#half christ half cowboy

[ziggykatzfan]

hey guys not sure if anyone's ever talked about this before but. um. after sam's first death he comes back after three days and the realization hit me right in the ribs in class today that this was totally on purpose. i know we joke about sam being jesus coded but like he really actually is.

[fandom-hoarder]

Posterity

[leo-bandito]

moar hl scraps…. does a pose

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Twenty minutes later, Solace hurries out of his cabin in cowboy boots.

And jeans.

Nico gapes at him.

“Go go go go go, questions later,” Will hisses, herding him behind the Apollo cabin. “We are on a time limit, we gotta —”

“You’re wearing close-toed shoes.”

“Yes, yes, sometimes I wear the clothes that I own. Wild. Let’s go.” Will tugs, uselessly, on his arm, but Nico’s half-certain his jaw has taken root in the ground, cementing him in place, because what the actual shit.

“Solace, you wore flip-flops to the snow-smothered bus stop in January. I thought you had, like, a condition!”

“I do have a condition. It’s called You Are Not Hurrying, Death Breath, let’s go —”

This time when he pulls, Nico stumbles after him, ducking under windowsills and inching around flower gardens. Every time someone so much as looks in their direction, Will plants both hands on his chest and shoves them into a corner somewhere, craning his neck to watch until they move on. Every time he does, another piece of Nico’s soul breaks away from his body and descends into hell. There is an actual trail of bones and tilled earth and dead grass behind him. Will doesn’t need to worry about being stealthy — the death aura of Nico’s dignity is large enough to scare off anything within a four mile radius.

“In here!”

Undeterred by the death aura, for some reason, Will seizes his bicep and shoves him in a crack between the Hypnos and Dionysus cabins. He slips in a millisecond later, crowding him against the warm bricks, forearm pressed awkwardly next to Nico’s head.

“Hnggh,” Nico gasps, mournfully wishing his last sliver of self-respect goodbye. Rest in fucking peace. “Do you have to be so — close, Will, gods —”

“Shhh!”

“If you shush me again I am going to rip your throat out —”

“Go, go, go!”

Yanked forward again, Nico doesn’t have the time to finish his threat. This time, at least, they sprint the final stretch to the shed without any more hiding and shoving.

Thank all the fucking gods. One more second of Will’s stupid torso — since fucking when does he wear polo shirts, huh, what the shit fuck is up with that — pressed against his and Nico’s bronchitis was going to come back. And this time he’s going to succumb to it.

“Okay,” Will says. He stands in front of a tarp-covered lump, gripping one side and jutting his chin out at the other. “On three, we tear this off and start pushing. We need past Thalia’s tree in under thirty seconds. Got it?”

“No,” Nico says stubbornly, “you still haven’t explained what the rush is —”

“One two three go!”

Will, unfortunately, has been tricking ADHD teenagers into doing things they don’t want to do for years, so Nico’s ripping off the tarp and shoving the chariot out of its stall faster than he can register what he’s doing. He practically sprints to keep up with Will, chariot wheels creaking happily as they rush over stones and sticks and forgotten weapons.

“We’re leaving now, Chiron! Bye!” Will hollers, moving too fast to give him a second to respond. Luckily, Chiron is similarly busy, galloping after a speeding Harley without more than a backwards wave and a sharp don’t die, please!

“That dynamite I gave Harley’ll only keep everyone distracted another thirty seconds,” Will mutters, ignoring Nico’s alarmed the fucking what you gave Harley, “so we need to move, let’s go.”

“Will — slow down a half fucking second, Christ, not everyone is seventy percent leg — we don’t even have pegasi!”

“Will you keep it down.” Will looks back and forth, eyes wide, like he’s worried someone is going to pop up with a pack of the winged animals. “Just — stop asking questions! We’re almost home free!”

“You’ve gone insane. It’s finally, actually happened, after all these years, who woulda thought, fully bonkers at age sixteen —”

“Oh, shut up.”

Muttering his complaints, Nico helps him push the infernal chariot down Half-Blood Hill. Among his grievances, he makes it abundantly clear that 1) this is stupid, 2) he did not agree to physical labour, 3) he would not have agreed to come if he had known about the physical labour, and 4) this is stupid.

“Just a few more yards, then we can —”

“Okay, no, that’s it.” Nico lets go of the chariot, letting the wheel dig into the soft ground and send the whole thing halting. He meets Will’s pout head-on; arms crossed, jaw set, foot tapping, refusing to give into those big blue eyes.

“C’mon, Neeks.” A faint explosion sounds off in the distance. Will’s eyes get more pleading, more hopeful. “We won’t have much time after the diversion wears off…”

“You have three seconds before I turn the hell around, Solace.”

“Please?”

“One.”

He pushes uselessly at the chariot. It spins a sad little circle without someone pushing the other side. “Neeks!”

“Two.”

“Alright, fine! Help me push again and I’ll explain on the way down.”

“Much easier when you just do as I say,” Nico grumbles, starting to push the stupid (horseless and therefore useless) chariot again. “Isn’t it?”

Will, predictably, rolls his eyes, although he can’t quite help the smile that pulls at his lips. Nico tells the butterflies that go buck fucking wild in his stomach to go to hell. This does nothing.

“How much do you know about the chariot?” Will asks eventually, after a couple minutes of shoving the stupid thing past a deep trench in the soil, leftover from the war. (Nico is going to set the fucking thing on fire. It’s a flying chariot — shouldn’t it be lightweight? Why is he suffering?) They’re nearly three quarters down the hill, and it takes everything Nico has not to risk it all and shadow travel the last couple dozen feet. Yeah, it might kill him, but then his problem would immediately go away. Tempting does not begin to cover it.

“Uh, big source of drama, right? Apollo and Ares worked together to seize it, argued over who got to keep it?”

He cuts a careful glance over to Will, well aware it’s a sensitive topic. He knows the question isn’t a trap — Will would never do that to him — but it’s probably best to tread lightly. As far as he’s concerned, this is a sore point that’ll take more than a couple years to heal.

Luckily, there’s no tension to Will’s face. “Mhm. I wasn’t there for much of the planning, ‘cause I was busy in the infirmary and also, like, twelve, but it took a lot of time on both sides. When Michael and everyone seized it, though, it glowed gold.”

“…Ah.”

Will snorts at his awkwardness, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure made it hard for the Ares cabin to claim, as dicey as it may be. Here, help me park it on the side of the road.”

There’s a thatch of weeds and undergrowth separating the road from the base of the hill, so dragging the chariot over is a struggle and a half. Nico can’t help but think that this task would be very easy if the chariot was harnessed to a couple pegasi and flying over the fucking thatch, as it is meant to do. When he voices this very valid thought, Will does not respond.

He does walk into a thistle, though, so Nico feels considerably better about the whole ordeal.

“The thing about the blessing —” Will grunts, yanking the chariot onto the gravel shoulder with one final tug — “is that it’s not that big of a deal. My dad blesses shit all the time. Our cabin is blessed. The infirmary is blessed. Hell, half my scalpels are blessed, and I throw those things out all the time ‘cause they’re dangerous when they get dull. Just because my dad blessed it doesn’t mean we actually have to keep it.”

“Okay…” Nico says slowly, “then why was it such a big deal?”

“The blessing on its own wasn’t.” Will’s voice gets fainter as he lowers himself onto the pavement, dragging himself under the belly of the chariot. Nico is confused for a full three seconds before a particularly rough patch of asphalt snags Will’s shirt and drags, and wow, are those jeans low rise. His throat is suddenly very dry. “Blessing a chariot on the other hand…”

Will makes a dorky little noise of success, crawling back from under the chariot. When he resurfaces, he’s grinning, carved piece of wood the same material as the chariot clenched in his hand. There’s soot smeared across his left cheek, his curls have tangled themselves into more of a mess than usual, and there are three separate scuff marks on his nice jeans.

Nico ducks his head, hiding a smile. What a dorky loser. Even dressed up as he is (boy, has Nico fallen low, if he’s calling jeans and cowboy boots dressed up), he still manages to look like…Will.

A really, really hot version of Will, but. Whatever. Details.

“The hell is that?”

“This,” Will says grandly, feeling around the wall of the chariot until he finds a specific spot, “is the reason my brother gave a fuck about a dumbass chariot.” He sticks the edge of the wooden tool in a tiny groove, wedging it open to reveal a hidden panel and a small, golden button. Nico meets Will’s grin with raised eyebrows, impressed.

“What do you know about Michael?”

“Uh, not too much.”

“You think he, in any reality, would have had that much interest in a hunk of wood?”

Nico had scarcely met him more than a couple times, but Michael Yew made an impression, that was for sure. For someone who was shorter than Nico when he was ten years old, he sure took up a lot of space. In the few times Nico remembers seeing him, he’d been concerned with his bow, his camera, or showing any given person who so much as blinked at him wrong just how quickly he could turn their ass concave. If Nico is correct, actually, the one time he and a pegasus had been in the same vicinity, they’d hissed at each other. Nico didn’t even know pegasi could hiss.

He tries to find a delicate way to say this.

“He seemed more interested in other endeavours,” he says politely.

Will laughs loudly. “He would rather shove an arrow in his eye than race a chariot!” His bright smile is impossible not to match, and Nico is relieved to find him totally comfortable, relaxed; hell, even excited. Usually, any talk of his siblings, even fond, makes him quiet. He’s glad for this change, however unusual. “Man, I loved my brother more than anything, but he was the most ornery motherfucker I’ve ever met in my life. He taught me every swear in every language by the time I was nine, just because he knew it would drive Lee batty. He didn’t care about some spoil of war.”

He smirks, wide and devilish, and Nico’s knees go weak. Dimples like that should be illegal.

“He was smart, though. And he figured, if dad’s blessing made this chariot anything like his own…”

He reaches out and presses the golden button with his thumb, letting go and standing back once he registers a faint click. After a couple seconds, the chariot begins to glow, soft at first, then brighter, then Nico has to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid the stinging burn, and then when he opens them, it —

He gapes. Will grins.

Where the chariot used to be, is now a shiny, brand-new, black and yellow motorbike, two helmets gleaming on the sparkling leather seat.

“…Then it might be a little more than some lousy chariot.”

Without waiting for Nico to pick his jaw off the floor, Will rushes forward. He tosses one of the helmets to Nico — which he barely manages to catch, still working on processing what the fuck just happened — and tucks the other under his arm. Nico happens to notice how his biceps flex with the action, and then vows to have his father bankrupt the entire polo shirt industry, because he can never be caught lacking like this by any mortal soul. It’s humiliating.

There’s a click as Will unlatches the seat, lifting it up to access the compartment under it. He pulls out a bundle mass of black fabric, and with a flick of his shoulders reveals it to be a fucking leather jacket and oh, gods, Nico takes back the polo shirt complaints, he can live with the polo shirt. This is too much. This is —

“Any time you’re done ogling at me, you can climb on,” Will calls out. He doesn’t even have the good grace to look in Nico’s direction, instead sliding on the seat facing resolutely forward, amused smirk on his face. And because he wants Nico to die, actually, he straightens his jacket, making sure it fits his shoulders right (by the gods does it ever) brushes his hair backwards (there is no genuine reason for someone’s hair to actually shine in the sunlight) and slides his helmet on. When he finally does look back in Nico’s direction, through his raised visor, the combined sight of his sparkling blue eyes and the cut of his face under the angular helmet actually gives him tachycardia.

“I hate you,” Nico croaks. “Not joking.”

Will throws his head back and laughs, baring his long, tanned throat. Nico follows the bob of his adam’s apple like Tantalus does the forbidden fruit. It’s horrible, and what’s worse is that Will is visibly preening like the fuckin’ peacock he is. Someone should remind him he’s basically a dressed up turkey. Or something. Nico’s brain is operating at twenty percent capacity, his ability to metaphor properly is a secondary concern.

“Just get over here, you goober. We’re on a time limit, remember?”

Shoving his helmet on to hide his flaming face, Nico does, sliding on with a healthy four inches of space between them.

“Mm, not gonna work, ParaNorman. This thing’s enchanted, we’ll be going well over a hundred. Hold on properly.”

Praying to seven different gods for strength, at once, Nico scooches the agonizing few inches closer.

“Hands around waist, Death Boy.”

“I’m fucking — I’m getting there, you asshole, gimme a goddamn second.”

“Do you need help?”

“I need you to shut the fuck up so I can focus.”

Maybe it’s the healer in him, or maybe there actually is a god looking out for Nico and they decide to have mercy. Maybe it’s a third option. Either way, Will reaches back and wraps his callused hands around Nico’s wrist, tugging them gently forward and resting them on the narrow curve of his hips. Nico holds them there, along with his breath, until some of the panicky tension starts to loosen in his chest, and he relaxes forward, resting his chest against Will’s back.

“There,” he says quietly, humming with approval when Nico’s arms link properly around his waist. He squeezes his clasped wrists once — a silent you good? — and waits for Nico’s minute nod, face buried in the back of Will’s neck, before starting up the engine, revving it twice before leaning forward, body flush to the bike. Nico can practically feel his grin, it’s so clear in his mind’s eye, in the delight thrumming through Will’s entire body, that he can’t help his own smile, too, can’t help but feel the thrum of the machine, the sharp smell in the air. He tightens his hold and Will lets out a loud, whooping laugh.

“Let’s ride, baby!”

With a push off the ground and a twist of a thrusters, they’re off, leaving behind only the echo of the roaring engine and the joyful, startled sound of Nico’s shriek.

———

next

[pedrito-friskito]

My special prompt is for Javier Peña Ranch with a special combo for fluff and smut! If you're up for it! 😍💜

Fluff prompt: #6

Smut prompt:#6

Can't wait to see what you bring us!! Happy Sunday and happy writing!!! 🥰❤️

xoxo

SKYEEEEEEEEE ohhohohohoh let me tell you I saw ‘ranch” and then I saw those prompts and my brain said LET’S FUCKING GO. going back to the ranch is always so much fun for me, and this was the perfect opportunity for something delicious, sexy, and deliciously sexy 😍 I hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting my love!! xoxoxo

strawberry shortcake - the ranch - javier peña x fem!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: explicit smut, lots of teasing, shower sex, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), I regret NOTHING

It all starts in the morning.

As usual, Javi’s out the door with the sun, getting done the few things that need doing on the weekends, the Saturday sun beating down on his back with every step. By ten o’clock, he’s heading back to the house, the animals fed and watered. Getting closer to the house, he can hear music on the radio, and when he steps up the porch, he can see you through the screen door, dancing around the kitchen.

Every little thing she does is magic, everything she do just turns me on

Javier chuckles under his breath, pulling the door open and stepping inside, tossing his hat and his gloves onto the bench beside the door. You don’t notice at first, preoccupied with whatever it is you’re baking. There’s a bowl of cut strawberries on the counter, and the heat lingering in the air tells him the oven is on. He leans against the kitchen doorway, crossing his arms over his chest, one boot propped over the other, just watching as you unhook a bowl from under the stand mixer. The whisk attached to the mixer drips with whipped cream.

You curse, wiping the white off the counter with your finger and sucking it between your lips. Javier inhales sharply, watching your tongue dart out when some cream lingers at the corner of your mouth. It takes everything in him not to stick his hand down the front of his suddenly too-tight jeans.

“You’re up early,” he calls, announcing his presence. It makes you jump anyway, nearly dropping the bowl as you turn to set it on the island. You smack a hand to your chest, eyes going wide.

“Christ, Javi!” you half-shout, but there’s a smile on your face. “That whipped cream was nearly all over the floor.”

“Didn’t mean to spook you,” he says, stepping forward until he can twine his arms around your waist, leaning down to fit his face into your neck. You hum happily as he does it, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “I was hoping you’d still be in bed when I came back.”

“Well, we have to leave for Connie and Steve’s in an hour or so,” you reply, “and this shortcake isn’t gonna make itself.”

Javi groans into your throat. Right. The party. He’d partially forgotten. 

Connie and Steve moved to Laredo recently — further into the slowly-growing suburbs than the ranch was — and were throwing a house-warming party of sorts. You’d gone into the city one night this week to pick out a gift, returning with a few tasteful picture frames and a stuffed bunny for Olivia, and had reminded him last night you wanted to stop at a florist on the way there to get flowers for Connie.

“You agreed, Jav,” you laugh, tipping your head back while he lets his mustache scrape along your pulse. “Besides, it’ll only be a couple hours, then we can come home and you can have me all to yourself all night long.”

The mere idea of it makes his jeans tighter still, and he nips at your skin, earning himself a smack to the shoulder.

“Watch it! You know Connie’ll give me hell if I show up covered in hickies.”

“Love bites,” he corrects, pulling his head up, meeting your eyes. A strand of hair falls in your face, and he brushes it away, leans in to kiss your mouth, tasting the cream on your lips. “Mmm, sweet.”

“Love bites, sure,” you repeat, rolling your eyes. “Go get in a shower, cowboy.”

He pulls away from you reluctantly. “Does that mean you’re not joining me?”

“If the cake is done before you��re out, then maybe.”

“Querida,” he pouts and you push him in the direction of the stairs.

“Enough with the puppy dog eyes!” you laugh, still grinning. “Go!”

Ten minutes later, the cake is cooling on the counter and he has you pressed against the shower wall. The wet rope of your hair curls around his wrist as he holds you in place, your feet outside of his, your back arched and your moans filling the bathroom. His other hand is curled around your hip, grunting with every snap of his hips, the smack of your ass against the tops of his thighs.

He cums fast, driving his cock deep, and then yanks you up, banding his arm beneath your tits, his other hand moving to your clit, drawing fast circles that have you keening in his arms. You shower fast after that, taking turns beneath the spray, and you slink out first after kissing him soundly.

The bathroom is still full of steam when he gets out, and Javi takes his time, checking his discarded watch to see how much time he has. He brushes his teeth, combs his hair, shaves the bit of stubble from his jaw. When he walks back to the bedroom, towel wrapped around his hips, you are nowhere to be found, but you’ve laid out his red plaid shirt on the bed, along with a dark pair of jeans and his black leather belt.

Half an hour, and he’s walking down the stairs, fingers hooked into his belt as he turns down the hall to the kitchen.

His jaw nearly hits the floor, and his jeans are tight all over again.

You look absolutely edible.

Javier is pretty sure he’s never seen this dress before. His mind is a rolodex when it comes to you, full of details and moments and lists. Among those lists is his favourite outfits of yours — most of which are for bedroom use only, but there are a good few others that are outside-friendly. But this dress…he’s never seen this dress before.

It hangs off you perfectly, accentuating every curve of your body. It’s a pale turquoise colour, with little peach flowers all over it. There are buttons down the front, and the straps are thin, thin enough for him to know you’re not wearing a bra underneath.

Javi wolf-whistles, and you jump again, tilting your head back with a laugh as he walks into the kitchen, stepping toward you. “Don’t you look at me like that, Javier Peña,” you chide, pointing a finger in his direction. “You already had your way in the shower.”

“My way?” he repeats, lifting a brow as he moves behind you, letting his hands rest on your hips. The fabric of the dress is impossibly soft. “Pretty sure we both got our way, didn’t we?”

“We did,” you say, giggling as he presses his chest to your back. “I’m just saying, you got what you wanted, and we don’t have time—” The end of your sentence cuts off with a gasp as he slides his hand between your legs, pushing the heel of his palm against your cunt.

“Time for what, querida?” he asks, dragging the tip of his nose along your neck. “You know as well as I do I could make you cum right here and now.”

“Javi.” Your fingers curl around his wrist, and for a moment he thinks you’re going to pull his hand away, but you don’t. “You’re gonna make us late.”

“And Steve can give me hell about it all afternoon if he likes,” he replies, stepping away from the counter and the half-finished cake, taking you with him. You go willingly, melting into his arms.

Two minutes later, and he has you bent over the arm of the couch, eating your pussy from behind, the skirt of your dress bunched in his fists. Your thighs quake against his face, your underwear hooked around one ankle, and Javi lets one hand glance down the back of your leg as you cum with a shout, one arm reaching around to bury your hand in his hair.

Satisfied, Javier leans back on his feet, leaving a wet kiss on one cheek and delivering a quick spank to the other. It makes you moan and he grins, helping you back into your underwear, letting your skirt fall back down over your ass. You straighten slowly, still catching your breath, and Javi grabs your chin, kissing you hard, enough that he hopes you can taste yourself on his tongue.

“Ready to go, baby?”

Twenty minutes later, and you’re both in the truck, the gifts in the backseat, the strawberry shortcake boxed and resting at your feet. You turn up the radio as Javier drives, rolling down the windows to let the summer breeze waft through the truck cab.

Before you make it into the busier streets of the city, you pull your feet up under you, loosening your belt slightly so you can lean over the middle console of the truck. Javi lifts his brow as your hand curls around his bicep, skimming up and down his arm.

“I really love this shirt on you,” you mutter, leaning closer until you can press your lips beneath his ear. “Looks so fucking good, baby.”

He opens his mouth, but no words come out, only a low groan as your hand moves down between his legs, cupping him through his jeans, the heat of your hand seeping through the material.

“Cariño,” he mutters, gritting his teeth as the blood rushes south, cock twitching in his pants. “I will pull this truck over, I swear to god.”

Just as the words are past his lips, the streets grow busier, the countryside giving way to the suburbs, and you sink back into your seat, returning your feet to the floor, resting your hand over his on the gearshift.

“Are you okay, Javi, sweetheart?” you ask, your voice falsely sweet as you lace your fingers through his. “You look a little flushed.”

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel and presses the gas a little harder. You just laugh.

Connie and Steve are excited to see you both, and Olivia doubly so. You’ve seen them a few times since you and Javi became an official item, and while Livvy loves her Uncle Javi, she loves you even more. The afternoon is spent in the Murphys’ large backyard, filled to bursting with lawn chairs and tables, a little inflatable pool for the kids, overflowing coolers filled with beer and soda for the adults. Steve pulls Javier in every direction, introducing him to their new neighbours, Steve’s new colleagues and the like. A few are familiar faces to Javi, and there’s the inevitable conversation of how it’s such a small world, inquiries about Javier’s parents, the ranch, etcetera.

And the whole time, Javi keeps an eye on you.

Connie has commandeered you as much as Steve has Javier, introducing you to all her friends and the neighbours. He’s watched as you’ve done the rounds, chatting with people, offering Connie help with refilling the coolers or setting out snacks. Olivia has most of your attention, however, and Javi watches more than once how she wobbles over to wherever you’re standing, wraps her little fingers around yours and pulls you over to the blanket of toys Connie laid out for her. You go willingly each time, a beaming smile on your face.

Now, Javier watches with a grin on his own mouth as Olivia giggles wildly, her little feet kicking while you blow raspberries on her little belly. Connie sits beside you on the blanket, the two of you chatting between Olivia’s requests to stack blocks or give voices to her stuffed animals.

“So, when are you gonna put a ring on that girl’s finger, Jav?” Steve asks, the words almost too loud, handing Javier another beer. He feels his ears go red as he takes the bottle, taking a long sip before Steve touches his boot to Javi’s. “Seriously, man. She’s an angel.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Javi quips, glancing at Steve before his eyes dart back to you. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Think less,” Steve tells him, tipping his bottle toward Javi. “It’ll just get you into more trouble. Just ask her. Honestly, Javi, I’ve never seen you this happy.” His ex-partner lifts a brow. “Or is the sex just that good?”

Javier chokes on his beer. He sputters, instantly wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. “Shut the fuck up, Murphy.”

More conversations are had, more of Steve’s friends joining the circle to talk shop, football games and the new sports bar that opened downtown. It all sort of fades into the background for Javier as his gaze continually returns to you. Eventually, Connie pulls Steve away to help with something, the others go to make conversation elsewhere, and Javi is left alone in his chair.

He’s not lonely for long, however, because just as he’s setting his empty beer bottle down on the ground beside him, you materialize in front of him, dangling a fresh beer in front of his nose, the condensation dripping down the glass.

“Querida,” he grins, taking the beer before reaching for you, curling an arm around your waist. “Come here, you hot little thing.”

You throw your head back and laugh, falling into his lap, wrapping an arm around his neck. He leans in and kisses the hinge of your jaw, inhaling the sweet scent of your skin, the flowery smell of your hair. It’s intoxicating. You sink fully into his lap, leaning against his chest, moaning as you go.

“Ugh, that feels good,” you groan, tilting your head back so the sun pours over your face. “These shoes are killing me.”

Javier nips at your earlobe. “Moan for me again; it sounded nice.”

You smack his chest, straightening slightly. “Javi.”

“I’m just teasing.”

“Aren’t you always?”

He just chuckles, shaking his head as you lean back against his chest again. Javi rubs his hand up and down your back, drawing circles on the bare skin between your shoulders, letting his fingers dip beneath the fabric of the dress just a bit.

You hum quietly, resting your head on his shoulder. “Honestly, Jav, how are you so comfy? I could sit on you all day.”

Javi presses his lips together, feeling your face grow hot as you realize what you’ve said. He tightens his arm around your waist, squeezes your hip through the fabric of your dress. “You know you have an open invitation for that, querida.”

He can almost see the goosebumps rise across your skin, and you wiggle your hips slightly, adjusting yourself in his lap. His cock twitches at the friction and you drape both arms around his neck, leveling your face with his. You peck the tip of his nose, but then your mouth slips south, kissing his top lip softly. He can tell you’re restraining yourself, and it only makes him harder.

The hand not curled around your hip starts rubbing up and down your legs, and when your knees part slightly, he finds his opening, glancing around to make sure no one’s paying you any mind before he lets his hand slide right up your skirt, fingers skimming up the inside of your knee.

“Javier.”

He pushes his face into your neck again, making it look like he’s whispering something to you, a secret for your ears only. “You think anyone would notice if I started fingering you right now?” he asks, and you don’t reply, but he hears the quiet gasp, the hitch in your breath. “You can be good for me, can’t you, querida? Let me play with that pretty pussy, but don’t let anybody know what we’re doing. Hmm?”

You twine your fingers in the back of his hair and tug, hard enough that his head lifts from your throat. “Javier Peña, you’re a menace.”

“You’re the menace, cariño,” he responds, raising his brows. “Who gave you the right to look so fucking delicious in that dress, hmm? I oughta teach you a lesson.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “Mm, I think I’d enjoy that lesson.”

He gives you a quick peck. “I’ll make sure that you do.”

Your grin turns full-blown. “And speaking of delicious, my shortcake was a hit, but I really think we should get home soon, Javi. There’s lots more whipped cream in the fridge, and I’d hate for it to go to waste.”

An hour and a half later, and you’re home. You’re home, and you barely made it through the door, a trail of clothes leading from the front porch and into the kitchen. The tile floor is cool against Javi’s bare skin, but he feels like he’s on fire all at the same time.

The bowl of whipped cream sits off to the side. You’re as naked as he is, sitting astride his face, your knees pressing against his shoulders. Javi’s got his hands on your hips again, holding onto you tightly, groaning into the inside of your thigh as you drop another dollop of whipped cream at the base of his cock. It’s cold — almost too cold — but the coolness turns to heat as you close your mouth around him again, the warmth of your mouth almost too much to bear. Your tongue rides the veins of his cock, laving at the base while the tip hits the back of your throat, cleaning the whipped cream from his skin.

He yanks you down hard, sealing his mouth around your cunt, pushing his tongue into your dripping hole. You keen, moaning around his cock, and the vibration makes him moan right back into you. You don’t let up, not until he’s cumming hot down your throat, and even then, you pull off him with a quiet pop, instantly dropping your head to lick the rest of the whipped cream up. It sends chills through his whole body, leaves him writhing on the floor, and he taps your thighs, signaling you to get off.

Javier doesn’t let you go far, pulling you back against him as soon as you’re upright, both of you on your knees on the kitchen tile. With one hand, he smears whipped cream around your nipple, mouth lowering to lick it up a moment later, and the other finds its way between your legs, thumb circling your clit, two fingers sinking into you.

“Javi,” you groan, your head dropping back on your shoulders, one hand diving into his hair as he scrapes his teeth against your nipple, reaching for more whipped cream before moving to the other. “Oh my fucking god.”

He drags his tongue against you before flicking his eyes up to your face. “Moan my name again, querida,” he grins. “It sounded nice.”

“Javier.”

[teaboot]

Guys I'm on the last episode of Trigun 1998 right now and I am dead serious please for the love if God do not watch this unless you are fully prepared to ugly cry with gross noises, snot, wailing, the whole nine yards, I swear to christ almighty they hooked me in with the space cowboys premise and dropped my guard with goofy slapstick "lmao 90's anime cringe" flailing wacky silly crap and then they tore my goddamn heart in half. I feel like I just got stabbed. I feel like I just got back from a funeral. Im covered in tears and my eyes swelled up. I hate myself. Fuck

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 27.7k | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak

After four years away at collage, you’re finally home with the tools and knowledge to save your family ranch. That is, if their ranch hand would stay out of your way.

Or: Ranch hand Joel doesn’t know how to handle the return of his bosses prodigy daughter, her snarky little attitude, or her sinfully tight jeans.

a/n: howdy ya’ll! This chapter took me a HOT minute to finish because i’ve been severely sick (if you’ve been on this ride with me since esos you know i struggle with my health) but it’s finally here! I cant thank everyone enough for reading and as much as I wish i could hear from you guys more often, i’m just going to keep writing along and hope someone likes it! The smallest interactions bring me so much joy.

Masterlink

ao3 link | spotify playlist

Chapter 5: On My Way To You

He’s never been more humiliated in his entire fucking life. Never—not ever, has he ever felt this embarrassed about someone seeing him naked. He’s been shot down mid alleyway make-out when she’d pressed too close and felt it. He’s been left in a hotel room when he had a woman naked under him and he finally pulled his pants down. Hell—he’s been told it hurts, asked to stop—asked to leave. But never has it made his heart pound and his cheeks stain red, never made him wheeze from anxiety and dread.

He didn’t mean for it to happen—he’s been doing his best to avoid you, give you the space you want, but you’ve been nicer lately and it makes him want to get closer, test those waters and get to know you, but the second he lets himself start to give in, his body goes full force and he has to get away. Today was a hard day for him because he’d been up late the night before trying to rewire a break in the fence that let out three heifers and the little calf you’d saved on Christmas.

He’d crashed hard last night and woke up too late to work himself over before starting his day—it usually helps him keep his cool, but today he spent two hours hours in the saddle of one of Hank’s horses, moving the heifers getting ready to calf to a smaller pasture, the older steer that were about to be sold off from last years calves to a quarantine pen. It was mindless and easy and Joel spent the whole time thinking about you and your pretty eyes and the way you still wear that necklace every day, like you haven’t even thought to take it off.

By the time he stops by the house for something to drink, he’s already spent half his morning picturing you in every position possible—real like he’s never had it before. He’s smack dab in the middle of one of his favorite fantasies, one where you’re going down on him, fully aware of what’s under his belt buckle and wranglers. You’d be so sweet to him, make him feel desirable without feeling like a chore. You’d kiss the length of him over his denim, drag his pants down his thighs and you wouldn’t gasp in shock. You’d want him—your mouth would water for him and you’d give him those pouty lips and bright eyes when you finally run your tongue from base to tip—it would be perfect—

“Morning Joel.”

He’s so caught up in his vision of you in his head he’s completely unprepared for this version, with berries smeared on the corner of your mouth, like the jam is just too sweet for you to leave untasted—you’re swimming in a sweater too big for you and christ he hates when you wear legging, hugging every curve of your body, filling in the shape of your body like a shadow. He does his best to form a sentence, keep himself from staring at the necklace chain he can see poking out of your collar. you’re wearing it, you’re wearing it, you’re wearing it.

When you lick the spoon clean, his stomach hits the floor and his head spin’s suddenly from loss of blood as everything warm and tingly in his body travels south. He knows he has to get out of there, doesn’t have time to stand here for another second if he wants to keep what's going on in his pants to himself.

He’ll kick himself later for not giving you an excuse to run off, but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter right now. He practically runs for the barn, the small bathroom inside is a well learned friend, where he can rub one out fast and get it out of his hungry system. His body is famished, starved for your skin and he isn’t sure how much more of this he can take.

He gets his pants down as fast as he can, spits in his hand and starts quick. God, the way you’d looked at him when he walked in there, like you were happy to see him for once, glad to share his company—if only he wasn’t such a complete piece of shit who can't take a kind gesture for just that.

He sees your smile and he wants to dig his hands into the meat of your ass and hoist you up. Wants to hold you down and take you apart with his mouth. Your eyes meet his and he wants to watch them roll back when you take all of him, like no one ever has, ever will but he can let himself imagine it in this tiny bathroom that smells like livestock and dirt. He can imagine the way you’d want it, want him. The way you’d tell him how good he felt, how good he made you feel despite what he’s always been told about himself.

Just a few more—a couple more tugs and he’s almost there, so fucking close to the thought of your body and his, and…and…

The next thing he knows your eyes are on him, then tick down to his hand wrapped around himself like the pathetic man he knows he is. He’ll never forget the way you looked at him, the way you told him how traumatized you were to see him like that, he’s sure it would have hurt less if you’d stabbed him in the heart with a dull knife.

He fucking runs back to the cabin and get’s himself under a cold shower, trying to keep his hair from getting wet so you don’t know while his body takes a shock to its system, flushing out the desire and replacing it for his shame. When he’s red and shaking from the cold, he re-dresses and heads back towards the house. The longer he hides, the more likely you are to piece together the odd string of occurrences surrounding his disappearances. The longer he waits, the more guilty he looks, so he forces himself up the stairs, trying his best to catch his breath outside of the door until he finally has the gull to knock. He knows you’re in there, he can faintly hear something, soft little sounds that he can't quite make out, so he calls your name when the small rasps don’t catch your attention.

He nearly leaves when the door finally comes open, and…fuck if you aren’t a sight for his painfully sore eyes. You’re red all over, stunning, breathing hard with wide eyes like you’ve been caught at something. Maybe you have, he can imagine, maybe you were touching yourself—thinking about him. It's a futile dream, but he lets himself have it anyways.

No matter how much he runs, how much he tries his hardest to stay away, everything you do ropes him in and hog ties him up, unable and unwilling to be moved until you’ve decided what to do with him now that everything he is, is yours.

It’s shame that keeps him from embarrassing himself again once he drives into town, because the way you press against him in the truck makes his skin boil. He doesn’t deserve to have you beside him after what you’d been forced to witness, but that doesn’t stop him. He wants to slip his hand along your thigh, wishes Tommy wasn’t sitting beside you and he could stuff his hand down the front of your leggings and show you a thing or two—he knows he’s good with his hands—his mouth, he has to be if he wants to get a woman off. He wants to show you exactly what he could do for you, to you, but he keeps his mouth closed and taps his fingers against the steering wheel the whole way. It’s infuriating, how much you get along with Tommy now, who’s been nothing but crude to you, making passes at you left and right and god help him, you let him. He wants you to talk to him like that too, he wants to make you laugh, make you giggle and blush prettily.

But he just loads the truck. Watches when you and Tommy snicker over a bottle of whiskey he knows he can't touch because last time he made a fool of himself. He tries not to intrude on your space, tries not to bother you and Tommy around the fire later after he’s done unloading the truck alone. Not even Tommy helps him around here anymore, too far up your ass that he’s damn near useless.

He watches from the window like a fucking creep, trying not to work himself up over the way you smile at his brother, the way you throw your head back laughing at something stupid he probably said. He wants that to be him, sitting beside you with whiskey making him bold, faking it for him since he doesn’t have the ability to just talk to you. He’s sure he’d tell you everything, how beautiful he thinks you are, how much smarter than him you are. He’d probably tell you how many times he’s thought about you with his hands wrapped around himself, in the dark of his room with your name on his lips.

He doesn’t do any of that, instead he watches you from the window and lets his heart ache and pound until he sees the way Tommy lingers closer, touches your leg absently and you let him. He has to put a stop to this, so he tracks out into the cold and tries to put his foot down. Maybe Tommy will go to bed, you’ll let him walk you home and it will be so cold that you’ll ask him to stay again. But before he has a second to beg you otherwise, you’re kissing his brother.

You’re kissing his brother instead of him and he can't watch for another second, so he hightails it inside and slams his bedroom door behind himself. He can usually hear right through Tommy’s wall, but he holds his hands over his ears and tries his hardest to keep the sound of his ragged breaths from making it through the walls. At some point, he falls asleep, wishing you were laying right beside him, sprawled out, satisfied and spent with the shape of his teeth on your shoulder.

When he wakes in the morning, it’s not even close to sun up yet. He has a long day ahead of him, has to ride up to the north pasture, acres upon acres of beautiful pine covered land, but Joel has to ensure that the streams aren’t frozen over if he wants to move the heifers and their calves there soon. He gets dressed with a ache in his bones that he knows didn’t come from his age, his stomach is in knots because he knows what's been done, he knows he can’t change it—that he might not ever stand a chance with you now that you’ve been with him. Women always preferred Tommy over him, all the same cowboy charm with a bit more confidence.

He slips on his boots and places his hat on his head before lingering in the hallway for a long moment. He stares at Tommys door and imagines you sleeping on the other side of it. Did you like it? Do you like him?

He turns and starts down the hallways when the door comes open with a slow creak. He turns back around in the dark light of the hallway and, there you are wearing one of Tommy’s shirts and nothing else, your hair is mused and you have this look on your face, one that reeds shame and worry and for what Joel just can't quite put his finger on. You don’t say anything for a long time, just Joel and you and the fading darkness outside, your eyes tracking over him with a shiny hue to them.

“Where are you going?” Where is he going is the first thing you have to say to him? Like he climbed out of your bed and snuck off. “I uhm…I have a long ride up to the north field, thought I would get a early start on it.” He clears his throat and glances down at his boots, then back up at you. “Though I should give ya’ll some space, no one wants their brother listenin’ in.”

He starts to turn away again because he can’t look at you for another second when he knows you have his saliva on your skin and the shapes of his hands on your body.

“Can I come with you?” Go with him? You want to go with him when there’s a warm body waiting for you in a warm bed, where you can hide from the cold world, the impending darkness and a man like him. “You want to go? Why?” You close the bedroom door behind you like you don't want to wake Tommy and it makes Joel’s heart pound out of his chest for reasons it shouldn’t. “I don't know, it’s cold out there, you’re uhm…you’re naked.”

He tries, really tries to keep his eyes off your bare thighs, the shirt hanging off your frame and your sock-less feet on the hardwood. “I’m not naked, I have underwear on,” you lift one side of the shirt like you have to prove it to him and his eyes track to the black lace hugging your hips. Saliva builds in his mouth and he clears his throat, needing to turn away from you again. “If you want to come you should probably put some clothes on, I’ll meet you in the stable.” He starts to gather up his things, a light and his phone, trying to make himself busy so he can get away. “Well, will you wait for me—I don’t want to walk alone.” And Joel doesn’t want to do this right now, walk with you for a half mile back to the stables, sit beside you, wondering if it aches sitting in the saddle because his brother fucked you.

But he waits anyway, fiddles with the brim of his hat while he sits on the couch in silence as he waits for you to get dressed. You come out in your clothes from the night before, bundled up in a big jacket with your hair tied back. He tells himself not to think about it and heads towards the door. The walk to the stables is nearly silent, but the pounding in his ears drowns out the awkwardness in the interaction. How can he stop thinking about it? How you slept with him but dragged yourself out of bed to follow Joel into the cold? How you would trade a warm body for Joel’s cold shoulder?

“Need help with your saddle?” His voice feels raw from not using it, his hands aching from the cold while he cinches up the girth strap. This time next year, hell be saddling up Cersi to take this trip, he cant wait, but for now he’ll ride Hanks sturdy horse through the mud and snow. “I’ve got it, thank you.” There's no snap in your tone like he expects there to be and you work with him in unison, getting your mounts ready while the sun starts to climb into the atmosphere. By the time he gets out of the barn, you’re smiling at him. Smiling from your spot in the saddle with the reigns in your hands like you’re made for that.

“You ready to get a move on, cowboy?” His chest tightens at the way you gaze at him, wondering if you’d given Tommy that same look the night before. He wants to pretend it was all for him, pretend that you’re looking at him like that because you see something you haven’t before.

“You ready, cowgirl? When's the last time you were in a saddle?” He tries his damndest to keep his tone light as he hooks a foot in the stirrup and hoists himself up. “Been a couple years, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget how to ride.”

Did you practice last night? He shakes his head and wills away the image. He doesn’t think he'll be able to stop thinking about it for the rest of the ride, he can’t get the image of your mouth on his out of his head no matter how much he tries. It’s always fucking Tommy. He’s always been the favored brother, no matter how much of a fuck up he is. He’s always been the one to get the girl, the popular one in school, hell even his wife—

“You okay in there cowboy?”

Your voice comes like a shock to his system, snapping him out of another unpleasant memory. “Huh?” He looks around until he lays eyes on you, riding beside him with your hands resting on the horn of the saddle. “I was asking if you’re okay…you’ve been really quiet for the past half hour.” Half an hour? It's been a half hour since he started this ride? “Yeah, no, sorry. I have a lot on my mind, is all.” You pick up the pace beside him a little, till your horses are walking alongside each-other on the path. “Anything you want to talk about?”

He sits on the words for a second. He doesn’t want to talk about it, not particularly—but its you and your asking him and fuck, he wants you to get to know him. Maybe if you knew who he was, maybe if he had a chance to explain why he’s like this you might change your mind.

“I was thinkin’ ‘bout my ex-wife.” He keeps his eyes ahead of him, because he doesn’t want to see the look on your face when you hear that, that he had a whole other life away from this place. “My mom told me you had an ex-wife. She didn’t tell me what happened.”

You knew? He’d told Hank and Louise a lot about his life, he had to if he wanted them to trust him. He wasn’t a bad man, just a burdened one. “We uh…we had a rocky marriage. Got together young, right out of high school. I was learning to work a cattle ranch and I thought I would be able to give her a good life but—she wanted more, I suppose. Started steppin’ out on me. She got pregnant by another man, but I still didn’t leave. Helped raise that little girl like she was my own.”

He thinks about Sarah and her curly hair that definitely didn’t come from him or her mom, her sweet smile, her first day of school—all the things he missed.

“What made you finally leave?” Your voice is so quiet beside him. He looks over at you under the brim of his hat and sighs. “She slept with Tommy. Came home from picking up Sarah from school and I…caught ‘em together in bed. Tommy said he did it because he wanted to prove to me that she wasn’t any good for me but, I don’t know, I’ve never been very good and stayin’ angry at him.”

Your eyes look far away in that moment, like you’re clouded in some kind of guilt, maybe because you’d slept with Tommy, too. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Joel.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head absently. “Ain’t no thing. I’m used to it by now, he’s always had a way with ‘em that I never had.”

He has, Joel can't even recall every encounter he’s had with a woman that ended with them leaving with his brother. Hell, it had been five years since the last time he’d (kind of) had sex, no thanks to his cockblocker of a brother. The first time in years since he’s felt more than just attraction to a woman and Tommy takes that from him too.

“We should get a move on, we don’t have all day and I have a lot to do when I get back.”

He digs his heal in and the horse picks up speed and to his surprise, you keep gate with him along the trail.

When he gets to the gate of the north pasture, his ass hurts from being in the saddle and his face feels wind chapped, but you don’t complain about a lick of it, like you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now. “Joel?” He’s closing the gate behind you when you call his name. It makes him look up from the latch. “Yeah?” He gets it in place and mounts his horse again, adjusting his hat on his head. “I’m really sorry, about how I treated you when I first came home.”

Fuck do you have to do this right now? Out here, where he has nowhere to run off to? “You're not the one who needs to be sorry. I never should have done half the things I did to you. I didn’t even know you and I assumed the worst of you. Should’ve never done any of that to you.” He never should have left you in the cold, never should have treated you any differently than anyone else because he thought you came from somewhere that didn’t like folks like him when he really likes girls like you. So smart and put together, so capable and confident.

“We got off on a bad foot, I suppose…do you think maybe we could…start over?”

You want to start over? With him? give him a second shot to not fuck this up again? Or maybe you don’t mean it like that, like he desperately wants it to mean, even if you fucked his brother last night, he doesn’t care, he’d take his sloppy seconds any day because it’s you.

“I’d really like that.” There's a sweet kind of shimmer in your eyes when you smile at him, rosey cheeks and a crinkle by your kind eyes. His sight ticks down to your chest, where he can see the necklace he’d given you sticking out of the top. You’re still wearing it, had you worn it last night? When he laid you down on his cold sheets while Joel wished desperately it was his?

Despite the pang in his chest, the rest of the ride is easy and light, you talk about nothing and absolutely everything, your favorite color, your favorite time of the year, Joel tells you how much he loves the spring and you excitedly agree, going on and on about watching the world come back to life.

You tell him about college, how out of place you felt surrounded by people who were so different from you. How nervous you were for the first year, but you’d made a best friend out of your room mate Mel, and you finally got the hang of it in your second year.

He tells you about drifting from place to place because Tommy usually stirs up some trouble and runs them out of town. He tells you about all the times he’s had to save his ass to your parents and how much he’s tried to hang on to the one good place he’s had in so long. He could talk to you for hours, all day if you’d let him, and you do. You hold his conversations like you’re a pair of old friends, catching up after years spent apart.

He’s so lost in you that he doesn’t even realize you’re back home until the house comes into view. He’s spent so much time immersing himself in talking to you that he’s completely lost track of where he is, letting the miles blow past him. It’s mid day and he still has a lot to do and he can tell you’re starting to get sore in the saddle. “I’ll get them cooled down, you should probably get some rest. You couldn’t of gotten much sleep last night.” He swings his leg over and climbs off the horse before taking yours by the halter so you can do the same. “Thank you for today…it’s been a while since I’ve had a good reason to ride.” You give him one of those smiles again and it takes everything in him not to lean in and kiss you because of it. He’s wanted to kiss you all damn day, slide his fingers into the hair at the base of your skull and hold on tight, slot his lips over yours and breathe you in deep until he can’t let you go again.

He doesn’t and you head off towards the house while he looks on. He watches till you make it inside and then some before getting back to his chores.

Work consumes the entirety of his day, until the sun sets and it starts to get dark and chilly when he’s finally got the animals fed and the equipment locked up. He knows Tommy is back at the cabin because he dropped off a plate of dinner to Joel in the stable on his way home. He’s about to start the walk back to the cabin himself when he hears the creak of the screen door on the house just across the yard. He closes the barn door behind himself and follows the sounds. You’re standing on the porch in a pair of sleep shorts and slippers, a tee-shirt that's too big and a nervous look on your face. You don't say anything, but Joel’s feet carry him to the steps, then up them one at a time, carefully and painfully slow, like he might spook you away if he moves too quickly. The wind is absolutely howling right now, whipping your hair around and cinching your shirt tight against your frame.

He hits the landing and takes a few more steps forward, until he’s a foot away from your shaking form, your big pretty eyes that are searching every corner of his. He should say something, he should say how much he enjoyed today, how much he wants to do it again and again and again.

“I didn’t have sex with him.”

It’s not what he expected you to say standing out here in this unforgiving cold, but its the best damn thing he’s heard you say all day. It feels like an endless weight coming off his shoulders and he lets out a loud gush of air he didn’t know he was holding. “What?” You puff your chest out a little, like you’re trying to get a point across to him. “I didn't have sex with Tommy last night.” You say it so matter of factly.

“Why didn’t you?” He reaches up and pushes his hat up a little, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His heart is pounding, his limbs shaking at the admission. “You know why.”

All at once, his pounding heart comes to a staggering stop, standing there on the porch looking down at you while he tries to keep himself upright. He doesn’t know why but the way you're looking at him now tells him there's something else here besides anger and hatred and shared distaste. You didn’t sleep with Tommy, because on the other side of that wall you were wanting him just as desperately as he wanted you.

“It’s cold out here…do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?”

Joel’s bottom lip quivers so much he has to suck it into his mouth to make it stop, bite down on it to put it at ease. “Yeah, I…I’d like that.”

A warm little hand finds his, tentative fingers intertwined with his while you lead him inside of the house. You don’t take him upstairs, Joel doesn’t expect you to. You lead him to the couch and he sits down, kicking off his boots when you reach up for his hat. You set it on the arm rest beside him and grab a blanket off the back of the couch when he lays himself back on the pillow.

His body aches, his eyes feel heavy, but he doesn’t dare close them when he’s got an angel standing right before his eyes. “Goodnight, Cowboy.” You hum sweetly, lean down and press your lips against the apple of his cheek, more delicate than he’s ever been touched before in his entire fucking life.

When you pull away, those same cheeks are painted pink and he does his best not to grin too stupidly. “Goodnight, Cowgirl.”

You take the stairs up to your room but Joel rides the elevator to heaven from his spot on the living room couch.

[mockerycrow]

So uh rdr2 reader x gunslinger ghost as a concept ? (I haven’t finished the game I’m so slack) but reader is part of Dutch’s crew and Ghost is kind of a lone merc and they meet several times over the years and when Dutch starts going off the rails ghost offers to take them with him or something.

Idk just cowboy au I guess 🤠🤠.

stop, STOP!!! YOU ARE MAKING ME WANNA WRITE AN ENTIRE SERIES RN!!!!! OFNMAKSKDKSS this isn’t exactly ghost offering you to join him, but it’s more of a beginning of the realization.

You’re sitting in the Valentine saloon, some cheap whiskey in a glass in front of you. Your chest is heavy and you’re aching to relieve the pressure—aching to get yourself to stop thinking about the gang for five minutes. Your mind is reeling, thinking about Arthur; little Jack and his pathetic father—you love John, but dear God, is he a terrible dad—and poor sweet ol’ Abigail. You think of Charles as you take a harsh sip of the piss poor whiskey, the substance burning your throat. You think of the women, Hosea and Lenny, for Christ’s sake.

When you feel yourself about to spiral once more, you hear the bar chair next to you squeak and shift under a heavy weight, causing you to look over and lock eyes with The Ghost. He’s a tall intimidating man with a half red an half black skull mask, his brown eyes trying to stare deep into your soul. He wears the typical black hat of the time, as well as a worn out trench coat, the rest of his clothing black as well, even his bullet casing belts. The saloon fell silent at his presence; usually him appearing meant someone was going to die one way or another so when he sat down next to you, folks half expected another shootout between Ghost and you, a well known member of the Van der Linde Gang.

What many of these people didn’t know, is that you and Ghost have met many times over the years. A time or two it was you standing across each other on opposite sides, revolvers pointing at each others heads—other times, simply by chance. You’ve developed a strange camaraderie with the lone gunslinger, one that didn’t require too many words to be shared. Without words you offer your glass of whiskey which you watch him lift his mask up just enough to take a sip, a heavy sigh leaving you—but your chest feels a bit better now that he’s with you.

[wannab-urs]

Congrats on 1.5k! So deserved!! 🖤

To celebrate, I'd love a drabble. Any Pedro boy will do!

Keep rocking & being awesome, gorgeous! 🖤😘

Thank you so so so much <3 I hope you like this ahhhh

Save a Horse... Or Whatever

Pairing: Jack "Agent Whiskey" Daniels x Reader

Summary: Whiskey got hurt on a mission and he comes into your lab to get patched up.

Warnings: Jack Daniels being allowed to speak, medical shit that is completely bullshitted, one mention of blood, some talk of like digging around in a wound, etc, Whiskey calls you Soda pop and Sugar. Technically you're Agent Soda. Brief descriptions of oral m!receiving. No use of y/n, reader isn't gendered (I don't think?) WC: 900

A/N: I kind of think I'll turn this into a full one shot at some point? This is unbeta'd sorry!

Jack Daniels Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You really did not expect to end up with Agent Whiskey’s cock in your mouth today. Maybe you’d thought about it before, maybe hoped the opportunity would present itself at some point, but certainly not today. 

–-

He left your field office this morning for what was supposed to be a simple mission. Go in, shoot the fuckers, take the briefcase, call in the clean up crew. Simple, easy, something he’d done a hundred times. But somehow it got fucked up six ways from Sunday and he ended up limping his sorry ass into your lab, carrying the brief case but also dragging his left leg. 

“Howdy, Soda Pop. Reckon you could fix up my leg?” He flashes you his trademark sideways smile and a wink, before his face crumples and his legs nearly give out from under him. 

“Fuck, Whiskey! What in the hell happened to you?” You run over to help him, grabbing his thick arm and heaving him onto your examination table. 

“Let’s just say I did not receive a Kentucky welcome.” 

“Clearly. Can you take your jeans off, or am I gonna have to cut you out?” Whiskey smirks at you again and you brace yourself for whatever is about to come out of his mouth. 

“Well now, Soda Pop, thought you’d at least take me out to dinner before you tried to get in my pants. Think I can manage to get naked for ya though, sugar.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Whiskey you’re literally bleeding out,” you chastise him as he pulls off his belt. He winces as he shucks his blood stained jeans down his thighs, panting a little with the effort.

You try desperately not to show how much it turns you on. The guy you’ve harbored a bit of a crush on for years stripping down right in front of you… Who could blame you, honestly?

“Fuck! Soda, I’m too weak to whip a gnat. You’re gonna have to pull ‘em the rest of the way.” He collapses back on the table, jeans sitting not even half way down his thighs. 

You huff an annoyed breath and roll your eyes. “Shoulda just let me cut them off, idiot.” You pull off his ridiculous designer cowboy boots and yank his jeans the rest of the way down. You head over to your storage cabinet and grab some alcohol wipes, a pair of forceps, and a Beta Gel shot. 

Stepping between his parted legs, you clean his wound with the wipes as carefully as you can. His breath hitches in what you assume is pain and he digs his nails into his palms. “Alright, Whiskey, I gotta dig the bullet fragments out now. I can give you a pain shot, but your leg will be numb for the rest of the day. Up to you.” 

He props himself up on his elbows and waggles his eyebrows at you. “Don’t need a shot, sugar. I can handle it.” 

You raise a very skeptical eyebrow, but grab the forceps anyway. As you start the process of removing metal fragments from his leg, Whiskey sucks in a breath and his head falls back between his shoulder blades. You initially think it’s from pain. “Sure you can handle it, cowboy?” 

“Oh yeah, baby doll. I can handle it.” You eye him suspiciously, before trailing your eyes back down to where you’re working on his leg. Something catches your attention though. 

“Jack Daniels,” you say sternly. “Are you fucking getting off on this?” His cock is half hard in his boxer briefs. 

“And what if I was? Pretty girl, fixin’ me up, touchin’ me all over…” He trails off. 

“That why you became an Agent, Whiskey? You got a pain kink?” You resume pulling the pieces of the bullet out of his leg, nearly done now anyway. 

“Just ignore it, sugar. It’ll go away,” his voice is raspy, rough as if he’d been yelling and so low you feel it in your gut. You pull the last bit of the bullet out, grab the beta gel shot, and stab it into his thigh. 

His cock jumps in his underwear and he falls flat back on the table, letting out a slight whimper. 

“And what if I don’t want it to go away, Whiskey?” You don’t move from between his thighs. In fact, you step in closer, trail your hands up the outsides of his thighs and press your thumbs in. 

His head perks up at that and he meets your eyes, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “Well then, Soda pop… How’d you like to ride home on a real cowboy?” 

“That’s a terrible line, Whiskey. I really hope you don’t use that often.” 

“Only once or twice, sugar.” You roll your eyes, but hook your fingers into the waistband of his briefs anyway. You pull them down and his cock springs out, hitting his belly with a thwack. “Jesus, Jack, how do you walk around with that thing?” 

“Bowlegged,” he deadpans. You snort a laugh and take him in your hand, wrapping your fingers around his obscene girth. You dip your head and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock before wrapping your lips around the tip and sliding down as far as you can in one smooth motion. 

–-

And that is how you ended up with Whiskey’s cock in your mouth today.  Next time you’re aiming to end up in his bed. 

[sebsxphia]

ptolemaea. | the verses.

a preacher!rhett abbott series. | preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ you’re back in your home town and uncertain about your future that lies ahead of you. but, there is one man in your small town who gets your attention. one man who soothes your racing mind and guides you on the righteous path. your local town preacher, rhett abbott. he somehow already knows you inside out and he only has the best intentions for you… right? based off ethel cain’s, preacher’s daughter.

verse 1. ptolemaea. | god knows i tried.

￫ you find yourself in a confessional booth with preacher rhett abbott as he guides you on the righteous path.

verse 11. ptolemaea.

￫ you and your local town preacher, rhett abbott, spend a night together in a motel room. rhett is there to calm your racing mind and have you admit your sins.

verse 111. ptolemaea. | these crosses all over my body.

￫ preacher rhett offers you the hand of god to calm your woes.

verse 1v. ptolemaea. | the blood of christ.

￫ rhett suggests a solution that could soothe your cramps from your period.

verse v. ptolemaea. | august underground.

￫ you’re looking to take control one evening and tell your preacher to close his eyes and count to ten.

verse v1. ptolemaea. | r.a.

￫ you and your sinful preacher outline your future together in the back of his pick up truck.

verse v11. ptolemaea. | the thoroughfare motel tapes.

￫ you and rhett are nearing the end of the line and he has a sinful idea to document the beginnings of your time out west.

verse v111. ptolemaea. | the family tree in god’s country.

￫ you and rhett have finally found peace within your home, and rhett wishes to reassure you that he’ll protect you forever.

verse 1x. ptolemaea. | spirit in the basement.

￫ all you can feel and see is darkness, but someone else is there with you. you pray for your preacher in these desolate times.

ptolemaea. | the collective verses.

￫ all of the verses in one post as a book.

sunday sermons.

preacher abbott lore.

when rhett asks you to run away with him.

rhett and his cowboy hat.

riding rhett’s thigh.

troublemaker and the town pastor.

“pride is a sin, little lamb.”

rhett comforting his distraught lamb.

condoms are a sin.

convincing you not to pull out.

teaching you how to touch yourself.

“jesus’ tomb is the only thing that should be left empty today.”

wiping his spend off the corner of your mouth.

“that's not the lords word, angel.”

when you use your safe word with rhett.

squeezing your thighs during sunday sermon.

motel showers.

showing off rhett’s spend during sunday sermon.

seeing you pregnant in a sundress.

god lives on in rhett.

morning sex with rhett.

the polaroids rhett has of you.

“go fuck yourself.”

making preacher abbott a bracelet.

“am i goin’ to die for loving a man like you?”

bringing your stuffed lamb on the road out west.

your pussy and the false idols.

if rhett’s little lamb had bad anxiety.

rhett blowing smoke into your mouth.

rhett can tell when you’ve been touching yourself.

age regressing with preacher rhett.

bath time with rhett and little!reader.

preacher abbott using anointing oil as lube.

preacher abbott learning to braid little lambs hair.

un-lit cigarette between his lips.

preacher abbott’s cross dangling over you.

standing by the motel window with a cigarette.

rhett helping his precious little lamb have a smoke.

fucking his little lamb to sleep.

rhett helping you grieve.

finishing on little lamb’s stomach.

what if it was a dream?

a polaroid of willoughby rhett.

rhett wearing little lamb’s promise ring.

“yeah, i fuckin’ better be.”

preacher abbott watching little lamb pray.

willoughby rhett since they left.

willoughby rhett and the slaughter.

preacher abbott’s tattoo and little lambs thoughts.

in another life.

a quote, by little lamb.

preacher abbott, little lamb and their kitchen sink.

half return, by adrianne lenker.

the subconscious haunting of little lamb.

sunday hymns.

listen to the appropriate music whilst reading here.

sunday reflections.

nighttime with preacher abbott on the road out west.

the sights out west with preacher abbott.

little lamb’s nightmares as they lie asleep next to preacher abbott.

the cannibalistic love preacher rhett has for his little lamb.

little lamb’s home town and where preacher rhett came to pray.

god knows i tried.

r.a.

the thoroughfare motel tapes.

you're just a feral dog i worship in bedroom ceremonials.

little lambs home with preacher abbott out west.

willoughby rhett abbott.

little lamb.

thoroughfare.

[ thank you @h0neyfire for the wonderful photos! <3 ]

[lovelytsunoda]

jack and sally // daniel ricciardo

summary: scotty and chloe are throwing a halloween party, and danny and y/n think they've got the best couples costume in the entire party.

pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader

warnings: pumpkin spice condoms ( don't ask, it will all make sense later ), talks of getting married. danny does a striptease and is wine drunk.

authors note: see this reference for costumes. ALSO thank you so much for 550 followers, this truly is such a surreal thing for me !

y/n y/l/n smiled to herself as she stepped out of the shower, toweling off and wrapping her body in the pale purple satin robe hanging from the back of the door as she blow-dried her hair.

halloween was her favourite time of year, and the fully-decorated vineyard house in monaco that she shared with her boyfriend of five years proved it. every available surface was covered in bats or pumpkins or ghouls.

she opened the medicine cabinet to find her bath and body works perfume when she stopped, her eyes catching on something that rested on daniel's side of the cupboard. curious, she reached for the orange box, scanning the label with a snort before she spun on her heel and walked back out towards the master bedroom.

"pumpkin spice condoms? seriously, daniel?"

daniel laughed, half dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed with his phone. "what, it's festive!"

"it's tacky." y/n rolled her eyes, throwing the orange box at him. "jesus christ, why am i still dating you?"

"because i'm charming, funny and give really good head?"

"fuck off." y/n giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "i love you anyways, dumbass."

giggling still, daniel got to his feet, scooping y/n up in his arms, pressing a kiss to her lips before sitting on the bed and rolling over so that the aussie was on top.

"how about we try them out?" he raised an eyebrow, lifting up the box. "you know, see if they're really as tacky as they sound."

she kissed him on the nose. "sorry, cowboy. we have a halloween party to get ready for."

daniel groaned, flopping onto the bed. since the mclaren decision had come down, and his season got progressively worse, daniel had stopped wanting to go out, his usual sparkle a little duller.

but it was soctty and chloe who were throwing the party. aside from chloe's brother lance, there wasn't going to be a single person there who was connected to the racing world.

y/n thought that it might do danny some good to get back out there and clear his head. she'd been with him since the year that he left red bull, and she had never seen him as discouraged as he had been since he started driving for zak brown and his papaya team.

"why are we getting ready this early? there's still three hours left."

"the costumes and makeup, silly. a lot of work goes into looking as good as we do." y/n laughed, tapping the end of danny's nose.

begrudgingly, daniel resigned himself to the fact that there was nothing he could say or do to change y/n's mind about the costume or how long it would take to prepare it.

the couple ( or moreover, y/n ) had decided to go as jack and sally from the nightmare before christmas. y/n was very festive, especially when halloween rolled around. chloe had insisted on having a costume contest at the party, and y/n's competitive streak was coming out.

she did daniel's makeup first, knowing that trying to do makeup on another person was considerably harder than trying to do it for herself.

the mclaren driver was a good sport about the entire thing, especially for a man who didn't want to go to the party in the first place. she perched herself next to him on the edge of the bed, hair still soaked and dressed in her silk robe as she opened up the palette, dabbing the white face paint onto daniel's skin to transform him into the pumpkin king.

she used her liquid eyeliner to draw jack skellington's crooked smile across the driver's cheeks, and dark eyeshadow in circles around his eyes before adding the sliver glitter spray into his abundance of curls before she ruffled his hair, flecks of glitter falling onto the duvet as daniel leaned over and pressed a kiss to her lips.

"daniel!" she complained. "you're going to smudge it!"

"does it matter? the guy is a skeleton anyways!"

still giggling, she shooed daniel towards the walk in closet before taking a seat at the vanity mirror to set about doing her own makeup.

it took just under an hour to do danny's.

it only took y/n half that to do her own from the youtube tutorial before she began to straighten her hair and dust her face with glittery setting powder so that she sparkled under the light.

when daniel came back out of the walk-in, y/n's first instinct was to tell him how hot he looked. and then she needed to fix the bowtie, which the driver had done up wrong despite it being velcro.

she chuckled to herself as she undid and redid the costume tie before kissing her lover gently on the cheek, then rubbing away the purple lipstick mark before she went to put sally's patchwork dress on.

once the couple were ready to go, y/n insisted on all the customary couple's photos in the mirror. when it came to doting boyfriend activities, daniel ricciardo was a shockingly good sport, holding y/n close as they stared into each other's eyes for the photo.

she pressed up on her tiptoes, gently sinking her lips against his now that she knew all the lipsticks and face paints were dry.

"i love you." she said simply.

"love you too, darling. now, we have a costume contest to go win."

y/n beamed. "an hour ago, you didn't want to go."

"i changed my mind when i saw you smile."

___________

daniel ricciardo was actually enjoying himself. their competition for the contest was quite something. they were up against daphne and fred from scooby doo, uma thurman and john travolta in pulp fiction, baby and johnny from dirty dancing and a few disney princess couplings. there was also one couple who went as johnny cash and june carter, in costumes so good that for a second y/n thought that they had lost.

but alas, mostly due to y/n's rapidly developing makeup skills, jack and sally were crowned the winners.

daniel and y/n were sitting with chloe and scotty, as well as lance and his girlfriend and a round table towards the back of the garden, talking somehow about anything and nothing at the same time.

daniel had never felt more at ease.

"oh come on, who plays bryan adams at a halloween party? there's nothing spooky about a canadian country singer." y/n complains later, glass of seltzer in her hand.

"um, 'reckless' is a classic album. and he's not a country singer." chloe laughed, a little buzzed and wine drunk.

"i think he is, clo." scotty rebutted with a small laugh. the snowboarder and his fiancee were so in love, and y/n sometimes wondered if that's what she a daniel looked like to outsiders, even though the aussie hadn't gotten his ass in gear and bought her a ring yet.

daniel laughs, getting to his feet. "come on, darling, don't be a buzzkill." he crosses to y/n side of the circular table, extending a hand. "can i have this dance, my pumpkin queen?"

y/n laughed. "danny, come on."

"i'm serious! what, am i not allowed to dance with my girlfriend?"

she took daniel's hand in her and allowed him to lead her out to the middle of chloe and scotty's backyard, with 'cuts like a knife' playing in the background as they rocked back and forth, y/n trying her hardest not to break out into a giggling fit.

"are you glad i made you come to the party?" y/n asked, eyebrows raised under the orange pumpkin lights.

daniel rolled his eyes. "of course i am. i'm with you, and i could never hate being anywhere with you."

y/n giggled as daniel took her hand and spun her around during the guitar solo before he pulled her close again. even with her platform heels, y/n was still almost a head shorter than the australian.

"have you ever thought about getting married?" y/n asked quietly, still thinking about scotty and chloe. "like, the two of us, settling down?"

daniel looked down at her, gently kissing y/n's hairline. "of course i have. i just wasn't sure if you were ready for it? i know that big things like that make you anxious. i think that if we did get married, it would be something quiet and low-key. just us, and a very small wedding party. our parents. maybe on the farm in perth. you in white, i'd put my cowboy boots on under my jeans."

y/n chuckled, stepping back slightly and cupping daniel's cheek. "i think i'd really like that. whenever you're ready, just let me know."

and then they kissed, backlit by jack o lanterns and country music.

y/n smiled. "did we just agree to get married spontaneously without a proposal or a ring or anything?"

"i think we did." danny chuckled. "imagine how funny it would be if we didn't tell anybody until after the wedding."

"hush. let me enjoy our dance. it's just practice for the real thing, now."

___________

they would drunkenly stumble back into the ranch house hours later, giggling and blushy, arms around each other as they tried to stay upright.

"babe," daniel managed through laughter. "take your shoes off or you aren't even going to make it up the stairs."

y/n leaned against the off-white wall, almost hitting her head on a picture frame housing a picture of her and danny from monza in 2021, his last win. she had her arms around his neck, half on his back as he tried to hold up the sign that triumphantly read 'daniel p1'.

where had things with mclaren gone so wrong?

the couple stumbled up the small flight of stairs to their bedroom, where y/n perched delicately on the edge of the bed, leaning against a pillow as she watched daniel begin to undress.

catching her movement out of the corner of his eye, daniel turned around with a grin.

"like what you see?"

"fuck off."

taking the joke in stride, he reached for his phone, putting on a sultry sounding blues song, swaying his hips back and forth as he took off the pinstriped suit jacket.

with a drunken giggle, y/n realized exactly what daniel was doing.

and she'd be damned if she said his little striptease wasn't working as the aussie got closer and closer to the bed, y/n's eyes drawn in as daniel began to move his shoulders to the music, nimble fingers undoing the snap on the tie before he began to undo the dress shirt.

she felt bad for giggling before, but this just made her holler in laughter. she knew it must have been the alcohol speaking.

"daniel joseph ricciardo, loving you is going to be the death of me." she grins, pulling him in by the belt loops before getting to her feet and pressing a kiss to his lips. "let's go wash off the makeup, lover boy. then we can put on our pajamas, get nice and cozy in the bed, and then you can fuck me like i know you've wanted to do all night."

internally, daniel groaned. "you're making me wait even longer?"

"i'm not sleeping in this makeup, danny. it's not good for my skin."

"as long as you put on the sexy pajamas, i'm all in."

"you think all of my pajamas are sexy."

"that's because you're wearing them."

[dameronscopilot]

restless

Rhett Abbott x f!reader

summary: Rhett's far too anxious before tonight's rodeo, but you know just how to calm him down.

word count: 900+

rating: 18+ explicit

content: NSFW, smut, oral sex, face fucking, praise kink

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Rhett Abbott + leather + orange

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby.”

Rhett’s voice is muffled as he presses a fist to his mouth, dirt sliding beneath his boots as he slumps against the side of the trailer. With one hand curled around his thigh and the other hooked in one of his belt loops, you continue to mouth at the front of his jeans, tracing the thick lines of his straining erection, the denim rough against your tongue. 

His cowboy hat grazes your shoulder as it falls from his head and lands on the ground, and you glance up to find him bathed in the dull orange glow of the parking lot lights above, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he drags a hand through his tousled hair. You have half a mind to tell him how pretty he looks like this—putty in your hands, the veins along his forearm bulging as he grasps the neck of his vest, neck muscles straining, the edges of his curls tinged in gold. 

The dichotomy between the needy, panting man above you and the determined, ruthless one he’ll soon become when he climbs atop tonight’s bull is enough to take your breath away. 

It’s risky, kneeling on the ground and palming Rhett’s cock through his pants in the narrow gap between two trailers while the lively chatter of the rodeo is just a stone’s throw away. But he’s been thrumming with an uncharacteristic edge of anxiety since he stepped out of the truck—there’s too much riding on tonight’s standings. And without much time to spare, this is the one surefire way you could think of to get him to relax. 

Fingers grasping the cool metal of the large buckle blocking your path, the scent of leather mingles with the warm, musky notes of Rhett’s cologne as you undo his belt and unzip his pants. A low groan rumbles in his throat when you reach into his boxers, pulling out his cock. The thick shaft is slightly curved and flushed red in your hands, hot and pulsing with need, and you can feel him shiver beneath your touch as you swipe the pad of your thumb through the precum dripping from the tip.

If you were at home, sprawled out across your rumpled sheets, you’d take your time with him, cupping his balls and massaging his inner thighs as you slowly ease his length into the back of your throat. He’ll never outright admit it, but it’s what he craves—when you edge him till he’s at your mercy and shaking with need, muscles tense and voice hoarse as he begs you for reprieve. 

Despite the firm set of his shoulders and serrated edge of his attitude by day under Wyoming’s vast blue skies, the Rhett Abbott that most people see, there’s a weariness when he hangs up his hat by the doorway some nights, a stumble to his step as he kicks off his boots.

And it’s those nights that he needs you most—needs this most—even if he doesn’t know how to say it. How to ask for it.

But there’s no time for finesse, not with the announcer droning on in the background, the time for Rhett to saddle up drawing near. So you drop all pretense of teasing, eliciting a choked out sound from him as you part your lips and immediately take his cock deep into the wet heat of your mouth.

“Oh fuckin’ hell…” Rhett drawls, gently bucking his hips into your touch.

He’s holding back—you can feel it in the way his thigh muscles are straining from the effort. 

“Fuck my mouth, Rhett.”

The hitch in his breath is audible, and one of his palms slaps against the trailer.

“I wanna fuck you,” he groans, slowly driving his cock further down your throat. 

You back off his shaft, glancing up at him with a wink. “Later.”

Rhett nods, slightly dazed as he stares down at you transfixed while you run your tongue along the head and mouth your way down his length with your spit-soaked lips.

“C’mon, Rhett. Use me,” you urge him, gripping the backs of his thighs.

And it’s then that his barely-leashed restraint snaps, his hips snapping forward as he thrusts his cock past your parted, waiting lips. You stare up at him as he fucks your mouth, because you know it drives him crazy—watching a sloppy trail of spit slide down your chin, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he holds your head while he slams into the back of your throat. 

“That’s my fuckin’ good girl,” he rasps, sounding more than a little wrecked already.

Rhett’s too keyed up to last long tonight, so you’re not surprised when he moans as his cock begins to pulse, filling your mouth with a hot load of his seed. You swallow his salty spend just as he pulls you to your feet, all traces of restlessness and unease gone from his blue eyes when he bites his lower lip and smiles, swiping a drop of cum from your lower lip with his thumb before leaning in to kiss you softly. 

As your lips slide against his, you card your hands through his hair, only to pull away and bend down once you realize what’s missing. You swipe his hat off of the ground, and Rhett raises an eyebrow when you swiftly bypass his bowed head, placing it atop your own.

“Honey…” he drawls.

You grin, tipping the brim of the hat at him before waltzing away and calling back over your shoulder, “Yeah, yeah. I know the rules. You better win tonight, Abbott.”

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» RHETT ABBOTT MASTERLIST

[silens-oro]

Comfort

Rhett Abbott x f!Reader 

Synopsis: After a rough night, Rhett needs a little TLC. And maybe a chiropractor.

Warnings: Injuries (bruising), fluff.

AN: This is softer than butter and not edited. I’d rather be thrown into the hole than edit rn. Enjoy!

“I can hear your brain rattlin’, Sweetheart,” Rhett’s sleep-muddled voice rasped out. Half of his face was pushed into his pillow, his soft lashes were settled along the top of his cheek as he drifted in and out of sleep.

You brought a hand up to lightly push his ever growing hair out of his face. Curling the ends around your fingers, you noted that he was due for a trim soon.

Rhett groaned when your nails ran along his scalp, your fingers carded through his hair affectionately. As you brought your hand back down, he nuzzled the visible side of his face into your hand, the stubble tickling the palm was comforting.

“How’re you feelin’, cowboy?” You asked. You already knew the answer based on the way he barely moved from his position on his stomach throughout the night. Rhett had a particularly rough ride the previous night with a particularly surly bull who was just not having it. The bull -named Sassafras Bill- bucked Rhett off after five seconds on his final ride, sending the man flying high into the air. He landed flat on his back with a dense thud, a mushroom cloud of dust shooting into the air on his impact. It knocked the bejesus out of him.

Your heart stutters as you remember the panic that flooded your entire being when Rhett didn’t immediately get back up. The silence of the crowd was deafening. Cici had your hand in hers instantly, holding you tightly as she whispered a prayer.

“Back’s hurtin’,” Rhett’s voice knocked you out of your memory. He grumbled into the pillow as he dropped his head back down. You pulled the comforter off of your body and scooted yourself to the edge of the bed.

“Come on,” You patted the spot in the middle of the bed where you previously occupied, motioning for Rhett to move over. Rhett finally opened his beautiful eyes. Just one look into them and you knew he was hurting far worse than he was letting on.  He squinted over at you, a soft smile growing as he watched you.

“You don’t have to, Sweetheart,” Always bashful, a blush began to creep up his neck and to his cheeks.

“Come on,” You goaded once more, patting the spot. “I’ll even use that lotion you like so much,” You leaned over to your bedside table and pulled the small bottle out of the drawer. The stuff cost an arm and a leg, so you had used it sparingly, but when it came to the man in the bed it didn’t matter. You’d use the whole damn bottle if he needed it. “I’m not askin’,” You hadn’t left anymore room for argument, and Rhett knew he wasn’t getting out of this -not that he would ever turn down a back rub. Especially now.

“If you insist,” He grumbled and held his breath as he shifted himself to the middle of the bed. When he settled, he let out a pained puff of air and all but collapsed back onto his front, whole face dug into the pillow this time around.

Before you could stop it, a gasp escaped your mouth when you pulled the sheet down his back to reveal his bare skin. His usual lightly sun-kissed back was mottled with bruises that ranged from yellow, to green, blue, then deepening into an angry, deep maroon where the majority of his weight had impacted the ground.

“It looks worse than it feels, babydoll. I promise,” Rhett wheezed out, shifting under your gaze.

“Doubtful,” You muttered as you carefully straddled his rear, careful not to add too much weight onto his already aching back. Pumping a few dollops of the lotion onto your palm, you rubbed them together to warm it up before starting to rub down Rhett’s back. He sucked in a tight breath when your hands made their initial contact, but his tense body started to melt into the mattress after a few moments.

The “Jesus fucking Christ” and “oh fuck” expletives that Rhett was wheezing out as you gently worked the tightness out of the muscles in his shoulders would’ve started a fire in your lower belly under normal circumstances, but now was definitely not the time.

“That’s it, baby. Right there,” The guttural grunt Rhett let slip out nearly swept you clean off of the bed. It flipped a switch in your brain almost immediately -try as you might for the contrary.

“Behave yourself, cowboy. No funny business,” You scolded playfully, continuing with your movements down the bruised plains of his back.

“You have no idea how good this feels,” Rhett was nearly drooling into the pillow, eyes squeezed shut.

“I can only imagine,” You mumbled, letting the natural silence take over.

Rhett was nearly asleep again when you spoke, dragging him back to the present.

“You know how scared I was?” You were leaned over him with an arm holding your weight up. You rubbed the back of his neck with your free hand and whispered in his ear, careful not to disturb the peaceful ambiance that hung in the bedroom.

Kissing the back of his ear tenderly, you continued, “When you didn’t get up, it felt like the Earth was crumbling beneath my feet,” Your hand moved from his neck, across his shoulder, and down his arm until your fingers hooked with Rhett’s. The rough skin of his hand from a lifetime of working on the ranch was a comfort, a reassurance that he was here with you and not intubated in the closest ICU with the worst injuries your brain could conjure up. Rhett’s hand tightened its hold on yours to let you know he was listening.

“I’m sorry,” Rhett turned his head to look up at you and brought your hand up kiss your knuckles gingerly. “Never want you to feel like that ‘cause of me,” He mumbled into the top of your hand.

“I’ll always be worried about you -especially when you're out there- but this time felt different, Rhett,” You let go of his hand and carefully ended the straddle, landing on the mattress to his left side. A groan left him as he brought a hand up to cradle your cheek. “You’ve gotten hurt before, and I know it comes with the territory, but this was a lot -even for you,”

“I’ll just not fly fifteen feet in the air the next time I get bucked. I can’t believe didn’t think to not do that last night,” Rhett responded with a deadpanned look. “Had I known that, I simply wouldn’t have done it,” The sarcasm was dripping from every word, and if he wasn’t already injured to high Heaven, you would’ve given him a smack for getting smart with you.

“I’d appreciate that in the future,” You said with a roll of your eyes. A smile was threatening to tug on your lips as you tapped your index finger against the tip of Rhett’s nose. He went cross-eyed for a second before a tender look crossed his features. “You’re lucky I love you, mister,”

“Sure am,” Rhett responded instinctually, catching your retreating hand and kissing the back of it once more before holding it to his chest. He was staring up at you earnestly, his eyes taking on the hues of the early sunrise coming in from the window. “I thank whoever’s listening every day that I wake up and you’re next to me,” He confessed, all signs of playfulness gone. “Regardless of the stupid shit I do, you’re always there. I know I don’t say it enough, but I do love you with everything I’ve got.” Rhett wasn’t a huge talker, but when he needed to say something, boy did he say it with his whole chest.

“Come ‘ere,” Rhett held his arm up to allow you to roll yourself into his chest. His arm tightened around you, holding you as close to him as possible. Rhett’s lips pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head, prolonging the action as a comfort to the both of you. The soothing heat that radiated off of his body was just what you needed to lull back to sleep.

[lazybakerart]

If that bull riding video isn’t Harringrove I don’t know what is

Like imagine Steve rockin up to a bar in California and sees Billy trying this mechanical bull. Billy is good but he just doesn’t know hot to fully do it. So Steve hoists himself up onto the bull to give Billy some pointers. And as he goes to get off the bull he tells Billy to come find him later

harrington takes billy to this bar two towns over. 

it's not a date because tommy hagan is there too. 

and christ-whipped carver. 

and half the basketball team still sucking their sore thumbs after the game.

billy’s had one good conversation with harrington and it ended with brains on the floor, but it's harrington who takes billy there and it's harrington who tells billy they don't card here. 21 is the new 18 and indiana is still struggling with the beatles and white hoods in public. 

the place stinks like leather and cedar and pall mall and johnny cash’s piss, wood walls lined with framed drunkards, whips and rope presented as workhorse-tools that get billy itchy, and cowboy hats too fruity for john wayne that’d look swell on fluffed brown hair. 

harrington buys a round with his daddy's wallet and billy’s drunk hard and fast on country boys lit pretty as they line up to take on toro, working their hips to stay balanced and clenching their thighs in tight acid wash denim to keep from getting thrown on their face by a robo-bull that doesn’t give two-shits if they won or lost regionals. 

billy sits on his stool and laughs at each thud and yelp and watches close with sweat brewing under his mustache and lips going dry when harrington takes the reins and shows why he’s the captain, why he’s the king, why he can date a nobody and still prop up his size-fourteens on the throne, and why billy shouldn’t be here, within a mile of steve harrington.

because this ain’t no a date.

and the beer isn’t doing it’s one job and plugging up his head.

and billy’s no blank-faced, unflinching john wayne playing wooden when harrington ambles over to him, veins in his arms popping along his biceps, wiping the sweat off his red face with the tail of his shirt to show off the happiest trail on earth, to tell billy, grinning mean as all hell, “Your turn.”

[no-see-um-incorrect]

My exact thoughts while watching the summit 

Without context 

Spoilers obviously ⚠️

-What is it with Asher and losing his shoes? 

-David&Milo giving me big brother vibes rn

-“Jesus Christ hold still I’ll grab you one of mine” something about this line made my heart do a little flip 

-Vincent honey you’re doing your best and the best you can do is good enough ❤️

-got ghosted by daddy again!?!?

-The music 💀 Vincent I dare you 

-why can’t these to get married already? 🙄

-ngl I thought he was about to propose 

-a CROWN! Omfg i’m gonna start crying 

-“beautiful” OK. there it is. I guess I’m crying now 

-samsamsamsamsam

-Love kissing my cowboy 🥰

-me at every Thanksgiving dinner ever 

-how could the house be on fire? Asher is not even there yet

-me at Thanksgiving Pt2

-I am so gay for this Southern Man 

-“butter pecan what else” OOOOO! That sounds good. I could fuck with that 

-HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT MINT CHOCOLATE CHIP LIKE THAT!

-“it’ll be our reward for making it through this in one piece” remember what happens when you assume Sam 

-Vincent handled this so well 

-Porter Absolute asshole..PORTER YOU FUCKER!

-gaslight gatekeep Girlboss-porter solaire 

-“actually, the circumstances of my birth well unfortunate were perfectly legitimate”  I can’t with this man. (this is something I would say)

-am I the only one who didn’t know that people just have meetings at fancy parties like this? and it’s like completely normal?

-so they have racist tendencies but they’re not racist…. yeah that tracks. 

-why did I not think there was gonna be food at this party? 

-Asher and Milo 🤣(also poor Vincent)

-Asher what did you do?!???

-Alexander and Christopher Bennett….why do I feel like these two are gonna be important

-last time I heard someone say that it ended up being a funeral 

-oh Christopher is just a dick 

-Who would’ve guessed the dick and the Ass are buddy buddy  fan fucking tastic 

-you did not just diss my boys eyeliner 

-Alexis? already? I was not expecting her appearance to be this early 

-oh. Oh she’s exactly like I expected her to be. Oh oh, I don’t think I could hate being right more than I do in this exact moment 

-I Am gunna fuck her up

-and YOU have never fought ME  Stay in your lane pussycat before you get hurt 

-“you should hope you never do” this is probably foreshadowing 

-you child!?!?? Grow up!?!???! Has she met her self !??

-let’s just completely forget what you did to Sam  because that surely wasn’t very “adult” of you Alexis 

-“because I wanted him” she is asking for it. *Googles how much a hitman costs*

-“fixed him” out of everything she said why does this line hit  worse than all the others? 

-given my track record I probably would have met him even if he was a Dilf healer

-oh the feeling is more than mutual honey 

-oh she’s a Cunt. I hate her. I hate her so so much.

-PORTER  THANK FUCK

-burn her Porter RECK HER

-“apologize to Sam yet” the enemy to the enemy is my friend 

-“as if I have a gag reflex” (i’m dead)

-also. go choke on a dick Alexis 

-thanks for checking in I was just about to commit a homicide

-hold on she’s only half a century old! I CAN TAKE HER (talking all that shit and she can’t even back it up)

-A blend of self-assured and insecure (sounds like high school ngl)

-🎼everyone thinks that were perfect🎼Please don’t let them look through the curtain🎼

-SAM! Hubby come help me before I commit multiple crimes 

-“my mate” never get old damn🥰

-how did I not know that vampires could track people? 

- “are you-” gonna go help my husband that’s what I’m doing  adios Captain Jack sparbitch

-I know this guy isn’t saying anything wrong  directly but I feel like this conversation is wrong in someway (it very well could be the autism)

-FUCK QUINN 

-honestly. Willy same  

-can’t excuse the Alexis part though 

-pretty please tell me that that line isn’t foreshadowing 

-Sammy angry (pop off boy it’s hot 😍)

-“if there’s any shred of you left that still remembers caring about me” OH FUCK THAT LINE OHHH FUCK

-The waiver in his voice. I can’t  i’m barely holding it together 

-“roll around with dogs” i’m about to cuss this hoe out 

-hey only Sam is allowed to call me that!

-ash has the same culinary standards as me (the quiz was right)

-Porter where the fuck did you come from? 

-did Sam teach you that? 

-Asher and Milo is me and my sister fr

-OoOooO say yo name again Milo. it made my brain happy

-Damn straight. One of the best in the department💅

-how did he know?!

-Asher honey. shut up 

-why can’t anybody else hear us? All these vampires are as old as dirt they probably can hear a pin drop of mile away

-Little bear? WHO? 

-Seriously what is with these meetings

- sweetheart is Batman confirmed?!?!??

Part two tomorrow because this is TOOOOO LONG

[oneforthemunny]

I sent this before we stopped blurbs but wanted ti send again since we’re doing them again

Cowboy!eddie, ice cream, smut <3

Your tongue striped down the side of the waffle cone, catching the melting ice cream that dripped down the side. "Mmm, can't believe you got chocolate." You hummed.

Eddie's eyes trained on you, hands gripping his own cone so tightly he was surprised the shell hadn't shattered in his hands. Your tongue swirled around the creamy ice cream, licking the excess off your lips. Oh, you were gonna be the death of him, Eddie was sure of it.

"Chocolate's a good flavor, darlin'." Eddie said, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat.

"Yeah, it's what everyone gets." You giggled, bumping his hip playfully with yours. "Shoulda got something fun."

Eddie snorted, reaching out to open your door. "Yeah? Like what, birthday cake?" He teased, looking down at your sprinkle coated cone.

"The best flavor." You chirped, pressing a sweet, sticky peck to his lips before climbing in.

Eddie grinned, licking the sweet, creamy residue off his mouth, adjusting the growing bulge in his jeans. He slid into the truck, looking over at you. The way your eyes batted, tongue swirling over the tip of the ice cream, he thought for a moment that you might have been doing it innocently. Until you let out a little whine, trapped behind closed teeth, eyes fluttering shut.

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

Eddie contemplated ignoring you for a moment, seeing how far you'd take it.

"Ed," You slid over to the middle of the bench, thighs touching. One hand on the wheel, the other holding his own cone. "It's gonna melt." You giggled.

Eddie started to reply, looking over for a second, then doubling back again. You leaned over, tongue flat, licking down the side of his own cone catching the dribble of the chocolate ice cream. Your eyes stayed on his, the tip of your tongue barely touching his hand before you swallowed.

Eddie couldn't keep his composure any longer.

He tossed his own cone out of the window, turning back to you wide dark eyes. "Christ almighty, do you know what you're doin' to me?"

You blinked at him innocently. "What Ed?" You hummed, batting your eyes at him. You rolled down the window, tossing out your own finished cone. "Just enjoying my ice cream."

Eddie huffed, a half lipped smile curling on his face. "I'll give you somethin' else to enjoy, baby." He growled.

You laughed, cringing gently at the clicheness of his words, but you let him work his buckle open, one hand gripped on the wheel while he shoved his tight wranglers open for you.

"Fuck, sweet girl, juuustttttt like that." Eddie groaned, feeling your delicious mouth on his cock, slowly bobbing up and down through hollowed cheeks.

You pulled back, swirling your tongue all around the tip of his leaking cock just like you did your ice cream, feeling it jump in your mouth at your touch. You trailed gently down the side, following the thick vein that had Eddie groaning, his free hand wrapped in your hair. He was cruising at a slow speed down the one lane road back to the ranch, enjoying how you were working his cock, slurping and swallowing it like your life depended on it.

"I'm gonna, oh fuck, darlin' you keep doin' that... I'm gonna-" The small whine that left his lips, hips bucking and making you gag, was enough to have you sucking him furiously, your own hand jerking the rest of him into your mouth.

Eddie's shuddered breaths, stuttered praises filled the car, his hands gripping in your hair while he spilled down your throat. You waited until his cock stopped sputtering, swirling around the sensitive head once more to make him shudder, pulling off him with a satisfied pop! and a grin.

Eddie's chest heaved, half lidded and dazed when he looked at you. "Goddam, baby." Eddie smirked. "Gonna have to start takin' you out for a treat more often if you always do that." He grinned, open palm twisting the wheel to pull down the gravel road of the ranch.

You smiled, nuzzling into the scruff of his cheek before laying your head on his shoulder. Eddie pressed a kiss to your head, shoving the gear into park, before he looked down at you.

"Think it's your turn now?" He asked.

"I think so." You chirped. "Think I deserve a treat now."

Eddie grinned, pushing the door open and extending a hand to help you out. He didn't even take you into the house. No, he knelt to his knees on the porch, pushing you onto the porch swing and throwing your knees over his shoulder, lapping and licking and teasing at your pussy until you were shaking from his touch.