in the midst of a storm | yandere x reader

prologue. his blessing or his curse

THERE'S A NEW SHERIFF IN TOWN—

—and your daddy don't like him, not one bit. You can see it in the way he fixes the man up with a mean stare, one you don't ever get to see on him often, one he won't be caught dead usin' on you.

The desert heat is pouring through, traversing the gap between both the door and the frame to damn-near engulf you in flames. But your daddy don't seem to care, he's too busy snarling at the other side to.

"I just wanted to—"

"I know what you wanted to do, boy," your daddy scoffs, "I just don't want you nowhere near me."

He's cruel, icy and cold; his voice bleeds venom and his eyes sing symphonies of utter disdain. It ain't normal—the hostility in his gaze—you can't remember the last time you saw him quite as riled up as this.

"Well, as your new Sheriff, it's my duty to come down and introduce myself to you folks—"

"You're no Sheriff—hell, I'm not sure you're even a man," he continues, tone screaming aggression, "Stay outta my house. Better yet, stay outta my town!"

And with that, he slams the door shut.

It's then that you notice how much his chest is heaving up and down—how often and how fast. It perks you up from your position, has you rushing down the hall—feet delicately padding across the rough floorboards and arms reaching out quick.

He falls straight into them.

Your daddy is heavy and it's no use tryin' to hold 'im up, but you're able to slow him down, help him land comfortably on the ground. He's at less risk that way.

"Are you okay, daddy?"

He smiles. "Of course, pea."

Your meemaw scoffs from across the room. "Shame on you, havin' to have your daughter pick you up, I thought I raised a man."

"Not now ma." Your daddy sighs.

"Not now? Now's as good a time as ever, what makes you think you're allowed to be nasty to such a nice young man?"

Immediately, your daddy's features begin to harden again, like the rocks you often see scattered over the ground—all rough and tough and ragged.

"I've seen plenty in my time out in the west and trust me, ma, he ain't no nice young man."

"Why not, pa?" You ask.

"His eyes, pea," answers your pa, "It's all in his eyes. Soulless, not an ounce of humanity in them. Why I reckon he's worse than any outlaw I ever brought in."

Your meemaw rolls her eyes at this—but you perk up. You get excited because your daddy always has the most thrillin' tales 'bout his time in the west, the most tantalisingly enrapturin' stories that throw you onto a horse and take you for a ride 'round places you ain't never seen before; places you crave to explore yourself.

"More than Perkins?"

"A whole lot more than Perkins."

To be truthful, the new Sheriff has you strung along too—in a different way to your daddy. Where your pa hears 'bout the man from the cowhands and how unsettlin' they find him—you hear 'bout him from the ladies. And the ladies ain't never done nothin' but gush.

They speak of his unrivaled looks—dirty blonde hair peaking out from his old Stetson; they speak of his sharp jaw and dazzlin' green eyes, of his muscles that visibly flex under his clothes when he's out gunslingin'.

It stirs somethin' in you, makes your insides all mushy and your heart ache a little. You find that your eyes start to linger on him each time he's in view, which ain't often—what with your daddy's constant yappin' 'bout how he's no good.