⭑do you know what an orgasm is? rip wheeler x dutton!reader +18
summary: when the youngest Dutton crosses a line she didn't mean to, Rip Wheeler becomes the one man who sees the truth she’s afraid to face—and shows her exactly what she’s been missing.
warnings: mature content ahead — 18+ only, minors do not interact. age gap, fingering, swearing, masturbation, if i'm missing something lmk.
author's note: i'm a sucker for dutton!reader so expect a lot more of that from me. i'm currently writing a ryan x dutton!reader shot lmk if you want to read that too ;)
english is not my first language
The ranch never truly slept.
That was something you’d learned growing up as John Dutton’s youngest daughter—wind in the grass, horses shifting their weight, the low creak of old wood breathing with the night. You’d always loved it. Tonight, though, the silence felt heavier. Too loud.
Rip had been doing his usual night round before heading to bed, boots crunching softly against gravel, the brim of his hat low over his eyes. He wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary. The Yellowstone had a way of lulling you into routine—until it didn’t.
That’s when he heard it.
Soft, broken breaths. A sound that didn’t belong to the wind or the animals.
He stopped mid-step.
The stable doors were cracked open, warm light spilling out into the dark. Rip frowned, instincts sharpening as he approached. Then he heard it again—closer this time. A shaky exhale that curled low in his gut before he could stop it.
When he pushed the door open, the sight hit him like a punch to the chest.
You were there.
Leaning against one of the stalls, skirt bunched up around your hips, one hand buried between your thighs. Your forehead glistened with sweat, cheeks flushed a deep raspberry, lips parted like you were caught mid-prayer. Your eyes were closed—so lost in whatever you were chasing that you didn’t notice him at first.
You would never admit—wouldn’t dare—that this had been your intention when you walked into the stable. But earlier, passing by the bunkhouse, you'd overheard the cowboys laughing, joking, talking too freely about women and release and things a lady didn’t usually let herself think about for long.
Frustration had a way of steering you by the hand.
And somehow, without even realizing it, you’d ended up here—hand under your skirt, panties pushed aside, trying to quiet a heat you didn’t fully understand yet.
It took you a few seconds to realize you weren’t alone.
Rip was sure his throat closed up entirely, because when the words finally came out, he didn’t remember deciding to say them.
“I—sorry. I didn’t know.”
His rough voice startled a sound out of you, sharp and breathless. You yanked your hand away from yourself faster than a rooster at dawn.
“Rip! Oh God— I’m sorry, I—” You stumbled over the words, heat rushing to your face as panic set in.
Rip had already turned his back to you, jaw clenched, trying like hell to scrub the image of you touching yourself from his mind before his body betrayed him inside his jeans.
“I shouldn’t stay” he muttered. “It’s alright. I’ll pretend this never happened. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
He stayed facing away from you, shoulders tense beneath his black shirt, muscles tight like he was bracing for impact.
“Don’t go. Please, wait.”
“I really don’t think I should,” he said quietly.
“Rip, wait. I need to ask you something. It’s important.”
He swallowed hard. “You’re gonna kill me... or get me killed” he muttered, unsure if he meant it for you or for himself.
When he finally turned around, his breath caught. Your cheeks were still flushed, eyes wide now, lips swollen. The image from moments ago replayed in his head whether he wanted it to or not.
“Can’t you ask someone else?” he asked, voice strained.
“Absolutely not. I can’t ask my brothers, and I definitely don’t want to ask my sister.” You hesitated, then just said it. “Do you actually know what an orgasm is?”
The word landed between you like a live wire.
“Not a fake one,” you added quickly. “A real one. Do you know how to tell the difference?”
Rip wanted to turn around and walk straight to his bed—he just didn’t know if it would be to sleep or to deal with the hard knot forming in his pants. He swallowed thickly, trying to figure out if you were serious or pulling some cruel joke.
You’d always been curious. Honest to a fault. But he’d never imagined standing in front of you while you asked him what the hell an orgasm was, cheeks still hot, fingers probably still slick with your own want.
You were definitely trying to kill him.
“What?” was all he managed.
“I’ve only been with one man,” you admitted softly. “And I never felt that rush everyone talks about.”
You squared your shoulders, drawing courage from somewhere deep inside you. You trusted Rip—maybe too much. He was a cowboy through and through. If anyone would know, it would be him.
“And you don’t feel it when you touch yourself?” he asked, voice lower now.
“It feels better than when someone else does,” you said honestly. “But I still don’t get there. I get so close, and then… nothing.”
“I see…” Rip murmured.
Without fully realizing it, he took a step closer. At this point, he was far too interested to pretend otherwise.
“Maybe I can’t,” you whispered. “Maybe she is broken.”
He shook his head immediately. “Sweetheart, I don’t think she's broken. I think no one’s ever known how to take care of her.”
Your breath hitched.
“And what if you tried?” you asked, eyes locked on his. “You don’t have to use your dick. You could use your fingers. Looks like you’ve got very capable hands, cowboy.”
Rip’s hand tightened at his side. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, only looked at you—the way the light caught the edge of your face, the way vulnerability softened your words.
“Don’t say things like that,” he murmured eventually, voice low but steady. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
You didn’t move, didn’t back away. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me,” you said quietly. “That’s why I asked you.”
Something in Rip’s expression shifted—an echo of pain, maybe, or restraint. He stepped closer, slow enough that the air between you seemed to stretch thin. His presence filled the small space like heat.
“I’m not the man you ask for something like that,” he said. “You think I’ve got control, but it’s not the kind you’re asking for. If I touch you now, I won’t be able to stop.”
“I trust you,” you whispered.
Rip was so close now that your breaths tangled between you. He smelled like pine, masculine cologne, and old wood—just that was enough to make a slick warmth gather between your thighs.
All you had to do was look up at him through your lashes, and something inside him snapped.
His gaze darkened, jaw tightening as his rough hands dug into your hips, gripping hard enough that you were sure his fingerprints would bloom there later, bruised and unmistakable.
“Rip… please.”
“You’re so damn pretty,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous, “already begging for something you don’t even know if you can handle. You’re gonna have to hold onto my shoulders so you don’t fall apart, ‘cause nobody’s ever made your legs shake before.”
His hand slid from your hip to the space between your thighs, forcing them apart with a practiced motion. He found your heat easily—too easily. You were ready for him, like you’d given yourself over before he even touched you. Panties soaked and shoved aside, your center wet and pulsing, aching for his attention.
He pushed one finger in, slow and deliberate, just to confirm what he already knew.
When he pulled it back out, a breath tore from your chest—you didn’t want him to leave you empty. What he did instead was almost worse. He lifted his hand, holding his finger up between you, glistening with your arousal.
“Look at you,” he said quietly. “Definitely not broken.”
Before you could answer, he brought his fingers to his mouth, lips closing around them with a low hum. “Mmm… and so sweet, too.”
“Please,” you breathed. “Give it to me.”
“What is it you want?” he asked, eyes locked on yours. “You wanna know what an orgasm feels like? Ask for it, sweetheart. It’s yours.”
“I want you to make me cum, Rip,” you said without flinching. “So hard you ruin my pussy for any other man.”
He let out a dark chuckle. “You kiss your daddy with that mouth?”
“Fuck, Rip.”
He didn’t need any more instructions.
His hand dragged slowly along your slit, teasing until your whole body trembled. Then, when you were shaking and sensitive, he pushed his fingers back inside you. One at first—and when your moans turned desperate, he added a second without warning.
Rip had been right.
No one had ever known how to take care of you before.
What he was doing with his fingers—no one had ever made you feel anything like it. Not even your stupid ex boyfriend with his sad excuse for a cock. Rip was a real man, and if he could do this to you with just his hands, you couldn’t even imagine what he’d do if he fucked you right there.
“Oh my God,” you gasped. “What are you doing to me?”
“Giving you the attention you deserve, princess.”
There were no words for what built inside you. All you could do was grab onto his thick arms and moan his name against his ear.
And then it happened.
The feeling tore through you from head to toe—electric, overwhelming—coiling hot and tight in your lower belly. As if that wasn’t enough, the hand that had claimed your throat joined the other, his fingers never slowing inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit, pressing and circling until you cried out and stars burst behind your eyes.
“Fuck, Rip!”
“Now that,” he said, voice steady and sure, “is an orgasm, sweetheart.”
It hadn’t been romantic—not really—but all you could do was cup his face and pull him down into a kiss, gratitude pouring into it. His fingers were still inside you, and you weren’t sure you wanted them gone, not while your legs still shook like paper.
When he finally pulled them free, he brought them to both your mouths, making you taste yourself along with him, tongues brushing and tangling as you shared it.
For all sakes. Rip Wheeler really did know how to please a woman.
you had gone out to the bar for one reason and one reason only: to dance.
you and kayce loved to dance, but you didn't get many opportunities to. so, when one night john took tate for a sleepover, winking at you as he pulled the boy away, you decided to get out there and swing away like you were teenagers again. you grabbed beth and rip to come too, knowing they'd appreciate getting out even if they didn't dance - would rip ever dance? probably not.
it was fun for the first little bit, all the good swing songs playing as he twirled you around the wooden dance floor. you pulled out old tricks he forgot you knew and he twisted and flipped you into cool routines you forgot he knew. when you decided to take a break, kayce heading to the bathroom while you ordered a drink, you just knew something was going to happen.
but, you ordered anyways, eyes on where beth was shaking her ass away to the fun country music playing and where rip was watching her with the fondest smile you'd ever seen from him.
the bartender slid you your drink. you smiled. "thank you."
he nodded at you, walking down the bar to attend to another customer as you leaned your back against the counter, eyes back to your sister-in-law.
"you've really been busting a move out there."
you turned to see a man, taller than you but definitely shorter than kayce, bigger, with a brown hat and black boots. he wasn't necessarily attractive and there was just something about him that made you want to scrunch your nose, so you did.
"yep," you hummed, sipping on your whiskey.
"you've only had the one partner. i'm sure i could show you some moves if you're looking for a new one," he said, glancing to the side as a smile pulled up one side of his mouth. "i don't see him here anymore."
"he'll be back," you told him, setting your drink down and looking him over again. "and even if i was looking for another partner, you don't look like much of a dancer, buddy."
he knitted his brows at that, looking down at you with a curious smirk on his lips. "spicy. i like that."
you wanted to throw up.
"don't call me that," you said. "that was gross."
"oh come on, darling," he said, shifting so he was more in your view. "just one dance? he'll never even know, he ain't here."
"he is." you held up your ring finger, flashing the rock that was your wedding band at him. "i ain't going with you buddy."
and that was when he grabbed you, hand on your hip as he pulled you into him. he smelled like bad beer, cheap cologne, and straight b.o. you instantly pushed away even as he held you tighter, speaking now: "one dance, baby. life is too short to only dance with one man the rest of it."
"life's too short to dance with ugly men," you retorted, scrunching your nose again as you finally, very forcefully pushed him away from you, backing towards where you knew rip was last standing. except he wasn't there.
you looked at the dance floor and your mind was blown. of course the one time rip wheeler decides to take to the dance floor was when you were actively being harassed at the bar.
the guy didn't like your answer and stepped towards you, mouth open to say something before another figure stepped in front of you, one you knew very well. especially since you'd picked out his shirt. you breathed a breath of relief as he glanced back at you, checking you were okay before returning a much more menacing gaze to your advancer.
"i don't know what you've said or done thus far, but the way my wife is lookin at you doesn't look very good for you," kayce said, his eyes turned in a glare as he stepped towards him.
"look, man, all i wanted was a dance, not anything more-"
"a dance is still too much to ask for, especially when she's already said no," kayce said sternly. "leave. now."
"what, like the whole-"
"i'd really love a reason to punch you and if you keep talking you're gonna be giving me one," kayce warned, but the guy didn't get it apparently because he kept going.
"hey, man i didn't do anything-"
kayce looked back at you. "he touch you?"
the moments between you nodding and kayce full on clocking the guy in the jaw went by in literally the blink of an eye. the man stumbled back and kayce swung again, effectively knocking him to the floor. he kicked him then, the man folding in half with a groan. kayce moved to do it again when you grabbed his arm.
"baby, let's just get out of here," you told him. "i don't need you getting in trouble."
"i'm the livestock commissioner, i'll be fine," he said.
"well, then, just..." you moved around him to where the dude was sprawled on the ground, looking up at your husband in fear as some blood tricked from a cut in his lip and also between his teeth. everyone in this town knew kayce dutton could throw a punch.
you stomped on his hand then, hard, earning a shout and an instant recoil. you could've sworn you felt a crunch under the heel of your boot when you did.
"so you can't grab any other girls anytime soon," you said before turning on your heel and grabbing your husband, who looked like he was chomping at the bit to get back to pummeling him. "c'mon, baby."
but, tonight was supposed to be fun. when you pulled him out the front door for some fresh air and maybe to bar hop, you thought to remind him of that. you turned to him with a smile, hand cupping his face just below his jaw. "c'mere, cowboy." you kissed him slowly, his hands falling to your waist almost instantly as he folded to your touch, returning the kiss eagerly.
when you pulled back, he kept you close, kissing you again.
"thank you," you breathed out when you finally broke again, smiling up at him. "i can always count on your mean right hook to get me out of any bad situation."
"i practice it just for that," he said quietly, pecking your lips again.
you laughed lightly. "seriously, thank you though," you said, wrapping your arms around his middle as you relaxed in his hold. "for saving me."
"i'll always save you," he promised, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "and i'm never going to the bathroom while we're out again."
rip wheeler:
to get rip to go out was a chore. it usually took some promising of later nightly activities and some chanting and begging from the wranglers too. and when you finally got him there, he wasn't exactly interactive, mostly just watching you dance and getting you the appropriate amount of refills to keep you semi-aware.
aware for situations like this.
you were dancing the night away with teeter, hands in the air as you laughed and jumped and twirled with your favorite of the cowboys, glancing up at rip regularly to shoot him a wink or shout something about how great his ass looked in those jeans, when suddenly you felt hands on your waist.
you spun around, brows shot straight up as you swatted this strange, tall and skinny man who oddly reminded you of a drugged out, dark haired jimmy, man away from you, stepping back and bumping into teeter. "damn you're ballsy, dude," you said. he stepped back to you, his hands landing on your waist again, fingers brushing over the waistband of your jeans as teeter grabbed your shoulders and helped you shuffle away. "seriously, get off!"
"hey, come back here, baby-"
it was instinctive, really. your father had taught you how to throw a proper punch and rip had taught you the best places to throw it, and well, the first one that came to mind was the throat.
he staggered back with a choked breath, hand rising to his jugular as he stared at you with wide eyes. "you crazy bitch!"
"did you seriously just call me the bitch?" you said, stepping towards him now with your hand balled into a fist.
but, before you could throw another punch and before the psycho dude could fully recover, rip was now in the picture. two extremely well-placed punches sent the creep into the surrounding crowd. no one did or said anything for a few moments, everyone having seen him grab you and insinuating exactly who rip was in this situation.
he turned back to you, grabbing your hand tightly and sending a look teeter's way that had her collecting the rest of the wranglers, who had all suddenly appeared at your side.
"let's go," he said strictly.
"can we go to another bar?" you asked as he dragged you out of the facility and towards the truck. he let out a short laugh.
"there's no way in hell i'm letting you back into another bar anytime soon," he said. "if another psychotic bastard thinks he can put his hands on you i can't promise that i wouldn't kill him right then. it took a lot of restraint not to keep going in there, baby."
"rip, come on, let's have fun tonight - woah!"
and suddenly you were thrown over his shoulder in a fireman carry. he barely even stopped to do it, just scooping you up and continuing on to where he'd parked the truck.
"nope," he said. "and anyways, there's other ways to have fun." he pulled the door open and set you on the passenger seat with a smirk. "you have a couple promises to fulfill for even dragging me here in the first place."
"damn," you mumbled as he gave you a quick kiss, shutting the door and crossing to the other side. as he got in and buckled, you looked over at him with a bit of a dopey smile on your lips. "have i told you i love you recently?"
"i'm sure you have, baby, but i'm happy to hear it again," he told you, smiling your way as he started the truck up.
"well, i do love you. and thank you. that sucked."
"and it ain't ever gonna happen again on my watch," he promised. "he really just snuck up on you there."
"literally crazy."
ryan:
you weren't much of a games girl, which everyone thought was weird given the man you were with. but, you were content to watch, to sit at the bar conversing with the wranglers who weren't involved in the game of pool or dancing, and to watch colby crash and burn as he approached girls again and again.
that last one was your favorite activity.
every now and again you would wander back over to where ryan was playing lloyd or jake, cheer him on, give him a quick kiss, and then return to the designated spot colby kept coming back to after another failed attempt at wooing a tourist.
the tourists were funny too. you could always tell which ones had just bought their hats and boots before or even while they were in montana just to blend in. some of the girls were wearing such california things you wondered if they were wanting to blend in at all, which the answer was no. colby, and plenty of other cowboys, liked the tourists. or at least, for a quick one.
you were watching him with a grin as he stumbled on his words with a pretty brunette, sipping on your drink casually. he was using his hands to emphasize something and she did not seem like she was interested in that something at all. you giggled to yourself.
"you like people watching?"
you glanced to your side to see a shorter man with spiky blond hair at your side. this guy didn't even take a try at a hat, sticking it with bright and shiny new black tecovas with a pointed toe and a snakeskin design that was so opposite of what you were used to.
you didn't think you'd ever been turned off more by a boot.
"yeah, i do," you nodded, looking back at where colby was actively losing his chosen girl's attention. "it's entertaining."
"it is," he agreed, taking the seat next to you. "you from around here?"
for some reason, you laughed. you guessed it was because he was so obviously not from here that for him to ask you if you were was just funny to you. "yep. you ever heard of the yellowstone dutton ranch?"
"it got anything to do with the park?" he asked.
you laughed again before taking a sip of your drink. "no. around here, when people talk about the yellowstone, they're talking about the 800,000 acre cattle ranch just outside of town owned by the livestock commissioner and the oldest family in montana."
he seemed shocked, but he tried to get through it, continuing his little q&a. "you're from there?"
"it's my family that owns it," you answered easily.
"and what's it like owning 800,000 acres of some of the most coveted land in america?" he asked, tilting his head at you. if you hadn't before, you definitely piqued his interest now.
you shrugged. "it's a lot of work, but it's worth it. it's beautiful."
"lonely, though, i bet," he said, and that made you laugh again. wow, he really tried that one.
"no, actually," you told him. "need a good amount of people to run that ranch. don't get too much time to yourself."
"do you want time to yourself?" he asked.
"i'm good with what i've got, thank you," you told him. you looked over at where ryan had caught sight of your predicament and was making his way over to you. you stood, shooting the man at your right a polite smile. "one of the cowboys we've got is particularly attractive. i'm entertained enough, don't you worry about me."
he saw ryan then and stood as well. "i wouldn't say he's particularly attractive. you could do better."
"are you suggesting yourself?" you asked with a laugh, holding an arm out to wrap around ryan's waist as he came to your side, pressing a kiss to the side of your head before eying the man in front of y'all. "sorry, pal. you may be decently cute, but you ain't no cowboy. if you're looking to get lucky in this town it'd do you good to remember that. shoot for your own kind."
the man looked up at ryan. "you her cowboy?"
"damn straight," ryan answered. "you better take that advice. a lot of the cowgirls you'll see around here anyways are taken, you're asking for a fight talking to 'em. you're just lucky she played nice. it's the only reason i am too." ryan nodded, tilting his hat at the man before stepping away and bringing you with him. "best of luck. just not with my girl."
he took you back to the pool table with him where lloyd was laughing at the sight of you. he pressed another kiss to your head.
"did you really have to call him cute?" he asked you.
"decently cute," you reminded with a shake of your head. "i called you particularly attractive, which is an understatement. i just didn't wanna shake the guy's confidence down too much. those boots are doin that enough for him."
ryan laughed. "damn tourists."
carter:
nearly everything carter did reminded beth of how rip was at that age. and nearly everything you did as you consistently visited reminded her of how she was at that age.
it had her worried and excited.
"don't break his heart," she told you one day, cornering you after lunch. "i've been there, i've done that, it's terrible for everyone involved. save yourself the trouble and just snag him now, you know you want him and he wants you. just date, okay? and don't be a bitch later."
the words shocked you, but definitely kicked you into gear. carter was shier than you ever were, awfully polite and gentlemanly as beth had trained him to be, and so you were the one to get him into going to the bar.
"will we even get served here?" he asked, holding your hand as you led him in.
"hell yeah we will," you answered, smiling back at him as you approached the bar. you were quick to pull out your id - a fake one, but one nonetheless - and slide it to the bartender. "an old fashioned please."
"what about me?" carter whispered.
you laughed lightly. "just get your id out, darlin'."
confused but obedient, he pulled out his wallet and was surprised to see a new driver's license in the clear slot he usually kept his in. one that said he was 21.
he held it up as he cleared his throat, catching the bartender's attention. "make that two." he looked back at you. "these any good?"
"i think so," you answered with a shrug. "you ever have bourbon before, or just beer?"
"just beer," he nodded.
"well, hopefully you'll like it," you said with a shrug. "i've seen your dad make them back at the ranch. i'm sure you'll like them."
"oh, he's not my dad," he corrected as the bartender slid them over to y'all.
you furrowed your brows. "really? you look exactly alike."
it was as he was taking his first swig of his drink that you felt someone slide between you and the person sitting next to you, their arm settling on the counter in front of you. you looked up, brows raised as you found a man, definitely in his late 30s, in a nicer shirt than this bar deserved, brand new boots, and what looked to be a cross between dress pants and jeans. interesting.
"can i help you?" you asked, his positioning crowding you into your seat even though you didn't move much. this was your bubble, he was the one who had to get out of it.
"just wondering if you had anyone paying for this drink," he said, his hand now on your whiskey as you narrowed your eyes.
carter moved sharply to stand, but settled when you set a hand on his knee, thumb rubbing circles into his jeans. you offered the guy a very thin, very fake smile.
"that's a nice shirt," you said, earning a wider smile from the man. "where'd you get it?" he almost went to answer, but you continued, your next few sentences stringing together in almost one breath.
"oh, well, i bet you don't know since your wife bought it for you. or - is it ex-wife, now? i don't see a ring, but i definitely see that faded tan line from it being there for years and recently taken off. probably because of a very similar situation we find ourselves in now. your wife is at home, with the kids, waiting for you to take her out to a dinner that will never happen because you're here, scoping out for the youngest woman you can find to sloppily sleep with in the back of your brand new honda civic that you convinced yourself and that girl was some new sports car because it's a 'newer model'."
already, he was in shock, staring at you with a scared kind of wonder that for some reason made you so proud.
you continued. "so, either you're here trying to do that again behind your wife's back, or she's already divorced you, which for her sake i hope is the case, because you seem like a pathetic piece of shit who blames his infidelity on being overworked and undersupported when really you're just a pedophiliac horndog who doesn't understand what the word 'no' means."
you took your drink back from him, taking a sip from it as you watched his expression change between shocked, offended, confused, and embarrassed.
"and yes," you added, "i do have someone to pay for my drink."
he gaped at you as you turned away from him, hand still on carter's knee as you grinned into your glass, sipping from it again. he glanced behind you at carter and you knew he wanted to exclaim how carter was a boy and he was a man, but didn't because he didn't know what else you would say.
"you psycho bitch," he muttered. "all i did was offer to pay for your drink."
"yeah, well i'm quite obviously young enough to be the daughter you had when you accidentally knocked up the drum major when you were a junior, so it's still kind of disgusting," you told him, rolling your eyes. "especially when it's so easy to see that the man i'm sitting next to is my boyfriend, or at the very least, someone else who is paying for my drink because we got them to us at the exact same time and my hand is on his knee. so fuck off, dickwad."
and he did, scoffing as he left. carter turned to look at you with wide eyes before he breathed out a laugh.
"you're my favorite person ever," he said. you smiled at him, shrugging lightly.
"i was trained by the best," you hummed.
he smiled at that before giving you a curious look, tilting his head at you. "so, i'm your boyfriend?"
"i'm hoping," you said, smiling back. "i mean, i really like you, and i think you like me. beth told me to get on with it already because why waste time, hence why we're here. i can call you my boyfriend, right?"
"yeah, yeah you can," he said, nodding as he breathed out a laugh.
you were beaming, maybe even blushing as you glanced away for a few moments before continuing conversation. "how's your drink?"
"surprisingly good," he answered. "you have good taste."
your smile softened a bit as you looked at him, nodding slowly. "yeah, i do." you finished your drink in one swig, setting the glass on the counter. "hey, do you wanna get out of here?"
"but, we just got here," he said, furrowing his brows.
"well, i just have this feeling more situations are going to arise that will either warrant me coming up with more speeches like that or you punching a guy square in the nose, and i'm not in the mood for either," you answered, standing and pulling your wallet from your bag.
"hey, no, i pay," he said. he tossed a ten and a twenty on the counter, his hand going to your lower back as he followed you out of the bar.
"hey carter?" you asked as he opened the passenger door to the truck, holding your hand to help you up. he smiled up at you.
"yeah?"
you reached forward, taking his face in your hand and pressing your lips to his gently. he froze for a minute, but stepped forward to reach you better and deepened the kiss as best he knew how, his hands on your waist as he pulled you closer to him.
when you pulled away, he was grinning, "damn."
spencer dutton:
when you and spencer left for africa, neither of you were fully prepared for the sheer amount of idiot tourists there would be, both on and off the safaris spencer went to go rescue.
most times, you accompanied him on his little adventures that were the hunts, him wanting to keep you close and you wanting to stay out of the city. but, for one fateful leopard chase, he'd told you to stay back at the lodge, which ended up being the right decision. you met back up with him in nairobi, where you'd stayed, and were sat at the bar waiting for him.
now, when a lady was without her man, other men noticed.
and the british men in africa noticed.
"no, thank you," you said with a polite smile as the tall, british man at your side told the bartender that he would pick up your tab. "i've got it taken care of."
"no, my lady, i insist," he said, helping himself to the seat at your side. he turned to the bartender then. "it'll be on mine. and i'll have a sidecar, please."
"a brandy man," you said, raising your brows as you sipped on your glass.
he chuckled, nodding as he then eyed your drink "yes. and... what it is you're drinking, ma'am?"
you smiled at him as you set your drink down. "whiskey."
"whiskey," he repeated. to say he was surprised would be an understatement, his brows raised so high they nearly touched his hairline. he didn't seem put off by it though, a smirk rising to his lips. "very american."
"well, i am american," you answered as you brought the amber drink back to your lips. "and so is my husband."
"and where is your husband?" he asked. there was a certain air to british people that made them seem as if they were always looking out for you and your wellbeing - he did not have it. his smile had shifted as he eyed you and your whiskey and his arm had somehow slid across the bar to nearly be touching yours.
"he's here," you told him, glancing over his shoulder in hopes that spencer would just appear out of the blue. "he's speaking with some coworkers currently."
"ah, a business man," he said with a gruff laugh.
"a hunter," you answered shortly.
his laugh cut short as he watched you with a hanging smirk, waiting for you to laugh and say instead that he was the viscount of hereford or something. but, you didn't. instead, you nodded, smiling as you set your glass against the counter once more.
"yes, he's an awfully good gunman," you continued. "grew up hunting in montana - where we're from. then, he went off to war. and, i mean, surely you've heard war stories about the american armies - they're intense. he learned a lot. it's definitely his area of expertise, shooting, so he does well here."
you felt a hand on your shoulder then, earning a quick check backwards. a smile tugged your lips up as spencer leaned down to press a kiss to your temple, his eyes on the man opposite you.
"you talking about me, darling?" he asked.
"yes, sir, i am," you hummed before turning to smile at the british man. "this is my husband, spencer dutton."
"i've heard about you," he stammered, brows knitted tightly as he stared at spencer. "you're the hunter, the one on the safaris who shoots the maneaters. the american."
"he's been hung up on the american thing," you mumbled to spencer, shooting him a sideways smile and shrug.
"yeah, i am american," spencer said with a bit of a huff. "had to clean up after y'all during the war, so i thought i might as well keep doing it here. just a bit more exotic, being in africa and all."
the guy didn't know really what to say, looking to you for help but you sure as hell weren't about to offer it. spencer's hand rubbed across the expanse of your shoulders, lingering on the exposed skin he could find.
"now, i appreciate you keeping my lady here safe while i was off, but it'd be good of you to move on now," he said, his brows raised as he eyed him.
"yes, of course sir," the guy answered, standing quickly. he looked to you, offering a tight smile as he nodded. "ma'am."
you nodded in return, an amused smile growing on your lips as you turned back to spencer. "it's about time you showed up. i thought you got eaten by that leopard."
"two leopards, actually," he said with a sigh as he sat on the chair next to you. he smiled when he met your eyes, reaching forward to grab the seat of the chair beneath your legs and pulling it towards him, the legs making a dull screeching sound before he stopped you in front of him. "i missed you."
"i missed you too," you answered, smiling as you reached a hand up to cup his jaw and bring his mouth to yours. he was happy to oblige, his hands on your waist as he tugged you to the edge of your seat.
"you're not leaving my sight for a while, baby," he mumbled as he kissed you again.
you laughed, shaking your head when you pulled back. "i reckon we should probably get back to our room then, hun. i wanna hear all about your hunt."
"i got hit on," he told you with a shrug, his grin growing as you raised a brow.
"serious?" you wondered as he stood, taking your hand and stepping back to let you out from between the bar.
"i'll tell you about it in our room," he said with a hum. you held up a hand as you began walking to the door.
"i don't wanna hear it," you said with a shake of your head. "i mean, she was probably right for thinking it-"
"they."
"they?"
"they."
"they were probably right for thinking it, but those things they were likely dreaming up about your cute face? that's my reality, baby. and i'mma make you say a lot of things that have nothing to do with those other ladies."
he laughed thinly, squeezing your hand as you pulled him out into the night air and down towards your hotel. his steps quickened as he moved close behind you, a certain urgency in his tone as he mumbled in your ear. "you never fail to, baby."
thanks for reading! leave a request in the comments or message me privately! i love writing, so if you've got an idea you need fleshed out on paper i'd love to be the one to do that for you
prompt: Day 22- “who did this to you?” ( @ailesswhumptober )
pairing: Rip Wheeler x Wife!Reader
summary: While you’re out in Bozeman finishing up running some errands, you get pulled into a van with three men who take advantage and do horrible things to you
warnings: whump, references to sexual assault, getting the impression that the reader is being stalked, references to rape, kidnapping, crying, established relationship, the reader and rip have an daughter in this fic, reader having a black eye, reader having a busted lip, reader having a red mark on her neck, angst, mention of the train station, mention of picking up a wedding ring from the jewelers, the reader thinking it’s her fault for what happened to her, the three kidnappers wearing masks, the reader getting taken advantage of, mention of whiskey, rip getting protective of the reader, pet names, rip reassuring the reader that it’s not her fault for what happened to her, rip comforting the reader, slight mention of nudity, mention of the reader being in her bra and underwear, tore underwear, bra having dirt marks on it, rip respecting the reader’s feelings. please proceed with caution if you decide to read this. also if i missed anything, please let me know!
word count: 2.6k+
a/n: as always, thank you @auroralightsthesky for proof reading this for me! i don’t own any of the pictures in the moodboard above. all credits go to the original creators/owners!
You were currently in Bozeman running a few errands. Bozeman was the closest town to where the ranch was, unlike Billings. Billings was at least two and a half hours from the ranch. Bozeman was only a forty-minute drive away. Plus, you tend to only go to Billings if Rip is with you. This time, he wasn't. Rip decided to stay back at the ranch with your daughter, Evelyn. The two of them decided to start getting the Christmas decorations out since October is going to be over soon. You're the type of family that starts decorating for Christmas once November starts.
The first place you had to go to in Bozeman was the post office. You had to pick up some stamps since you don't have any, and you know you’re going to need them since the holidays are approaching since most likely, you’re going to have to mail out Christmas presents to your family members who live in other states besides Montana.
When you entered the post office, there weren't many people in line waiting to either drop off a package or preps to pick one up, or even to buy stamps. It was probably because it was a Friday afternoon and the majority of people were still at work, and not out running errands.
Once you received your stamps, you headed out of the post office and over to the next place that you needed to go. You had to head over to the local jewelers to pick up Rip’s wedding ring. You and him send it to the jewelers for it to be cleaned since it’s been a while since it was last cleaned.
“How can I help you?” the young woman asked you when you walked into the jewelry shop.
“Hi,” you greeted the worker. “I’m here to pick up a ring that was sent in last week to be cleaned.”
“What’s the name?” she asked you.
“It’s Y/N Wheeler.”
After you told the worker your name, she headed back to get Rip’s ring. While you were waiting for her. You admire the jewelry that was displayed in the glass case that was right where you were standing. While you were doing that, you just had an uneasy feeling come over you. It felt like someone was perhaps watching you. You looked around the jewelry store to make sure no one was there, and that your mind was just playing games with you. While you scanned the place, you didn't see anything out of the ordinary. You didn't see if anyone could be stalking you.
“Here you go, Mrs. Wheeler,” the worker smiled. She came back from the back room with a small box. The small box had Rip’s wedding ring in it. “Would you like a small bag for it?” she asked you.
“No, I’m good,” you shook your head. ‘Thank you though.”
You placed the ring into your purse and headed to the next place that you needed to go. You had to go to the local beauty store to buy more face lotion since you ran out of it this morning. The beauty store was a family-owned business too. You have been shopping at the store for as long as you can remember.
When you entered the store, you grabbed a basket. Yeah, you just need to get one thing, but still. You won't be surprised if you end up buying other beauty products that you come across in the store. You headed over to the aisle where the face lotions were, so that you could get that out of the way. While you were looking at all of them, you noticed someone out of the corner of your eye, standing a few feet away from you. You didn't know that besides the owners being in the shop, there was someone else shopping, besides you. You did notice though that the guy looks very familiar, but you can't exactly figure out why he does. You just brushed the situation off and went back to shopping.
In the end, you did end up spending quite some time in the beauty shop. You did end up buying more than the face lotion that you needed to. You ended up buying some new fragrances of perfumes that were on sale, a new cologne fragrance for Rip, a new bottle of bubble bath soap for Evelyn, and a new bottle of body wash for Rip since he was running low on the one that he had back at home.
The owner’s wife, Lucy, was checking you out. While she was, the two of you were having small talk with each other. It felt so nice talking to her. You always have the greatest talks with her when you do. You were updating her about Evelyn. Lucy has always considered Evelyn as her own niece. Also while you were getting checked out, and having your small talk with Lucy, that’'s when you noticed the guy again. This time he was off to one of the aisles looking at the different gel products for men. You thought that it was odd that he was in the same area as you again.
“I’m sorry, sir. Do I know you from somewhere?” you decided to ask the man. You just had to ask him that question. You needed to know why he looked so familiar to you.
The man turned his attention towards the register where you were at, “No ma’am,” he shook his head with a small smile plastered on his face. “I’m actually new to the area.”
For some reason, you really didn't believe the guy. You weren't gonna tell the guy that though. If you did, that would most likely not turn out good. “Oh! You just look very familiar to me, that’s why,” you explained to him.
“I guess I just have a familiar face then,” he lightly laughed.
“I guess so,” you awkwardly smiled. You started to get that same uneasy feeling that you got when you were at the jeweler's shop. Lucy must have noticed that you started to look uneasy as she bagged up the items that you bought.
“Hey. Are you alright?” she asked concernedly.
You turned your attention back to her. “Yeah, I’m alright,” you played it off.
After you paid for your items and exchanged your goodbyes and headed out. You are done with your errands now. You put the bag from the beauty store in your car, so you don't have to carry it with you while you head over to the coffee shop. You just decided to walk over there since it was only a couple of buildings down. Once you get your iced coffee, you’re planning to head back to the ranch.
While you were walking down the sidewalk, heading to the coffee shop. You had to cross a small alley to get to the other side. You were about to do that when suddenly a van cut you off and blocked you from being able to get to the other side.
“What the…,” you mumbled to yourself. Before you could go around the back of the van to get to the other side of the sidewalk. Someone in a mask opened up the side door of the van and grabbed you. You had no time to react at all. The person closed the door once you were in. There was another person in a mask too in the back of the van with the one who grabbed you. Then there was the driver who even had a mask on. They were definitely wearing masks, so they could keep their identities hidden.
“What should we do with her?” the person who grabbed you asked the driver.
“You know what to do with her,” the driver said.
You knew that voice. It was the guy’s voice, the one you talked to back at the beauty shop. You were starting to wonder why he and the two men with him had kidnapped you. Did they have something against John Dutton? Did they want to buy the Yellowstone Ranch even though it’s not for sale? You just had so many questions running through your head.
The two men started getting closer to you. You tried your best to scoot into the corner of the van, but you know that it’s not going to solve anything. “Stay away from me, please,” you pleaded. Tears started to roll down your face.
——-
It must have been an hour at least being in the van with those kidnappers. The things that they did to you were horrible. You felt very vulnerable and disgusted. You just wanted to be back home already, but sadly, you weren't. You had to drive back home. You know that you shouldn't. You know that you should Rip to pick you up, but you don't have the energy to explain over the phone what happened to you. You would rather just explain in person, if you can even find the right words to do so.
On the drive back to the ranch, your mind was racing. Your brain wouldn't stop replaying what happened in the van with the three men. You wanted to cry, scream, punch something, etc. You just wanted to turn off your brain and forget what happened to you.
———
When you pulled up to your home on the property of the Yellowstone Ranch. You weren't sure how exactly to feel. You weren't sure if you should feel relieved that you were home. Or feel nervous since you are wondering how Rip is going to react/feel about what happened to you? You turned off your car and just got out. You couldn't care less now about your purse and the bag from the beauty store. You just wanted to get the clothes that you were wearing off your body.
When you approached the front door, you started to shake as you put the key in to unlock it. Once it was unlocked, you stepped into your home and closed the door behind you. You saw that Rip was sitting on the couch facing the fireplace with a whiskey glass in his hand. You didn't see Evelyn anywhere in the living room with him. She either must be taking a nap or hanging out with Teeteer somewhere on the ranch property. Rip must have heard the door open and close since he turned his attention towards you.
Rip’s smile just disappeared from his face. It seemed like he just saw a ghost. Without any hesitation, Rip quickly placed his whiskey glass onto the coffee table and headed over to you. “Who did this to you?” he asked you. He saw that you had a black eye, a busted lip, and a red mark on your neck. He took a step closer to you. He wanted to get a closer look at your injuries.
“Stay back,” you stepped back. You wanted comfort from your husband, but you weren't in the right headspace for that due to what just happened to you.
When you said that to Rip, it just broke him. Whoever did this to you. It must have hurt you very badly. “Okay,” Rip just nodded his head. “Who did this to you?” he asked you again. Rip wanted to get angry about your situation. It wasn't the right time for that though.
“I don’t know,” you shook your head. “It was three masked men.” You started crying again. “One man grabbed me and put me in the back of the van. Then him and his two buddies did horrible things to me,” you said through tears.
“I’m gonna find these fuckers,” Rip mumbled loud enough for you to hear him. Rip wasn't sure how he's going to, but he’s gonna find a way to. The three men are going to pay for what they did to. Rip doesn't care if the men have to end up at the train station. The three men don’t know who they just messed with.
“Are you sure?” you asked.
Rip was about to take a step back, but then he remembered that you wanted some distance between you and him. You noticed that he had done that though, and so you slightly nodded at him, signaling that you were okay now with him being a little closer to you. “I’m very sure, honey,” he nodded his head.
The way the word honey sounded when Rip said it to you. It made you feel a little bit better. Rip somehow knew that you needed to hear him calling some sort of pet name in this situation.
You just nodded at what Rip said. “I need to change,” you sorta changed the subject. “I just want to get out of these clothes. “I don’t want them on me any longer,” you sniffed. You have calmed down from the crying that you were just doing not too long ago.
“Do whatever you need to do, sweetheart,” Rip spoke to you softly. As much as Rip wanted to lash out, because of what happened to you. He can’t. That’s a side of him that you don't need to see at the moment. You just needed to see the comforting and soft side of him right now. “I’ll be here back on the couch if you need anything,” Rip said as he walked back to the couch and sat down.
You just nodded your head at your husband and then headed down the hall to your shared bedroom. You stripped off your clothes once you entered your bedroom and threw them in the trash can that you and Rip have in the bedroom. If you kept those clothes, you would just remember the horrible moments that happened to you while you wore them. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror that’s in the corner of the bedroom. Your bra and underwear were dismantled. You had some dirt marks on your bra and your underwear had a medium-sized tear on the waist part of it. You wrapped your arms around your body and looked down at your face. Tears started to roll down your face again.
“Hey, you’re okay, honey. I’m right here,” Rip spoke softly. He must have heard you start to cry while he was in the living room. He led you to the edge of your shared bed and had you sit down. He took a seat next to you.
“Why did this have to happen to me?” you cried into his arms. Rip wrapped his arms around you.
“I don’t know,” he shook his head. “It’s not your fault at all though. Okay?”
“Okay,” you slightly nodded your head. You unwrapped yourself from Rip’s arms and headed over to your dresser. Just like the clothes you wore earlier, you wanted to take off your bra and underwear too. Before you slipped them off to change into a new pair of underwear and clothes, Rip actually turned his head the other direction. It’s not that he wanted to look at you. It’s because he respects your feelings and knows that it’s actually not the right time to look at you in a time like this. Once you tossed the bra and underwear into the trash can, and changed into pajamas. You went back to the edge of the bed where Rip was.
“I’m going to help you get through this, sweetheart,” Rip promised. Rip is going to keep his promise. He’s going to help you get through this horrible incident. He’s not leaving your side anytime soon.
in which kayce dutton sees his childhood sweetheart after sixteen years…
PAIRING: kayce dutton x fem!reader
WARNINGS: ANGST ANGST ANGST, awkwardness, CRAZY amounts of yearning, cussing, arguing, regret, did i mention angst?
WORD COUNT: 3.1k
🎶 : when i picture you - chappell roan
AN: ♥️ - i do not endorse holding onto first loves, it's crazy and will only hurt you and everyone else in your life in the process!! THIS IS THE SECOND PART OF IM TOO SCARED TO SAY!!
“A call for you.”
“Thank you, James. Did they say what it’s regarding?”
He shook his head. “He just kept asking for you. I told him you don’t take unscheduled calls, but he… he said that you were old friends.”
Y/N's heart dropped. He had some nerve, to call her after all this time. After pushing her away.
“Would you like me to transfer them?”
“That would be great, thank you.”
“Alright. He’s on line one.”
She took a deep breath, picking up the phone. “Y/N Y/L/N, partner of Phillips and Y/L/N, how can I-”
“Y/N.”
Her eyes widened, ignoring the feeling of disappointment building. “Mr. Dutton?”
“I told you-” He coughed. “Call me John.” Yes, he had told her that. He’d told her that sixteen years ago. “I need you back at the ranch.”
“Sir…” Her heart fluttered even thinking about Kayce. “After the way I left, I don’t know if that’s wise. Besides, I can’t just-”
“Your boss is an old friend of mine.” She’d almost laughed. He still walked over her like it was nothing. “I already talked to him, everything’s taken care of.”
“Well, that’s wonderful. If you don’t mind me asking, why haven’t you asked Jamie? He’s your current lawyer, correct?”
She and Jamie had always had a kinship; leaving Montana and going to law school so close allowed them to become closer than they ever had while at home.
“Jamie’s no longer on speaking terms.”
“I see.” She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t even imagine what shit they’d gotten into in the nearly twenty years she’d been gone, and she didn’t want to. Unfortunately, it looked as if she had no choice. “When would you like me there?”
The sunset was magical, perfection in her opinion. While she’d fallen for the New York skyline, Montana’s view had been her first love. Montana held a lot of her first loves, actually.
She walked through the arrival gate, smiling when she met Beth’s eyes. They’d never gotten along, but it was nice to see a familiar face after so long.
Beth looked as if she felt the same, smiling as Y/N hugged her quickly. “Little Y/N.”
“Beth. How are you?”
“Just dandy. Daddy’s dead, and I’m playing chauffeur.”
“I-” He just called her, what did she mean he was dead? She frowned. “I’m so sorry Beth.”
“He knew what he was doing, calling you. It's very impressive; the career you’ve built for yourself.”
“Thank you.” She felt wrong smiling after learning the news. “I assume we’re going back to the ranch.”
Beth nodded. “While we have it.”
“What?” Beth turned around, and Y/N chased after her. “What do you mean, while you have it?”
The car ride had been quiet, not that she minded. Her flight had been full of crying babies and annoying passengers, the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Beth for an hour and a half.
Her breath caught as the lodge came into view; all her memories from the first 18 years of her life came flooding back, along with the realization that she would be seeing Kayce sooner rather than later. “How is he?”
“You know how he is. Pissy, but fine.”
She didn’t know him anymore, that was the thing. She’d loved him for so long, and now he was just a figment of her imagination, a stranger. “Has he-”
“Miss Y/N?” She looked out the window, grinning as she threw the door open, practically jumping into the man’s arms.
“Lloyd! Look at you.” She felt like a kid again. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“You have. All grown up now.” He smiled. “All the Montana’s left you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.”
Beth whistled, drawing her attention away from the stable hand. “I- I’ll see you around.”
“Well, I hope so.”
She grinned, kissing him on the cheek quickly. “You can bet on it.”
Being here, it felt like she was transported back to 2007. It was like a museum, exactly as she’d left it, imagined it in her mind whenever she got homesick. The fire was still going, even though it was late July.
Beth pulled her from her thoughts, walking further into the house. “You hungry?”
“Not real-”
“Don’t worry, he’s not here.” Ah. So Beth was aware. She even looked almost sorry for her. “I can have Gator warm up some leftovers.”
“That sounds perfect, thank you.”
Beth looked tired, more tired than Y/N had ever seen her before. Normally, the ginger was a ball of energy, well, more like a bomb of energy, waiting for her fuse to be lit. Still, it was odd seeing a spitfire dimmed to a mere spark. “How have you been, since all of this?”
“Fine. As fine as I can be.” She poured herself a drink, and Y/N ignored the fact it was only 2 in the afternoon. “I have a plan.”
There was the Beth she knew. “I knew you would.”
“Gator!” Beth called out.
“Yes, ma’am-” The man’s eyes lit up, and he walked over. “Miss Y/N!”
“Gator!” She stood from her seat, hugging him tightly. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too.” He smiled. “Can I-”
Beth cleared her throat. “Could you warm her some leftovers?”
“Anything. Anything at all. Would you like a chocolate milkshake? Just a hint of coffee?”
Her heart melted, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You remembered.”
“Of course.” Beth raised an eyebrow, and Gator nodded, walking back out of the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”
Y/N waited until the chef had left before looking at Beth. “Why am I here, Beth?”
“Getting straight to business. What happened to little Y/N?”
“Just wondering why your father called me days before his death to come back home.” She crossed her arms. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
At that comment, Beth had cackled. “You have no idea.”
“What’s going on-”
The front door creaked open, and Beth smiled. “In here, baby.”
Maybe business could wait until later. Y/N smirked. “Baby?”
Beth nodded. “Baby.”
“I’m assuming baby is Rip then.” Y/N wiggled her eyebrows. “You two were always-”
“Y/N?”
She froze. Beth’s normal smirk grew tenfold, taking another sip of her bourbon. “Reunions are so fun, don’t you think?”
“Y/N is that you?”
She forced herself to stand up, turning around. “Kayce.”
He was smiling, which she was surprised by. “It’s been a while.”
She swallowed, nodding. “Yeah, it has.”
Beth groaned. “God, can one of you just address it?”
“Address what?”
She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. Y/N felt deeply insecure just being in the same room as her. She was effortlessly perfect, and the way she looked at Kayce- God, she was wearing a ring. Her head started to spin, grabbing the counter to center herself. Kayce’s eyes widened, and he stepped forward, reaching an arm out. “You okay?”
She nodded, god that was all she could do right now. “I’m-”
“Dad, who’s this?”
Dad? She pulled her eyes from Kayce’s taking in the teenager that stood in front of her. He had to be fifteen, or sixteen years old. Just around how long she’d- pulling her arm out of Kayce’s hold, she fixed her blazer and cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to unpack.”
“Y/N-”
“Excuse me.”
Kayce waited until she’d gone upstairs to glare at his sister. “What the hell, Beth?”
“What?”
“Why is she here?”
Monica looked lost. “Who is she, exactly?”
“Yeah, Kayce,” Beth smirked, wiggling her eyebrows. “Who is she?”
“Beth, what did you do?”
“Oh, I didn’t do anything. This-” She waved her finger around in the air. “Is all Daddy’s doing.”
“What do you mean-”
“I mean, Dad called her before he died, and asked her to come back to the ranch.”
She grabbed the first Carhartt jacket she’d seen, pulling it closer as she walked toward the stables. She couldn’t stay in the lodge any longer, knowing that Kayce and his wife and son were there. It was a hard reminder of what she could’ve had, what she should’ve had if Kayce hadn’t broken her heart that day.
The stable was warm, the perfect respite from the cold of the afternoon air. Her eyes gazed at the names on the stall doors, desperately hoping one horse was still there from her time. JR.
She pushed the door open, grinning as the horse almost immediately recognized her. “Hey, JR.”
The horse nickered, rubbing its snout against her palm. “Wanna go on a ride?”
She showed no sign of protest as Y/N removed her shawl, tightened the saddle, and led her out of the barn. “I’ve missed you, you know.” The horse just stared into the distance. “You’re an old girl now, aren’t you?” At that comment, the horse visibly protested, and Y/N laughed for the first time since her arrival. Hooking her foot in the stirrup, she hoisted herself up, petting JR’s side gently. “Let’s get out of here, huh?”
She should’ve never came back, she thought to herself. She should have never rode out here either, without anything to protect herself with. She could hear the wolves howling in the distance, but she couldn’t find it in her to leave.
If she left she would have to see Kayce again. He was just as perfect as the day she’d left him, although, she laughed to herself, he finally grew that beard he’d always wanted.
“Well look at that.”
She’d thought she was going crazy for a second, but his voice was unmistakeable. She made no movement to turn around, she couldn’t look at him without going crazy.
Kayce laughed, carefully approaching her until they were face to face. There went her plan of not looking at him. “I thought I’d find you here.”
She scoffed. “I came here for some solace, Dutton.”
“Oh, I’m Dutton now?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I don’t think your wife and child would enjoy me calling you pet names, now would they?” She retorted, enjoying his shocked expression. “Just leave me alone.”
“Can’t do that, now can I?”
“Yeah,” she jutted her hip. “And why’s that?”
“So much catchin’ up to do.” His smile peaked through, and she fought the blush she knew was growing on her cheeks. He had this horrible effect on her after all these years. “Why’d you come here?”
“I think you know why.” She glared as hard hard as she could at him, sitting beside the creek. Kayce got a horrible sense of deja vu as he watched her, but he continued on, sitting right beside her. “Are you happy?”
He nodded. “I am.”
She smiled. “That’s good. Really good Kayce.”
He ignored how his heart fluttered when she said his name. “And you?”
“I’ve been better.”
“You got anyone?”
She laughed, actually laughed. “No one’s interested.”
“Well, they’re missing out.”
She looked over, blushing when she realized he’d been staring at her the entire time. “What are you doing, Kayc?”
“What do you mean?”
“What is this? Why can’t we just- let’s just not talk to each other.” She stood up, dusting off her pants. “Just pretend we never knew each other. Okay?”
He sat there in shock for a moment, before following after her. “No.”
“No?” She whipped around, and he almost smiled at the fire that blazed in her eyes. There she was, the girl he knew. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He stepped toe to toe with her. “I can’t go on like this any longer. I lost you sixteen years ago, and now that you’re back, I can’t do it again.”
“Yes, you can.” She nodded. “You can, because you have a whole life now. You can’t just leave because I came back once.”
“Well, then what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to be the good man you’ve always been.” Her heart broke as she said it. “That woman loves you, and your son would never forgive you. I know it.”
“What about the letter?”
“It- That was a goodbye letter. It was meant for closure.”
He laughed. “Well shit. It didn’t work, because all I’ve thought about for years was that letter.” He grabbed her hand, holding it over his heart. “It haunts me.”
“I can’t do this, Kayce. You can’t do this.” Her voice was small. “You have a family, a son. Who suspiciously-” She laughed humourlessly, feeling like a broken record at this point. “Is about as old as how long I’ve been gone.”
“You can’t- you can’t be mad at me for that! You told me I was dead to you, that you couldn’t even look at me-”
“Well, you told me you didn’t love me!” She yelled. “What was I supposed to say? Alright with me. Fine? You’re a real bastard, Kayce Dutton.”
“Well, shit, baby-” His eyes widened. “I couldn’t have you settlin’ for me-”
“Well, it looks like your life went pretty well. Wouldn’t you say?” Tears were now streaming down her face. “By the way, fuck you for taking that away from me.”
She whipped around, stalking toward her horse. He yelled at her disappearing figure. “That’s my coat you got on!”
She gasped, pulling it off as if it was on fire. “Take it!” He stood there in shock, good. Served him right. Walking up to the tree she’d tied JR to, she pulled the reigns loose, walking her out of the woods.
Kayce sighed, walking after her. “Come on. You’ll freeze without it.”
“I don’t-”
He grabbed it, trying to put it back on her frame. “Just-”
“Kayce, stop!” She shoved him away, getting on the saddle. “Leave me alone.” Not even bothering to wait for his reply, she kicked JR’s side, sending her into a full gallop.
“Y/N!” Kayce kicked the dirt, jumping up on his horse and following after her. “Goddamit.”
JR was old, there was no doubt about it, but she was fast, and Kayce was struggling to catch up to her. “Just slow down, let’s talk-”
“I swear to god-” She groaned, urging JR to run a little faster. “C’mon girl, just a little faster.”
He reached out, grinning when her reigns laid in his hands. He pulled, and JR slowed down to a slow walk, much to Y/N’s dismay. She jumped off the horse, stalking up the hill.
“Stop running!”
She scoffed. “I should stop running?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” He barked back. “Goddamit, you won’t even look at me for more than a few seconds.”
“Do you blame me?” Tears were still falling down her cheeks. “You broke my heart, Kayce. Broke it completely in two. Excuse me for being erratic. You can’t just tell a girl you imagine her as your wife one day and then break up with her the next!”
“We could have never had that!” He yelled. “You had too much potential, and I love you too much- I loved you too much to hold you back in life. I belong here, and you belong out there.”
“For the last time, you don’t get to decide that for me. I am a grown woman, Kayce John Dutton.” She pinched her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “I swear to god, that argument didn’t hold up 20 years ago, and it doesn’t hold up now.”
"I was right, wasn't I? Look at the career you've built."
"I never wanted that. I wanted you!" She practically hissed at him. "You’re a coward. That’s what you are.”
“Oh yeah?” He scoffed. “I’m the coward? You're the coward, returning your ring. Writing that ‘goodbye’ letter!”
A sob wrecked through her. “It’s over, Kayce. It’s been over for sixteen years.”
“NO!” His voice rang through the valley. “It’s not over. It’ll never be over.”
“Kayce-”
“Baby-”
“Dont! Don’t call me that.” She pushed at his chest. “Just leave me alone-”
“I can’t.” He whispered, holding her wrists gently. “All because of that goddamned letter.”
“Get rid of it then if it 'haunts' you.” She leaned her head against his chest, tiring out. “I should have never come back.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I mean it. You were right, when you pushed me away. We would have torn each other apart. We would have-”
“No, we wouldn’t have. We would have been happy-”
“Kayce!” She sobbed. “Just stop it. Stop the ‘would’ve,’ it’s not going to help either of us.” Reaching up, she pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “Can you promise me something?”
“Anything.” His voice sounded desperate.
“Don’t think about me anymore. Love your wife, love her properly, without me in your mind.”
“I-” His face looked positively heartbroken. “Why?”
“You married her Kayce, not me! In the grand scheme of things, I was just a high school girlfriend. You have a whole life with her. I will not-” She hiccuped. “I will not be a homewrecker.”
“I- I can’t.”
“Yes you can.” She smiled through the tears. “Because you’re a good man, Kayce Dutton.”
“I-”
“Swear to me.”
“I-” He sighed, kissing the inside of her hand that still lingered on his cheek. “I swear to you.”
“Good.” She nodded, forcing herself to smile. “Now guide me back to the ranch. I’m lost.”
“Of course you are.” He laughed, still standing in place, relishing in her touch for the first time in sixteen years. “I missed you.”
“Stop.” She shook her head. “You swore.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He muttered. “Let’s go back home, yeah?” Holding her hand in his, he walked them back down the hill, their horses waiting diligently at the bottom.
“What’s her name?” Her voice was a whipser, he had barely heard it.
“Monica.”
“She’s beautiful.”
He smiled, nodding. “Yeah, she is.”
“And your son?” She sounded like she was holding back tears. “What’s he like?”
“Reserved. Kind. Loves horses.”
She laughed. “Just like his father.”
“Nah.” Kayce shook his head, hoisting her up on JR’s back. “He’s like his mother.”
Y/N had left two days after that, figuring out his father’s will and saying her goodbyes in record time. She’d shook his hand, when she left. It almost made him laugh, their last interaction was a handshake.
She’d smiled at Monica, saying niceties. When she looked at Tate, her eyes softened, and Kayce's heart almost broke all over again. “You’re a lucky kid.”
Tate had laughed. “Thank you?”
“Take care of your parents, yeah? You only get two of them.”
Monica smiled. “You should listen to her.”
Beth yelled out from the car. “You coming?”
That was the last he’d seen of her. The first love of his life. He’d tried hard to keep her promise, but she was everywhere. She was in the letter, in the ring that lay on the chain holding his dog tags. The ring that got him through his tour.
“Kayc?” Monica called out. “You coming in? Dinner’s ready?”
“Yeah, baby.” He smiled, tucking his dog tags back in his shirt. “I’m coming.”
hi! Can you do a Kacey fic about s4e1? Where him and Monica were already divorced, he was dating someone else who was with Tate that day. She gets shot protecting him. Just a lot of fluff!
thank you!
Protecting the Heir
Walking up the wooden stairs inside the main house I heard my phone started ringing inside my blue jeans pocket until I removed it outside of my pocket and pressed it up against my right ear. “Hey cowboy, how bored are you of that desk job already?”
“Extremely. Not much is happening today. I’d definitely rather be working the ranch with you and Tate.” Kayce sighed heavily on the other end of the phone.
I smiled weakly even though he couldn’t see it. “I know, honey. But just a few more hours and we can all cuddle up on the couch with some barbecue that Gator made and have nachos for dinner. How’s that sound?”
“You’re a girl truly after a rancher's heart.” Kayce declares and I swore I could almost hear the smile on his voice.
I snorted a laugh back in response. “Well I am dating one after all.”
“I'll make you my wife tonight when I get back if you keep talking like that. What is that - oh shit!” Kayce mumbled something under his breath before I could hear gun fire on his end of the phone call.
I called out his name, beginning to worry. “Kayce! Kayce what's happening over there?”
“Go to the bunkhouse.”
I asked him not sure what he meant. “What?”
“Find Tate and go to the bunkhouse. Grab one of the shotguns by the kitchen too.” He shouted back at me before I heard gunfire going off in rapid fire before the phone call went dead. I called his name even though the line had cut off, feeling a nervous tightness inside my chest. “Kayce! - shit - Tate, Tate!”
Bolting up the rest of the way of the staircase searching through the rooms for the young boy. When Kayce moved back onto his father’s ranch he had brought his son to live with him. During that time I was hired by John as his new horse trainer, which allowed me and Kayce something to instantly bond over.
He had divorced his wife Monica a few months before we had met. She still has some visitation with Tate but ultimately Kayce and I have full rights and parenting responsibilities over his son.
“Y/n! What happened?” Tate’s voice came from his bedroom before I saw him running straight towards me.
Wrapping my arms around his body once it collided with my body I held him for a brief moment. Remembering the phone call with my fiancé I broke the hug intertwining my hand with his, leading him down the stairs quickly. “Turn around and go down the stairs. Your daddy says we gotta leave.”
We scrambled through the living room heading towards the kitchen that had a door closest in the direction of the Bunkhouse. I gasped slamming into the chest of a guy dressed all in black clothing and a mask so I couldn’t see his face. “Urgh!”
“You or the kid try to run and I’ll kill you.” The stranger reached inside his coat, revealing a handgun from the waist of his jeans.
Pushing Tate behind me I glared at the guy. “You’re going to kill us either way.”
“I’d suggest you not talk back to me girl if you know what is good for you.” He warned me by keeping the barrel aimed directly at my forehead.
I didn’t waste another second before raising my leg and kicking the stranger in his groin causing him to drop the firearm and dropping to the ground in pain. Whipping my head around I hollered to the young Dutton standing behind me. “Tate, get to the bunkhouse - arrgg!” Suddenly the guy yanked me backwards by my hair, throwing me down onto the kitchen floor. He wrapped his hands around my throat, choking me while I attempted to reach for the handgun with my right foot. He noticed and elbowed me with his rib, making me moan. “Asshole!”
“Y/n!” Tate called my name hiding in the doorway of the kitchen, panic clear in his voice.
I punched the guy in the jaw where he held his chin rubbing the sore area. I began crawling away reaching for the gun, nearly grabbing it with my fingertips till he grabbed the back of my jacket dragging me backwards to him. “You’re gonna pay for that, bitch!” He wrapped one hand around my throat taking out a knife and quickly stabbing me in my lower stomach making me scream like a banshee.
The attacker removed the knife ready to stab me a second time but his body immediately collapsed beside me following a loud bang sound. “T-Tate.” Slowly rolling onto my side when I lifted my head I sighed in relief seeing the young kid holding the handgun in his hands.
“Y/n, you’re - you’re bleeding.” He lowered the handgun eyeing the stab wound on my stomach.
Getting up from the ground holding onto the nearby counter for balance I noticed my eyes getting heavier the second I was standing straight up. My throat was sore and I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. “Tate - call - 9 - 1 - 1.” Pressing my freehand to my bleeding wound I saw that my hand was quickly being covered in my own blood. I went to take a step forward towards the kid unfortunately I collapsed before him immediately falling unconscious.
The next time I blinked open my eyes I quickly shut them closed, getting blinded by the bright hospital lights shining down on me. Peeking one eye open I turned my head to the side seeing Kayce sleeping on the bed side of my bed with his head resting on his crossed arms until I lifted my hand close to him gently shaking him awake. “Kayce. Kayce, hey.”
“Hmm. Y/n. Y/n, oh my gosh.” Relief was the first expression to cross the youngest Dutton son’s face. He got up from his chair raising a hand to the side of my face cradling it in his palm. “I thought I had lost you. The nurse said you had lost a lot of blood.”
Leaning into his palm I placed my hand over his larger one. “Nobody can get rid of me that easily. Where’s Tate?”
“He’s out in the waiting room. I didn’t - the doctor recommended that he saw you once- if you woke up. Fuck, I thought I was about to lose you when I saw you all bruised and bandaged up laying in this bed.” Kayce admitted with watery eyes sniffing through tears. I could tell he was trying to remain tough but it didn’t last before he started bawling happy tears.
Opening my arms out wide I gestured my head to the side wanting him to climb up into the hospital bed with me. “Awe, come up here cowboy.”
“We can't both fit on the bed.” He shook his head no.
I smirked in his direction, raising a brow knowing he would cave in a second. “You thought differently when it came to having sex in the backseat of your truck.”
A genuine chuckle left his lips which was a rare sight to see given the lifestyle of his family. He pushed his chair back away from the bed then climbing into the bed once I had scooted over to the other side allowing him room. “Sometimes I wish you didn’t know me so well.” He wrapped his arms around my waist.
Running my thumb over the stubble on his chin I locked my gaze with his deep brown eyes. “If I didn’t pay attention to what you like, I'm not sure I’d be wearing this engagement ring on my finger.”
“I was thinking about that actually. How would you like to get married tonight?”
I sharply gaspe not expecting those words to come from his mouth. “Kayce John Dutton are you shiting me right now?”
“No, darling.” He stared deeply stare at me. “I’m very serious. Today made me realize that I don’t want to wait another minute. I want to call you my wife now.”
Draping my arms over his shoulders I leaned forward connecting my lips with his. He leans into the kiss moving one of his hands to the side of my face and his other hand gently threaded into my hair deepening the kiss the second he earned a moan from my lips. I threw one of my legs over his before he shifted so he was laying on his back and I was sitting on top of his lap, only focusing on how good it felt to kiss the other in this moment.
“Ew gross!” Kayce and I broke the heated kiss quickly turning our heads to the doorway noticing his ten year old son was standing there watching us.
I blushed, sending the kid a bright smile. “Tate, I’m happy to see you.”
“Are you feeling better after getting shot?” He asked nicely, crossing the room until he was at the end of the bed.
Nodding my head I knew I'd definitely feel more of the pain once I left the hospital since they had to do surgery to remove the bullet and close up the stab wound that I had. “I'm a little sore but I'll be fine. I'm just relieved that guy didn't hurt you.”
“So can we go get ice cream to celebrate your okay or are you and my dad going to start having sex again?” The young boy asked catching me and his father off guard.
Kayce turned bright red in the face as I was. “Tate!”
“What. I know when you close the bedroom to cuddle really means.” He shrugged his shoulders, sending us a disgusted face.
Running a hand down my face I sighed heavily so embarrassed. Dropping my hands into my lap I turned my attention back to his father who was likely still waiting on an answer from me. “So - uh about your idea earlier. How exactly would you get me discharged from the hospital in enough time for us to rush to the courthouse to get married before they close for the evening?”
“Simple, we just walk out and say we ain't got time to wait. We wanna get fucking married.” Kayce said with a smirk across his face, and I knew there was no changing his mind once he had an idea in his head.
I warned him. “Kayce.”
“Please darling.” He gave me sweet puppy dog eyes.
Closing my eyes I paused for a moment before getting his son's attention. “Tate, go grab one of the wheelchairs in the hallway. We're busting out of this place.” He ran out into the hallway leaving me and my fiancé in the room alone.
Grabbing Kayce’s jaw with my fingers I turned his chin so he was looking back at me before capturing my lips with his. “I can’t believe I’m gonna be calling you my husband tonight because you’re so impatient, Dutton.”
“Have you ever known my sister to be patient about anything? That should have told you that it runs in the family, honey.” He chuckled, kissing me longingly where I wrapped my arms around his neck deepening the kiss, happy that I would call him my husband the second Tate came back to help me sneak out of the hospital room.
The morning light stretched long and low across the Yellowstone valley, warming the frost that still clung to the grass. Horses snorted in the chill, their breath turning to steam while Ryan tightened the cinch on Banjo's saddle.
The world smelled of leather, damp earth, and the hard day waiting for them.
Ryan's mind was somewhere else entirely.
Two weeks.
That was how long it had been since Adaline drove away for Bozeman. Two weeks since she kissed him beside her truck, promised she would call, and laughed when he told her he would be fine.
He had lied through his teeth.
He swung into the saddle and gathered the reins, trying to push her from his thoughts as the others rode out. Jimmy pulled alongside him before they had cleared the barns, a grin already spreading across his face.
"Man, if you sigh any harder, that horse is gonna think you're tryin' to talk to it."
Colby laughed from behind them. "Ain't no use, Jimmy. Boy's got it bad. We ought to hang a sign around his neck that says lovesick, handle with care."
Ryan glanced back at them. "You two must be real bored if this is the best you've got."
Lloyd rode up on his other side, his expression dry beneath the brim of his hat. "They're right, kid. You've been mopin' worse than a calf left behind at branding. Hell, even the horses know you're missin' that girl."
Rip gave a low chuckle from a few feet ahead. "I've seen men fall hard before, but I don't think I've ever seen one look this damn pathetic. You've got that faraway stare, like you're seein' ghosts instead of cattle."
Ryan adjusted his hat, fighting the smile pulling at his mouth. "You all act like you've never missed a woman before."
Rip looked back at him, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Difference is, we didn't look like we were about to write a country song about it."
The group broke into laughter. Even Lloyd grinned.
Ryan shook his head and clicked his tongue at Banjo, pushing ahead of them. He did not mind the ribbing. Not really. It was part of life at the Yellowstone, and he knew he had made himself an easy target.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her anyway.
Her smile. The way she laughed with her whole body. The quiet sound she made when she tucked herself beneath his arm at night. The look she had given him before driving away, as though leaving hurt her too.
He missed her something fierce.
By midday, the last of the morning chill had burned away. Heat shimmered over the pasture while they moved the herd north, dust rising around the horses' legs. Rip rode out front. Lloyd watched the strays. Jimmy and Colby circled wide, still finding excuses to glance at Ryan and smirk.
John Dutton rode near the edge of the herd, steady and silent against the bright Montana sky.
It should have felt like any other day.
Without Adaline, even the familiar parts of the ranch felt wrong. The hours stretched longer. The bunkhouse seemed louder and emptier at the same time. Ryan had not realised how much of his day had come to revolve around finding her somewhere in it until she was gone.
Colby trotted up beside him. "You stare at that road one more time, you're gonna burn a hole through the horizon."
Jimmy appeared on Ryan's other side. "Think he's hopin' she'll just appear out of thin air. Poof. Love of his life, right there by the fence."
Ryan kept his gaze on the cattle. "Don't either of you have work to do?"
"We're doin' it," Colby said. "This is just more entertainin'."
Ryan opened his mouth to answer, then stopped.
Dust was rising along the road.
A truck rounded the bend and started up the lane. It was not one of the ranch rigs. It was smaller, older, and dark green.
His chest tightened.
Jimmy followed his line of sight and barked out a laugh. "Well, would you look at that. Dreams really do come true."
Ryan did not answer. He turned Banjo and pressed his heels into the horse's sides.
Banjo surged forward.
The field blurred around them as Ryan galloped toward the road. Wind tore at his shirt and flattened the brim of his hat, but he barely noticed. Behind him, Colby whooped loud enough to startle half the herd.
"Go get her, Romeo!"
Rip reined in his horse and watched Ryan fly across the grass. "Guess he found a reason to move faster than a trot."
Lloyd chuckled. "Boy's gone."
Even John looked over. His expression stayed difficult to read, but something warmer settled in his eyes as he watched Ryan race toward his youngest daughter.
The truck had barely stopped when the driver's door flew open.
Adaline jumped down, boots hitting the dirt. Her chestnut hair caught in the wind as she turned toward the field, searching.
Then she saw him.
Her whole face lit up.
Ryan swung down before Banjo had fully stopped. He hit the ground running, and Adaline ran too.
They met in the tall grass between the road and the pasture.
She threw herself into his arms. Ryan caught her easily, lifting her clear off the ground and turning once as her legs wrapped around his waist. Her laughter broke against his neck while he held her tight enough to prove she was real.
He buried his face in her hair and breathed her in.
"Missed me that much, huh?" she asked, breathless and smiling.
A rough laugh escaped him. "You have no idea."
She leaned back far enough to look at him. Her fingers brushed over the stubble along his jaw, her expression softening.
"You look tired."
"Couldn't sleep right."
"Could've called me."
"I did call you. Every night."
"You could've called twice."
Ryan smiled and pulled her closer. "Next time, I will."
He kissed her before she could tease him again.
It was not a careful kiss. Two weeks of missing her went into it, along with every restless night and every mile he had imagined between them. Adaline's hands slid into his hair. Ryan held her against him, forgetting the herd, the work, and every man watching from horseback behind them.
A sharp whistle carried across the field.
Jimmy's voice followed it. "That right there is what whipped looks like!"
Colby shouted, "Look at him. Smilin' like he just saw the gates of heaven!"
Adaline laughed into Ryan's mouth and eased back. "We've got an audience."
Ryan looked over his shoulder.
The riders had gathered in a loose line, horses shifting lazily beneath them. Rip wore an openly amused smirk. Lloyd shook his head. Jimmy and Colby looked far too pleased with themselves.
John sat among them.
Ryan's throat went dry. "Aw, hell."
Adaline pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Relax. He's happy I'm home."
"He can be happy you're home and still shoot me. Those things ain't mutually exclusive."
She laughed again and finally let her feet touch the ground, though Ryan kept both hands at her waist.
John met his gaze from across the field. After a moment, he gave one small nod.
It was not exactly permission, but Ryan decided it was close enough.
"Guess I'm not fired," he murmured.
"Not yet," Adaline said.
Banjo wandered closer, reins trailing through the grass. Ryan caught them before the horse could decide to leave without him. The others approached at an easy walk, their laughter carrying on the warm wind.
Jimmy leaned over his saddle horn. "You two done, or should we give you the whole field?"
"Think he forgot what work was," Colby said.
Lloyd tipped his hat toward Adaline. "Welcome home, sweetheart. Maybe now the rest of us can get some peace."
Adaline smiled. "Was he really that bad?"
"Worse," Rip said.
Ryan shot him a betrayed look. "Thought you were supposed to be on my side."
"I am. Doesn't mean I'm gonna lie for you."
Adaline slipped her hand into Ryan's and began tugging him toward her father. "Come on. Let's say hello to Daddy before he changes his mind about not shooting you."
"That's a terrible sentence."
"Still true."
John waited until they reached him. His reins rested loose in one hand, but his attention was fixed on Adaline.
"Welcome home, darlin'."
Her smile turned softer. "Missed you, Daddy. Missed this place too."
"I can tell." His gaze moved to Ryan. "Didn't waste a minute findin' him."
A fresh wave of laughter moved through the men.
Ryan rubbed the back of his neck. "Good to see you too, sir."
John's mouth twitched. "Heard you've been workin'. Rip says you've been half here and half lost somewhere toward Bozeman."
"Reckon he's not wrong."
Adaline stepped closer to John's horse, still holding Ryan's hand. "Since I'm back, I was hoping you might let him have the rest of the day. Maybe the evening too."
Ryan looked at her. "Addie."
She ignored him. "He's earned it."
John raised one brow. "That so? Could've sworn we still had fences to check and cattle to move."
"You just said he's been working hard."
"I said Rip told me he was workin'."
"Same thing."
"Not even close."
She gave him the look that had probably been winning arguments since she learned how to speak. Her eyes widened. Her voice softened into something sweet and carefully innocent.
"Please, Daddy? I haven't seen him in two weeks."
Behind her, Jimmy made a strangled sound that quickly turned into a cough when Rip looked his way.
John studied his daughter for several seconds. The stern set of his mouth never changed, but Ryan saw the fight against a smile in the corners of his eyes.
"You always did know how to stack a deck, Adaline."
"Learned from the best."
John let out a slow breath. "Fine. Take the rest of the day. But if Rip's shorthanded tomorrow, Ryan's back here before sunrise."
Adaline beamed. "Thank you, Daddy."
Ryan blinked, still surprised they had won. "Thank you, sir. I promise I'll..."
John lifted a hand. "Don't promise me nothin'. Just make sure she's still smilin' when you bring her back."
That earned whistles from Jimmy and Colby. Rip lowered his head, hiding a grin beneath the brim of his hat.
Adaline squeezed Ryan's hand. "You heard the boss."
"Yes, ma'am."
Ryan tipped his hat to John, then handed Adaline the reins while he mounted Banjo. Once he was settled, he reached down, caught her by the waist, and lifted her onto the saddle in front of him.
Jimmy hollered, "Take it easy, lover boy!"
"Bring her back before dark," Colby called. "Or you're buyin' breakfast."
Lloyd laughed and shook his head. "That man's done for."
Ryan wrapped one arm around Adaline and turned Banjo toward the open pasture.
"Worth it," he called back.
John watched them ride away, Banjo's hooves kicking dust into the sunlight. Rip guided his horse closer.
"You ain't gonna admit it," Rip said quietly, "but it's good to see her happy."
John kept his eyes on the pair disappearing into the grass. "A father doesn't have to admit it to know it."
Then he nudged his horse toward the herd.
"Now let's finish the work they just got out of."
Ryan let Banjo slow once the house and corrals had faded into distant shapes. The land opened around them, grass rolling toward the mountains, cottonwoods rustling along the creek.
Adaline leaned back against his chest. His arm stayed firm around her waist while his other hand held the reins.
"It feels good to breathe again," she said.
"Been holdin' mine for two weeks."
She tipped her head back to look at him. "You really missed me that much?"
Ryan pressed his mouth to her temple. "Missed you more than sleep. More than food. Might've missed you more than my own sanity."
"You never had much of that to begin with."
"Then I couldn't afford to lose any."
Her laughter drifted across the empty field.
They reached the creek and dismounted beneath the cottonwoods. Ryan loosened Banjo's cinch and let him graze nearby while Adaline wandered to the water's edge. The creek ran clear over smooth stones, shaded and cool after the heat of the pasture.
For a moment, Ryan simply watched her.
She had traded her boots and jeans for a light summer dress before leaving Bozeman, and the pale fabric moved around her knees in the breeze. Her hair fell loose down her back. She looked like every thought that had kept him awake made real in front of him.
Adaline turned and caught him staring.
"You look at me like I'm gonna vanish."
Ryan took off his hat and set it on the grass. "After two weeks, I ain't takin' chances."
She crossed the space between them and touched his jaw. The small contact pulled him toward her until their foreheads met.
"I'm here," she whispered.
"You'd better stay here."
"Bossy."
"Next time you go anywhere, you're takin' me with you."
A smile curved her lips. "I don't think my dad would be happy to lose one of his ranch hands every time I have to leave town."
Ryan slid both hands around her hips and brought her flush against him. "I'm yours, darlin'. Only yours. He just borrows me for the cattle."
The breath left her lungs.
Then she kissed him.
The kiss turned hungry almost at once. Ryan's hands tightened on her hips while Adaline rose onto her toes, pulling him closer. All the ache of the past two weeks broke loose between them in deep, breathless kisses.
His hands moved lower and gripped her through the thin fabric of her dress. She moaned softly into his mouth, and Ryan smiled against her lips.
"Missed that sound."
"Then stop talking."
"Yes, ma'am."
Her fingers found his belt buckle. She opened it without breaking the kiss, fumbling only once when Ryan pulled her tight enough to steal her balance.
He steadied her with a laugh, then shrugged out of his shirt. Adaline's gaze travelled over his bare chest, open want warming her eyes.
Ryan reached for the hem of her dress but stopped, giving her time to decide.
Adaline held his gaze and lifted it over her head herself.
White lace panties were the only thing she wore beneath it.
Ryan stared.
She folded the dress and placed it on the grass beside his hat, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"You tryin' to kill me, darlin'?"
"Maybe I missed you too."
He stepped into her again, cupping the back of her neck as he kissed her. Adaline pulled at his jeans until he helped her push them down. Their remaining clothes followed, left in a careless pile beside the creek.
Ryan lowered her into the tall grass slowly, one hand cradling her head. The stalks bent beneath them, soft from the summer heat, while the leaves overhead shifted in the wind.
Adaline reached for him at once.
He settled over her, bracing his weight on one arm as their mouths met again. Her hands moved over his back and down to his bare ass, squeezing hard enough to drag a groan from him.
She smiled against his lips. "Missed that sound."
"Brat."
"Still talking."
Ryan kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then the sensitive place beneath her ear. His hand slipped between her thighs. She was already wet, her hips lifting instinctively into his touch.
"Jesus, Addie."
"Ryan, please."
He stroked her slowly, watching every change in her face. "This all for me?"
"Who else would it be for?"
His mouth curved. "Good answer."
Adaline caught his wrist and pulled him closer. "I don't want slow. Not today."
Something in his expression sharpened.
Ryan lined himself up with her entrance, his eyes never leaving hers. He pushed into her in one steady movement, and they both groaned at the feeling of finally being joined again.
For several seconds, he stayed still.
Adaline wrapped her legs around him and dragged her nails lightly over his shoulders. "You can move."
"Just needed a second."
"Why?"
He lowered his forehead to hers. "Wanted to remember how this feels."
Her expression softened, but the tenderness did not last long. She tightened around him deliberately, and Ryan's breath caught.
"Remember faster."
He laughed once, low and rough, then began to move.
The first thrusts were slow and deep. Adaline's eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting as pleasure rolled through her. Ryan watched her until she looked at him again, then kissed her hard and drove into her with more force.
Her fingers dug into his back.
"God, I missed you," he breathed against her mouth.
"Missed you too."
"Thought about you every damn night."
Ryan shifted his hips, finding the angle that made her gasp.
"Took myself in hand in the shower and pictured you," he whispered into her ear. "Pictured this. Pictured how wet you'd be when I got you back."
Adaline's head fell against the grass. "Ryan."
"Did you touch yourself thinkin' about me?"
She nodded, already struggling to breathe evenly. "All the time."
"Tell me."
"I missed your hands. Your mouth." She pulled him closer with her legs. "Missed your cock so much."
A harsh sound left him, and his pace broke loose.
He drove into her harder, the tall grass whispering around their bodies with every movement. Adaline clung to him, meeting each thrust, heat gathering low in her stomach until it became almost unbearable.
"I'm close," she gasped. "Please, baby. Make me come."
Ryan kissed her, teeth grazing her lower lip. His hand slipped between them, fingers finding her clit while he kept the same relentless rhythm.
"Come for me, Addie."
Her walls tightened around him.
"That's it," he said. "Let me feel you."
The pleasure broke through her hard and fast. Adaline cried out against his mouth, her body trembling beneath him as her nails scored his back.
Ryan groaned at the sting. It pushed him over the edge with her.
He buried himself deep and came with her name on his lips, his hips slowing as the last shudder moved through him.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Ryan lowered himself carefully, keeping most of his weight off her, and tucked his face into the curve of her neck. Adaline's fingers slid into his hair while their breathing slowly settled.
The creek murmured beside them. Wind moved through the cottonwoods. Somewhere beyond the trees, Banjo snorted and returned to grazing as though nothing important had happened at all.
Ryan lifted his head at last. A lazy smile softened his face.
"Hi," Adaline whispered.
"Hi."
He kissed her once. Then again. Then three more times until she laughed and covered his mouth with her hand.
"You planning on letting me breathe?"
He kissed her palm. "Not for another two weeks."
"I have to go places sometimes."
"No, you don't."
"Ryan."
"Fine. You can go to the kitchen. Maybe the barn."
She laughed harder, wrapping both arms around his neck. "God, I love you."
His smile disappeared into something quieter and more honest.
"I love you too."
By the time Adaline woke, the world had turned golden.
She lay tucked against Ryan's chest in the tall grass, wrapped in his open shirt. His arm circled her middle. Their legs were tangled beneath the loose cover of her dress, which he had draped over them before sleep claimed them both.
His heartbeat moved slow and steady against her back.
For a long moment, she did not move.
The air smelled of sage, dry earth, and summer dust. The scent clung to the land, to Ryan's skin, and to the shirt around her shoulders. Nearby, the creek caught the last light and scattered it across the stones.
Adaline traced the back of his hand where it rested over her stomach.
"You awake?"
"Been awake," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Just didn't wanna move."
She turned carefully in his arms until she could see him. The sunset painted his skin in amber, softening the tired lines that had been there when she arrived.
"Didn't mean to fall asleep."
Ryan brushed a thumb along her cheek. "Don't apologise. Been too long since I got to hold you like this."
Her heart softened. "Yeah. It has."
They stayed there while the light changed from gold to rose. Banjo grazed a short distance away, tail flicking at flies. Crickets had begun to sing in the grass.
Adaline rested her forehead against Ryan's chest. "We should probably head back soon. Daddy's gonna start wondering."
Ryan tightened his arm around her. "Let him wonder. It's been a long two weeks. He can give me one more hour."
She looked up. "You think he'll give you that?"
"He already did. He just doesn't know it yet."
"You're impossible."
"You love me."
"Unfortunately."
He rolled her onto her back and kissed her until she took it back.
A little later, they dressed beneath the cottonwoods. Ryan fastened his jeans while Adaline shook the grass from her dress, then stood still as he buttoned his shirt around her shoulders instead.
"I have my own clothes," she reminded him.
"I know."
"Then why am I wearing yours?"
Ryan looked her over, clearly satisfied. "Because I like it."
She pushed the sleeves up her arms. "Possessive."
"Damn right."
The sun was touching the ridge when they returned to Banjo. Ryan mounted first, then lifted Adaline onto the saddle in front of him. She settled against his chest while he gathered the reins.
"This was perfect," she said.
Ryan kissed her hair. "Yeah. It was."
Banjo carried them home through honeyed light, the shadows growing longer across the field. Behind them, the sun slipped lower, leaving the creek, the tall grass, and the quiet place they had made their own.
The sky had deepened to violet by the time they crested the last rise overlooking the ranch. Lights glowed in the house and barns, warm against the darkening fields. Smoke curled from a chimney, and the evening sounds drifted toward them.
Ryan slowed Banjo near the corrals.
The crew was finishing for the day. Rip secured a gate while Jimmy and Colby leaned against the fence. Lloyd stood nearby, coiling a rope with patient, practised movements.
Jimmy looked up first.
His eyes moved from Ryan's unbuttoned collar to Adaline wearing Ryan's shirt, then to her thoroughly tangled hair.
He nearly folded over laughing.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in."
Colby followed his stare and grinned. "You two roll down a hill on the way back? Her hair looks like she wrestled a tumbleweed and lost."
Adaline gasped, half laughing and half scandalised. "Excuse me?"
Jimmy held up both hands. "I didn't say it looked bad. Just lived in."
Lloyd chuckled. "That ain't helpin' you, son."
Ryan narrowed his eyes at Jimmy. "You keep talkin', and you're fixin' to ride night guard for the next month."
Rip did not turn from the gate. "I'll allow it."
Jimmy immediately closed his mouth, though his shoulders still shook.
Adaline tried to smooth her hair with both hands. It only made it worse. Ryan gently tucked one wild strand behind her ear.
"Ignore them," he murmured. "They're jealous."
"Damn right," Colby said.
Jimmy smacked his arm.
Ryan swung down, then reached up for Adaline. He caught her at the waist and lowered her to the ground. Her boots touched the dirt, but his hands lingered until she smiled at him.
The soft thud of hooves drew their attention.
John rode toward them from the far side of the corral. He stopped a few feet away and took in his daughter's appearance, Ryan's shirt around her shoulders, and the satisfied look neither of them was doing a good job of hiding.
Ryan tipped his hat. "Evenin'. Got her back in one piece."
John's eyes glinted beneath the brim of his hat. "Looks like she gave you a run for your money, son."
"Wouldn't have it any other way, sir."
Adaline stepped closer. "You mad we were gone so long?"
John studied her for a moment, then shook his head. "Mad? No. Glad you found your way back before dinner got cold. Don't make a habit of it."
"Yes, sir," she said, failing completely to hide her smile.
John turned his horse toward the barn. "Try to make yourselves look halfway respectable before you come inside."
The crew broke into fresh laughter.
Jimmy pointed at Adaline. "He noticed the hair."
"Jimmy," Rip warned.
Ryan slipped an arm around Adaline's waist as they started toward the house. "Told you he wasn't mad."
"No," she said, leaning into him. "Just Daddy."
Behind them, Jimmy muttered something about Ryan being branded. Colby laughed. Lloyd told them both to get back to work.
Ryan squeezed Adaline's side. "Still worth sneakin' away for, Miss Dutton?"
She looked up at him, eyes bright beneath the ranch lights. "Always."
The fire in the great room had burned low by the time they finished dinner. Its glow moved across the old wood floors and painted long shadows against the walls.
John sat in his usual chair with a glass of bourbon in one hand. His hat rested on the table beside him.
Adaline sat at the end of the couch, freshly washed and wearing one of her old sweaters. Ryan sat beside her, close enough that their knees touched. She had tucked her feet beneath herself, and her hair, still damp from the shower, spilled over one shoulder.
For the first time since she returned, the house had gone truly quiet.
John looked from the fire to the two of them. "Have a good ride?"
Adaline smiled. "We did. It was nice to get away for a while."
Ryan nodded. "Good to breathe."
John took a slow sip from his glass. "That's the thing about this place. Takes a lot out of you. Every now and then, it gives a little back."
Ryan glanced at Adaline before answering. "Yes, sir. It does."
Silence settled again, comfortable and warm. The fire cracked softly. Somewhere down the hall, an old clock ticked with patient regularity.
John's gaze returned to Ryan.
"You're doin' right by her."
Ryan sat a little straighter.
"Keep it that way," John said.
The words carried no threat. That made them feel more important.
Ryan met his eyes. "Always will, sir."
Adaline smiled and laced her fingers through his. "I told you he'd come around."
John gave a quiet huff of amusement. "I didn't go anywhere, sweetheart. Just had to see it for myself."
"And now you have."
John watched their joined hands for a moment, then leaned back and returned his attention to the fire.
"Good," he said.
That was all.
It was enough.
Adaline rested her head on Ryan's shoulder. He covered her hand with his and traced slow circles over her skin with his thumb.
John looked at them once more. His face remained stoic, but something in his eyes had softened. Pride, perhaps. Relief. The quiet acceptance of a father who knew his youngest daughter had chosen someone who loved her well.
Outside, the Montana night pressed close around the house. Stars burned bright over the wide sleeping land. The barns had gone still, and the last of the bunkhouse laughter had faded.
Inside, there was only the fire, the warmth of Adaline beside him, and John Dutton's unspoken blessing settling over them.
For Ryan, sitting beneath that roof with her hand in his, it felt like more than belonging to the Yellowstone.
Description: After catching her boyfriend Dean Winchester cheating and facing the cold rejection of her father, Bobby Singer, Y/N leaves her past behind to become an Army Ranger. When a severe combat injury forces her into medical discharge, she seeks a fresh start in the rugged landscape of Montana. There, she finds refuge, an intense romance with foreman Rip Wheeler, and a bitter betrayal by Beth Dutton that shifts her entire destiny into the arms of John Dutton. When tragedy strikes again, Y/N flees to Chicago’s Firehouse 51, navigating motherhood, a high-stakes custody battle, and an unexpected second chance at true love with Lieutenant Kelly Severide.
The Break in South Dakota and the Road to Montana
The heavy scent of old motor oil, rusted iron, and stale coffee always clung to the walls of Bobby Singer’s salvage yard, but on that rainy South Dakota night, the air inside the kitchen felt thick enough to suffocate a person. Sixteen-year-old Y/N stood in the middle of the cluttered room, her hands shaking so violently she had to grip the edge of the Formica counter to keep from collapsing. Her chest heaved, every breath shallow and agonizing. She had just walked into the cheap motel room down the highway to drop off a spare truck tire and caught Dean Winchester—her first love, the boy who had sworn on his life to protect her—in bed with a nameless girl from town.
"Dean, how could you?" she whispered, her voice cracking as the image of them together burned into her mind.
Dean had scrambled up, frantically pulling his jeans on, his face a mix of panic and defensive anger. "Y/N, it didn't mean anything! It was just a stupid mistake, I swear to God! Look at me!"
"Don't touch me!" she had screamed, turning on her heel and sprinting back to the salvage yard through the pouring rain.
Now, tears streamed down Y/N's face, blurring the dim yellow light of Bobby's kitchen. She looked across the room at her father, desperately begging with her eyes for a shred of comfort, a reassuring arm around her shoulder, or even just a flash of paternal anger on her behalf.
Instead, Bobby didn't even lift his eyes from the ancient, leather-bound lore book resting on the wooden table. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his cheap whiskey, swallowed hard, and let out a heavy, dismissive sigh.
"Should've been better, girl," Bobby muttered, his voice flat, gravelly, and completely devoid of empathy. He finally glanced up, his eyes cold beneath the frayed brim of his worn baseball cap. "If you can't keep a hunter's attention, don't come crying to me about it. In this life, you either hold your own or you get left behind. Now clean your face."
Y/N stared at him, her heart shattering into a thousand jagged pieces. "That's it? He cheats on me, breaks my heart, and you blame me?"
"I'm telling you how the world works," Bobby grunted, turning the page of his book, effectively dismissing her. "The Winchesters are hunters. They take what they want. If you're too soft to handle it, that's on you."
The words hit harder than a physical blow. That was the exact second something permanently broke inside Y/N. The vulnerability of a teenage girl died right there on the stained linoleum floor. She didn't scream, she didn't argue, and she didn't shed another tear. She walked out of the house that night, packed a single canvas duffel bag, and stayed on the move until the exact day she turned eighteen.
The moment she was legally able, she signed the enlistment papers and joined the United States Army. She didn't just want an escape; she wanted to become a weapon. She pushed her body and mind through the grueling, hellish discipline of the airborne infantry, surviving the elite scrutiny of the Ranger Assessment and Selection Program to become one of the few women to earn a spot as an Army Ranger. For four long years, she heard absolutely nothing from Dean Winchester, and she sent nothing to her father. She became a ghost to them, reborn in the mud, blood, and rigid discipline of combat deployments.
Then came the ambush in a dusty, nameless valley overseas. A devastating roadside explosion tore through her unit's convoy, throwing her clear of the vehicle but leaving her with severe shrapnel wounds across her shoulder, a fractured collarbone, and a shattered left knee. The medical discharge papers were handed to her alongside a Purple Heart, casting her adrift back into a civilian world she no longer recognized or cared for.
Now, at twenty-two years old, Y/N was driving a beat-up, dark blue Chevy pickup truck down a lonely, winding Montana highway. The afternoon sun was beginning to dip behind the jagged peaks of the Rocky Mountains, casting long, dramatic shadows across the valley. The bed of her truck was loaded heavy—a sleek, black vintage motorcycle securely strapped down, surrounded by multiple tactical duffel bags stuffed with clothes, gear, and the fragmented remnants of her life.
Without warning, the Chevy’s engine sputtered violently. The dashboard lights flickered, and the gas gauge dropped straight past the red line to absolute empty.
"Damn it," Y/N muttered, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the steering wheel, trying to guide the coasting vehicle. With a frustrating, hollow wheeze, the truck rolled to a dead stop on the gravel shoulder of the deserted road.
She sat in the silence of the cabin for a moment, resting her forehead against the steering wheel. She was completely isolated, surrounded by miles of endless pine trees and rolling fencing. She had no way of knowing that she had broken down exactly one mile away from the perimeter entrance of the infamous, sprawling Dutton Ranch. Stranded and realizing no one was coming to save her, Y/N reached into her tactical bag on the passenger seat. She checked the magazine of her standard-issue 9mm handgun, racked the slide, and securely holstered it beneath her heavy canvas jacket for protection. Grabbing a heavy, empty plastic gas can from the truck bed, she stepped out onto the asphalt and began to walk.
The crisp, thinning Montana air bit at her cheeks, and with every step, her injured left knee throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that she forced herself to ignore. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of walking the shoulder, the massive timber-and-iron archway of the Dutton Ranch loomed ahead. Desperate for a gas station and noticing a well-worn dirt driveway leading deep into the property, Y/N decided to see if someone inside could help.
As her boots crunched against the gravel of the main yard, the imposing, massive log mansion came into view. But before her feet could even reach the bottom steps of the wraparound porch, the heavy oak front door swung open with a sharp creak. Jamie Dutton stepped out onto the wood, his face instantly twisting into a mask of legalistic suspicion and hostility. He was followed closely by his brother, Kayce, whose eyes were locked onto Y/N’s stance, his hand instinctively resting on the butt of the pistol holstered at his hip.
"Stop right there!" Jamie called out, his voice sharp, echoing across the quiet yard. "This is private property. State your business right now."
Kayce didn't hesitate. Recognizing the tactical posture of the stranger, he drew his weapon, leveling the barrel straight at Y/N's chest. "Lotta empty road out there for someone to just be wandering up to a private home. Hands where I can see 'em."
From the deep, dark shadows of the far corner of the porch, a tall, imposing figure stayed entirely hidden. John Dutton stood motionless in the gloom, his cowboy hat tilted low over his brow, a smoking cigarette held loosely between his fingers. He silently observed the young woman, waiting to see if she would panic under the threat of a firearm.
Y/N didn't flinch. Her military training took over instantly; her breathing remained perfectly rhythmic, her posture rigid, and her eyes completely calm as she slowly raised the empty red gas can in her left hand, keeping her right hand far away from her concealed weapon.
"I don't want any trouble, gentlemen," Y/N said, her voice smooth, steady, and entirely unbothered by the gun pointed at her. "My truck ran out of gas about a mile down the highway. I'm just looking for a ride into the nearest town so I can buy a few gallons, fill my can, and be on my way."
Suddenly, the heavy, fast crunch of gravel echoed from behind the main barn. Rip Wheeler materialized, his massive, broad-shadowed frame intimidating as he marched toward the porch, backed by Lloyd, Ryan, and a small group of rugged bunkhouse hands. They were all armed, faces grim, ready to throw this intruder off the land by force if necessary. Rip stepped forward, his heavy boots halting just a few feet from her, his dark eyes glaring beneath his black hat. "You picked the wrong fucking ranch to get lost on, girl. Turn around and start walking back to the road."
"Hold on a minute," a deep, gravelly voice echoed from the dark corner of the porch.
John Dutton stepped out of the shadows and into the fading sunlight. The absolute, unyielding authority radiating from the patriarch was instantaneous. At his simple command, Kayce slowly lowered his weapon, and Jamie stepped back against the log wall. Rip immediately halted his advance, though his eyes remained glued to Y/N, scanning her for any sudden movements.
John walked slowly down the porch steps, his piercing blue eyes scanning her face, taking note of the military-grade boots, the rigid set of her shoulders, and the slight, involuntary favor she gave to her left leg. Most of all, he saw the deep, haunting trauma mirrored in her eyes.
"Who are you?" John asked, his voice softer now, carrying a quiet respect. "And where are you from?"
"Y/N," she replied simply, looking him straight in the eye without a hint of fear. "And I'm not really from anywhere anymore, sir."
John nodded slowly, recognizing a lost, hardened soul when he saw one. He turned his head slightly toward his men. "Rip, take your truck, drive her into town, and get her whatever gas she needs. Kayce, take Lloyd and a couple of the boys, go find her truck a mile down, and tow it back here to the main lot before some local meth-head strips it clean on the shoulder."
Y/N looked at John, genuinely surprised by the sudden hospitality. "Thank you, Mr. Dutton. I appreciate it."
The drive into town in Rip’s heavy-duty RAM truck started in a heavy, suffocating silence. Rip kept his eyes locked on the asphalt ahead, his massive, calloused hands gripping the steering wheel. But as the miles rolled by, the sheer anomaly of her presence got the better of his rugged exterior.
"You don't talk much, do you?" Rip asked, glancing over at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Only when I have something to say," Y/N replied smoothly, looking out the passenger window at the passing pines.
"Military?" Rip asked, his tone dropping a fraction of its hostility. "Saw how you stood when Kayce pulled his piece. Didn't even twitch."
"Army Rangers. Four years," she said shortly. "Got blown up. Discharged. Now I'm here."
As they reached the town’s gas station and began filling the heavy plastic cans, the conversation naturally opened up. Rip listened in absolute silence as she casually mentioned the double betrayal by her first love and her father that had driven her out of her home state for good. Rip felt a strange, sudden kinship with her. He knew exactly what it was like to be discarded by family, to have nowhere to go, and to find solace in a rigid, unforgiving lifestyle. By the time they finished loading the gas cans into the back of the truck, Rip’s harsh, defensive exterior had completely melted away around her, replaced by a deep, quiet intrigue.
When they pulled back onto the gravel lot of the Dutton Ranch, Y/N was stunned to see her blue Chevy pickup already parked neatly near the stables, completely untouched and safe. She walked over, emptied the gas cans into her tank, and turned to John Dutton, who was standing by the corral fence watching the sunset.
"I can't thank you enough, Mr. Dutton," Y/N said, reaching for her truck's door handle. "I'll get out of your hair now and leave you to your ranch."
John smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "You ever been around horses, Y/N? Know how to handle 'em?"
Y/N paused, letting her hand drop from the handle. "A close friend of mine back in South Dakota... his family owned a major farm. I spent a lot of my teenage summers working their stables, breaking in the stubborn colts, and mending fences. I can handle them."
"Good," John said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Because I'm short a hand right now, and you look like you need a place to land for a while. The bunkhouse is full of grunts, but if you work hard, you'll have a roof over your head, hot meals, and a steady paycheck. What do you say?"
Y/N looked around at the beautiful, savage landscape of the valley and felt, for the first time in four years, a strange sense of peace. "I'd be honored, sir."
The Bunkhouse, The Foremen's Cabin, and The Betrayal
A full year flew by on the ranch, turning into two, and then three. Y/N proved herself tenfold, out-working half the men on the property, mastering the cattle drives, and earning the deep, unyielding respect of the bunkhouse. But more than that, she had earned the heart of Rip Wheeler. Their shared traumas and unspoken understandings bonded them in a way neither had ever experienced. Soon, their professional respect blossomed into a passionate, deeply intense, and consuming romance.
They moved into Rip’s small, secluded foreman's cabin on the property, sharing quiet nights away from the chaos of the ranch. The passion between them was explosive, born from a desperate, mutual need to feel alive and safe.
One stormy night, after a grueling fourteen-hour day in the branding pens, the tension between them snapped. The moment the cabin door clicked shut, Rip pinned Y/N against the rough wood of the door, his massive hands cupping her face as he kissed her with a fierce, desperate hunger. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, groaning into his mouth as he carried her effortlessly to the mattress. He stripped away her flannel shirt and her tank top, his calloused thumbs gently tracing the silver shrapnel scars on her shoulder and the rigid lines of her abdomen with a reverence he had never shown another living soul.
Rip's breath was hot against her skin as he trailed his lips down her throat, pinning her wrists gently above her head. "You're different from any woman I've ever known, Y/N," he growled, his voice thick with a raw, heavy desire. "You're pure steel."
"Then break me, Rip," she whispered back, her breath hitching as his large hands slid down to unbutton her heavy denim jeans.
He didn't waste another second. He shed his own clothes, his heavily muscled, scarred body looming over hers in the dim light of the single oil lamp. When he slid deep inside her, Y/N arched her back off the mattress, a loud, breathless gasp tearing from her throat. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, her fingernails digging deep into the thick muscles of his back, anchoring herself to him as he began to move. Rip set a punishing, primal rhythm, his hips slamming against hers with an intensity that made the wooden frame of the bed creak against the floorboards.
"Rip... please," Y/N gasped out, her head tossing on the pillow as the friction heated the air between them. She clamped her inner muscles tightly around his thick girth, driving him wild.
"I got you, sweetheart. I ain't letting go," Rip growled back, his pace becoming frantic, harder, driving his weight into her over and over. His calloused hands slid under her hips, lifting her to meet each brutal, deep thrust. The slick, wet friction between them echoed in the small cabin, a primal sound that mixed with Y/N’s broken, breathless cries. She arched her back, burying her teeth into his muscular shoulder as he drove deeper, hitting her sweet spot repeatedly until her vision blurred with pleasure.
Y/N shattered first, her walls pulsing violently around him as a powerful orgasm rippled through her entire body. Hearing her cry out his name in pure ecstasy, Rip let out a deep, guttural groan. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his body tensing completely as he delivered three final, deep, punishing thrusts, his own explosive release tearing through him, filling her deep inside. They collapsed together into the tangled, sweat-soaked sheets, their chests heaving, completely spent. In those quiet hours, wrapped tightly against his broad chest in the dark, Y/N truly believed she had finally found her forever.
But paradise on the Dutton Ranch never lasted.
Beth Dutton eventually noticed the genuine happiness radiating from Rip, and it twisted something dark, ugly, and deeply possessive inside her. Jealous of the bond Rip shared with the quiet ex-soldier, Beth began a systematic, venomous campaign to destroy Y/N. She started whispering malicious lies into Rip’s ear every chance she got.
"She’s a drifter, Rip," Beth would hiss over glasses of whiskey on the main house porch. "You really think an Army girl like that stays satisfied with just one cowboy? I saw her behind the barn with Lloyd last week. I saw how she looks at Laramie and the rest of the boys in the bunkhouse when you aren't looking. She's using you."
At first, Rip fiercely defended Y/N, his loyalty unwavering. But Beth’s whispers were relentless, slowly picking at his deepest, most ancient insecurities of being abandoned and unloved. He began to confront Y/N in the cabin, his voice shaking with a terrifying mix of anger and fear.
"Beth said she saw you acting strange with the hands by the trailers, Y/N," Rip muttered one night, his eyes pleading for her to deny it.
Y/N looked at him, her heart sinking that he would even entertain the question. "Rip, I love you. I have never, and would never, look at another man on this ranch. You know my character. Don't let her do this to us."
And for a while, he believed her. Even John Dutton noticed his daughter's toxic games and warned her sternly in the main dining room. "Beth, leave them damn well alone. Y/N is a good woman, she works hard, and she’s good for Rip. Cut it out right now."
But Beth didn't listen. Driven by a pathological need to control, she went a step further. Utilizing her high-end corporate resources, she forged explicit photographs and fabricated fake text logs, making it look undeniably like Y/N was sleeping with multiple ranch hands behind Rip's back. When she laid the highly detailed, forged evidence in front of Rip in the stables, his historic blind loyalty to Beth and his deep-seated self-loathing took complete control. The doubt began to fester like a disease, and he started treating Y/N with a cold, biting, and silent resentment.
The breaking point arrived on a Tuesday afternoon. Y/N had been feeling violently ill in the mornings for the past few weeks, and a secret test she had taken in the cabin bathroom confirmed life-altering news: she was pregnant with Rip's baby. Excited, terrified, and desperate to use this beautiful news to mend the growing, icy rift between them, she walked up the trail to Rip's cabin during the afternoon break to tell him.
She pushed the cabin door open, a soft smile forming on her lips as she opened her mouth to call his name. "Rip? You in here? I have something—"
The words died instantly in her throat.
There, on the bed they had shared for three years, was Rip, completely naked, pinned beneath a similarly bare Beth Dutton. Beth was straddling his hips, her head thrown back in pleasure, while Rip's hands were gripped tightly on her waist, his body moving in a familiar, heavy rhythm that tore Y/N's soul apart.
Y/N didn't scream, she didn't gasp, and she didn't throw a tantrum. The brutal, freezing discipline of her Army Ranger past took over her central nervous system instantly, locking her emotions behind an impenetrable wall of pure ice. The sharp rustle of the door made Rip snap his head up. His eyes widened in absolute, paralyzing horror as he saw Y/N standing in the doorway. Beth merely smirked, leaning back against the pillows and pulling the blanket up over her bare chest.
Rip scrambled out of the bed, frantically pulling his jeans on, his hands shaking. "Y/N... wait... hold on... it ain't what it looks like..."
"Save it, Rip," Y/N said, her voice completely dead, hollow of any emotion.
She walked past them with a steady, military stride directly to the dresser. She grabbed her large tactical duffel bag from the closet and began pulling her clothes out of the drawers, packing them with a methodical, terrifying efficiency.
Rip stood there, trembling, his chest heaving as the guilt in his chest warped into defensive rage. In his twisted, guilt-ridden mind, he tried to project his own sins onto her to justify his actions. "Don't act like you're some fucking innocent saint here! Beth showed me the proof, Y/N! You've been doing the exact same goddamn thing with the hands in the bunkhouse for months! You brought this on us!"
Y/N zipped her duffel bag with a loud, definitive snap that echoed like a gunshot in the small cabin. She threw the heavy strap over her shoulder, turned around, and finally looked him dead in the eyes. Her gaze was completely hollow, devoid of the intense love that had warmed them for years. She knew the absolute truth, and she knew that while he had broken his vows, she had remained entirely, flawlessly loyal to him.
"You're a coward, Rip," she said quietly. "You always have been when it comes to her."
She walked out of the cabin into the bright sunlight, leaving him standing in the absolute wreckage of his own making.
Panicked, deeply ashamed, and fueled by pure adrenaline, Rip and Beth quickly threw on the rest of their choices and followed Y/N as she marched down the dirt trail toward the main ranch house. John Dutton was sitting in his usual rocking chair on the porch, enjoying a quiet evening, while Kayce, Lloyd, and the rest of the bunkhouse hands gathered near the trucks to grease a tractor.
Y/N stopped at the edge of the porch, looking up at the patriarch. "Mr. Dutton, it’s been an honor working on this ranch. But it’s time for me to pack up my truck and move on."
"Y/N, please, just fucking wait!" Rip yelled, running into the yard behind her, his voice cracking with an emotion he couldn't control. "We need to talk about this inside!"
Beth stepped up right beside Rip, her voice loud, shrill, and deliberately carrying across the entire yard so everyone could hear. "Let the whore go, Rip! She’s been sleeping around with half the bunkhouse anyway! She’s nothing but lying white trash!"
"Shut the fuck up, Beth!" John roared, slamming his boots down as he stood up from his chair with a violence that made the porch railings shake. The entire yard went dead, suffocatingly silent. John marched down the wooden steps, his face dark and his eyes blazing with pure fury. He looked past his daughter, his icy glare cutting through the gathered ranch hands.
"Lloyd! Walker! Ryan!" John barked, his voice commanding absolute truth. "Has Y/N ever been alone with any of you? Has she ever given any of you a single reason to think she was sleeping around this ranch?"
Lloyd stepped forward immediately, his face twisted in utter disgust at Beth’s accusation. "Hell no, boss. Never. Y/N wouldn't even enter a barn alone with just one of us. She always explicitly insisted there had to be at least two or three of us around just so everyone felt safe and things stayed entirely professional. She’s been completely, flawlessly loyal to Rip since day one. Everyone in the bunkhouse knows it."
Beth gasped, pulling out her cell phone. "Look at the photos, daddy! Look at the text logs I found! I have the proof right here!"
John snatched the phone violently from her hand, squinting down at the screen. Within five seconds, his seasoned eyes darkened with disgust. The digital editing was amateurish at best; anyone who actually knew Y/N's physical build and posture could see the proportions were entirely wrong, her face crudely pasted onto another woman's body.
"This is a pathetic, desperate fake, Beth," John growled, tossing the phone back hard against her chest. He turned his head to look at Rip, fully expecting his foreman to see reason. "Look at it, Rip. Use your goddamn eyes."
But Rip, blinded by his lifetime of psychological loyalty to Beth and the overwhelming shame of his own cheating, shook his head stubbornly, refusing to face his own failure. "No, sir. I believe Beth. Y/N’s packing her bags right now because she finally got caught."
John looked at Rip with a deep, profound disappointment that cut deeper than any blade. He turned his back on them, facing Y/N. His voice softened into a warm, paternal tone. "You're not leaving this ranch, Y/N. You're staying. You aren't going to work around Rip or Beth ever again. There’s an old line cabin on the far northern ridge, right by the timberline. It’s completely isolated, as far away from these two as you can possibly get. It’s yours. No chores, no cattle, no bunkhouse drama. Just peace. Do you accept?"
Y/N looked at John, seeing the genuine, unyielding protection in the older man's eyes. She nodded slowly. "Thank you, John. I'll take the cabin."
The Northern Cabin and the Evolution of John Dutton
Three months later, the belly beneath Y/N's oversized flannel shirts had begun to round out noticeably, a beautiful, unmistakable curve. John Dutton rode his horse up to the northern line cabin to check on her, leading a pack mule carrying a heavy crate of fresh groceries, firewood, and supplies. He found her sitting on the front porch, a warm cup of herbal tea held between her hands.
As she stood up to greet him, the wind caught her flannel shirt, pulling the fabric tight against her stomach. John stopped dead in tracks, his eyes dropping to her midsection.
"Y/N," John said softly, his voice full of gravity. "Are you...?"
"Yes," Y/N replied quietly, placing a protective, gentle hand over her stomach. "It's Rip's baby."
John closed his eyes for a moment, a heavy, sorrowful sigh escaping his lips as he thought of his foreman's immense stupidity. "Does he know?"
"No. And I don't want him to ever know, John," she said, her voice instantly turning to absolute steel, her Ranger discipline flashing in her eyes. "He made his choice. He chose to believe a venomous liar over the woman who loved him. Promise me you won't tell him, John. Promise me."
John looked at her, deeply respecting her fierce independence and her right to protect her child. "You have my word, Y/N. I won't breathe a word to a living soul. I’ll make the journey up here every few weeks myself to check on you. You don't lift a single finger on this ranch until this baby is born. You understand me?"
"Thank you, John. For everything."
But secrets on the Dutton Ranch had a destructive way of bleeding out. Another three months passed, and when Y/N was six months pregnant, Beth somehow discovered the medical files John had quietly cleared through the ranch's private doctor. Driven by pure, unadulterated malice and a need to completely break Y/N, she dragged a reluctant, deeply anxious Rip up the steep ridge trail to the northern cabin to confront her.
John happened to be up there that exact afternoon, helping Y/N stack heavy winter firewood on the porch. When Rip’s heavy RAM truck kicked up a massive cloud of dust in the driveway, Y/N’s eyes narrowed into slits.
Rip stepped out of the driver's seat, his eyes instantly locking onto Y/N’s heavily, undeniably pregnant belly. The sheer shock of the sight hit him like a physical blow to the chest, stealing the air from his lungs. He stumbled forward a few steps, his fists clenching and unclenching, his voice a frantic, volatile mix of rage, confusion, and deep desperation.
"Is it mine?!" Rip demanded, his voice echoing off the canyon walls. "Or did you really sleep with the rest of the bunkhouse hands like Beth said?! Or hell, maybe it's John’s! Is that why he's up here playing house with you every week?!"
Y/N stood her ground on the top step of the porch, looking down at him with an expression of utter, unyielding disgust. "This baby belongs to no one but me, Rip. Its father decided to believe a pathetic liar instead of its mother. Neither of you have any legal or moral right to be up on this ridge. You were strictly forbidden from coming around my cabin."
"I don't believe a damn word that comes out of your mouth!" Rip roared, his face turning a deep, angry red as he tried to mask the agonizing, crushing regret tearing through his soul. "This kid could be anyone's! You're nothing but a liar, Y/N!"
"That is enough!" Y/N shouted, her voice ringing with the terrifying, absolute authority of a military officer. "Get off my property. Both of you. Right now. When this baby is born, you will both finally know the absolute, crushing truth of exactly what you threw away. Now get the hell out of my sight before I make you leave!"
John stepped forward, his hand resting firmly on his holstered pistol, his glare icy and lethal as he looked down at his daughter and his foreman. "You heard her, Rip. Get off this ridge immediately, and if I ever see either of you anywhere near her cabin again, so help me God, there will be hell to pay. Move."
Defeated, humiliated, and furious, Rip turned sharply and stormed back to the truck, Beth scurrying behind him with a bitter scowl.
Three months later, in the quiet safety of the line cabin, Y/N gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. She named him Mason.
As the months rolled by, John continued his regular visits, gently helping her care for the baby, bringing toys, and providing a steady, grounding, and protective presence in her life. When Mason was a year old, John finally mustered up the courage to ask Y/N out on a proper date.
"I'd love to take you out to a nice dinner in town, Y/N," John said gently one evening as he cradled the sleeping baby boy in his arms.
Y/N smiled softly, a genuine warmth returning to her eyes, but she speculative shook her head. "I'm still not comfortable leaving Mason with anyone, John. My past makes it hard to trust. But... if you want to bring some steaks up here next Friday and cook them on the porch grill, I’d really like that."
John’s face lit up with a rare, bright smile. "It’s a date."
That quiet evening on the ridge was the beautiful start of a deeply affectionate, profoundly respectful romantic relationship between John and Y/N. He cherished her, treated her like a queen, and protected her and Mason fiercely from the rest of the world.
One night, after Mason had been put to sleep in his crib, John and Y/N sat by the roaring fireplace in the cabin. The slow-burning affection they had nurtured over months finally drifted past comfort into something deep and tangible. John reached out, his weathered, calloused hand gently cupping her jawline, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone.
"You're a remarkable woman, Y/N," John murmured, his voice rich, low, and laced with absolute sincerity. "I haven't felt this way about anyone in a very long time. You brought life back into this old man."
"John..." Y/N whispered, her heart beating steadily as she leaned into his touch. "You saved me. You gave me a home when everyone else threw me away."
John leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a deep, slow, and profoundly reverent kiss. There was no frantic rush, no chaotic insecurity—just the solid, grounding certainty of a man who knew exactly what he possessed. He pulled her onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. His hands were large and warm as they slid under her soft flannel shirt, tracing up her sides to cup her breasts through her lace bra. A soft gasp escaped Y/N's lips, her hands finding his shoulders, anchoring herself to him.
When they moved to the mattress, John loved her with a slow, deliberate intensity. He shed his clothes, his mature, powerful frame casting a long shadow in the firelight. He laid her down gently, worshiping every inch of her body, kissing the silver shrapnel scars on her shoulder with a tenderness that made tears prick her eyes. When he parted her thighs and slid inside her, it was smooth, deep, and unhurried.
"Ah... John," she breathed out, wrapping her legs around his hips.
"I've got you, Y/N. You're safe here," he murmured against her lips, his rhythm steady, powerful, and deeply possessive. He moved with a seasoned assurance, ensuring she felt entirely valued and desired. Every touch was deliberate, every heavy thrust driving away the cold ghosts of her past. They moved together in the warm glow of the hearth until the pleasure coiled tight and shattered, Y/N crying out softly as her release took her, followed closely by John’s deep groan as he came inside her, holding her tightly against his chest. They lay together until dawn, wrapped in thick quilts, their quiet breathing filling the room.
A year later, when Mason was two years old, Y/N finally brought him down to the main ranch office to visit John. The toddler was running around the lush green grass of the main yard, laughing loudly, when Rip walked around the corner of the barn carrying a saddle.
Rip froze dead in tracks. The saddle slipped from his hands, thudding against the dirt.
Mason stopped running, tilting his head up to look at the large cowboy. The boy had Rip’s exact, sharp jawline, his piercing dark eyes, and the unmistakable, thick wave in his dark hair. He was the absolute, spitting image of his biological father.
In that exact, horrifying moment, the harsh, ugly truth crashed down on Rip Wheeler like a structural collapse. Y/N had never lied to him. Beth had fabricated everything. He had married Beth a year prior out of pure, bitter spite, and now he was permanently trapped in a toxic, miserable marriage while his actual flesh and blood was standing right in front of him, calling another man 'Grandpa'.
Rip’s eyes welled with hot, heavy tears as he took a trembling step toward the little boy. "Hey there, buddy... hey..."
Y/N stepped in front of Mason instantly, her body completely shielding her son from view. Her face was a terrifying mask of stone. "Don't you dare come near him, Rip. Don't even look at him."
"Y/N... please," Rip choked out, his voice breaking completely as he fell to his knees in the gravel. "I know now. I see him. I know what Beth did to us. I want to make amends. Please, let me be a father to my boy."
"You lost that right the day you called me a whore and denied him while he was still in my womb," Y/N said, her voice dropping to a deadly, venomous whisper that cut him to the bone. "Stay the hell away from my son."
The Winds of Chicago and Kelly Severide
The tragic, dark day eventually came when John Dutton was killed, leaving a massive, gaping void in the state of Montana and stripping Y/N of the man who had protected her. With John gone, the atmosphere on the Dutton Ranch turned entirely toxic and unbearable under Beth and Rip's complete control.
As Y/N packed up her blue Chevy truck for the final time, Mason—now a young, observant boy—sat quietly in the passenger seat. Rip and Beth walked out onto the gravel driveway, surrounded by Lloyd and the remaining bunkhouse hands who had gathered to watch her leave.
"Where are you gonna go, Y/N?" Rip asked, his eyes desperate, hollow, and begging for a single crumb of forgiveness. "Come back to the main ranch house. Join us here. Let me have a relationship with my son now that John is gone. He needs a father."
Y/N turned around slowly, looking at Rip, then at a smug, silent Beth, and finally at the gathered bunkhouse hands. "Rip, I told you years ago. You have zero legal or moral rights to my son. Where we go from here is absolutely none of your goddamn business."
Lloyd stepped forward from the crowd, nodding firmly at Y/N with deep respect. "She’s right, Rip. You made your bed three years ago. Let her go."
Y/N climbed into her truck, cranked the heavy engine, and drove out from under the timber archway of the Dutton Ranch, never looking back in her rearview mirror.
She drove across state lines, all the way to the bustling, loud city of Chicago, seeking the absolute anonymity that only a massive city could provide. Seeking a renewed sense of purpose, she utilized her extensive military combat medic training and joined the Chicago Fire Department. After a grueling candidate period, she earned her permanent spot as a paramedic on Ambulance 61, working out of the legendary Firehouse 51.
It was there, amidst the sirens and the smoke, that she met Leslie Shay and Lieutenant Kelly Severide.
Shay instantly became Y/N’s best friend, her fiercely loyal confidante, and her absolute rock in the chaotic city. But it was Lieutenant Kelly Severide, the rugged, fiercely protective leader of Squad 3, who found himself completely captivated by Y/N’s strength, her resilience, and her fierce, beautiful devotion to her son.
Unlike Rip, Kelly didn't have a single shred of doubt or insecurity in his body. He fell head over heels for Y/N, and more importantly, he absolutely adored Mason. He treated the boy as if he were his own flesh and blood from day one, teaching him how to throw a baseball in the alley behind the station, helping him with his homework on the firehouse kitchen table, and protecting them both with an intensity Y/N had never known.
One evening, after an incredibly intense, stressful shift where they rescued a family from a collapsing high-rise, Kelly took Y/N back to his loft apartment. The moment the door clicked shut and locked, the built-up adrenaline and deep affection between them erupted. Kelly didn't say a word. He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her effortlessly and pinning her against the wall next to the door. His mouth slammed down onto hers with a fierce, burning passion that made her groan out loud. His tongue slid into her mouth, tasting her deeply, demanding and giving everything all at once.
Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands tearing at the buttons of his uniform shirt, sending them clattering to the floor. Kelly groaned into the kiss, his large hands sliding under her CFD shirt, his palms hot against her bare skin as he carried her across the room and set her down on the edge of the kitchen counter. He pulled back just an inch, his blue eyes dark with pure, unadulterated desire, his chest heaving.
"God, Y/N, you drive me absolutely insane," he muttered, his voice rough, gravelly, and breathless.
He leaned down, burying his face in her neck, biting gently at the sensitive skin right beneath her jaw, making her arch her back and whimper. His hands moved down to the zipper of her uniform pants, tugging them down along with her underwear, exposing her fully to his gaze.
Kelly stripped off his own clothes with an urgency that spoke of his starvation for her. He stood between her thighs, his rock-hard length brushing against her dripping center. He grabbed her hips, tilting her up, and guided himself into her, driving deep inside with one slow, powerful, and jaw-clenching stroke that filled her completely.
"Oh god, Kelly!" Y/N threw her head back, a loud, echoing cry of pure ecstasy tearing from her throat. Her fingers buried deep into the thick, solid muscles of his shoulders, her nails scratching his back as he began to move.
Kelly didn't rush, but the intensity in his eyes was lethal. He set a deep, heavy, and completely unhurried rhythm, his hips pounding against hers with a possessive, rhythmic force that made the kitchen utensils rattle on the counter. Every time he drove inside her, Y/N felt the last remnants of her past heartbreak tearing away, replaced by the sheer, consuming heat of Kelly’s love.
"Look at me," Kelly whispered fiercely, his breath hitching as his pace quickened, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper, harder against her. "Tell me who has you, Y/N. Tell me."
"You, Kelly... ah! Only you," Y/N cried out, her head tossing back against the kitchen cabinets as the friction and heat reached a boiling point. She locked her legs around his lower back, pulling him deeper, demanding everything he had.
Kelly reached down, his thumb finding her swollen clit, rubbing in perfect synchronization with his heavy, relentless thrusts. The dual sensation was completely overwhelming, stripping away every shred of her remaining armor. Y/N's inner muscles clamped tightly around him like a vice as a violent, shattering orgasm rippled through her entire body, her voice screaming his name over and over into the quiet apartment. Hearing her release, Kelly let out a deep, guttural growl, driving into her three more times with absolute, unbridled fury before his own explosive release tore through him. He buried his face in her thick hair, shaking violently as he filled her deep inside, holding her close as if he would never let her go.
They stayed like that for a long time, their chests heaving, completely drenched in sweat under the warm amber lights of the Chicago loft. In his arms, Y/N finally experienced what true, unyielding, and safe love felt like.
Two years after Y/N joined Firehouse 51, the hard-earned peace was abruptly shattered.
The heavy glass doors of the firehouse bullpen swung open on a rainy morning, and Rip Wheeler and Beth Dutton walked straight into the station. The morning shift was just winding down, and the entire tight-knit crew of 51—Chief Boden, Casey, Herrmann, Cruz, and Shay—instantly picked up on the hostile, intrusive energy radiating from the two out-of-town strangers.
Kelly Severide stepped forward from the squad table immediately, his eyes narrowing to slits as Rip scanned the apparatus bay. "Can I help you people? This is an active fire station."
"I'm not here to talk to you," Rip demanded, his voice rough and aggressive as he tried to look past Kelly's massive frame.
Y/N walked out of the locker room, her heart skipping a beat as she saw the ghosts of her past standing in her firehouse. Kelly instantly shifted his stance, stepping directly in front of her, his large hand moving to her waist in a highly visible, protective, and possessive gesture.
Y/N bypassed her protective crew, stepping out onto the concrete apron of the driveway to confront them away from the trucks. "Why are you here? How did you find me?"
Beth sneered maliciously, crossing her arms over her expensive coat. "It wasn't hard to track a government paycheck, sweetie. We're here because we want to see Rip’s son. We've officially filed for custody in the state of Illinois. We're going to take him back to Montana where he belongs, with a real family."
Y/N let out a loud, mocking, and entirely unbothered laugh, the sound echoing loudly through the apparatus bay. "You think you can just march into the city of Chicago and steal my son? You're not going to see a single hair on his head. And when we go to court, you are going to lose so horribly you won't know what hit you. Get the hell out of my station before I have you arrested for trespassing."
Kelly stepped up right beside Y/N, his massive, muscular frame towering over Rip, his eyes flashing with a lethal Chicago intensity. "You heard my fiancée. Move your boots along before I have my squad boys throw you out onto the pavement."
Rip looked at Y/N, his dark eyes filled with a desperate, pathetic, and agonizing longing, but Beth violently grabbed his jacket sleeve, dragging him away toward their rental car while spitting curses into the wind.
The Courtroom Battle and the Future of 51
Months later, the fateful day of the formal custody hearing arrived. The Chicago courtroom was completely packed to the doors. The entire Firehouse 51 family sat proudly on Y/N’s side of the gallery, filling the benches. Kelly sat right next to Y/N at the defender's table, holding her hand tightly in his lap, while Shay kept young Mason close to her side in the front row, whispering quiet jokes to keep the boy calm and smiling.
The judge pounded his heavy wooden gavel, the sharp sound echoing through the room. "We will now begin the custody hearing regarding the minor child, Mason Wheeler."
Beth Dutton’s high-priced, aggressive corporate attorney stood up, stepping forward and presenting a thick manila folder directly to the judge's bench. "Your Honor, we have documented, undeniable evidence showing that the respondent, Y/N, has intentionally, maliciously kept the child from his biological father since birth. She has manipulated Mr. Wheeler, causing immense emotional distress, all because he chose to marry my client instead of her."
The judge reviewed the papers, frowning deeply, before shifting his gaze over his glasses to look down at Y/N. "Does the mother have a response to these serious allegations?"
Y/N stood up with perfect grace, her military posture impeccable and her voice calm. "I do, Your Honor."
She stepped forward, handing a sleek digital flash drive and a certified, sealed packet of documents to the court bailiff to pass directly to the judge.
"What you are looking at, Your Honor, is the true, unedited timeline of events," Y/N said, her voice clear, commanding, and echoing with the absolute authority of a veteran. "First, the certified military and civilian medical records showing the exact date of conception, matching the precise time Mr. Wheeler and I were living together exclusively. Second, I have submitted the authenticated forensic data proving that Mrs. Beth Dutton fabricated evidence of infidelity to intentionally sabotage our relationship."
Rip shifted incredibly uncomfortably in his seat across the aisle, staring intently at the defense table floor.
"Furthermore," Y/N continued, her voice turning to pure steel, "I have submitted the verified security audio recording from my northern line cabin when I was exactly six months pregnant. On that tape, which has been verified by state authorities, you will hear Mr. Wheeler explicitly deny paternity of the unborn child, stating that the baby wasn't his, and cruelly accusing me of sleeping with every hand on the ranch, including the late owner, John Dutton. He knowingly and completely abandoned his child before he was even born."
The judge put on his reading glasses, plugging in his headphones to listen to the audio playback through the court system. As Rip’s recorded voice roared through the audio file, insulting Y/N and denying his own son, the judge’s face turned from neutral to absolutely furious. He took off the headphones, looking down at the fraudulent documents Beth had submitted, clearly recognizing the blatant perjury and digital forgery.
The judge slammed his gavel down with a violent crack that echoed like a rifle shot.
"I have seen and heard quite enough," the judge boomed, his voice shaking with judicial anger. "Mrs. Dutton, the documents you and your counsel provided this court are an absolute, fraudulent insult to the legal system of the State of Illinois. It is abundantly clear to this court that Mr. Wheeler knowingly, willingly, and cruelly abandoned his parental responsibilities based entirely on malicious, fabricated hearsay."
The judge turned his fierce gaze to Y/N, his expression softening into one of deep respect. "Full legal and physical custody of Mason remains solely and exclusively with his mother, Y/N. It is entirely up to the mother's personal discretion whether the biological father is ever permitted to see, speak to, or be anywhere near the child. Furthermore, given the toxic, fraudulent, and illegal behavior displayed today, Miss Beth Dutton is legally and permanently barred from ever being within five hundred feet of the child, regardless of any future choices made by the mother."
The gavel slammed down hard. "Case permanently closed."
The Firehouse 51 gallery immediately erupted into loud cheers and applause. Kelly pulled Y/N into his strong arms, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around before planting a deep, passionate kiss on her lips, his heart bursting with absolute relief and victory.
A few days after the verdict, the afternoon shift at Firehouse 51 was quiet and peaceful. Y/N was resting against the bumper of Ambulance 61, cleaning the equipment, when she saw Rip and Beth walk slowly into the open apparatus bay one last time. They looked completely defeated, the fierce, arrogant Montana swagger completely drained out of them by the heavy hand of the law.
Rip stepped forward, his eyes red-rimmed as he looked at her, his voice a broken, desperate whisper. "Y/N... please. Can we work something out? Just one hour a month. Just let me talk to my boy. Let me see him."
Y/N stopped wiping down the equipment and walked slowly to the edge of the ambulance bumper, looking down at them. She knew Beth would never allow Rip to truly be a peaceful father, and she knew their toxic life belonged in Montana, not in her clean city.
"Here is exactly how this is going to work, Rip," Y/N said, her voice firm, cold, and completely immovable. "You live in Montana. We live here in Chicago. Out of the grace of my heart, I will mail you one photo of Mason once a year on his birthday so you can watch him grow from a distance. When he turns eighteen years old, if he decides he wants to board a plane and get to know you, that will be his independent choice. Until that day, you do not call, you do not visit, and you do not write. Do you understand me?"
Beth opened her mouth, her face twisting as she prepared to scream a venomous insult, but Rip finally snapped. He grabbed Beth’s arm tightly, pulling her back with a strength that silenced her. He looked up at Y/N, finally seeing the unbreakable, beautiful fortress she had built around her life and her son.
"I agree," Rip choked out, a single, heavy tear of absolute regret slipping down his weathered cheek. He turned around slowly, dragging a protesting, bitter Beth out of the firehouse doors and into the rainy Chicago streets for the last time in their lives.
As their rental car drove away into the city traffic, Kelly Severide walked out from the squad room. He walked up quietly behind Y/N, wrapping his strong, tattooed arms around her waist and burying his face into the warm crook of her neck, holding her tight against his chest.
"You did amazing, beautiful," Kelly whispered, pulling her around to face him. He reached into his uniform pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning diamond ring that caught the station lights. "I don't want to wait another single day. Y/N, will you marry me and let me be his dad for real?"
Tears of pure, unadulterated happiness finally spilled over Y/N’s cheeks as she looked into the loyal eyes of the man who had truly saved her. "Yes, Kelly. A million times, yes."
They were married that exact autumn in a beautiful, warm backyard ceremony surrounded by their true, chosen family—the brave men and women of Firehouse 51. Young Mason stood proudly right by Kelly’s side as his best man, a bright smile on his face. Over the beautiful years that followed, Kelly and Y/N went on to have two more children of their own, building a beautiful life rooted in unwavering loyalty, boundless love, and a horizon as bright and endless as the Chicago skyline.
The Foundation of Family and the Echoes of Autumn
The crisp, sharp bite of a Chicago October always carried a different energy than the heavy, sweeping winds of the Montana ridges. Here, the air tasted of lake salt, asphalt, and the sweet, burning scent of fallen leaves gathering in the gutters of the block. For Y/N, it was the smell of absolute freedom.
Two years had passed since the courtroom door had slammed shut on the Duttons, and the life she had built with Kelly Severide had settled into a beautiful, rhythmic hum. The diamond ring on her left hand was a constant, comforting weight—a far cry from the invisible chains of her past.
The backyard of their brick home in Logan Square was alive with the chaotic, joyful sounds of a Firehouse 51 Sunday barbecue. Christopher Herrmann was holding court by the massive smoker, waving a pair of tongs as he argued with Mouch about the proper way to char a brisket, while Cindy Herrmann laughed softly from the patio table, pouring fresh lemonade for a heavily pregnant Stella Kidd.
Y/N stood by the back steps, a soft smile playing on her lips as she watched the yard. At eight years old, Mason was thriving. He had Kelly’s easy, confident laugh now, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he chased Christopher Herrmann’s youngest boys across the grass with a plastic football.
Suddenly, a pair of strong, tattooed arms wrapped tightly around Y/N’s waist from behind. Kelly buried his face in the crook of her neck, his rough jawline scraping against her skin as he let out a low, content hum. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss right beneath her ear, his hands sliding down to rest flat against her stomach.
"You're hiding inside your own head again, beautiful," Kelly murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly purr that sent a familiar, thrilling shiver straight down her spine.
Y/N leaned back against his broad, solid chest, covering his hands with her own. "Not hiding. Just watching them. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, Kelly. Like I’m going to wake up back in that freezing line cabin, wondering if the snow is going to trap me in."
Kelly turned her around in his arms, his striking blue eyes locking onto hers with a fierce, unyielding intensity. He cupped her face in his large, calloused palms, his thumbs tracing the smooth line of her cheekbones. "Look at me. This is real. You’re here, Mason’s here, and we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be. I’ve got you. Forever. Understand?"
"I know," she whispered, her heart swelling as she looked into the face of the man who had given her a real home.
He leaned down, his lips meeting hers in a deep, slow, and devastatingly possessive kiss that tasted of cedar and charcoal. He didn't care that the entire crew of 51 was less than twenty feet away; Kelly loved her with an open, shameless pride that completely erased the lingering ghosts of her past. When he pulled back, his eyes were darker, a heavy, unspoken promise burning in the depths of his gaze that told her exactly what he planned to do to her the moment the house was quiet and the guests were gone.
"Hey, Severide! Quit kissing your wife and come look at this meat before Herrmann burns it to a crisp!" Casey shouted from the patio, a beer held high in his hand.
Kelly laughed, giving Y/N’s hip a playful, firm squeeze before stepping away. "Duty calls. Don't go anywhere."
As Kelly walked toward the smoker, Leslie Shay slid into his empty spot beside Y/N, bumping her shoulder against her best friend's. She looked out at Mason, who was currently receiving a high-five from Chief Boden after a spectacular catch.
"He looks good, Y/N," Shay said softly, her usual sarcastic edge melting into something deeply maternal. "He’s happy. Really happy. You did that."
"We did that," Y/N corrected gently, looking at Shay with immense gratitude. "I couldn't have survived the transition without you, Shay. You know that."
"Yeah, well, someone had to make sure you didn't buy a totally depressing apartment," Shay smirked, winking. "Plus, watching Severide turn into a total domestic softie has been the highlight of my entire decade. The man used to live on takeout and scotch, and now I literally caught him googling the best organic laundry detergents for sensitive skin last week."
Y/N laughed, the sound bright and unburdened. For the first time in her life, she didn't feel the need to look over her shoulder. She was surrounded by steel, but this time, it was the unbreakable frame of Firehouse 51.
The Midnight Heat of the Loft
By midnight, the house was completely silent. The firehouse crew had packed up hours ago, and Mason was sound asleep in his bedroom, exhausted from the afternoon's games. The autumn wind rattled the windowpanes of the master bedroom, but inside, the room was thick with a heavy, suffocating heat.
Kelly stood by the edge of the bed, his uniform shirt already discarded on the floor, leaving his heavily muscled, tattooed chest bare in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. Y/N stood just inches away, wearing nothing but one of his oversized grey Squad 3 t-shirts.
Without a word, Kelly reached out, his large hands gripping the hem of the shirt and pulling it slowly up and over her head, tossing it aside. His eyes darkened to a deep, predatory blue as he scanned her bare body, his chest heaving with a sudden, volatile hunger that had been building all afternoon.
"You have no idea what you do to me when you look at me like that out in the yard," Kelly growled, his voice thick and rough. He stepped forward, his body heat radiating against hers as he pinned her flat against the mattress, his heavy weight anchoring her down.
Y/N arched her back instinctively, her breath catching as his calloused hands slid down her ribs, gripping her hips with a bruising intensity. "Then show me, Kelly," she whispered, her hands finding the thick muscles of his neck, pulling him down.
Kelly didn't hesitate. His mouth slammed into hers with a raw, demanding fury. His tongue parted her lips, invading her mouth deeply, tasting her with a desperate, consuming passion that made her groan out loud. He moved his lips down her jaw, biting gently at the sensitive pulse point on her neck until a breathless whimper tore from her throat.
His hands traveled lower, sliding between her thighs, parting them effortlessly. His fingers were hot and wet as they found her center, rubbing the swollen flesh with a perfect, torturous rhythm that had her gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.
"Kelly... please," Y/N gasped, her head tossing on the pillow, her inner muscles already pulsing with a desperate need to be filled.
"Not yet," Kelly muttered against her skin, his breath hot and ragged as he shifted his body down. He parted her legs wider, lifting her hips onto his shoulders, and buried his face between her thighs.
Y/N screamed into the quiet room, her hands tangling in his thick, dark hair as his tongue found her sweet spot, licking and sucking with a relentless, devastating precision. The sheer, unadulterated pleasure hit her like a wave, her hips rolling helplessly against his mouth as he drove her higher and higher. Just as she was about to shatter, he pulled away, leaving her gasping and shaking on the sheets.
He rose above her, his rock-hard length brushing against her dripping center. He looked down into her blown-out, desperate eyes, his own face a mask of pure, possessive desire.
"You're mine, Y/N. Every single inch of you," he whispered fiercely.
He grabbed her thighs, pinning them back against her chest, and drove deep inside her with one massive, unhurried, and jaw-clenching thrust that filled her to the absolute absolute core.
"Oh god, Kelly!" Y/N threw her head back, her voice breaking as the intense friction heated the air between them.
Kelly set a brutal, primal pace, his hips pounding against hers with a relentless, rhythmic force that made the heavy wooden frame of the bed groan against the floorboards. Every time he drove inside her, he hit her G-spot repeatedly, ensuring she felt the sheer, heavy weight of his love. Y/N wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, her inner walls clamping down like a vice, driving him absolutely wild.
"Look at me, Y/N," Kelly growled, his pace becoming frantic, harder, his chest slamming against hers as sweat dripped from his brow. "Tell me who owns your heart."
"You... ah! Only you, Kelly!" she cried out, her vision blurring as the pleasure coiled tight inside her abdomen.
He reached down between their bodies, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing hard in synchronization with his deep, heavy thrusts. The dual sensation was completely overwhelming. Y/N’s body stiffened, a violent, shattering orgasm rippling through her entire frame as she screamed his name into the dark. Hearing her release, Kelly let out a deep, guttural roar. He delivered three more deep, punishing thrusts, his own body tensing completely as his explosive release tore through him, filling her deep inside.
He collapsed against her, his heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, his arms wrapping around her as if he were holding onto life itself. They lay together in the quiet, sweat-soaked sheets, their breathing slowly synchronizing as the autumn wind continued to howl outside, entirely unable to touch the warmth they had built together.
Act VIII: The Horizon of Firehouse 51
Six years later, the morning sun broke beautifully over the tarmac of the Chicago Fire Department training academy.
Y/N stood by the passenger side of Ambulance 61, her dark blue paramedic uniform crisp and perfect, the gold lieutenant bars on her collar catching the light. Beside her, Kelly stood proudly in his white Chief’s uniform shirt, his arm slung casually over her shoulders as they watched the new class of candidates run through the grueling physical agility drills.
At fourteen years old, Mason was standing near the training tower, talking excitedly with Chief Boden. The boy had grown tall, his shoulders broad and his posture carrying that unmistakable, rigid military discipline he had inherited from his mother, blended perfectly with the confident, easy swagger of the only man he had ever called Dad. He wanted to be a Squad leader, just like Kelly, and every weekend was spent studying fire dynamics and building mechanics at the kitchen table.
Suddenly, a clean, dark blue pickup truck with Montana license plates pulled slowly up to the academy gates.
The entire shift of Firehouse 51—including Stella Kidd, who was now the Lieutenant of Truck 81, and a veteran Casey—instantly stopped what they were doing, their eyes locking onto the vehicle.
The truck door opened, and a fourteen-year-old girl with sharp, piercing dark eyes and a thick wave in her dark hair stepped out onto the asphalt. It was the annual birthday meeting Y/N had promised. Rip had stayed true to his word; he had never called, never written, and never broken the boundary. But today was Mason’s fourteenth birthday, and for the first time, Rip had sent his youngest daughter, Katie, to deliver a simple, sealed wooden box to the gate.
Rip remained inside the truck, his hands gripping the steering wheel, his eyes red-rimmed and hollow as he looked through the dirty windshield at the magnificent, beautiful young man his son had become. He could see the absolute, unyielding love and respect Mason had for Kelly Severide, and the crushing weight of his historic mistake settled over his shoulders like lead.
Katie walked up to the gate, holding the wooden box out to Y/N. "My dad wanted me to give this to him. He said it belonged to his father, and it belongs to Mason now."
Y/N looked down at the box, then looked past the girl to the man sitting in the truck. There was no anger left in her heart—only a profound, quiet pity for a man who had chosen a cage of lies over a horizon of truth.
"Thank you, Katie," Y/N said gently, taking the box.
She turned around and handed the box to Mason. The boy looked at it, then looked at the man in the truck. He didn't feel hatred; he simply felt nothing for the stranger. Mason turned back to Kelly, looking up into the blue eyes of the man who had stayed up with him through every fever, coached every baseball game, and protected his mother with his life.
"Can we go back to the station now, Dad?" Mason asked smoothly, his voice steady. "Herrmann promised he’d make that cake."
Kelly smiled, a deep, emotional warmth rushing through his chest as he wrapped his arm around the boy's neck, pulling him close. "Yeah, buddy. Let's go home."
As the Firehouse 51 family walked back toward the rigs, Y/N took Kelly’s hand, locking her fingers tightly with his. The Montana truck turned slowly and drove away, disappearing into the heavy traffic of the Chicago streets, leaving no trace behind.
Y/N looked up at the endless, brilliant blue of the skyline, feeling the solid, unyielding weight of her husband’s hand in hers. The shadows of South Dakota were gone, the storms of Montana had cleared, and here, in the heart of the city that had adopted her, the horizon was bright, beautiful, and completely endless.
The Weight of Gold and the Chill in the Air
The Chicago winter had arrived with its usual brutal, unyielding ferocity. The wind off Lake Michigan howled through the steel girders of the city, turning the rain into a biting, frozen slush that coated the asphalt outside Firehouse 51. Inside the firehouse, the atmosphere was a stark, warm contrast. The heavy scent of fresh garlic, roasted peppers, and Italian beef wafted from the kitchen, where Christopher Herrmann was loudly debating the merits of his secret family recipe with a deeply skeptical Cruz.
Y/N sat at the long wooden kitchen table, her fingers tracing the edge of a porcelain mug filled with black coffee. The gold lieutenant bars on her collar caught the bright overhead fluorescent lights. It had been nearly a year since her promotion to Paramedic Field Chief, a grueling advancement that now had her overseeing multiple ambulance crews across the district. It was a position of immense responsibility, one that required the absolute, cold discipline of her Army Ranger past and the sharp, decisive triage skills she had mastered in the streets of Chicago.
Kelly Severide stepped into the kitchen, his white Battalion Chief shirt looking pristine against his broad, imposing shoulders. He didn't care that Tony and Capp were sitting just three feet away, meticulously cleaning a chainsaw; he walked straight up behind Y/N’s chair, his large, warm hands settling onto her shoulders. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin right beneath her ear, his rough jawline scraping pleasantly against her cheek.
"You look beautiful in white, Chief," Y/N murmured, a soft smile playing on her lips as she tilted her head back to meet his gaze.
"Not as good as you look with those gold bars, Chief," Kelly murmured back, his deep voice a low, gravelly purr that still, after all these years, sent a thrilling shiver straight down her spine. He squeezed her shoulders firmly, his thumbs tracing the tight muscles of her neck. "You've been staring at that paperwork for three hours. Take a break. Come back to the office with me."
The heavy, unspoken promise burning in the depths of his blue eyes told her exactly what kind of "break" he had in mind. The office door had a sturdy lock, and the ambient noise of the firehouse was always loud enough to drown out a quiet, breathless gasp.
Before Y/N could reply, the heavy glass doors of the firehouse bullpen swung open with a sharp, echoing slam.
The casual chatter in the kitchen died instantly. The air in the apparatus bay turned freezing, a sudden, heavy tension dropping over the room like a lead weight. Chief Wallace Boden stepped out of his office, his dark eyes narrowing to dangerous slits as he looked toward the entrance. Stella Kidd dropped her wrench against the diamond-plate bumper of Truck 81, the metal clattering loudly against the concrete.
Beth Dutton walked out of the rainy afternoon mist and straight onto the firehouse floor.
She looked entirely out of place in the gritty, working-class environment of 51. She was wrapped in an oversized, incredibly expensive fur coat that dripped frozen rain onto the clean concrete, a cigarette held loosely between her manicured fingers despite the prominent "No Smoking" signs posted everywhere. Her face was a sharp, twisted mask of bitter, alcoholic malice, her eyes bloodshot but burning with a pathological need to inflict damage.
"Well, look at this," Beth sneered, her voice high, sharp, and dripping with venomous sarcasm as she scanned the gathered firefighters. "A bunch of blue-collar heroes playing house in the mud. Where is she?"
Y/N stood up from the kitchen table slowly, her military posture impeccable, her expression instantly locking behind an impenetrable wall of pure ice. She walked out of the kitchen and onto the concrete apron, her boots clicking with a steady, terrifying rhythm. Kelly stayed exactly half a step behind her, his massive, muscular frame towering over the space, his eyes flashing with a lethal, protective Chicago intensity.
"You are violating a state-mandated permanent restraining order, Beth," Y/N said, her voice smooth, level, and entirely devoid of fear. "You have exactly thirty seconds to turn around and walk out of my station before I have the police arrest you for felony trespassing."
Beth let out a loud, hysterical laugh, stepping closer until she was just five feet away, her breath smelling heavily of expensive scotch and stale tobacco. "You think your little piece of Illinois paper means anything to me? You think you can just hide out here in this pathetic excuse for a city and pretend you didn't destroy my husband’s life? Rip is a ghost, Y/N. He drinks himself to sleep every single night because he’s staring at that pathetic little photo you mail him once a year like some sadistic warden."
"Rip made his choice ten years ago, Beth," Y/N replied coldly, her gaze cutting through the older woman like a scalpel. "He chose your lies over his own flesh and blood. He chose a toxic, miserable marriage over a family. That is his penance to bear, not mine."
"You think you’re so untouchable with your little uniform and your new, shiny husband?" Beth hissed, her face contorting with rage as she pointed a trembling finger at Kelly. "He doesn't know the truth about you! He doesn't know what a manipulative, cold-hearted bitch you really are! I brought the files, Y/N. I brought the real records from Montana. I’m going to show your precious little firehouse exactly who they’ve been saluting."
Beth reached into her designer leather purse, pulling out a thick manila folder, ready to fling the forged documents across the apparatus bay to create the exact kind of public, chaotic scene she lived for.
But she never got the chance.
Kelly Severide didn't hesitate. He stepped directly into Beth’s space, his massive frame completely eclipsing her sightline. He didn't raise his hand, and he didn't raise his voice, but the absolute, unyielding authority radiating from the Battalion Chief was instantaneous. The sheer, suffocating gravity of his presence made Beth freeze mid-motion, her breath catching in her throat.
"Listen to me very carefully, lady," Kelly growled, his voice dropping to a deadly, gravelly whisper that cut through the silence of the station like a chainsaw. "I don't care who your father was in Montana, and I don't care how many lawyers you have on your payroll. This is my firehouse. This is my city. And the woman you are standing in front of is my wife."
He stepped even closer, his blue eyes locking onto hers with a cold, terrifying promise. "Every single thing that came out of your mouth today is a fraudulent lie, and if you think for one second I’m going to let some dynamic-starved, bitter alcoholic come in here and disrespect the mother of my children, you have got another thing coming. You drop those papers on this floor, and I will personally ensure the Cook County Sheriff locks you in a holding cell so fast your head will spin. Now pack up your shit and get the hell off my apron."
From the shadows of the bullpen, Chief Boden stepped forward, his massive voice booming through the rafters. "Mouch, call the 14th District. Tell them we have a restraining order violation in progress at Engine 51. Give them the name Beth Dutton."
"On it, Chief," Mouch said instantly, already grabbing the desk phone.
Beth looked around the apparatus bay, finally seeing the unbreakable, flawless fortress Y/N had built around herself. There were no weak links here. There were no insecure men like Rip Wheeler for her to manipulate, and there was no blind loyalty for her to exploit. The entire crew of 51—from the candidates to the white shirts—stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a wall of pure steel protecting one of their own.
A sudden, sharp look of genuine, humiliating panic flashed across Beth’s face. She violently shoved the papers back into her purse, her hands shaking as she pulled her fur coat tightly around her shoulders.
"You're all pathetic," Beth spat, her voice cracking as she tried to salvage her broken pride. She turned on her heel, her expensive heels clicking frantically against the concrete as she sprinted out of the firehouse doors and into the pouring Chicago rain, her rental car tires screeching as she fled down the avenue.
The station was quiet for a beat before Christopher Herrmann let out a loud, mocking snort. "Well, she seems lovely. Remind me never to visit Montana."
The entire bay erupted into a wave of relieved, comfortable laughter, the tension evaporating as quickly as it had arrived. Y/N let out a soft breath, the rigid tension in her shoulders finally melting away as Kelly wrapped his strong, tattooed arm around her waist, pulling her tight against his side.
"You okay?" he whispered, his eyes scanning her face with deep concern.
"Perfect," Y/N said softly, looking up into the loyal eyes of her husband. "Because she has absolutely nothing that can touch us here."
The Sanctuary of the Loft
By midnight, the storm outside had reached its peak, the heavy winter rain turning into a thick, blinding snow that blanketed the Chicago skyline in a quiet, white shroud. Inside Kelly and Y/N’s downtown loft, the brick walls were warmed by the roaring fire in the hearth, casting long, flickering amber shadows across the polished hardwood floors.
Mason and their two younger children were sound asleep in their bedrooms down the hall, completely safe and oblivious to the ghosts of the afternoon.
Y/N stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, wrapped in a plush cream robe, watching the snowflakes drift past the glass. The confrontation with Beth hadn't shaken her, but it had left her with a deep, restless adrenaline—a primal need to ground herself in the absolute certainty of her reality.
Suddenly, a pair of strong, familiar arms wrapped tightly around her waist from behind. Kelly pulled her back against his chest, his skin bare and radiating a heavy, intoxicating heat. He buried his face in the thick wave of her hair, inhaling her scent deeply, his hands sliding down to grip her hips with a possessive, bruising intensity that made her breath hitch.
"You're still thinking about it," Kelly murmured, his voice a rough, gravelly rumble against her skin.
"Only about how lucky I am," Y/N whispered, turning around in his embrace to face him. She reached up, her fingers tangling in the short, dark hair at the nape of his neck, looking into the striking blue eyes that had become her absolute sanctuary. "When she was standing there, Kelly... all I could think about was how different my life would have been if I had stayed in that valley. If I hadn't broken down on that highway. But you... you never doubted me. Not for a single second."
"Because I know exactly who you are, Y/N," Kelly said fiercely, his face darkening with a sudden, volatile hunger that had been simmering since the moment he had defended her on the apparatus floor. "You're my wife. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life reminding you of that."
Without another word, his mouth slammed down onto hers with a raw, demanding fury that stole the remaining air from her lungs. His tongue parted her lips, invading her mouth deeply, tasting her with a desperate, consuming passion that made her groan out loud. Y/N wrapped her legs around his waist instinctively, her robe falling open as he lifted her effortlessly, her hands tearing at the skin of his shoulders as he carried her across the room and set her down on the edge of the heavy wooden dining table.
Kelly pulled back just an inch, his chest heaving, his blue eyes completely black with pure, unadulterated desire in the firelight. He reached down, parting her thighs wide, exposing her fully to his gaze. His large, calloused hands were hot as they slid up the inside of her thighs, his thumbs finding her center and rubbing the swollen, wet flesh with a brutal, perfect rhythm that had Y/N throwing her head back, a loud, breathless cry tearing from her throat.
"Kelly... please," she gasped, her fingers digging deep into the solid muscles of his arms as the intense friction sent a wave of electric heat straight to her core.
"Look at me," Kelly growled, his voice thick and rough as he stood between her thighs, his rock-hard length brushing against her dripping warmth. He gripped her hips, tilting her up to meet him, and drove deep inside her with one massive, unhurried, and jaw-clenching stroke that filled her to the absolute limit.
"Oh god!" Y/N screamed into the quiet loft, her inner muscles clamping down around him like a vice, the sheer, overwhelming weight of him driving away every remaining shadow of her past.
Kelly set a punishing, primal pace, his hips pounding against hers with a relentless, rhythmic force that made the heavy wooden table creak against the floorboards. He moved with a seasoned, absolute assurance, ensuring she felt entirely valued, desired, and possessed. Every heavy thrust was a declaration of his loyalty, every ragged breath a promise of his protection. Y/N locked her legs tightly around his lower back, pulling him deeper, her nails scratching his back as she met his intensity with her own.
"You're mine, Y/N," Kelly whispered fiercely, his pace becoming frantic, harder, his chest slamming against hers as sweat dripped from his brow. "Tell me."
"I'm yours, Kelly... ah! Always yours!" she cried out, her head tossing back against the table as the pleasure coiled tight and sharp inside her abdomen, stripping away every shred of her armor.
He reached down between their slick, sweat-drenched bodies, his thumb finding her clit and rubbing in perfect synchronization with his deep, heavy thrusts. The dual sensation was completely devastating. Y/N’s body stiffened, a violent, shattering orgasm rippling through her entire frame as she screamed his name over and over into the dark. Hearing her release, Kelly let out a deep, guttural roar. He delivered three final, punishing thrusts, his own body tensing completely as his explosive release tore through him, filling her deep inside.
He collapsed against her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her skin as he held her tightly against his chest, as if he would never let her go. They stayed like that for a long time, their hearts hammering in perfect synchronization, completely drenched in sweat under the warm amber glow of the hearth.
In his arms, wrapped in the quiet peace of the Chicago winter, Y/N finally knew that no matter what storms blew in from the mountains, her horizon would always be safe, warm, and entirely beautiful.
Epilogue: The Legacy of Fire and Steel
The summer evening air in Chicago was warm and thick, carrying the familiar, comforting symphony of the city—the distant hum of traffic on the Dan Ryan Expressway, the faint clatter of the L-train, and the rustle of the massive oak trees shading the backyard of the Severide family home.
Ten years had passed since Beth Dutton’s desperate storm had cleared from the apparatus bay of Firehouse 51, and the peace that followed had settled into something permanent, beautiful, and deeply rooted.
The sprawling brick patio was alive with the chaotic, joyful energy of a milestone celebration. Christopher Herrmann, now sporting silver hair but retaining every bit of his loud, competitive spirit, was standing by a folding table, aggressively teaching a group of younger candidates how to properly stack cups for a firehouse drinking game. Across the lawn, a retired but formidable Chief Wallace Boden sat in a heavy wicker chair, a glass of bourbon in his hand, a booming laugh echoing from his chest as he talked with Matthew Casey and a happily married Stella Kidd.
Y/N stood by the back screen door, her fingers loosely tangled with Kelly’s. The gold bars on her collar had long since been replaced by the distinctive insignia of a high-ranking brass administrator within the Chicago Fire Department, while Kelly’s white Chief’s uniform shirt was immaculate, his broad shoulders carrying the weight of his battalion with an easy, seasoned grace.
But as Y/N looked out over the crowded yard, her eyes didn't linger on her colleagues. They settled on her children—the living, breathing legacy of everything she and Kelly had fought to build.
At twenty-four, Mason was the absolute spitting image of a modern leader. He had entirely outgrown the lean, defensive posture of his childhood, his frame now broad, heavily muscled, and carrying the unmistakable, rigid discipline of his mother’s military past blended flawlessly with the confident, easy swagger of the man who had raised him. Dressed in his own crisp CFD blue uniform shirt, Mason stood near the edge of the patio, laughing as he tapped his knuckles against the silver badge on his chest. He had just completed his probation period on Squad 3 under the fierce, proud scrutiny of his father, proving himself to be one of the sharpest, most fearless young firefighters in the district.
"Look at him," Kelly murmured, his deep, gravelly voice a warm, familiar vibration against Y/N’s shoulder. He tightened his arm around her waist, pressing a lingering, deeply affectionate kiss to the crown of her head. "He runs a vertical ventilation saw exactly like I used to. The kid’s pure steel."
"He got his stubbornness from you," Y/N whispered back with a soft, teasing laugh, leaning her head against his solid chest. "And his habit of jumping into the smoke before the line is fully charged."
"Hey, it works," Kelly smirked, his striking blue eyes flashing with that familiar, wicked spark that still made her heart skip a beat after all these years.
Their gaze shifted to the center of the lawn, where the two younger children they had conceived in the midnight heat of their downtown loft were holding court.
At twenty, Jackson was the intellectual powerhouse of the family. Built tall and lean, with Y/N’s sharp, observant eyes, he was currently home for the summer from his second year at the university, where he was pursuing a degree in structural engineering with a focus on fire safety and building mechanics. He was sitting on a cooler, a pencil tucked behind his ear as he animatedly explained a blueprint flaw to an incredibly attentive Capp and Tony, who were nodding along as if they actually understood the math.
And then there was Lily. At sixteen, their youngest daughter was a beautiful, volatile force of nature. She possessed Kelly’s piercing blue eyes, Y/N’s fearless, unyielding attitude, and a competitive streak that kept the entire firehouse on its toes. Lily was currently in the middle of the lawn, wearing a backward Squad 3 baseball cap, completely obliterating Christopher Herrmann’s youngest son in a fierce game of backyard touch football. She caught a high spiral pass with a perfect, athletic dive, rolling out of the grass with a triumphant, breathless shout that echoed across the yard.
"Touchdown!" Lily yelled, throwing the football up in the air and pointing a finger at the patio. "Did you see that, Dad? That’s Squad material right there!"
Kelly let out a loud, proud chuckle, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Keep your feet under you next time, Lil! You nearly dropped it on the transition!"
"I had it the whole way!" she fired back, a bright, confident grin breaking across her face—a mirror image of her father’s signature smile.
As the sun began to dip beneath the jagged, beautiful skyline of the city, casting a long, dramatic amber glow across the yard, Mason walked away from the patio and stepped over to his siblings. He wrapped a heavy, brotherly arm around Lily’s neck, pulling her into a playful headlock despite her loud, indignant protests, while Jackson looked up from his cooler, laughing as he shoved Mason’s shoulder.
Y/N watched the three of them—laughing, bickering, and completely united in the absolute certainty of their bond. There was no shadow of doubt in this yard. There were no fabricated lies, no toxic secrets, and no cold, conditional affection.
The phone inside her uniform pocket vibrated once, a brief, silent alert. Y/N pulled it out, glancing down at the screen. It was a digital calendar notification, a stark reminder that today was Mason’s twenty-fourth birthday—the exact day she had promised, a decade ago, that the choice to reach out across state lines would belong entirely to him.
Mason noticed his mother looking at her phone, and with the sharp, intuitive perception he had carried since he was a boy, he walked over to the back steps. He looked down at the screen, then looked into his mother’s eyes. He knew exactly what the date meant. He knew that thousands of miles away, in a cold, lonely valley in Montana, a man named Rip Wheeler was likely sitting on a porch, staring at a phone, waiting for a call that would never come.
Mason reached out, his large, calloused hand gently covering the screen of her phone, pushing it down until it slid back into her pocket. He looked at Y/N, his dark eyes entirely calm, clear, and unburdened by a single shred of regret.
"I don't need to make any calls, Mom," Mason said smoothly, his voice deep, steady, and carrying the absolute finality of a man who knew exactly who he was. He turned his head slightly, his gaze shifting to Kelly, who was watching him with a quiet, fierce pride. "My dad is standing right here. He’s always been right here."
A heavy, emotional warmth rushed through Y/N’s chest, a single, happy tear spilling over her cheek as she reached up, her fingers smoothing down the collar of her son’s uniform shirt. "I know, sweetheart. I know."
Mason smiled, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before turning back to the yard, where Lily was already loudly demanding a rematch.
Kelly stepped closer to Y/N, his large, tattooed arms wrapping completely around her waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest until there was no space left between them. His breath was hot and steady against her neck, his hands locking flat over her abdomen in a highly visible, deeply possessive gesture of absolute ownership.
"We did good, Chief," Kelly whispered, his voice rough and thick with an emotion he didn't try to hide.
Y/N turned her head, her lips meeting his in a deep, slow, and profoundly reverent kiss that tasted of the warm summer night and the sweet certainty of their life. The storms of the past were completely dead, the road to Montana was a distant, faded memory, and here, surrounded by the laughter of their children and the ironclad frame of their chosen family, the horizon was bright, beautiful, and completely endless.
