said to keep the hat. Although, I’m not sure why you would.”

“I-”

“The drink is on the house. Good evening with you all.”

He walked off, and you took your drink. You realized it was the same one you ordered when you got to the bar.

“Hey dude, take a look.” A well-manicured nail pointed to the napkin. You saw in red pen an arrow pointed to the folded corner.

You shakily opened it to reveal a series of numbers and words, along with a card that flitted onto the table.

Tonight was fun, wanna do it again? The card’s for a private dance, just call and ask for Dante Sparda. No crowds, only you and me. No Lady barking up my tree for appreciating beauty either - DS

A little heart with an arrow through its center was scrawled in a corner. You picked up the laminated card and saw it was for a free private dance. Your heart beat out of your chest.

Your friends laughed as you immediately stuck it in your pocket, along with the note. The club closed and you were all ushered out. The night was pitch black when you emerged from the debauchery that was the Devil May Cry strip club.

As your other wasted companions were stuffed into the car, you sat shotgun to the sober and designated driver.

You were silent the car ride home, laying your head against the window. You thought about that white-haired flirt’s remarks and how gentle he was to you.

Waving and embracing your wonderful friends, you left for your apartment with all your gifts. However, the little slips of paper in your pocket weighed the heaviest on your mind.

With your keys in your hand, you climbed up the stairs home.

After closing the door, you slid down the wall and let out a pleased sigh.

“Best birthday ever!” You said to no one in particular.

#amab reader #dante x reader #dante x male reader #devil may grind #devil may cry

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tales-unique · 3 years

Text

MEMORIES OF THE WEST V

Chapter 5

The only time Saint Denis seemed peaceful was early in the morning. The sun had barely risen an hour or so before Arthur found you descending the white steps into the street, dressed in a pale yellow pinstripe blouse and flowing black skirt. Scuffing your tapered boots in annoyance, you look about yourself with a scowl on your face. You have a delicate ornate fan in hand, swatting it ceaselessly to dispel the early morning heat that plagues you. “Mornin’ Miss DuBois,” he calls, tipping his hat in greeting, “you’re out early.” “Mister Morgan, good morning,” you chirp, regarding him with a tight-lipped smile. “I just had to get out,” you hiss, the beating of your fan a sharp tempo accompaniment to your words, “this heat is awful !” Arthur chuckles, motioning for you to walk with him. “Yeah, it is,” he agrees, feeling the sweat bead on the back of his neck where the sun beats down on him relentlessly.

You walk side by side on the cobblestone streets, taking in the relative quiet. A lone carriage rumbles by, a couple strolls past you and you greet them cordially. It's pleasant, but it won't last. "So, what’s the plan?" He asks, hooking his thumb in his belt loop, "how do you wanna approach this whole thing with Jebediah?" Not one to beat around the bush, Arthur wanted to have at least the bare bones of a plan in place. The last thing they needed was to create more problems, especially ones that would involve the law. That arrogant bastard probably had them all on his payroll. "Well, it's not going to be easy," you sigh, coming to a stop outside the tailor's shop, perusing the wares on display in the window. "Jebediah doesn't like you one bit , Arthur," you click your tongue, regarding his reflection. You can certainly see why. He's dressed in a simple white button up with the sleeves rolled up and a fitted blue waistcoat that shows just how broad and defined he is. The faded blue jeans and black cowboy boots complete the look, and you take extra care not to spend too long staring at the way the denim hugs his muscular thighs. He scoffs, shaking his head. If he notices you staring he doesn't say anything, much to your relief. "That so? I really couldn't tell!" He huffs, harsh sarcasm dripping from each word. Turning on your heel you simply smile up at him, you even dare to flutter your lashes. "Don't worry about that Arthur, I've got it handled," you tell him, your smile turning mischievous. "What are you up to?" He asks warily, narrowing his eyes at you. "It's nothing bad !" You grumble, fanning your face. Standing still let the heat cling to you and it was sending you dizzy. Arthur follows your lead when you start walking again, falling into line at your side. You casually make your way towards one of the gardens, trying to keep in the shade and the minimal relief it brings as much as you can. "I just commented on how safe I would feel if I had someone with me, and broached the idea of having my own personal bodyguard, is all," you comment flippantly, glancing at him, "and maybe I managed to convince Jebediah to hire you for just that very position." "Well I'll be damned!" Arthur exclaims, impressed you were able to pull off such a feat. "What can I say? I know how to play the damsel when I need to," you preen, rolling your eyes playfully. Not only was Arthur possibly going to get away with a large sum of money and other riches, but he was going to be paid for the privilege. It's almost too good to be true, but he bites his tongue. You look so proud of yourself and he can't bring himself to rain on your parade. If things go sour he can figure it out, he always manages to somehow. The flow of conversation comes easily as you continue to walk, taking your time leisurely to admire the botanical centerpieces in the gardens. Saint Denis always did have the most beautiful flowers and bushes and you often went there when you needed time to reflect and collect yourself. "We should probably get you back," Arthur hums, "or that brother of yours might send out the whole damn cavalry to find you this time!" The comment forces a snort out of you, hiding your snickering behind your fan. It's funny because it's a scenario you can definitely see happening, not that you'd blame him. William had been overly cautious ever since you had come back, terrified of letting you go out alone even for the simplest of things. While you could appreciate his fears it was becoming stifling and you didn't know how much you could take. "Come on," Arthur chuckles. Neither of you want to go back, especially knowing that you have to force yourselves to perform roles you didn't care for, but do it you must. That doesn't mean you don't take your sweet time doing it, though.

“Don’t walk away from me, William! We are not done talkin’ about this!” “Why do you have to turn everything into an argument?” “Oh, I do apologize! I suppose I shouldn’t be angry when somethin’ is arranged about me when I’m not even in the damn room !” You hadn’t been back in the apartment barely half an hour before you and your brother were embroiled in a heated argument. Arthur stood off to the side, leaning against the wall by the window, deciding right quick that he wasn’t going to get in the middle of it. You more than had this handled, if your imposing stance and downright mean glare had anything to say about it. Even Jebediah, as disgruntled over the whole affair as he was, didn’t interfere when you started biting back. “It’s just for a couple of weeks, sister!” William rebukes in a defensive hiss, throwing his hands up in the air, “Jebediah feels that—” “—Jebediah! So Jebediah feels like I should be plucked from my own home just because he says so! Why didn’t you say so? I’ll go pack my bags right now, shall I?” You snap, hands pinned tightly to your hips. Arthur can see the way you’re gripping the fabric there so tight your knuckles are turning white. You’re angrier than a wildcat with its tail on fire and it’s too much for William to take. He falters, all that built up bravado in front of the man he idolizes, the man who swindled him, suddenly wilting in the face of real fire. “I-I just think it’s a good idea, after everything that’s happened,” William tries to reason with you, but there’s no conviction to his voice, “you know Lady Kramer loves it when you stay with her, and it gives Jebediah time to get the wedding in order!” The mere mention of the wedding makes you bristle and you open your mouth to scream how there will be no damn wedding , but you hesitate. Your fiery gaze flits between William, Jebediah, and Arthur, the last of which regards you with a look of warning. It sobers you, making you think about the consequences of your actions. You inhale deeply, grounding yourself as best you can; you’re still brimming with anger, but at least you’re not ready to commit murder. “I’m not going anywhere , William,” you speak with a sense of finality that has William reeling from the vicious bite of it. The tension is still rife in your stance when you turn away from him to face Jebediah. His sharp eyes watch you closely through the smoke of his lit cigar, regarding you with an air of condescension that you return ten fold before striding towards the door. You stop just before leaving, your hand on the handle. “You coming, Arthur?” It’s subdued, nothing at all like the brimstone and fire you were spitting moments ago. The flames have simmered down until nothing but embers were left, your eyes imploring as they look at him. Arthur stands straighter, sizing up Jebediah as he passes him. The pompous snake seethes as he follows you, noticing the way you smile at him all soft like before shooting him a look of contempt as you leave. Outside the door, you let out a deep breath and rub your face. God, those men made you so mad. Arthur barely closes the door behind him before you’re stalking off, having to hurry his steps just to catch up with you. He matches your pace at the top of the stairs, eyeing you like you’re a coiled viper about to strike. “Well that was something,” he remarks. “Oh, go dunk your head in the river!” There’s no malice in your retort, just an annoyance that isn’t aimed at him. You descend the stairs with a swiftness that catches Arthur off guard, your dress front scrunched up in your hands so you don’t trip. “Don’t fall now,” Arthur mocks, a mix of sardonic humor and genuine concern. The last thing he needs right now is for you to trip down the stairs and break your neck because you’re all wound up. You curse him under your breath, feet hurriedly taking you out into the street without so much as a backwards glance. You just want to get away , but not under someone else's instruction. “What now?” He asks, coming to a stop at your side. A look of consideration crosses your face, your brow creasing

in thought. Then, you perk up, practically glowing. “I think it’s time you meet my Ginger,” you grin, excited as you bounce on the balls on your feet. “Ginger? Who’s Ginger?” “Just c’mon!” You roll your eyes at him, already walking ahead of him. You laugh that pretty laugh you do when you’re all kinds of excited as you quicken your pace to a playful trot just to keep ahead of him, causing Arthur to smile despite his grumblings. You were already feeling lighter now that your mind was taken away from the issues at home, focused instead on the true love of your life. When you come to stop outside of the Saint Denis Stables Arthur stares up at the big painted letters, perplexed. He feels like a goddamn fool ; who in their right mind would name their kid Ginger? “There she is!” You grin, hurrying up to a stall at the far end. The scent of hay and horses is rife inside, but it doesn’t seem to faze you. In fact, Arthur swears you look more at home here than you do in that dollhouse apartment of yours. Seems that country upbringing never left you and he wonders to himself just how you looked out there on the plains, young and spirited, wrangling wild broncos to bring back home. He coughs, the image a little too good for him to be imagining. Instead, he follows after you, noticing how the stable hands all greet you by name. You must spend a lot of time there, but that doesn’t surprise Arthur, given how animated you are about your horse. True to her namesake, a beautiful chestnut Kentucky Saddler mare stands to attention in the stall, ears forward and focused on you. There’s a bold blaze of white down her face that covers her muzzle and her eyes, dark and intense, follow your movements easily as you reach your arms to her. “There’s my good girl,” you coo, giggling when she whinnies in response. The gentleness she shows you as she trots up to you, pressing herself into your awaiting arms, is compelling; the nag truly trusts you, and you clearly love her just as much. Arthur knows how good it feels to have that trusted bond with an animal, feeling the same way about his own stallion. A snort to his right catches his attention; speak of the devil and he shall appear. The Ardennes paws at the ground of his stall, none too pleased at being ignored. Arthur chuckles, moving to scratch his neck as the large beast stretches his head over the gate. “I had him put in the stall next to Ginger,” you explain, smiling warmly at the display, “I thought he’d like the company.” “I imagine he’s grateful for the fine company, thank you,” Arthur chuckles, patting his horse's neck. The display of affection sends your heart aflutter as you watch, colour dusting your cheeks. If he were to ask you’d play it off as the heat, but you knew it was more than that. You could see that Arthur had a soft spot for his horse, treating the stallion with the respect and kindness that he deserved, and you liked that about him. In fact, you were finding a lot to like about the outlaw, now that you actually took the time to think about it, and the thought unsettled you — could you really let yourself fall for a gunslinger?

#RDR2 #RDR2 Imagine #RDR2 Imagines #Red Dead Redemption 2 #Red Dead Redemption 2 Imagine #Red Dead Redemption 2 Imagines #Arthur Morgan #Arthur Morgan Imagine #Arthur Morgan Imagines #Arthur Morgan x Reader

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alwaysbeliev · 4 years

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Stay the Way We Are

Arthur Morgan x Reader

word count: 2,163

summary: It’s been a rough few weeks between Blackwater and arriving at Horseshoe Overlook. You're not sure, but you think a certain cowboy might be realizing what he has to lose, and he doesn't want to lose it.

notes: i haven’t written any reader insert material in a really long time, but i’m playing rdr2 again, and i just wanted something warm and comforting. i hope you like this

~ ~ ~

Horseshoe Overlook was beautiful in the setting sun. The way the sun tinged the clouds pink, the fading bright orange of the top of the mountains, the valley stretching below. You stood on the edge of the rocky precipice, hugging your shawl close to your shoulders in the disappearing light and heat of the day. With the wind against your face, you could almost pretend there was nothing else going on in the world. No Pinktertons, no O’Driscolls, it was almost like you were just camping.

A raucous laugh from behind you startled you. Resurfacing from your daydream, you blinked as the last rays of sunlight fell behind the distant Grizzlies. Another day, another sunset, another night you would live to rest again. Your muscles relaxed and you felt a small smile grace your lips. This was allowed tonight.

Taking a deep breath, you turned away from the darkening view to see your fellow gang members gathering around the campfire. Sean had cracked open a new case of whiskey and was passing a couple bottles out as Javier helped him pour the drinks. Karen was already a full glass in, her cheeks turning red and making your smile spread further. Everyone’s faces were aglow in the strong firelight, all their scars almost invisible in the intense flame. Some sat on the logs, others on the still warm ground, and the stragglers standing behind.

You readjusted your shawl as you made your way over. Mary Beth welcomed you in next to her. Uncle was spouting some fantastical tale about his pre-lumbago days, days you had never seen in your lifetime, and you chuckled at his drama. It took you a moment to realize you were standing beside Arthur. You felt heat rising to your cheeks that had nothing to do with the flames that were 5 feet away from you still.

In the days since Blackwater, you and Arthur had grown closer. You were almost sure something had been there before, but after everything went down and the gang fled, you had noticed him giving you special attention. Through the mountains, he had kept by your side. When you were tired of riding in the wagon, he sat you on his horse, wrapped carefully and firmly in his arms as he guided his horse through the deep snow. He always gave you an extra bread crust, an extra scoop of stew when it was available, a spare blanket, his jacket on one particularly bitter night. You didn’t really want to give it much thought, you had dealt with too much heartbreak already, but part of you wanted to believe that whatever had happened on the ferry made him realize he didn’t want to lose what was in front of him. You still didn’t know the details of that fiasco, but whatever happened had scared the shit out of Arthur, and you weren’t going to press him.

“You going soft, Morgan?” you had teased shortly after the arrival at Horseshoe. It seemed to strike a nerve with the outlaw.

“Jus’ doin’ my part,” he had managed to mumble. He finished rather quickly after that and brushed his hands off before striding away faster than was normal.

The whiskey had made its way around to you. You took it from Mary Beth, taking a long drink that burned down your throat and made you shudder violently.

“Christ,” you breathed, turning to Arthur with the bottle.

“What’s the matter?” he chuckled, taking it from you gingerly. “Is it really that bad?”

You only shook your head, willing the lingering sting to leave your mouth. Truthfully, you hadn’t had anything to drink since before Blackwater. It didn’t warm you like it did the others, and with things the way they were, you wanted your senses about you in the case things went further south. The long pull you had taken was just too much.

“‘M fine,” you managed. With a small shake of his head, Arthur took his own drink before passing it on. Your heart skipped a beat when you watched him swallow. Oh, it’s bad....

Another round of laughter drew you out of your head again.

“You’re full of it,” the man beside you called over. Uncle was insisting he’d told the truth on the opposite side of the circle to uproarious laughter and head shaking. Bill thumped him on the back, calling him an old fool. It was endearing, though, the way the others still encouraged Uncle.

As the laughter died down, the familiar sound of Dutch’s phonograph began to play. Its comforting tone filled the campsite as the crowd began to separate into smaller groups, a few folks heading to their tents to prepare for bed. Abigail led Jack away as the boy asked to stay up with the adults, eyes desperately trying to catch John’s. Karen found her way to Sean’s lap. The Irishman generously wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling. A bottle had found its way back to you. While the chatter began to die, you took another drink, tipping the bottle gently this time and taking a smaller sip.

“Here.”

Arthur took the bottle from you, taking another drink of his own before handing it back. You smiled and thanked him, but merely held the bottle for now. He was flushed, you thought. It was difficult to tell. Between the glow of the fire and the drink, it might be wishful thinking. It was several moments before you realized you were still staring. You quickly turned away as you felt the heat rising in your own cheeks.

Motion in your peripheral had you relieved for the distraction. There, by Dutch’s tent, van der Linde himself had pulled Molly to her feet. They were slow dancing to the music, lost in their own little world, Molly’s hair almost like fire itself in the lantern glow. You watched them, tuning out the conversation around you. It was nice to see them like this. Every now and then, you caught the two of them in a moment made you wonder why they ever fought in the first place. It was clear Molly loved Dutch, and while he was proud and would never admit to anything so soft out loud, you knew he loved her, too.

A soft hand on your shoulder dragged you back to reality again. Arthur was looking at you, amused concern etched in his brow.

“Y’okay?” he asked. Something told you he had already tried getting your attention.

“Ah, yeah,” you said, allowing yourself a slightly embarrassed smile. “It’s just nice to see them not fighting for once.” Arthur followed your gaze before answering.

“They don’t mean nothin’ by it.” Was he trying to reassure you?

“Still. Must be nice to have someone to fight with. Makes you appreciate these moments more.”

There was a long silence as the pair of you watched the couple. Dutch’s hand had found the small of Molly’s back and drawn her in tight, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. They weren’t stepping side to side anymore, only swaying off beat. You could almost feel yourself in that moment. It had been so long since you had danced at all, and never like that. There really wasn’t time for it the way you lived now.

“Join me?”

You reluctantly tore your gaze away from the peacefulness to find Arthur, facing you, hand extended. Sheepishly, you realized he must have asked you another question and were going to have to ask him to repeat himself. As you opened your mouth, however, something clicked in your mind.

“Join you..?” you echoed, heart fluttering.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

“Arthur Morgan, are you asking me to dance with you?”

“Well?”

The cowboy looked...nervous? You had never seen him like this before. You couldn’t blame him, though, you were nervous, too. Hardly daring to break your gaze with him, you gingerly placed your hand in his, allowing him to guide you away from the fire and into a patch of shadows. He moved with the grace of a man who hadn’t asked someone to dance in a very very long time. Maybe he never had. Stiffly, he turned to you, lifting your hand with his and placing it on his shoulder. His hand found your waist as the other gripped your free hand.

For several beats, the movements felt ridiculous. The two of you couldn’t look each other in the eye. Your mouth had a mind of its own, twitching into an awkward smile again and again while you tried to watch your feet and not step on Arthur’s boots. Not that that mattered. Cowboys and mud and all that. Thankfully, it wasn’t just you. In an attempt to do something special, Arthur led you into a spin, but failed to release your waist, causing your shawl to slip off your shoulders and gather in a pile on the dirt.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, scooping it up and trying to drape it over your shoulders again. You felt your heart soften. He was so vulnerable in this moment. He usually oozed confidence and strength, but right now, he was lost. You brushed off his apology, taking his hand again and drawing yourself closer to him. Here, you could at least pretend to be confident.

The movements started to come more naturally now. The fire was dying down, the camp seeming to fade into the background. All you could see were Arthur’s blue eyes, no hat’s shadow to hide under, the few lights around sparkling in their reflection. You could get lost in them. You were getting lost in them.

“So how’re you likin’ things?” Arthur asked.

“They’re alright.” You thought about your words carefully for a moment. “I’m just glad to be out of the mountains. It feels almost safe here.”

“I know what you mean.”

Silence again. The song had changed to something sweeter, somehow slower. Dutch and Molly were having a whispered conversation now. Few people still hung around the dying fire. You were acutely aware of the warmth emanating from the man in front of you, the rise and fall of his chest. You were standing even closer, you realized, your own chest brushing against his.

“What about you?”

Arthur hummed. He seemed to be studying your face, taking it all in like it was the first time in a long time. He looked happy and relaxed, a look you realized you hadn’t seen on him in months, but it somehow made him more handsome.

“From where I’m standing, it’s all perfect.” You swallowed. Hard. He must have noticed how sweaty your palms were despite the evening chill.

“Glad t’ hear it,” you replied. As you watched his face carefully, you felt his hand on your waist shift lower, nearly lining up with your hip before shifting towards your back, gently bringing you flush to him. Nervously, you lowered your arm, hooking your hand over his shoulder from the back instead. This was intimate. This was more like Dutch and Molly.

“Y’know,” Arthur started, “ever since arriving here, I can’t help but wonder what might make this place more perfect. I ain’t the smartest man, so it’s taken me way too long to think of somethin’.”

You were almost frozen, the only movement the continued swaying of your bodies in sync, your eyes wide as he spoke. He really looked like a different man right now. He wasn’t the stoic bodyguard of numerous robberies, debt collections, and other Dutch errands. This was the real Arthur.

“I’m real sorry it took me this long. Any chance you’ll forgive me?”

To an outsider, a romance novelist, this wasn’t much of a confession. He hadn’t even admitted anything. But you knew him. You knew all the glances, the teasings, the special treats and gifts, the attention in the mountains, the flushed cheeks in the past week, how difficult it was for Arthur to open up like this. You knew that for him, this was exposing his belly, being as transparent and vulnerable as he was comfortable being. There was time later down the road for more intimate conversations, you knew, and this, right now, was more than enough.

“I’ll have to think about it,” you said, stopping your swaying to coyly glance to the side. “After all, we’ve only known each other… What is it now, 3 years? That’s an awful short time to know someone.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Just don’t torture me, now, okay?”

Feeling more content than you had in a long time, you returned your eyes to his and said, “I promise.”

The music continued to play through to the end of the song. Dutch and Molly prepared to return to their tent, but you and Arthur stayed in each other’s arms, swaying to the tune in your heads, simply existing in the moment. This, here, now, was enough.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan reader insert #rdr2 reader insert #arthur morgan x reader #in which a cowboy barely confesses his feelings #angel writings

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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Ride With Me (part twenty one) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5850 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part twenty one: It’s Dean’s turn to make an entrance in the main arena. The rides lead to an interesting business proposal by a new client, but brings a lot of doubt too. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Watching From A Distance - David Ramirez (opening scene) Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @atc74, @manawhaat and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

Saturday morning has started early for the crew of the Gold Canyon Ranch. Before the crack of dawn Benny has mucked out the stables and fed the horses, making sure they had time to digest their pellets before the show starts. Together with Jo, Y/N has hand-walked the animals who are competing today, letting them stretch their legs and graze a bit. She took extra time for Meadow, who always seems to need a moment to adjust to new surroundings. The mare was fresh today, the brisk air only fueling her feisty temper. Her owner couldn’t help but snigger when she lifted her tail and started jogging next to her instead of just strolling along, showing off to anyone who would look at her.

It’s 8 AM when Dean puts his foot in the stirrup of the saddle, swinging his right leg over the back of the Bon Jovi, the light catching the fringe of his chaps. He pulls his hat a little tighter on his head once he’s seated, while the well-behaved stallion waits patiently for his rider to give him an aid, which he does, after adjusting the length of his reins.

With the sun only just peeking from behind the horizon, rays break through the leaves of the trees next to the warmup area, adding to the still peaceful surroundings. The commentator isn’t blaring through the speakers yet, the ring isn’t full of other riders trying to find a spot to train without running into each other. It’s the calm before the storm, a bit of peace and quiet both horse and human appreciate. No distractions, no sensory overload for the inexperienced stallion. It’s the perfect way to introduce him to the element of competition.

Y/N has just finished filling up the water buckets in the stables and rests her arms on the fence of the small arena. She watches Dean slowly start up the beautiful palomino, its coat seemingly made from gold in the morning light. Her boyfriend is wearing clean dark jeans and a navy button up, a black Stetson to match his show outfit. Never will she get tired of watching that man ride, but dressed like he is now, she can’t take her eyes off him. Y/N sighs deeply, swooning at the sight. She really did land the most handsome cowboy in Arizona, didn’t she?

The head wrangler seems composed as ever, not breaking a sweat over having to ride into the ring in thirty minutes, something that she admires and envies all at the same time. She wishes she could feel relaxed right before a test, instead of being the nervous wreck that she usually is. Meadow will not make her entry until later this evening and already Y/N dodged breakfast, well aware that she won’t be able to swallow a bite, stage fright blocking her throat. Just thinking about the premiere of her freestyle makes it slightly harder to breathe, but Dean takes that away when he rides past, breaking his concentration for a second and shooting her a wink and a soft smile. She chuckles as they keep a hold of each other’s gaze for a few seconds as his horse walks by. God, she wishes she has his confidence.

Other competitors join Dean and Bon Jovi in the warm up area, but the stallion only murmurs at a mare once, its rider gently yet strictly reminding him to keep his head in the game. Before they know it, the same voice that did the commentary on last night’s barrel race competition sounds from the amplifiers.

“Good mornin’, folks! It’s another beautiful day here at the Flagstaff Horsefair. We’re getting ready for the first class of the day, the Standlee Forage Reining Competition for four year olds. Highest overall score wins five bags of high quality horse food.”

The commentator continues to promote the sponsors of the event, Dean giving his horse a little scratch on the shoulder when he tenses slightly as the loud voice sounds from the speakers. Aware that it will soon be their turn, the rider allows himself to enjoy the atmosphere as he casts his gaze over the other competitors. He isn’t too worried about the fixture, confident in his own skills and those of his horse.

“Dean Winchester, two minutes!” A steward announces, looking down at his clipboard to double check the line up. The cowboy nods in acknowledgement, directing his gaze to Y/N as he waits for her to catch up. He watches as she puts down the grooming bag next to her on the sandy arena footing, attending to the bell boots that Bon Jovi is still wearing. She unbuckles the leather clasps, putting the leg protection away. “Would you like some water?” she offers. He shakes his head, casually, taking in the arena. “Nah, I’m good.”

Y/N looks up at him, trying to read what he is feeling. To her, it is strange how he doesn’t seem nervous. He’s relaxed, collected; reminding her of the still waters at Canyon Lake, where they swam together for the first time on the trail that changed everything. It is as if he can’t register the pressure that should be resting on his shoulders. Maybe he truly believed he is that good. “Break a leg,” she speaks, fondly. “Don’t wish that upon me, Yankee,” Dean chuckles. “Kinda need them to do my job.” She laughs and pats him lovingly on his denim clad thigh. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.” “Well, I have my good luck charm with me.” He lays his hand over hers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “C’mere.” She steps closer to Bon Jovi, tiptoeing to reach up while Dean leans over to level with her. His lips brush over hers softly, his nose nuzzling hers in a sweet gesture. She smiles into the gentle kiss. “Go get’em, cowboy.”

The wrangler straightens himself in the saddle, while his girlfriend picks up the groom bag and steps back. He guides his horse into the tunnel under the bleachers towards the arena, concentrating on the gates in front of him, waiting for them to open. The reigns feel smooth between his fingers as he drowns out the noise around him. With his free hand, he encouragingly strokes the side of Bon Jovi’s neck, his pearly white manes contrasting beautifully against his flaxen coat. He has grown accustomed to these kinds of events, his nerves not bothering him anymore. He finds solace in his work, seeing it more as fun than as a chore. He enjoys the challenge the youngsters bring him, from the initial moment of putting on a halter, to getting in a saddle, to showing them all for the very first time. In less than a year, the horses go through such growth, and it’s always a pleasure to be a part of their journey.

“First competitor of the day is Dean Winchester, riding Bon Jovi, a stallion by Renegade. This horse is bred by Victor Hendriksen and owned by the Gold Canyon Ranch in Phoenix, Arizona.”

Y/N watches as the palomino calmly comes through the gate, not batting an eye at his new and impressive surroundings. Submissive and willing, the stallion responds to his rider’s aids when he’s asked to halt. To witness how trustful each and every horse is with the trainer, surfaces some kind of gratification inside of her. The way Dean schools the animals isn’t based on authority or rank, but much more about collaboration and respect. It’s something she admires about him from the get go.

Dean leads Bon Jovi through a precise pattern of figures, spins and stops. Reining is all about the athletic abilities of the horse, and the rider controlling every movement. The horse demonstrates attitude and willingness, while the signals given by the rider are nearly imperceptible. The run is evaluated by a panel of three judges, who mark each pattern individually. In this youngster class, speed isn’t key yet, but correctness is. Every stride must look effortless and relaxed, as if the animal and rider have become one. That’s exactly what is on display in the arena right now.

With a smile of adoration across her face, Y/N leans her forearms on the steel fence, watching the head wrangler. A small crowd that got up at the crack of dawn have occupied the first rows on the bleachers and by the fence, encouraging shouts and whistles rallying the first competitor on. The young horse is so fixed on his rider, that he doesn’t even pick up on the sounds. Bon Jovi isn’t fast in the spins yet, but that’s okay, because his footwork is close to perfect. After three well executed sliding stops, Dean gives the palomino the signal to back up, his spur not even touching the horse’s flank. Submissively, he reverses until his rider drops the reins and rewards the stallion, who blows out a purr through his nose, looking up at the stands curiously when they applaud the performance, much like the commentator.

“Well, if that ain’t setting the bar, I don’t know what is. What a solid ride from Dean Winchester and Bon Jovi!”

While Dean exits the arena, he searches the people along the fence and on the bleachers. He’s looking for Bobby, who he finds on the sidelines. His uncle holds his gaze and gives the head wrangler a nod, telling him so much without using actual words. They haven’t spoken about the elephant in the room yet, today’s pace being far too high to squeeze in the awkward conversation, and so both men have decided for themselves to let it rest. Besides, they might have sold a number of horses yesterday, that doesn’t mean they can lean back now.

The cowboy leads his horse back to the warm up ring, meeting his girlfriend half way. “Good run!” she compliments, taking Bon Jovi’s reins after Dean swings his right leg over the saddle and dismounts. She shoves the water bottle in his hand this time, knowing if she had asked, he would have declined anyway. “I had a little wobble in the second roll back, but yeah, the rest was good.” He twists off the cap and takes a swig, thirstier than he likes to admit.

Since Dean is competing two separate horses in the same class, he’s both first and last to enter the main arena. It’s going to be a race against the clock, and he looks around the warm-up area in search for his next four-legged dance partner. “Where’s Jo? Ringo is up in thirty minutes.” “Better get off your high horse, Mister, otherwise this is the last time I’ll tack up for you,” his cousin replies snappily, appearing from behind with a bay gelding named Ringo Starr in tow. Dean is about to counter her, but he bites his tongue, knowing she’s not kidding and will never do him a favor again if he gives her attitude. And so he mutters a ‘thanks’ under his breath when he takes the Quarterhorse from her.

As swiftly as he got down from Bon Jovi, he now mounts Ringo, the next four year old for him to compete. As he does so, his score is announced over the speakers, but he can’t quite make out the numbers. When he glances at the scoreboard, he’s pleasantly surprised. “218.5 points!” Y/N cries out, delighted. “That’s fantastic!” With a content smirk adorning his features, Dean nods satisfied; that is indeed a good score. Good enough to put Bon Jovi on the podium. Good enough to ask a high price when the buyers come calling. He doesn’t have time to settle on a high cloud, though; he needs to ready Ringo for his run.

Y/N hoists the groombag on her shoulder and takes the kind palomino stallion to exit the warm-up arena. This is her job after all, she might be dating her supervisor, she’s still the intern. They made a deal when she arrived at the ranch that Dean would not treat her differently, so she intends to do the work she’s come here to do. Jo, however, seems to have a different idea, and nudges her. “I’ll take Jovi. You go cheer on your John Wayne.” The blonde cowgirl winks at her friend, taking over the load.

She chuckles, handing the petite blonde the horse. Grateful to be able to see more of Dean’s horsemanship in action, she finds a spot by the fence. The sun steadily rises, casting out what was left of the night’s coolness, the light radiating down on her much warmer and brighter. Wishing she had brought a hat, the cowgirl takes off her jacket and puts it away in the groombag. She watches her boyfriend warm up Ringo, who seems a little bit more nervous, now that the ring is more crowded. His rider does a good job reassuring the young animal, though, giving the bay gelding some light exercises to keep his mind of the commotion around him, rewarding the Quarter every time he shows a sign of relaxation.

“Beautiful day to be buying horses, isn’t it, darling?” Y/N startles at the sudden gruff voice, snapping her head to where the sound came from. The supposedly kind words to start conversation are pronounced with a English accent, by a stranger dressed in black. The rather short man who she guesses would be somewhere in his fifties leans on the steel rail, his fingers laced together while he watches riders in the arena.

“Y - yeah, I suppose so,” Y/N stammers, unsure how to respond. “My apologies, where are my manners.” The man turns to her and offers his hand. “The name is Fergus. Fergus MacLeod.” The cowgirl frowns at his introduction. She has heard of him, but has never met the owner of the MacLeod Studfarms in person. “Y/N Y/L/N,” she returns, slightly hesitant. “Oh, I know who you are. I’m an admirer of your work. You’re quite the talent,” the Englishman admits. “That run at the State Championships was spectacular.”

Slightly creeped out, but not trusting her instincts entirely, she stays quiet for a moment. This is a man of great influence in the business, so she does want to hear what he has to say. “You saw me ride?” she replies. He nods, an amused smirk resting on his thin lips. “I did indeed, love. Talking about talent, that horse is something else as well. Meadowsweet, is her name, isn’t it?” “Yeah...” Y/N returns, somewhat suspicious. “Tell me; are you the owner of that lovely mare? Or are there parents and sponsors involved?”

Her stance becomes a bit more defensive, not just because of the rapid questions that are fired at her, no matter how charming this gentleman is trying to be. No, it’s his assumption that she’s too young to own such a horse that gets to her. “I am the owner, as a matter of fact,” she states, a new found strength in her voice. “Good to know I am talking to the proper person then.” Her company chuckles, apparently pleased by her feisty counter. “Because I have a proposition for you.” Before he can make her an offer, Y/N intervenes. “Meadow isn’t changing owners, if that’s where you’re headed, Mr. MacLeod.” Fergus takes her in, narrowing his eyes slightly, but the pleased little smile remains. “I can make it worth your while.” “I believe you can, but no matter your offer; she’s not for sale,” the cowgirl makes herself clear, a sternness in her voice that should tone the horse trader down. It doesn’t. Instead he chuckles dryly and takes a little booklet out of the inner pocket of his black coat; it’s a cheque book. Not taking no for an answer, he pulls out a pen and writes down his signature. “Everything is for sale, love. All one has to do is pay the right price,” he says, wisely.

Fergus MacLeod rips off the sheet of paper, handing her the cheque. Not wanting to be downright rude, she takes it, staring at the empty line; it’s blank. “You may write down whatever number you seem fit. It’s up to you,” the Brit elaborates. “Now that I’ve got your attention, would you happen to know where I can find Bobby Singer? I would like to have a little chat with my old friend.” “He’s by the main arena.” She points in the direction of the entrance. “Wonderful,” he quips. “It was a pleasure meeting you, darling.”

A shiver runs down her spine as MacLeod walks away to find her boss. She’s highly aware that he is a very influential and important person in the industry, but he has got some nerve. Y/N might look like an innocent and timid girl, but there is no way in hell that she would ever give up Meadow, no matter how large the figure.

She stares at the cheque, crumbling it in her hand before she stuffs it in her pocket, angrily. She has never met someone as brazen as Fergus Macleod at a show before, and she has been to enough to know. But she doesn’t want to waste time and think about the confrontation now. The cowgirl would much rather focus on her wrangler boyfriend who is wowing the judges.

Dean’s run with Ringo Starr is another great one, and with him being the last contestant of the class, the rankings are decided the moment the score comes in. With 215.5 points, he secures the third place, behind another rider and Bon Jovi, who has held on to the lead. An impressive result, one that he knows his uncle is going to be very pleased with.

When the Dean exits the arena, he is met by his girlfriend, who is smiling widely. “You nailed it!” she chirps with enthusiasm. “They did good,” Dean says, rustling Ringo’s black mane, more than satisfied with the performance of both young horses, but not taking the compliment upon himself.

The cowboy gets down from the saddle, noticing that the gelding is tired from all the first impressions and new sensories that come with the first show. Ringo’s coat is damp, a shade darker because of the perspiration; he gave it his all. Intending to hand-walk the horse back to the stables to shower the animal and give him his hay, he strolls to exit the warm-up area, but Bobby stops him. “Dean?” his uncle calls out, beckoning him to come over. Y/N glances up, following Mr. Singer’s voice. Noticing that Fergus MacLeod has found who he claims to be his ‘old friend’, her face falls slightly. She wonders what the Englishman would want, and why Dean has been invited into the conversation. Questionly, she looks back at her boyfriend and takes over Ringo from him, reckoning she should leave since it’s none of her business what will be discussed, but the man in black has different ideas. “Y/N, do join us, and bring the horse as well, love.” The hair on the back of Dean’s neck rises; what did he just call her? Unable to prevent his jaw from clenching, he steps towards the two ranch owners, trying to keep his cool. Who the hell is this dickhead? “That’s Fergus MacLeod,” Y/N whispers, as if she just read his mind. “He’s the founder of some of the largest stud farms in the country and even has stables in Europe. Owns at least two dozen licenced stallions.” The wrangler nods in acknowledgement. Great, some snobby bigshot. Very much aware that this new face might have something to offer Bobby, he keeps his mouth shut.

“Ah, the one and only Dean Winchester,” Fergus’ grins mischievously. “Nice work there in the ring. Your uncle here told me it’s the first time those two horses are competing.” “That’s right,” the cowboy confirms. “Macleod is the name. Pleasure to meet ya.” The Brit extends his hand, which Dean shakes a little firmer than normal. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to accomplish with the display of his own physical strength.

“Fergus here is interested in buying the four year olds,” Bobby explains, apparently noticing his head wrangler’s suppressed hostility, shooting it down with a piercing stare, warningly. Dean’s demeanor changes instantly as he raises his eyebrows. If this horse trader is going to bring the big bucks, he knows he needs to keep himself in check for the sake of the ranch. “Mind if I have a peek?” Macleod asks, gesturing at the horse. “Go ahead.” Dean steps back, making room for him to inspect the horse.

Fergus circles the horse, taking the bay gelding in from several angles. He feels the hindlegs for any swelling or abnormalities and does the same with the front legs, after Y/N has removed the bandages Ringo wore in the ring to prevent any injuries. The horse trader then proceeds to look Ringo in the face and check his teeth. After a satisfied nod the man turns around, straightens his impeccable suit. He then takes a tissue from his breast pocket and wipes his hands. “It’s a fine looking animal you’ve got here, Singer,” he compliments. “You may take the horse away, my dear.” Even though she isn’t fond of the degrading way he is talking to her, Y/N obliges. Taking care of the horses when she’s not riding herself is her job after all. “Oh, and Miss Y/L/N…” She halts the horse next to her and turns around. The Englishman has his hands in his pocket now, twinkling hazel-colored eyes looking her up and down. “Bobby here tells me that you’re a well-educated woman. A master degree in Business & Economics? Impressive. Someone as smart as yourself has to acknowledge that it’s a good deal. I assume you will consider my offer on your horse,” he pauses, more intrigued with every detail he learns about the woman before him. “I would like to point out there’s room for six figures on that cheque. What numbers to fill in, is your choice.”

Dean wants to snap his head at his girlfriend, but keeps his posture. Did this man just offer her several hundred thousand dollars for Meadow? Eyes wide in astonishment, he exchanges a look with his uncle, both trying to keep a straight face. “She’s not for sale,” Y/N makes clear one more time, pronouncing the words slow to prove a point. Amused with her stubbornness, the corner of MacLeod’s mouth twitches upward. Cocky, he holds her gaze, but eventually yields. “Very well, then. Let me know if you change your mind. The offer stands.”

Without responding to Fergus’ tenacious reply, she turns away, nudging Ringo to follow her. The three men watch her leave, Dean knows her well enough to be able to tell that MacLeod has her blood boiling. He’s not surprised Y/N didn’t think twice about shooting the bid down. Meadow means the world to her, more than any amount of money could ever buy. But holy shit. Six figures! Realisation hits him; it would be enough money to save the Ranch.

The Brit who made the generous offer pulls him from his thoughts. “Alright, lads. Let’s talk business, shall we?” The three walk away from the few people that are lining around the warm-up area. A little further down, on a crossing of two paths, they stop. The little square is still quiet at this hour. Safe from lurking eyes and eavesdropping ears, they gather around one high table near a drink stand. Even though it’s a non-serve area, the influential man calls the bartender to take their order. The young guy comes back with a coke for the rider - who still has a run later this afternoon - and two bourbons. Dean didn’t even know they served whiskey at this event, let alone this early.

MacLeod cuts right to the chase. “I will offer you thirty grand for the four year old Quarters, and I will take them off your hands right away.” Dean doesn’t flinch, being in these kinds of conversations before. He can maintain his poker face, no matter how amble the offer. It is a negotiation after all. The owner of the two horses thinks about it for a second, but then comes with a counter. “Forty.” “C’mon, Bobby. Is that how you treat an old friend?” Fergus clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly after which he takes a sip from his drink. “Now, I know times are tough and that you’re experiencing difficulty staying afloat, but do realize I am already doing you a favor here. Thirty thousand dollars is more than fair.”

The head wrangler is taken aback by the Englishman’s comment. How would he know the ranch is struggling? Did people in their close circle spill the beans? Apparently MacLeod spots the unpleasant surprise on the faces of the men opposite of him, because he comments on it without missing a beat. “It’s a small world, lads. People talk. You should know that by now, Singer.” Bobby moves past the comment rather quickly and ponders about the sum. Fergus isn’t wrong; it’s not just a decent offer. It’s a generous one, one he isn’t going to decline. The Englishman across the table knows it too; the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch is desperate for money. “Cash,” he demands, accepting the original offer. The dark haired man strokes his neatly trimmed beard. “I can arrange that.”

The head wrangler might not like the horse trader, but he did just make this weekend ten times better. He gulps down the last of his coke, crumpling the can before he dunks it in the trash on the side of the crossroads. The cowboy figures the deal will be sealed with a handshake before they go separate ways, but MacLeod has a second matter to settle. “I have another proposition for you.” Having their attention, the middle aged Brit observes their reaction, his eyes full of mischief. The two members of the ranch near Phoenix share a look. “We’re listening.” Bobby says.

Fergus swirls his whiskey, studying the amber liquid in his glass. “I own a stallion,” he starts off, putting the drink to his mouth in the short pause. “I bought him at the Derby Quarterhorse Auction for over a million dollars. He’s licensed, one of the best pedigrees I’ve ever seen, not to mention his conformation and movements. He already covered four hundred mares this year. I expect great things from this horse, he is supposed to bring in the money. There is one slight issue, however.” Dean listens, intently, wondering where he is going with this. “And what would that be?”

“The horse has some… behavioral issues,” the stud farm owner claims, careful in his choice of words. “It has quite the temperament, one his former trainers haven’t been able to use in their advantage, my advantage.” Slowly the head wrangler begins to realize why the price MacLeod is willing to pay for the two Quarters is so steep; he is playing a game of give and take. The way the owner of this stallion is talking about money and business, calling the animal ‘it’, doesn’t sit well with him either. Where is the horse’s well-being in all of this?

“What’s his name?” Dean likes to know. Fergus frowns at that, clearly not understanding why it would matter, but he answers anyway. “You might have heard of this horse; his name is Cain.” Dean has heard of the horse. The whopping 1.2 million that was paid for the talented Quarter made headlines in the industry.

“What are these behavioral issues?” he needs to know, not taking the bait just yet. “Typical stallion behavior; dominance is the main problem. The horse has character, what can I say?” MacLeod laughs it off. “Anyway, I am looking for a capable horseman. Someone who can actually break him in.” The owner of the horse in question shifts his penetrating gaze from Bobby to Dean. The cowboy realizes they are at a verge of a possibly very important business deal, but he cannot stop himself from commenting on the peculiar choice of words. “I don’t ‘break in’ horses. I teach them to trust and to cooperate,” he states firmly. “Potato, potahto,” Fergus dismisses. “Are you up for the job, or not?”

Dean exchanges a glance with his uncle, a silent conversation happening between them, only possible by years and years of working together. When Bobby rights himself, he has a crucial question. “What’s in it for us?” Again that small smile on the Englishman’s face; he knows he’s close to persuading them.

“A thousand dollars each month, paid in advance, and a fifty grand bonus when Cain successfully completes the stallion performance tests in April. Plus, five percent of his earnings in coverage for the coming year. After he passes the exams, we can set up a contract in order for you to remain his permanent rider,” MacLeod sums up.

Bobby analyzes the offer. It’s tempting in many aspects. Fergus just mentioned that the stallion already covered four hundred mares this year. With his stud-fee being at least a thousand dollars, they are looking at twenty grand cut already. Then there’s the regular income, not to mention the bonus. This deal might be the lifeline his family business was frantically fishing for. It’s up to Dean, though. He is the one who is going to work with this horse, and the only one who can make an educated guess if it’s achievable in five months' time.

“We would like to see Cain first,” Bobby decides, wanting to offer his head wrangler a moment to evaluate the animal. “I’m afraid that will not be possible at this time, but I tell you what.” The Brit finishes his bourbon, setting the glass down on the high table. “The horse will be delivered to your property and you will have a week to decide if you want to take on this job. If not, no hard feelings.”

Dean glances aside, spotting the slight nod of his uncle. Seems like they can’t go wrong here; if Cain turns out to be more difficult than Fergus leads on, they can always send him back. “You got yourself a deal,” Bobby concludes, extending his hand to the man in black. “Splendid.” The horse trader smirks, delighted with the arrangement they agreed on, shaking their hands. When he grips Dean’s hand tight, he looks him deep in the eye, as if he recognizes something in the handsome cowboy.

“You’re John’s boy, aren’t ya?” he realizes. “I bought a couple of horses from that Winchester back in the day. How is he?” Tension grips Dean’s body, the sound of his father’s name on Macleod’s tongue sending a shiver down his limbs. He tries to breathe in without it being too obvious, finding it difficult to keep his mask on. “I wouldn’t know,” he answers curtly.

Fergus furrows his brow at that, clearly curious as of why the two aren’t in touch anymore. He allows a silence to linger between them, their handshake holding on to the apprehensiveness. “Hmm,” he responds at the peculiar answer. “Well, you are just like your father. I could’ve sworn it was him when I saw you in the arena earlier; spitting image. You have his ways.”

It’s like MacLeod is deliberately trying to get under his skin, and no matter how hard the young cowboy fights it, the man he’s making a deal with is succeeding. The words spoken with that distinct English accent ring in his head, much louder than they were pronounced, cracking like a whip on his back. You are just like your father. You have his ways.

Dean releases the stallion owner’s hand, quickly slipping his into the back pockets of his jeans, drying his clammy palms on the denim. He hopes neither of the men in his company notice him shaking. He inhales through his nose, squares his shoulders and stands tall, pushing down the anxiousness that is stirring in his stomach. Disappointed in himself, he chews on the inside of his cheek in search for distraction. He can’t let a simple comment get to him like this.

Now that he has shut down the attitude the ranch hand was giving him, the Englishman looks down on Dean with a sinister smile on his lips. He keeps a hold of the Winchester’s gaze, until he averts his green eyes. Only then MacLeod steps away. “We’ll stay in touch. I’ll have my men pick up the two Quarters this afternoon,” Fergus announces, his long, dark overcoat swaying slightly as he turns around once more. “A pleasure doing business with ya.”

With those words, MacLeod walks away and leaves the two men in the middle of the square. The sun is suddenly uncomfortably warm to Dean. He sniffs and takes a few steps from his uncle, as if the two or three strides would actually be enough to walk it off. He places his hands in his side and dips his hat forward when he faces Bobby again, making sure the older man can’t sense how unsettled he is. But Bobby is no fool. He knows his nephew better than the boy’s own father did, and that’s exactly what’s bothering Dean.

“You alright?” he checks. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Dean returns just a little too rapidly, shrugging it off. “Just…” His uncle is careful not to address the subject directly, yet at the same time he needs to offer the opportunity for the wrangler to vent. “With what he said about John--” “Don’t.”

The simple word comes out harsher than he meant it to leave his lips, the darkness in his eyes when he shoots his father-figure a glare soon replaced by regret. Dean knows Bobby is trying, like he and Ellen have for the past fifteen years. But no matter how much time passes, he can’t bring himself to talk about what happened in the past.

His uncle isn’t mad, nor is he disappointed in his surrogate son. He just nods slowly at the dismissal, before he begins to make his way to the stables. Dean remains in the middle of the crossing, his hands still firm on his hips, closing his eyes for a moment as he breathes out. The deal they just made should bring much needed relief, but the meeting leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He gathers himself and follows after his Bobby. They have more showings to prepare for, but nothing can cast out the words spoken by Fergus MacLeod. Not the rhythmic thumping of hooves in the dirt, not the chatter and laughs produced by the growing crowd, nor the music that comes from the main arena. All he can register is the painful message, which reopens the deep scars on his heart every time they bounce off the walls inside his head.

I am just like my father.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty two here

#Ride With Me #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester AU #Supernatural AU #Dean fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #Dean angst #Dean fluff #Dean x reader #Dean Winchester x reader #Dean Winchester #Jo Harvelle #Bobby Singer #Ellen Harvelle #Benny Lafitte #Kate Huntington

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oneofyatosfollowers · 3 years

Text

Happy Yato Day!

Fanfic: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13936397/1/The-Stray-Cowboy

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33158902

It was ironic that a little dusty down in the middle of nowhere would bear the name “Heaven,” especially since it’s been declining since her grandmother’s time. The town was built around a large natural spring that has been shrinking ever so slightly each year while the buildings only grew taller. Hiyori strolled down main street, her heels kicking up loose dirt which dusted the frills of her pink dress. Her father, the only doctor in town, had let her go for the day, giving her a break from replacing her run-away brother at the clinic. So, after visiting her friend, Ami, at the fabric store, and Yama out with the horses, Hiyori made her way to the saloon.

The building was two stories and housed a bar, a small stage, and tables with different games other cowboys could gamble on. Since this town held so much water and resources, it was a common place for vagabonds of all types to stop in and rest. The Inn was right next door, owned by the bar owner’s husband, it’s front often tied with horses. Hiyori’s eyes scanned the beasts for a familiar black mare with a short mane but was disappointed when she saw none. She entered The Lucky Lady, the batwing doors swinging behind her, eyes adjusting as she ignored the cat-calls.

“Hiyori!” The bartender called like they haven’t seen each other in years. The Lucky Lady, a spunky night-time-dancer named Kofuku, waved her friend over with a dirty cloth.

“Good afternoon, Kofuku,” Hiyori gave a short curtsy before taking a seat at the bar, “where’s Daikoku and Yukine?” She asked as her eyes scanned the bar, finally adjusted to the darker space.

“They’re tending to some of the horses behind the Inn. Yuki’s getting good at changing shoes you know,” Kofuku mused as she wiped down the bar, “although they’re not really who you’re looking for are they?” The comment shocked Hiyori out of her scanning. The teasing glimmer in the young woman’s eyes sparking a fire across Hiyori’s cheeks.

“Well! He did say he was coming back today and he’s supposed to be handling my job!” Hiyori sputtered. She crossed her arms with a huff and looked towards the door, waiting for the black silhouette of a certain hitman-turned-messenger-and-bounty-hunter. Unbeknownst to her parents, Hiyori had hired the man to find her missing brother. It felt off to put a secret bounty on her own brother, giving it to an enigma of a man recommended to her by Kofuku and Daikoku, but he’d stopped sending her letters almost a year ago and it had her worried.

“If there’s someone you want found, dead or alive, he’s your man,” The Inn owner had growled, “just don’t get too close.” The gruff man scoffed when his bubbly wife waved off his warning. Of course Hiyori was the strong, intelligent daughter of a doctor, who practiced cattle roping with her brother. She didn’t judge just based on one reputation, Hiyori had to see for herself. Especially with the reputation that particular cowboy had. No, if it weren’t for Yukine then Hiyori would have never hired him.

“Yukine!” Hiyori called when the boy in question walked in from the back. The young teen pulled off a black cutter that was too big for him, and revealed a puff of blonde hair. His hazel eyes popped up and he smiled at the sight of her.

“Hiyori!” He greeted, giving Daikoku the hammer and nails before heading to the bar. Yukine was one of the few people in this town Hiyori didn’t know since birth. Now, she didn’t know the whole story- the boy in question refusing to tell- but she did know the place he came from was not a very kind one. That, for one reason or another, the cowboy she hired to track her brother was the same one that saved Yukine from that place as a toddler. They traveled together since then, Yukine being dropped off at Kofuku’s place so the man could go on more dangerous jobs. Just like now. It was during those times, Hiyori had gotten to know the boy. Even early on, when Yukine would throw tantrums at being left behind or run away from strangers.

“He’s still not here yet?” Yukine sighed as he took a seat next to Hiyori. The boy gave a curtsey scan around the saloon, knowing the man’s figure too well to miss it.

“Sorry Yuki, he said more towards the sun down,” Kofuku reminded them of the last letter the messenger pigeon brought them. The blonde, becoming more and more like a teenager each day, scoffed and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, well, he better get here before Sheriff Bishamon gets back from her trip to the city. Otherwise he’ll just get chased out again.” Yukine soured at the thought, ready to hit the open road again. Hiyori knew a bit about how he felt. She’s felt the need to leave this dusty place, to hop on a horse and ride off into the sunset with nothing but your wit and a couple bullets at your side. But she could never do that to her parents, not like her brother did. Instead she lived through the stories Yukine brought back with him, after the cowboy in black strolled into Heaven like he owned it.

“How long is the sheriff gone for?” Hiyori asked. If the sheriff caught the man sneaking into town there would be a shotoff on sight.

“Oh who knows. I asked Uncle Ebi to keep her there for as long as possible so,” Kofuku shrugged, “I’m sure he’ll buy you two enough time to catch up.” The pink haired woman winked causing the two younger patrons to sputter with disgust.

“Don’t be gross! Hiyori could do so much better than that dusty rattlesnake!” Yukine hissed, insulting the one man he deemed as blood family. Still, the statement jolted something within Hiyori. A boxed up secret that’s been locked up tight since the man in question last rode out of town.

“Hey yeah! Our little Miss Hiyori still has a courtship with that gun dealer from the city,” Daikoku suddenly walked behind the bar, giving his wife a kiss on the head.

“Ukk! You mean Kouto? Hiyori, don’t tell me you’re still seeing that as-donkey,” Yukine quickly muffled his cursing, remembering he wasn’t out on the open road with a not-so-great role model. Daikoku raised a brow at the kid, muttering out a mental note to have a word with the kid’s kidnapper.

“I am not ‘seeing him,’ it is a one-sided courtship at best! One that I do not plan on pursuing,” Hiyori stood suddenly, face red enough to pass as sunburn, “so if you’ll excuse me. I’ll be back after dinner to see if-.” The young woman stopped short, half way from the bar to the door, when she realized the saloon had gone silent. Someone was approaching the planked doors, the sun casting a shadow across a smirk that could steal a golden fiddle from the devil. The room fell into hushed whispers as he pushed open the door and approached Hiyori with careless saunter. The various weapons and coins hidden among his long black coat clinked as his brown boots thudded against the squeaky floor. Since his hat was left in the care of a blonde boy, there was nothing obscuring his sharp gaze from meeting hers. The white ascot around his neck covered his grin to the others in the room, helping keep up with his dark and bloody reputation. If only they knew how sweet he really was.

“Hiyori,” his drawl was rough from breathing in nothing but hot desert dirt but she found his dust-smudged cheeks just as endearing. His blue eyes and smile didn’t waver from her, even as the men closest to him raised their hackles and fixed him with narrowed eyes. The cowboy stopped directly in front of her, much too close for an upper class employer and some hired vagabond. But despite the towns and names he’s buried six feet under, Hiyori met his eyes with a straight back and a confident smile.

“It’s nice to see you again, Yato.”

“A pleasure, Hiyori,” he chuckled. The two shared a moment for less than a second before a barstool behind Hiyori squeaked with movement.

“Finally! About time you got here!” Yukine said. Regardless, the kid was off his stool and across the floor in an instant, arms crossed and hat off, waiting for Yato to ruffle his hair. Which Yato did. Until he pulled the kid into a large hug, encasing the small boy in his leather coat with a happy laugh.

“There he is! My baby Yukine! Have you gotten smaller? Or bigger? Definitely bigger, look at those arms! Turnin into a big strong man now! Gone for a season and look at you! Did you keep my hat nice and safe like always?” Yato gushed.

“Blegh! You smell like horse shit and sweat! You disgusting loser! Get off me!” Yukine hollered, squirming out of Yato’s hold and shoving the man’s hat back in his arms. Yatolet the boy go, satisfied that the bar’s paterons went back to their drinking and card games. Hiyori could understand, having a cute child by his side made Yato look a little less like the hitman he once was. The boy stomped back to the bar, Yato smiling after him.

“Ya heading out?” Yato asked, placing his hat back at home on his head.

“Um nope! No,” Hiyori said. Yato’s smirk quirked back on and he nodded his head to the bar, pouting when Hiyori declined his offered arm.

“Oh Yatty! We missed you!” Kofukue leaned over the bar, her corset popping a string, as she pulled him into a hug.

“Hey Kofuku! Glad to be back,” Yato squeezed her, “thanks for watching the kid again.”

“Yeah, well, the kid’s welcome here anytime. You, on the other hand, got a long tab to pay.” Daikoku grumbled by the taps.

“It’d be easier if you just let me go with you,” Yukine said, haughtily. The kid watched the man that saved him take a heavy seat on the bar, removing his iconic twin shotguns from his shoulders and laying them on the wood. Hiyori took a seat on the other side of Yato, eyeing the long, silver double barrel guns. Her gaze tracing tiny flowers engraved on the metal. She knew without looking that the wooden butt of the guns had the names “Sekki” and “Setsu” carved into them when he was Yukine’s age. Of course, Daikoku’s rule about weapons on the bar went ignored as Yato gave Yukine a side eye from over his pint.

“Death Valley is called ‘the underworld’ for a reason, kiddo. It’s too risky for a youngin.” Yato said.

“I’m not a youngin! I’m fourteen!” Yukine spun on the stool, “and you were even younger when you started out.”

“Not by choice, Yukine.”

“Okay but I’m choosing to.” Yukine’s eyes narrowed even more when Yato just scoffed and took a large swig of cheap beer.

“Come on, Yato! You said it yourself, I’m turnin’ into a man now. I’ve been traveling with you for nearly a decade! I know how to shoot and lasso and care for horses and where to look for gold and know when it’s gonna rain! You taught me all of that and you always say when I’m older you would keep me with you all the time! On all your jobs, so why?” Yukine almost pleaded, frustrated. Hiyori bit her lip and looked from Yukine to Yato.

“Because I thought this one was going to be particularly dangerous. You know I don’t want you seeing that,” Yato finally said, setting his glass down with a clink, “besides, I was just going to poke around and gather information. If there was anything solid I’d come get you.”

“Is that right?” Yukine asked, unconvinced.

“‘Course. It’s not like you missed anything big. I just went around, did the normal askin, followed a couple hollow rumors, then came back. You would have been bored anyway. Why? You think I would lie about it?”

“Do I think you would? Yes. Cause you lie to make me feel better. You do it all the time.” There was a beat that no one commented on. Hiyori couldn’t bring herself to see Yato’s reaction to that attack on a very recent wound.

“Well that clearly isn't the case this time is it?” Yato said, then sighed and softened his tone, “there really was nothing Yukine but I just wanted to be sure. There’s no law in the underworld and I don’t want you anywhere near that place.” The man finally turned and fully faced the boy he claimed as his own. Yukine regarded Yato for a couple moments longer, just as water started to rise over his hazel irises. Suddenly and harshly, Yukine got off his seat.

“If you don’t trust me to have your back and you don’t want me around just say so. Stop coming back already.” Snarled Yukine. He left the saloon and Hiyori knew he would be heading to the Inn where one of the rooms was permanently his and Yato’s. Beside her, Yato chugged the rest of his beer then slammed it back on the counter with a sigh. Daikoku chided him and took it, wiping it clean with disdain.

“Don’t worry, Yatty. He’s at that age. Yuki didn’t mean it, he just missed you and rather go on your adventures than stay here,” Kofuku offered.

“That’s what he doesn’t get. They’re not adventures,” Yato scratched his neck, “I’m out of bullets.” The implication silenced the young women.

“Still, the boy’s right about one thing, he’s growin up. Can’t tell him what to do forever,” Daikoku eventually butted in, placing a new mug of beer in front of Yato.

“Watch me,” Yato pouted. That got a small giggle out of Hiyori which might have quirked the tip of Yato’s lip just a little. Kofuku and Daikoku hummed and shared a look. Eventually, Yato downed the rest of his drink before getting up.

“Hiiro is out back. Needs a bath,” Yato said.

“Pay for your beer.” Daikoku answered.

“Put it on my tab,” Yato knocked on the bar.

“Like hell-”

“Okie dokie, Yatty! See you at dinner!” Kofuku waved. Yato pointed at her with a finger gun, clicking as his thumb mimicked the hammer. He grabbed both gunstraps and lazily swung the weapons over one shoulder. Taking two steps, Yato looked over his shoulder, one blue eye meeting hers from under his hat.

“You comin?” Yato tilted his head. Despite the looks their friends gave her, a large smile grew on Hiyori’s face and she happily hopped off the stool.

“Yeah!” She followed the cowboy in grungy clothes out the bar and into the Inn. Since it was still late afternoon, the place was just about empty. The wooden rooms and wool sheets too hot on a summer day. Hiyori took a deep breath, feeling free from the stares of others in town with nothing to do but spread rumors. Still, she was very aware of the man standing behind her, always a bit too close, and she turned to face him. Hiyori would have to wait until later tonight to hear his tales. Yato was too good at telling stories and always insisted on drawing to go with it. Once Yukine finishes reading and goes to bed, Yato and the rest of the town congregate at The Lucky Lady for drinking, dancing, and music. It was then that Hiyori- and sometimes her teasing friends- would get Yato to herself.

“How are the folks?” Yato broke the silence.

“They’re okay. Since the water’s been going, my father’s been trying to find ways to give strong medicine that uses less water.”

“What a coincidence,” Yato hummed, “every lead I tried to follow on your brother ended up being about the water crisis.”

“You think he’s following the drought?” Hiyori asked, urgently.

“Couldn’t say. He’s never struck me as the heroic type, to go galavanting off and save the world; but it is suspicious. Unfortunately, once I got deep in the drought debacle his name would vanish,” Yato shrugged, “it’s all anyone’s talkin about.” At some point Yato’s shoulders slumped and Hiyori sighed. This was the fifth time Yato came back with dead ends. It wasn’t his fault. Not only was he right- in that her brother was known to ride by the seat of his pants- but the job required him to stay away for long periods of time. Tracking someone like that kept him away from Yukine and other people who missed him. Still, disappointment hung her head.

“I’m so sorry, Hiyori. I promise I’m going to keep looking.” Yato put a hand on her shoulder and Hiyori took it in both of hers.

“What about Yukine?”

“I don’t know. I’m gonna to take him this time around but- I just don’t know where this leads. And you know how he is. You’ve seen him loiter around the school house in the past. I just don’t think it’s good for him to be growin up on the run.” Yato mumbled. He twinded their fingers together and the box inside her jolted again, but settled when he did nothing more.

“Daikoku’s right, you know, every day it becomes more and more his decision.” Hiyori offered him a small smile. He blinked at her before the cocky smile Yato was known for grew across his lips. He brought their hands up and pressed a light kiss to the back of her glove.

“I’ve missed you, darlin’,” he said. The box inside her was getting harder to keep closed, memories of his previous visits flashing across Hiyori’s eyes. Really, she wondered if Daikoku knew she failed to heed his warning. It was no wonder people caught her staring at that horizon and sighing with longing.

“Yato,” Hiyori tried, pulling her hand slightly but not letting go. A look of hurt flashed across Yato’s face- so familiar to her own when she watched him leave and come back with new scars- and Hiyori almost wanted to hit him. But instead his eyes quickly darkened and he squeezed her hand.

“Don’t tell me you’re not a filly anymore? That gun smith with the cheap products gotcha or are your parents makin you drag your rope?”

“None of that!” Hiyori huffed. She took her hand back and turned around, arms crossed.

“Not that it has anything to do with anything! Since I hired you to find my brother while-”

“While you stay here and take his place and care for the family business and not go off with Kouto because that would be leaving ‘em behind,” Yato repeated, “come off it, Hiyori. Your parents are adults and you have your own life. Just admit you want to have your own adventure.”

“And where do you suppose I go? Just to wander around by myself? Or were you planning on taking me and not Yukine?” Hiyori whirled on him, tired of this do-si-do of a conversation.

“It’s too dangerous with me,” Yato said through grit teeth, hat tilted to cover his knitted brows.

“So what then? You’ll drop us off in random towns while you go back and forth?” Hiyori threw out without much of a bite. There was a moment of Yato staring at the floor and Hiyori rolled her eyes. Of course the fool of a man would think that was a good idea. She stepped back in front of him and reached under his hat to pinch his cheek.

“Ow!” Yato flinched away. He rubbed his cheek like some little kid who got a light smack and Hiyori snorted. How did she once fear him? His pout was back but not for long, blue eyes softening at her laughter.

“I just want you to be happy. You only get one life you know,” Yato said, hand dropping from his cheek.

“And I’ll decide what I want to do with it. Just like Yukine.” Hiyori’s reminder quieted the cowboy down.

“I just don’t want to drag him into another one of my mistakes. He deserves better.” Yato said. Hiyori frowned, reminded of Yukine’s earlier comment.

“He doesn’t blame you.” She offered. About ten years ago, when Yato traveled with a group of bandits who’s name struck fear into the hearts of all who heard it, they rode into Yukine’s place of birth. Hiyori had met Yukine, seeing Yato in passing now and again, she came to understand Yukine’s memory of that night was hazy at best. That was until a year ago, Yato first took off to find Hiyori’s brother, and the boy’s memories resurfaced. He confronted Yato, learning the fate of his birth town.

“I know he doesn’t blame me but you saw how he was. How he gets when I pull the trigger. I worry he’ll grow to resent me.” Yato sighed, “you know, I remember that night like it was yesterday. I was young and he was so tiny, the town was burnin down all around us, his loved ones were bloody behind ‘im. Just as I turned Hiiro around to run, he ran after me with his little arms up. I scooped Yukine up without thinkin and took off in the opposite direction of the group.

“I don’t know how but Hiiro and I managed to run for an entire night and I didn’t put him down for one second. It wasn’t until Hiiro finally bucked us off that I realized he hadn’t moved. I- haha- I actually thought he was dead and I had been carryin’ ‘round a corpse. But when I looked down, his head buried in my chest, he peaked up at me with big doe eyes. No tears, no fear. We passed out right there in the dirt. I thought he’d be okay but he didn’t speak at all. I was gonna drop him off at the next town but I just-. He wouldn’t talk- barely looked at me- but was stuck to my side like he was made of molasse or somethin’.” Yato was staring off into the distance, not realizing he was still talking. Hiyori watched and listened quietly, as she often did. Something must have happened in the underworld and she wanted to let him cope. Twelve people was twelve too many for a kind man like him.

“The little bastard grew on me. Starin at me while I babbled, sleepin on my tummy, clutchin my coat and tuggin to sit up front. Honestly, when I stretched, he stretched, I pissed, he pissed, I cleaned my guns, he’d use a stick, when I held onto the reins, he’d grabbed ‘em too,” Yato sighed again, voice wavering, “But he was so nervous around me, jumpy. Always looked at me to make sure he could move even an inch- wouldn’t even eat until I told him to. He deserved better. I figured Kofuku and Daikoku would want him to raise as their own. When I got here and I thought he was comfortable enough, I mounted to get ready to go but he came running out crying. Sobbing even. His arms up at me. That was- that was the first time I heard him speak. He said ‘don’t leave!’ And I just couldn’t. Sure I stayed for a year or so but I couldn’t keep out of work that long. And he used to be okay- happy even- when I’d give ‘im my ascot or hat to keep safe till I came back.” Yato’s eyes were covered but his lip trembled before he bit it, trying to control his breathing.

Yukine’s recent confrontation about that day- the accusations and disappointment Yukine regretted saying- scratched every wound of guilt Yato felt. It was hard to smile for a child that looked up to you while you blamed yourself for his circumstances. It was even harder to keep leaving. They did make up, as they always did, but it had been a painful experience that Yato still hasn’t forgiven himself for; no matter how much Yukine reassured him.

“Yukine remembers everything and still choose you. He looks up to you, Yato, and loves you just as much. Yukine’s not going to suddenly regret everything and leave,” Hiyori put a hand on his chest, “and neither will I.”

“I don’t know about the ‘look up to’ part but uh,” Yato swallowed thickly around a wobbling smile.

“It’s true, I can tell,” Hiyori leaned in to whisper, “you know he calls you his dad when he talks about you.”

“He does not!” Yato gasped.

“We promised not to say anything.”

“Uh-huh,” Yato looked down quickly then back, “and what do you call me when I’m gone.”

“Saddle Bum,” Hiyori stated.

“Yeah,” Yato sighed, “you got me there.” He huffed out a laugh which only got stronger the more they looked at each other.

“We should probably get Yukine,” Hiyori suggested.

“You’re right,” Yato said, “as usual. Bested again by Miss Iki. Just can’t argue with you, the lush oasis saving me from my weary travels.” They made their way up the stairs and down the hall of bedrooms.

“That’s right, you can’t. So stop trying.” Hiyor playfully huffed.

“Yes ma’am,” Yato swooned. Turns out Yukine wasn’t in their room and instead was around the back of the saloon to tend to Hiiro. By the time the two moseyed around the two buildings, Yukine had washed down the horse- the mare really loved water- and was cleaning her hooves. Hiiro was a short, exceedingly loyal, black horse who hated when her mane got too long and had the most fickle personality even with people she liked. Her ears twitched as her rider walked towards them, shifting back and forth, as Yukine leaned against her hindquarters and scrapped at her back hoof.

“You were right, you really do have the hang of that,” Yato whistled. Running his hand along her clean hair. She snapped at Yato but nickered when Hiyori patted her pink nose.

“She doesn't like it when you do it,” Yukine shot after a couple beats.

“Of course she does,” Yato said, skirting around the horse. Hiyori chose to stay by Hiiro’s front, watching Yukine give Yato a quick glare over his shoulder.

“So, when are you leaving?” Yukine growled. Hiyori tried not to suck in air too loudly as Yato’s wide eyes flickered to hers then back.

“N-not for a while. Gotta go over the clues and make a more solid plan,” Yato’s boot kicked the dirt, “I’m gonna need your help with that. Like always,” he tried. Yukine was not impressed, hardly sparing Yato a scoff.

“Why bother? It’s clear you don’t trust me to watch your back.” The blonde muttered. Finally, Yato’s hands fell out of his pockets and his attitude grew into something more serious.

“What gave you that idea?” Yato followed the kid around to the other hoof, brows knitted. This time, Yato was ignored and the cowboy tapped the kid with his boot.

“Yato,” Hiyori warned under her breath.

“Hey,” Yato tapped Yukine’s side again, “would I have given you twin pistols if I didn’t trust you with them behind my back?” The tip of his boot nudged one of the revolvers at Yukine’s hip, silver twins just like Yato’s, named “Blessed” and “Burial.” That got the teen to look up at Yato, frown still in place.

“No,” Yukine mumbled.

“And you know why? Cause you only give-”

“Cause you only give weapons to those who have your back and disarm those who don’t, I know,” Yukine parroted.

“I need to get more phrases,” Yato muttered as he scratched his head.

“But giving weapons is not the same! I want to be with you! I want to do all the same things you do, by your side! I mean I’m supposed to be your-!” Yukine bit his lip and quickly refocused on Hiiro’s hoove. Yato’s eye brows rose to his hat for a moment before a grim expression took root.

“I killed twelve people in the last four months,” Yato stated. There was a beat of silence as the wind pushed a tumbleweed across the ground. Yukine tried to hide the shock- the horror- that shot across his face, but Yato caught every inch of it.

“So what?” Yukine spat weakly, “you act like I’ve never seen someone die.”

“I don’t want you to see anymore.”

“Well that isn’t your choice is it? Or do you not want me to be like you that badly? I was there too, you know.” Yukine finally snapped, whipping around to glare at Yato. There were tears in his eyes, boiling with frustration, but no one commented on it. Yato couldn’t think of anything to say and Hiyori clenched Hiiro’s reins. The mare was getting restless with her rider’s change in attitude.

“I know you were there and I’m sorry,” Yato confessed, “I’m not anyone you should strive to be. You don’t have to be anything for me, you don’t owe me nutin.” He kicked at the ground again and Hiyori wanted to roll her eyes. Honestly, such a fool of a man.

“I know that,” Yukine muttered too, now just as embarrassed, “I’m not trying to owe you. I just think-” the boy’s face rose in temperature and neither man could look at each other or address their feelings. Eventually Yato let out a huge sigh mixed with a groan.

“Well, everyone’s telling me what a man you are now and that I gotta let you make your own decisions. Can’t keep you caged forever or that won’t protect you in the long run,” Yato finally relented.

“So I can come? With you?” Yukine sprang to his feet, “and you’ll stop dropping me off here? I can be with you for every job?” Fists balled Yukine stood on the tips of his matching boots to stare wide eyed at Yato. The man blinked again, something fragile crossing his eyes before he smiled.

“Suppose so. Unless you want to come back, which you can any time,” Yato said.

“Yes!” Yukine suddenly remembered he was supposed to be an adult and straightened out, “and you promise this time? No tricks? No lies? No gimmicks?” He pointed up at Yato who finally snorted out a laugh.

“Nothin of the sort, o partner o’ mine,” Yato held up a hand, “honest.”

“Both hands,” Yukine narrowed his eyes. With a scoff Yato held up both hands like he was at gunpoint.

“I swear it,” Yato vowed, “on my only son.” Finally the dam broke and Yukine went back to his beaming smile.

“Yes!” Yukine pulled at his own ascot, “I won’t let you down! I promise!” The boy crouched to gather his materials only for Yato to crouch with him.

“I know you won’t, you’re my kid after all,” Yato took off his hat and put it on Yukine’s head, smushing it down with a laugh, “and I’m mighty proud of ya.” The two boys shared a laugh and Hiyori finally turned and gave them their space.

“But chu-know, we gotta get you your own hat. The tips of my ears are all crusty,” Yato gripped.

“Just get a different hat!”

“It’s my hat!”

“Then don’t leave for so long!”

“I don’t understand why you can’t just get your own hat.”

“I had one! Before you made me drop it in the river!”

“Oh I made you, yeah okay, and who made you that hat in the first place?”

“Well you should-” Yukine continued to argue, back with his old spunk. Hopefully they would get to spend some time together before she watched the two of them leave this place behind. That painful tug in her chest was getting harder to ignore.

Until a gunshot sounded across the desert and embedded itself in the dirt. Hiiro reared into the air, letting out a cry of alarm as Yato and Yukine readied their arms. Hiyori immediately ran to the back of the buildings and hid behind a small pile of crates. While shoot outs didn’t happen as often as they did in other towns, they were enough for her to know what to do. A tall figure stepped gracefully off of a blonde, raggedy stallion, high heel boots crusting the dirt beneath. Another couple figures in matching law uniforms dismounted but didn’t ready their weapons. Instead they eyed the standoff with wariness and annoyance. Hiyori sighed and stepped out from her hiding spot but stayed several feet away. Bent at Yato’s side, Yukine stood but kept one gun pointed, sharing a nod to the deputy sheriff across the way, who did the same. Meanwhile, Yato’s smile shifted to a dangerous grin which was replied with a snarl.

“Skank.” Yato greeted Sheriff Bishamon.

“Vermin.” The blonde growled in return. Deputy Kazuma tried to calm her, reminding her that Yato’s previous transgressions have been pardoned and he has yet to cause another. But his pleas went unheard. The two took slow steps forward, guns steadily aimed right between the eyes.

“You got nerve showin’ your face in my town,” Bishamon said.

“Why’s that? Don’t tell me it’s not big enough?” Yato joked. This didn’t go over well, the woman took a shot in front of Yato’s feet. The man yelled some sort of curse as he stumbled back, pushing Yukine behind him despite the kid’s protests. Yato’s gun remained pointed, trained by experience. Though the cowboy was clearly at a disadvantage, the sheriff having two bands of bullets criss-crossing over her chest.

“Come on, I’m just here for some good drinks, a fun time at Kofuku’s,” Yato said, “besides, shouldn’t you be on vacation? Aren’t you back a little early?” The man took another step. Hiyori’s fists tightened as she saw the hand signals Yato was giving Yukine from behind his back.

“That deviersion you had Miss Kofuku do? To have me run to her uncle while you tried to sneak around in my town? Not a chance.” Her eyes hardened but Deputy Kazuma already had a hand on her gun. It wasn’t until Yato’s eyes slid to meet Hiyori’s- the question clear in his expression- that the box from deep within shook and burst open. The confirmation she gave was with the tiniest of nods and their eye contact was over just as fast as it started. In an instant the situation changed; Yukine had mounted Hiiro who rose to her hindlegs with a loud cry and soon Yato was up too, shooting at the law’s horses to scare them. While Bishamon was distracted, Yato took the reins from Yukine and drove Hiiro towards the young lady.

“Wha-? What are you doing? You idiot!” Yukine was already turned around, guns pointed behind them, watching Yato’s back. The kid went ignored, Yato had his eyes trained on Hiyori’s, intense stare eclipsing his grin.

“Come on!” Yato held out his hand. Hiyori moved without another thought, grabbing his hand and letting herself be yanked on the thundering black stead. Her body fell roughly across the blackened cowboy.

“Wait!” Hiyori cried as they dashed around the corner and down the main road, “what about our-? My things?” Her concerns were covered by wisps of her hair and Hiyori had to brush them aside to see Yato throw his head back and laugh.

“Relax! We’re just taking a stroll until the armadillo-woman cools off,” Yato looked down at her and winked, “we haven’t danced at Kofuku’s yet right?”

“Gross! Stop being such a creepy old man! You’re lucky Daikoku even lets you back into that bar!” Yukine yelled at them. Yato’s laughter was contagious and soon it spread to Hiyori, the young woman clinging to the cowboy as he took her on an adventure.

#noragami #noragami fanfic #fanfic #noragami au #western au #yato #yukine #hiyori #Hiyori iki #yato day #happy yato day!!

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