Summary: Ălide Cruz has lived a normal life so far. Going to church, grading papers, baking⊠thatâs until a mysterious man appears wounded in her front yard.
Pairing: Brian Thomas or Timothy Wright or Tobias Erin Rogers x OC
Warning: 18+ content, mention of dead animals, religious themes, mention of peopleâs death, religious trauma, mentions of abuse, maybe the proxies are ooc, very brief mention of underware, wrong use of punctuation marks.
Authorâs note: Hi!! So this is my very first fanfic and I was so excited when this idea came to my mind. Iâve been a fan of creepypastas since I was like 9 years old, and finally being a somewhat good writer, I was able to do this. I have big plans and I hope you enjoy it.
AuthorâïżŒs note 2: As you can tell, this is inspired by Dante Alighieriâs book âThe Dinvine Comedyâ, but the main inspiration comes form Hozierâs new album that is about the nine circles of hell (you should totally listen to it if you havenât).
Authorâs note 3: As you can see from the beginning, Iâm still not a 100% sure of the final parter my girl Ălide is going to have, so in the future Iâm planning to make polls and ask you, yes, you, to help me choose. I already talked a lot, so letâs finish this.
CHAPTERS:
001. â Limbo â [Ălide expects that today go as planned, doing groceries, showering, perhaps even cooking herself a nice meal. But what will she do when an unexpected visitor appears in her front porch?] (published)
002. â Lust â [When Ălide helps a wounded stranger, the least she is expecting is some answers, but that seems harder than she initially thought] (published)
Tysm for the support!!! Iâm getting to everybodyâs requests! Iâve had like 10 people ask for nsfw/sfw alphabet so donât worry Im working on it! xoxo!
cowboy logan howlett x afab!reader - cowboy logan, reader's car broke down, cute, fluff, teasing, sexual tension, no y/n used, no reader description
Your car broke down in the middle of nowhere. Lucky for you a cowboy came to the rescue.
read on Ao3
A truck flew by, kicking up a cloud of dirt from the dusty road that swirled around you. You groaned in frustration, covering your eyes with your arm as you cursed your luck. It had already been an hour since your car broke down in the middle of nowhere, and the tow truck was nowhere in sight. Your phone barely had a signal, and the heat of the late afternoon sun was starting to press down on you, making everything worse.
You leaned against the side of your car, fanning yourself with your hand and wondering how long youâd have to wait out here when you heard the distinct sound of hoovesâslow, steady, coming closer.
Frowning, you turned your head toward the sound, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw him.
A manâtall, broad-shouldered, and riding a horse like he owned the whole damn desertâwas coming your way. He wore a weathered Stetson hat, shielding his eyes from the sun, and his muscular frame was clad in a simple white t-shirt and faded jeans, the fabric stretched taut over his biceps. Dust kicked up behind him as he approached, and for a second, you wondered if this was some kind of mirage.
He pulled the reins, the horse slowing to a stop beside your car. You couldnât help but stare as he swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted, his boots hitting the ground with a quiet thud. Up close, he was even more rugged than youâd imaginedâunkempt stubble lining his jaw, sharp eyes glinting from under the brim of his hat, and a rough edge to his presence that made your heart beat just a little faster.
âCar trouble?â he asked, his voice low and gravelly, like he didnât talk much but when he did, people listened.
You nodded, trying to find your voice as you glanced between him and your broken-down car. âYeah. It just... stopped. Iâve been waiting for a tow truck, but...â You trailed off, gesturing to the empty, sun-scorched road.
The cowboy gave a slow nod, his eyes flicking over your car, then back to you. âTow truck ainât cominâ out here anytime soon. Youâre lucky I came along.â
There was a confidence in his voice, a rough kind of assurance that made your pulse quicken. He wasnât wrong. The road was empty as far as the eye could see, and the only other company youâd had in the last hour was the tumbleweed and dust swirling through the air.
âWell,â you said, trying to keep your voice steady, âIâm definitely glad someone came along.â
He tipped his hat back, giving you a better view of his faceâstrong jawline, slightly weathered from the sun, and those sharp, intense eyes that seemed to look right through you. You shifted under his gaze, suddenly aware of how close he was standing.
âIâm Logan,â he said, holding out a hand.
Your name got caught in your throat before finally spitting it out, shaking his hand, and feeling the roughness of his palm against yours. The touch lingered for just a moment longer than necessary, the heat from his skin seeping into yours before he let go.
Logan crouched down to take a look under the hood, and you couldnât help but admire the way his muscles moved under that worn t-shirt. His broad back flexed as he peered into the engine, his hat casting a shadow over his face. You stood there, arms crossed, trying to play it cool, but it was hard not to notice just how damn attractive he wasârough, rugged, the kind of guy you didnât expect to find out in the middle of nowhere.
After a moment, Logan stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans as he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. âAlternatorâs shot. Ainât gonna get this thing moving without some work.â
Your stomach sank. âGreat. And here I was hoping itâd be something simple.â
Logan smirked, just a little, the corner of his mouth twitching up. âNothinâs ever simple out here.â
You couldnât help but smile back, even though the situation wasnât exactly ideal. There was something about the way he looked at youâsharp, assessing, but not unfriendlyâthat made your heart beat a little faster. The air between you felt charged like there was more happening than just a conversation about a broken car.
âSo,â you asked, raising an eyebrow, âwhatâs your suggestion, cowboy?â
Loganâs eyes flicked to you, his smirk deepening. âWell, unless you want to wait another couple of hours for that tow truckâif it even shows upâI could give you a ride.â
Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said it, slow and deliberate, like there was a second meaning to his words. The way he was looking at you, his gaze heavy and unreadable, sent a ripple of heat through your body.
âA ride?â you echoed, glancing over at his horse, the only mode of transportation around for miles.
Loganâs lips twitched like he could see where your mind had gone. âYeah. A ride.â
You hesitated for a second, your eyes trailing over himâthe way his shirt clung to his chest, the glint of his belt buckle, the confident set of his shoulders. This man was a stranger, sure, but something about the way he looked at you, the quiet intensity in his voice, made you feel like you could trust him.
Besides, it wasnât like you had many options.
âAlright,â you said, crossing your arms and giving him a small, teasing smile. âI guess Iâll take you up on that offer.â
Loganâs smirk widened just a little, a flicker of something darker flashing in his eyes. He led his horse closer, holding the reins with one hand as he turned back to you. âClimb on. Iâll help you up.â
You approached cautiously, suddenly very aware of the heat between you as Logan stepped closer, placing one large, rough hand on your waist. His touch was firm but gentle, and when he lifted you onto the saddle, your body brushed against hisâjust for a second, but long enough to send a jolt of electricity through you.
Logan swung up behind you with ease, his body pressing against your back, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from reacting to the feel of him so close. His arm reached around you to take the reins, and you felt the heat radiating from him, his breath warm against your neck as he leaned in just slightly.
âYou alright?â he asked, his voice low and rough in your ear.
You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak as your heart pounded in your chest. The tension between you was almost unbearable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You could feel every inch of him behind youâthe strength of his chest, the solid weight of his bodyâand it was doing things to you that you werenât ready to admit.
Logan clicked his tongue, and the horse started forward, slow and steady. The ride was quiet, but the silence only seemed to amplify the heat between you. Every now and then, Loganâs arm would brush against yours, and each time, it sent a shiver down your spine.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trying to ignore the tension simmering between you, Logan spoke, his voice a low rumble. âYou gonna tell me why you were out here all alone?â
You swallowed, glancing over your shoulder at him, your pulse quickening again as his eyes met yoursâsharp, intense, and filled with something that made your stomach flutter.
âDoes it matter?â you replied, your voice softer than you intended.
Loganâs lips twitched into that familiar smirk. âMaybe not. Just seems like trouble finds you easy.â
You raised an eyebrow, unable to stop the smile that crept onto your lips. âAnd what about you? Seems like you found me just fine.â
Logan chuckled, his hand tightening on the reins just slightly, his body pressing a little closer to yours. âMaybe I like trouble.â
You shivered at the way he said it, your breath catching in your throat as the tension between you grew thicker and heavier. You werenât sure how much longer you could ignore the pull between youâthe heat, the electricity, the way your body seemed to respond to every small movement of his.
Loganâs breath was warm against your ear as he leaned in, his voice low and husky. âTell me, darlinâ... you enjoyinâ the ride?â
Your heart skipped a beat, the double meaning of his words hitting you hard. You turned your head just slightly, your eyes meeting his, and at that moment, the air between you crackled with something undeniable.
âYeah,â you whispered, your voice breathy. âI am.â
Loganâs smirk deepened, his eyes darkening with something that made your pulse race. âGood.â
With that, he clicked his tongue again, and the horse picked up speed, the world around you blurring as the tension between you reached its breaking point. The ride might have been over soon, but something told you this was just the beginning.
summary: an untamed cowboy and the sheriff's daughter. an outlaw and a goodie two shoes. a hardened piece of leather and a perfect cut of lace. at first glance, you and joel miller are polar opposites, yet somehow fate has managed to tangle you both up in the same spool of yarn.
âYou're saying I'm fragile, I try not to be. I search only for something I can't see. I have my own life, and I am stronger than you know.â
warnings: violence (guns, blood, death.) enemies to lovers, an unspoken companionship of convenience, this is sort of a soulmate au? in a very thematic and metaphorical sense, age gap (50âs Joel, 20s reader), themes of guilt and betrayal, domestic abuse. if i missed any, please kindly let me know. thank you!
A silver stallion was galloping across the vast canopy of the dusty sky, illuminating the distant mountains with a sheen of gentle moonlight. It had been a harsh, dry summer, followed by an uninspired autumn, but soon the loving hand of winter would blanket the land in her snowy glory.
The town of Ruby Springs stood glimmering at the base of a mountain, the golden light of dingy hotels and busy saloons flickering in the darkening air.
It was warm, inviting-and there was nothing he wanted more than a pint of beer and a place to rest his aching feet.
How long had it been? Days? Weeks?
The time didnât matter when his back ached like this. His crooked spine had not felt the plush feathers of a pillow in many moons, his lips had gone too long without a tender kiss from a pretty stranger.
Every inch, every bone, every breath of Joel Miller hurt.
He was getting too old for this, too lousy, too grumpy, too much of everything to keep up with it all. The train robberies, the kidnapping, the late night bank runs. If it were up to him, he would have stopped years ago.
But he was an indebted man, and Joel knew heâd have to sleep with one eye open if he tried to run away from it all. He was reminded constantly of his duties, of the promise he swore to her years ago.
Tess.
His boss, his warden, his burden. She saved a life for him, and in turn, he owed his entire world to her. Every penny, every breath, every move- Joel did so to appease Tess.
And now this.
He had done many things in his life. Cruel, unspeakable things. He had watched skin turn purple and eyes roll blank. He had watched men hang for their crimes and horses die for their loyalty. War, famine, anger, cruelty- Joel had seen his share of the world, of the vast and indescribable horrors of man.
But this. Something about this made his stomach churn. Something deep, intrinsic, something that had been determined by fate many moons before. Something he didnât quite understand.
The letter detailing his current orders were in the pocket of his worn coat, burning a hole straight through the leather and deep in to his chest.
Joel,
The girl. The boy. Their father. In that order. This sheriffâs been sniffing out our plans for too long, and we canât have him ringing any alarm bells. Get it done and dusted, and report back to me in Jackson.
T.
He could turn his strawberry roan mustang right around and run off, far into the desert. Where he would go, what exactly he would do- well, he wasnât quite sure.
But he had ideas. Options. Dreams.
He could ride alongside the screaming eagles through the valleys of mesa rock, make camp beside a Montana stream rich with salmon. He could trade meat with the Apache down in New Mexico and drink moonshine beneath the stars.
He could choose to do anything but that.
No.
He couldnât, could he?
What was more innocent blood on his hands? Joel had killed before, and he knew he would kill again.
Patting the ivory handled Colt that sat glued to his holster, he guided his steed towards Ruby Springs, stomach tight with the promise of what he was about to do.
The powder room was the color of eggshells with pink satin pillows thrown about, piles of gowns that needed to be washed and trays of powder that were fading had been littered throughout various places. It was pretty. Delicate. Feminine. A room fit for a city girl who had never known a days work. A city girl who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth.
A city girl Joel felt inextricably fond of, without ever knowing intimately.
The room he had found himself camped in smelled faintly of vanilla and cinnamon, and framed photos of a pretty thing and her loyal steed were hung about the walls.
You.
The woman he was sent to kill.
Joel sat behind the bed, careful not to lean back on any loose floor boards. If he made any noise, he know he was screwed. In his gloved hands was a small, circular photo frame, a photo of your face beaming up at him, his target, staring back. Your eyes were full of light, face full of promise. He couldnât remember the last time he had seen someone so beautiful, someone so fragile.
He wondered what you smelled like. He wondered what your voice sounded like, if you snorted when you laughed. When he looked at your photo, he saw hope. He saw a shadow of someone he once was.
An outline of a little boy with a heart, with a soul, with a dream. A little boy who prayed and laughed and played outside beneath the heat of the sun. A boy who kissed his mamma and brushed his dog and shook the sand from his boots before walking inside the house.
Where had he gone? What had he turned in to?
Down the hall, he could hear footsteps. Heavy and booted, hushed whispers accompanying them.
âShit.â He muttered, grabbing his pistol and peering over the meticulously made bed.
The doorknob was rattling.
Joel glanced down at the fading picture. He really did think you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. A confident smile, pretty hair, dazzling eyes- you were so young, you looked so pure.
And your blood was about to be all over the palms of his hands.
His ribcage felt as though it was going to break, his whole body full of the whistling pressure of what must be done. Before he could even think or mourn, he heard a hiss of pain.
âGet off me, Wyatt!â
Wyatt. Your brother. The boy he was meant to kill.
âYou gonâ tell daddy? Betchaâ not gonna do shit about it.â There was venom in his words, it dripped from each syllable.
Joel sat quiet. His curiosity outweighed his allegiance to Tess, and he wanted to see where this was headed.
âYou killed him, Wyatt.â Your voice was hushed on that forbidden middle word, killed sounded so foreign when it came out of your mouth. It was as though your tongue wouldnât dare hold on to the verb anymore than it had to.
âSo? Donât matter. When youâre the sheriffâs kid, you can do anythinâ you want. You should try it sometime.â
âNo. I wonât. Iâm going to tell him.â
âYou wouldnât.â A challenge. There was the ruffling of a leather strap, followed by the clicking of a gun. Not only a challenge, a death sentence.
Although Joel couldnât see, the air grew thick with tension, like a beach before a storm. He could hear your little breath of air, he could smell your annoyance. Quietly, Joel peered over the mattress.
Something stirred deep within him. He wanted to protect you, and the thought made him angry.
Wyatt stood tall and dumb, buck toothed and freckled like a growling hound dog. His pistol was pointed right at you, and he wore a mask of pure anger. Thatâs all he was. An angry little boy with no real reason to be.
And Joel knew how to deal with angry little boys.
You couldnât remember when it started.
The rage.
It ran unbridled through you, like a stream trickling downwards towards the edge of a mountain. You could feel it in your veins, like the stinger of a wasp, stuck with nowhere left to go.
You knew, ever since you were a young child, that one day the band that held it all together was going to snap. And one day, sweet, innocent, âOh no sir, I could never!â little old you would snap. You would sink your teeth in the neck of a handsy man, or drive a bullet straight through a gossipy womanâs stomach.
One day that band would break. And one day your perfect socialite image would come crashing down.
Today, spoiler alert, was that day.
That morning, when you had awoken, your thighs were sticky with your own blood, and your skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. Winter was approaching, but the wooden walls of your family home held in the heat from the furnace like no other.
You were hot. You were angry. You were a woman on the edge, standing at the precipice of a ravine full of hatred and violence. One little gust of wind, and youâd be pushed over the edge.
Enter: Wyatt.
Your big brother. Nasty, incompetent, spoiled rotten by your overly doting mother who never, over her now dead body, treated you the same.
Wyatt could get away with whatever he wanted. Why? He was daddyâs favorite. The crown jewel of Ruby Springs. Next in line to be the townâs newest, gluttonous, and corrupt Sheriff.
Wyatt was a pig. A fucking pig you would send to the slaughterhouse if you could. You could do a lot of damage with a nail gun to his forehead, you thought.
When he had grabbed you by the arm and dragged you in to your room to snarl his line of profanities, you were already knee deep in the rotted mud of a shitty day.
One little gust of wind.
â-You wouldnât.â Wyattâs tone was full of that disgusting self-righteous attitude he always carried around with him, full of the thought that nothing could ever harm him, full of the thought that there was no one who could put him in his place. When he pulled his pistol out on you, no fear coursed through you.
Why would it?
You had been spanked as a child, damn near shot by your own father when you were twelve and accidentally dropped a bucket of hot water on his feet. When he grabbed you by the throat and threatened to spill your life blood, you felt it for the first time.
That rage. That deep, bitter, heavy rage.
One little gust of wind.
âWhat are you doing, Wyatt?â You asked nonchalantly, eyes flickering down to his gun.
âProtectinâ myself.â
âFrom what?â
âYou.â
You couldnât help but scoff. âYouâre such a fucking coward. You know that?â
Wyatt held the barrel of his gun against your chin. It was cold. It was⊠inviting, like a hug from a distant family member. There was a feeling to that frigid metal against your skin that felt familiar, a yearning deep within you that had always been there but never awoken.
Not until now.
âDonât test me, girl.â
âNo, Wyatt.â Your voice was low, like the growl of a cougar. Your dumb brother didnât notice you reaching towards your vanity, to the pointed hair pic resting gently on the edge. It wasnât a knife, but it would do.
They say poison was the weapon of women, but you figured anything could work if you gritted your teeth hard enough.
So grit your teeth you did. So hard you could hear them heaving and grinding against another, like the metal cogs of a train engine.
âYou donât test me.â
Wyatt took a step back. A floorboard creaked, from what- or who- you werenât sure. All you knew was your red tinted vision, the thrumming pound drumming at the back of your head, was filling your mind with the promise of a fight.
âI have put up with you for so long. Your incessant bitching, your stupid fucking crocodile tears. Iâve put up with the abuse- from you and papa- and Iâm sick of it. Iâm sick of you. You know what doctorâs do when a sickness starts spreading? They get rid of it. And Iâm going to get rid of you. Youâre a fucking pain in my ass. A disease.â
You had never seen Wyatt go so wide eyed before, like a doe stuck at the end of a bowie knife, a rabbit lost in the woods. There was a bead of sweat forming at his temple, crinkles scrunching at the side of his dark eyes as he squinted, trying to make sense of what was going on in the world around him.
âYou-âŠ.â He stood up straighter, cleared his throat louder. Wyattâs eyebrows knitted tightly together as he gained his arrogance back again. âYou on your period or something?â The chiding tone of his voice was enough to break that band.
One little gust of wind.
âThatâs it!â You screamed out as your legs carried you, your mind completely on auto-pilot as your instincts guided you. In a matter of seconds Wyatt was on the floor, and the hair pic was lodged deep into the flesh of his cheek.
He cried out, a string of curses soon following. âYou crazy bitch! You fuckinâ stabbed me!â He spit, a loose molar tumbling to the floor.
âI said donât mess with me!â
âYouâre fuckinâ crazy!â Wyatt easily wrestled you to the ground, shuffling around for his pistol as you struggled against his grasp. Unfortunately he was much stronger, and you held no power over him while he had the high ground.
You felt the cold barrel of his Colt on the temple of your eye, and for a moment you accepted your fate. At least you went out with a bang.
And there was indeed a bang, followed by a thud, and before you knew it, you were being suffocated with the body of your lifeless brother, your neck and face painted with the crimson of his blood.
Joel had no clue what had come over him.
He hadnât felt protective like this for a very long time.
Not since her.
As he perched behind the cushy mattress, listening to you two bicker like a pair of angry birds, a wave of emotion rushed over him. A bit of fear, an unforeseen amount of admiration, and a twinge ofâŠ. well, something he didnât really know the word for. Interest?
Interest? Joel shook his head to himself quietly. He wouldnât. And even worse than that- he couldnât.
Interest. In his line of work? Not a safe option, not a safe feeling.
Joel held his gun steady, ears perked like an alert dog, waiting for an opportunity. An opportunity for what exactly, well, he wasnât quite sure.
When he heard your bodies tackle to the ground, he knew he had to do something about it. Before he could think about his next move, his mind shut off, and his gun was pointed right at Wyattâs head.
Something within him could hardly stand it, seeing you there, wide eyed and covered in blood. His ears were ringing, the echo of the shot bouncing off the wooden walls of the house. It had been drowned out by the old church bells right across the street, signaling the turn of midnight, the noisy commotion of the late night saloon bustling about outside the frosted windows.
âUp.â Was all he could manage to get out, extending a gloved hand your way.
Fuck Tess. Fuck it all. He wasnât going to kill you.
Because God above, were you even more breathtaking in person. He felt his stomach twist and knot around itself, his organs rearranging themselves at the mere sight of you. His palms grew sweaty behind his gloves, his heart slammed against his ribcage, begging for a prison escape.
He didnât know what to do with all the emotion fluttering about behind his skin.
It was in that moment that Joel Miller decided he hated you.
The weight of a dead body was unlike anything you had ever felt before.
Your mouth was full with the taste of metal and gunpowder, your eyelashes cracking with drying viscera. It smelled like searing flesh, and your nostrils flared at the intrusion.
The strange man stood towering above you. Strong, capable, eyes hidden behind the brim of his dark Stetson.
âUp.â
It was a simple command. Covered in the previous life of your brother who easily wrestled you in to submission, you decided to take both his hand and his offer. It was one of the kinder interaction you had had today.
While rising to your feet, your eyes caught his own.
His eyes.
You had never seen a shade of umber so alluring before. Honeyed spheres full of coffee tinted orbs, his pupils wide and dilated with the rush of taking another manâs life. There was something dangerous about his eyes, something dark and distant, as though he had seen and partaken in unspeakable horrors, as though he had carried the entire weight of the world on his shoulders and survived to tell the tale.
He was a broken man, you knew it right off the bat. A broken man with nowhere else to go, or nothing else to do, except shoot people with bounties on their head.
Oh, you werenât naive. It wasnât the first time a man had been found hiding in your room, ready to take you. Why, kidnapping the Sheriffâs daughter for ransom would give them a pretty penny, wouldnât it? But you have a murderous brother- correction, had- who didnât mind hunting men down and killing them. Not because he cared about you, of course not, but because he loved the feeling of murder, he danced with the illustrious shadow of death.
That shadow came back to bite him in the ass, and you relished in watching him die.
Fuck Wyatt. Fuck that tool. He had tormented you your entire life and now he was gone.
You shook those thoughts away, returning to the gaze of the man before you. Something rumbled deep in your soul, something you had never felt before. A tug, a pull, towards the person who stood tall in front of you. You had never felt something so intense, so deep, in all your life. Itâs like you were stuck in the waves of a tempestuous ocean, with no escape in sight and a mouthful of sea water clawing at the back of your throat.
You were drowning in those honeyed orbs, a gust of wind pulled you back down to reality.
Finally, you could speak. âIâm-â
âI know who you are.â His voice was raw and deep. You watched him wipe his bloodied gloves off on the denim of his pants, and you winced.
âAre you taking me somewhere?â
âYes.â
For a moment you stopped. You could run out the door, it was three feet away. You could also pounce and grab Wyattâs gun, it was right at your feet.
OrâŠ. you could go with him. You could run away from the abuse, the suffocating town, the disgusting standards, the burden of having a social life in the public eye. You could prove a point to your father.
You could be your own person.
In that moment you decided that this man was going to be your ticket out of Ruby Springs.
âCan I change?â
âWhat?â Joel looked at you like you were crazy, a thick eyebrow raising with incredulousness at the sound of your statement.
âCan I change? Iâm covered in blood. I want to put on a clean dress, it reeks of Wyatt.â
The unnamed cowboy sighed. âFine. But be quick.â
You began the tedious process of stripping out of your layers, starting with the buttons on your sleeves. âAnd donât think about looking.â
âI ainât lookinâ.â His voice was tired with annoyance, an echo of the man he once was. He turned around on his heel, staying true to his word with his broad back turned to you.
âWhatâs your name anyways, mister?â
âWhy should I tell you?â
âI reckon you and I are going to be spending a bit of time together.â
He snorted, and you watched his shoulders rise and fall with a shrug. âMiller. Joel Miller.â
Your fingers stopped in their tracks, your body short circuiting as the name replayed in your mind, again and again.
Joel Miller.
The Joel Miller.
He was as famous as Billy the Kid, as notorious as Jesse James- he was an outlaw that everyone, even those fancy pants on the East Coast, knew of. And he was standing in your room.
Joel let out a sigh. âYour silence is loud, girl.â
âI justâŠâ You paused for a moment as you flicked through your wardrobe. âI justâŠ. my dad used to tell us stories about you when we were kids. HeâŠ. well-â
âHates me?â
âDamn straight. Made it his life mission to hunt you down.â
âWell he ainât that good at it. Considering I walked right in to his town.â
You laughed, slipping in to a chemise. âHeâs gotten a bit stupid in his old age. Should I go and tell him youâre here? Give him a head start?â
You could have sworn you heard Joel chuckle, but a quick clearing of the throat masked whatever sound of amusement he could have made.
âWhere are you taking me?â
âDonât know yet.â
âYou donât know? Thatâs not how ransoms work, you know. This isnât my first time being snatched up.â You held your head up high, buttoning up the front of your blouse.
âDoesnât surprise me. Lotâs of hunters like your type.â
âMy type?â
âNaive little girls with rich daddies. The kind that pay well.â
âNaive? Donât make me laugh.â
âDonât have to tell me twice. Youâre definitely not naive. You put up a good fight with your brother.â
You had to learn to defend yourself at an early age. You had to hold your own. There were days you would walk back home from school with swollen eyes and cracked knuckles. By the time you hit puberty, your mother started dressing you up in the attire that good little girls from rich little families inside snooty little social circles wore. Dresses the color of poppies, shoes made from silk- it was all lovely, and you grew to love it all, but deep down you knew it wasnât where you belonged.
You didnât respond to Joel. You threw on your overskirt, slipping on your tired leather boots. âReady.â You chirped.
Joel turned around on his heel, looking at you through his eyelashes. There was a short moment of silence before he picked your brother up and tossed him on your bed.
You winced. âCome on. Those sheets were clean.â
He ignored you, patting through his pockets. A few stray bullets and some loose change later, and you were sneaking out the back of your house.
âCan I go grab my horse?â
âThat would defeat the purpose of a kidnappinâ, girl.â
You rolled your eyes. âPlease? I donât want to leave Fritz here.â
âFritz?â Joel scoffed at the name, staring you down.
âPlease?â
Joel gritted his teeth, hissing out a shot of hot air. âFine. But be quick or Iâm shootinâ you too.â
You smiled a toothy grin, running off to the stables. You had appeared just as quick as you left, an all black stallion standing tall and proud. His mane was braided, and his soft nose was pink. He was a handsome specimen, standing out like a sore thumb beside the strawberry coated mustang.
âWhatâs her name?â You asked, following him closely on the path that lead out of the town. You noticed you were headed for the mountains.
âMy horse?â
You nodded, before realizing he couldnât see you. âUh, yeah.â
Joel sniffed a bit. âShe doesnât have one.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause sheâs just a damn horse.â
You rolled your eyes, running your fingers down Fritzâs soft neck. âSheâs your companion. She trusts you more than anything, you know. Sheâs bonded to you, completely at your service, and you canât even give her a name?â
âWill you just shut up? Youâre yapping my ear off, woman. Kidnapeeâs ainât supposed to talk this damn much.â
âWell you ainât never kidnapped someone like me, Joel Miller.â
As you rode in silence, the early morning thickness hanging in the air, the sound of cicadas lulled you deeper in to your thoughts. Thoughts of Wyatt, thoughts of the strange man riding in front of you.
The strange man who seemed so cold, so mean. And what kind of dick didnât name their horse?
It was in that moment that you decided you hated Joel Miller.
I see a lot of stuff where Brian isnât a smug little shit, so⊠my smug asshole Brian.
You awoke to the high pitched ringing of an iphone alarm, groaning as you sat up, looking around at your scant collage dorm-room. The fairy lights glowing a soft golden, the shelves with cacti (probably severely dehydrated), and phtotos of you and your friends. And, of course, your boyfriend Brian.Â
As if he sensed you thinking about him he sat up, yawning grabbing the phone and shutting the alarm down, letting out a sigh of releif at the incessent noise quietening down.
"Mph... 9am. We have time." The southern man muttered, placing the phone back on the bedside table.Â
"Bri, we do not have time-" You responded, letting out a small yelp as you felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you onto his chest.
He laughed, the sound reverberating through his chest as he squeezed, pulling you close as he shifted to his side, pulling you with him and nuzzling his head into the back of yours "Nope.. we got time" He responded, before taking a deep breath "You smell good"
You couldn't help but giggle "you're such a weirdo"
"Me? a weirdo?" He feigns offense, huffing into your hair before laughing with you "You offend me"
"Shut up."
"Make me."
Despite yourself, you found yourself blushing at the implications, turning over on your side so you face the gap-toothed man, grinning wide at youÂ
"What's with the face, cutie?" He pauses, then grins wider "You want a kiss or something?"
 A few seconds of silence passed before you nodded and he laughed again, pulling you close and gently kissing you.Â
It starts off gentle, at least. Lips pressing together, brians warm, soft arms pressing you up against his bare chest - he didn't usually sleep with a shirt on, and you never complained.Â
It didn't stay gentle, as he rolled the two of  you so he was on top of you, shifting a hand to the back of your neck, weight against you as he started to press harder.Â
"Bri..."
He pulled away a little, panting slightly, a few strands of his sandy blonde hair falling over his eyes as he grinned "hm?"
You stared up at him, panting slightly. Sure, you might be late for classes, but fuck it, worth it.Â
"Nothing" You respond, leaning back in to kiss him again.
soon enough you felt his tongue pressing against your lips, requesting opening. And you opened, leaning into the familiar feeling of his tongue in your mouth, his body against yours, sweat mixing as your hands roamed each others bodies.
Your hands had made their way onto his chest, and one of his hands was twisted into your hair as you kissed, holding you close, and the other was on the inside of your thigh, squeezing and holding the flesh, just close enough to almost give you a little stimulation.Â
Before you even realised what you were doing you were bucking your hips up against his hand, trying to rub your slit, soaking through your underwear against his hand.Â
He pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips still as he found himself grinning down at you "Thought we didn't have time for this"Â
"Bri" You whined, trying to buck your hips up again. He grinned wider, pushing you down so you can't buck up any more. Shit, since when was he so strong?
"Say pleaase" He laughed, looking down at you as he held you down, squeezing your thigh so hard it would probably leave fingerprint bruises by tomorrow.Â
"D-don't be a dick" You whined again, trying to push yourself upwards and continue to hump his hand, just resulting in him moving the other one to press you down by the opposite hip.
He didn't respond, just holding you down, until he lifted his weight up, keeping his hands on you, as if he were about to get off of you "Well, you did say we didn't have time, so-"
"Please!" You finally relented, squirming under his smug grin "Please Brian, let me- please-"
He wasted no time in letting you go, scrambling a little back only to grab your underwear, pulling it off in one swoop and throwing it behind him, grinning as it assumedly landed behind him on the floor.Â
He threw your legs over his shoulders, leaning in and starting to kiss up your inner thigh. Eventually the kisses turn to small bites, sucking gently and running his tongue over the marks he left, making you shiver each time.
As he sucked and left hickeys on your thighs he snuck a hand up your other leg, tracing patterns on the thigh he wasn't on, before surprising you by rubbing on your clit, engorged and pink, causing you to yelp.
He didn't cease, if anything starting to move faster, enjoying the way that you squirmed and bucked your hips into his skilled hands, humping them like a dog as he kept sucking and biting bruises into your thighs.Â
He let it continue like that for a few minutes, before adjusting his hands, enjoying your whine at the loss of the sensation.
"Wait a second doll" He responded, meeting your gaze and giving a grin, before slowly inserting a finger into your dripping cunt. "Slides right in, so tight" He murmured, it wasn't obvious whether he was saying it to himself or to you.
He curled his finger, searching for the area that he knew would drive you wild. He knew he found it when you let out a soft groan, pushing yourself onto his finger to the best of your ability. He pushed another finger in, starting to move in and out in a steady rhythm, making sure to hit that spot each time.Â
Another finger and you were having to muffle the sounds threatning to escape your mouth, not exactly wishing for a complaint from the people in the dorm next to you.Â
The final straw was when, with 3 fingers thrusting inside of you, he layed his thumb on your clit, starting to rub in rhythm. And holy fuck.
You felt yourself melt under his touch, moaning his name as if it was the only word in your vocabulary. You couldn't stop yourself from pushing yourself onto him and humping his hand if you wanted to, quite literally dripping wet, his fingers soaked with slick and a wet patch on the sheets.Â
You felt the knot inside tighten, threatening to snap.
"Brian-" You inturrupted yourself, moaning as  he just quickened his pace "Brian i'm gonna-"
"Cum for me pretty baby" He practically growled, just continuing "'m so hard, fucking tearing a hole in my boxers-"
and so you came for him, all over his hands, your liquids coating his fingers and thumb. as he continued to thrust and rub as you rode out your orgasm.
When he removed them strings of juices connected them to your still wet cunt, promptly severed as he sucked the juices off
"We're not done yet, i want t-"
He was inturrupted by a few sharp raps on the door, and the voice of Alex Kralie, a film major you took classes with.
