#Fic: Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)

[gallonofgoldfish]

Whiskey and Winning

It's easy to get distracted at the rodeo. At least, it should be, under the lights and in the crowded stands, but you've only got one thing on your mind. Champion bronco rider Abby Anderson could say the same.

Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)

Content: established relationship, fluff, poor attempts at depicting the rodeo, reader is barely described, i swear im not slut shaming i just think the term buckle bunny is funny, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: wrote this last night in a haze. i hardly know anything about tlou and rodeos actually make me really sad but yk. the parasites. might make another part to this at some point. didn't tell my friends i was posting this so if you guys see this hello i love you thank you for hyping me up <3. also friendly reminder fuck neil druckmann and do not give that zionist your money!!!

WC: 1080

The blare of the announcer’s voice from the overhead speakers is deafening, but you haven’t heard a word he’s said. The lights are blinding, but you won’t squint against their glare. The stadium is packed full—roaring with the drunken cheers of thousands of strangers, glittering with the flash of every camera and belt buckle and rhinestone-studded hat suffocating in the stands—but it may as well be empty save for the two of you.

The world is quiet. Eerily so, though maybe the ringing in your ears is playing a part in that. It’s narrow. It’s tinged by the black splotches at the edge of your vision and strained by the clench of your jaw.

The world is the cowpoke settling onto the bare back of the bronc in the chute only a few feet away from you. It’s the wide-brimmed ten-gallon pressed firmly down over the dirty blonde braid hanging between her shoulders. The collared white shirt stretching over her back, quilted with Marlboro patches and brand logos. The crimson bandana you’d had in your hair an hour earlier, resting around her neck.

The world is Abby Anderson, from the freckles strewn over her scarred, sunburned face to the cold focus in her steely blue eyes that evaporates when her gaze settles on you. Ice turns to the warmth of Jack Daniel’s, neat in its absence. To the gray of campfire smoke winding into the white-speckled sky, burning away the chill in the air. Warding off the spectators and the clamor and the awful, twisting feeling of waiting.

This is what it’s about, right?

The rush. The thrill.

The hitch in the air as her hand tightens on the rigging one last time. 

A grin splits her features.

She winks.

And then she’s gone. The gate swings open and the bucking mare takes off with her on its back and the world bursts back into a mess of color and noise. Eight seconds.

You’re yelling—you’re not sure what you’re yelling, but it’s loud enough to leave your throat raw and earn some sideways looks from the flock of buckle bunnies pressed up against the railing alongside you. 

Seven.

Part of Pour Some Sugar on Me blasts from the staticky speakers, and Abby appears on the jumbotrons in perfect detail. 

Six.

The bay mare thrashes into the air, but Abby’s faster, stronger, the muscles in her arms pushing against the seams of her shirt as she holds her free hand held up in the air. 

Five.

The snarling wolves engraved on her belt buckle flash under the lights. 

Four.

Every kick whips the fringe along the edges of her shotgun chaps, but the timer ticks down anyway. 

Three.

She holds on, anyway.

A closer shot brings her face into focus: grit teeth, a furrowed brow, a muscle ticking along the edge of her jaw. 

Two.

Sweat runs down the side of her features and into the scar on her cheek beneath the shadow of her hat’s brim. 

She’s in the middle of the arena now, gritty sand flying up around her. 

One?

If you could tear your eyes off of her, you’d check the time to make sure you’re counting right.

The music stops. An airhorn sounds. She’s still the rider—some distant, mythical thing up on a screen and down in the dirt.

Abby’s mouth opens in a shout when the second set of floodlights kick in, raising her head only to lock eyes with the pair of wranglers who burst out of the chutes after her to rope the bronc back in. She rocks forward with the mare’s motion one more time before swinging herself off its back and bailing into the sand. 

You finally get a breath out, resting your head against your forearm on the railing and heaving a sigh.

The announcer’s words retreat to the back of your thoughts again, but not before you catch her score. 95.

Ninety–fucking–five. The day’s record.

Just as the stadium begins to die down, the strangers beside you erupt into another round of cheers. Abby’s on her feet again, dusting herself off and sweeping her hat off of her head to shake out the loose strands of hair framing her face. And she’s walking. Jogging. Full-on running, back towards the chutes.

Or maybe not. 

She vaults the rickety fencing at the edge of the ring like she’s been practicing and hauls herself up into the stands. You can’t bite back your smile at the sight of her, shoulders heaving, beaming, alive. The crooks of her boots expertly find the backs of the plastic stadium seats between spectators’ shoulders. As she makes her way over, the strangers along the railing surge towards her, arms outstretched over the section’s edge. 

Abby doesn’t even see them; her stare never leaves yours except to glance at the railing before stepping up on the platform and hooking an arm through the top metal rung. 

She’s real again then—the world in flannel and denim and muddy boots, inches away.

Abby. Your Abby.

You’re breathing it in. Smoke from the night before. Pine and sweat.

Then, you’re tasting it. Whiskey and winning.

Her hat settles atop your head. Calloused, resin-stuck fingers thread through your hair at the back of your neck and reel you in. Your lips are on hers—or maybe it’s the other way around—and you laugh against each other.

Heat creeps into your cheeks long before you pull away.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” you scold, but your smile chases off any thread of sternness your voice might’ve held.

“Agree to disagree.” She wipes her forehead on her sleeve and huffs, one brow arched. The rosy blush in her features lingers even when the sweat is gone. 

The screens over her shoulder change to show two familiar shapes. 

“We’re on the jumbotron,” you say. 

Abby doesn’t bother looking back. Just laughs “Good,” then kisses you again. This one is quicker, lighter, but your stomach flutters all the same.

“Go.” You squeeze her arm. “I’m sure you’re gettin’ somethin’ good for a ride like that.”

She scoffs. “I do this for no damn awards,” she drawls.

“Can’t all be adrenaline,” you murmur, tugging at her bandana.

That sly, smoky look creeps across her features again as the hat lifts from your head and sinks back down onto hers.. The corner of her mouth tugs upward. Her eyes dart over your face. Stepping down, she leaves you two more words and a pounding in your chest:

“It ain’t.”

[mstarcreates]

Since I don’t have anything for M.O. at the moment I thought I’d share the other AUs I’ve done for Ghoap. I’ve been seen a number of posts about cowboy/bullrider AUs and I happen to have written one and made some art for it.

If you want to read it: Bourbon Nights and the Bull Rider Named Ghost

Here is the art, it’s called I had You for 8 Seconds:

[takaraphoenix]

Good news, y'all!! I am once again failing spectacularly at making the "this surely isn't gonna be very long and will be mostly smutty because the whole point of it were naughty thoughts" fic short. Or focused on the smut.

But somehow the quick and dirty "Scott and Stiles take a vacation at the Hale Ranch and to let Scotty score with the owners' daughter, Stiles ~sacrifices himself~ and distracts Allison's fathers" fic has developed angst and plot and world building. Also Kira decided to go on vacation with Stiles and Scott and be smitten with Petopher's other daughter, because everyone should get a Hale, apparently.

Giving the 5.2k document a withering glare as they barely interacted twice so far and I have already angsted so much.

But at least Peter and Chris are already sufficiently smitten with Stiles. As they should.

Though, not gonna lie, I did not expect the cowboy!Petopher horse ranch AU to be my first time writing werewolf!Chris.

These bastards keep doing whatever they want...

[darl1ngpearl]

SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWGIRL ,

RELIGIOUS!READER

coming soon…

[hylianworrier]

Y'allstarion 🤠

Inspired by @parkouringrabbits cowboy Bloodweave fic!!! 🩷🩷🩷

Deeply obsessed with him in a deep V...

[starangela]

ARASHAAA PLEASE

[exquisiteserotonin]

Stargazin'

I'm just gonna go out and say it: it's Friday and we're feral

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word count: ~1.9K

Summary: An unexpected suprise is waiting for you when you get home. Will these two crazy kids ever admit that they're crazy for each other?

Warnings: Oral sex (m!receiving) PiV sex, riding, cheesy jokes (it's Dieter, come on!) --- like I've said before, my fic is not for youngsters, please do not engage if you are not 18+

A/N: This all came about after seeing a certain person with a sparkly accessory.

Divider by @cafekitsune

And as always so much love for my magical sluts at the Juice Collective! @basicoccult @imalrightllama @legendary-pink-dot @pink-whiskey-woman @sparklefarts38 @redhotkitchen @youandmeand5bucks @arcanefox207

“You’ve been over at that guy’s house almost every day last week,” Alex said through the Bluetooth speaker in your car. “What was his name again? The one who lives across the street from El Rey.”  

“Pedro,” you responded with a giggle, thinking about how his thick cock filled you, “I mean he’s a good fuck.” 

“Sounds like it’s getting pretty serious.”

“Eh,” you replied, suddenly feeling almost guilty at having anything negative to say about getting fucked on a regular basis. 

“Uh oh, did your red flag radar go off?” 

“There’s just something a little shady there,” you added as you clicked your tongue against your teeth, “and called me old fashioned, but I like my fuck buddies to be transparent.”

“You mean like Di---,” she started as you took a right turn uphill towards your street.

“Don’t start!” you said, your voice darting out like an arrow. “Hey, I’m almost by my house, I’ll call you later.” 

You ended the call as you turned into the driveway of your beachy bungalow. The bright afternoon sun danced against the rhythmic sway of the shade trees in your front yard. An instant feeling of calm met you once you unlocked and walked through the front door of your home. The mix of the golden light, the warm neutrals of your decor, and your beloved plants placed with intention alongside windows and in the corners of each room all came together as your personal sanctuary. 

Muscle memory led you to your bedroom and your feeling of peace left you with a gasp at the sight before you. 

“Howdy.” 

Dieter greeted you with a low, flirty growl as he affected a Texas drawl. He lay in your king size bed, naked, with his legs sprawled out, a sparkly, silver cowboy hat covered his cock, like a glimmering bow atop a present. His hands were resting behind his head as he looked at you with a libidinous smirk shining through his stubble which had grown longer since last you saw him. As much as you fought against it, you found yourself biting your bottom lip.

“What do you have under that hat, cowboy?” 

Dieter pushed himself up by the elbows, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders. The sunlight that floated in through the blinds lit his golden skin with a perfect combination of light and shadow. A heat grew inside you as you marveled at how it defined the obvious muscles that had emerged since you had last seen him. 

Fuck, he’s been working out. 

“Well ma’am,” Dieter continued, his accent was so sweet it was as though he’d dipped his tongue in tupelo honey, “why don’t you mosey on over here and find out?”

It was like he was pulling you into some kind of metaphysical trance as he leaned up one inch more, emphasizing his belly. Though noticeably slimmer, it remained endearingly soft.

With wicked intentionality, he adjusted the shimmering hat and bucked his hips. Every movement he made had your skin tingling from each strand of hair on your head through every inch of your body to your toes. The worst thing about him knowing you so well was that he knew exactly what to do to drive you absolutely insane. And with one more wink and a scrunch of his nose, he beckoned you to him. 

“You’re a fucking menace,” you said, trying to hide your smile. 

“C’mere and I’ll show you just how much of a menace I can be,” he hissed, his tongue taking a small peek from behind his smile.

It was hard for you to imagine who might deny Dieter, knowing that there was an 8-inch cock waiting for you underneath that obnoxiously loud, silver cowboy hat. Whoever that might be, it certainly wasn’t you. 

You had discarded all but your bralette and panties as you began to crawl on the bed towards him. The muscles in his calves were solid and defined, you noticed, as you knelt between his spread legs massaging your hands up their length. The hairs on them tingled with a wave of raised goosebumps at your touch. With one hand you removed the only physical accessory that prevented him from being bare and unfurled for you. 

“You know what they say,” Dieter tempted you with a roll of his tongue, “save a horse, ride a cowboy.” 

A loud, warm laugh echoed from the depths of your belly. Any other man would have been threatened and immediately lost his hard on from your laughter, but not Dieter. You took the hat off his dick placing atop your head as he laughed with you. His chest and belly rumbled, his laugh echoing out wildly and boisterously with yours while his cock still twitched. Reaching for his forearms and pulling him towards you, you interlaced your fingers in his. The smile you wore on your face before you kissed him was so big that your cheeks hurt. 

“Well cowboy, I’m going to ride this cock,” you hushed him as you lowered your lips to his glistening cock, “but first…”

Gripping him first with a gentle hold of your right hand, you pulled back his foreskin and caressed your lips and circled your tongue against the smooth skin of his cock. A gasp escaped him at your initial touch. A smile slowly formed on your lips before you wrapped them around the tip, pressing a broad stroke of your tongue to the center of the head of his cock. His body shuddered with a few strong pulls of him into your mouth.

“Shit, you’re…so good,” he groaned, placing a hand gently to your hair. 

At that motion you moved your lips down the length of his shaft. Your lips savored each ridge and vein as he throbbed against you. You took as much of him as you could into your mouth to the back of your throat. You hollowed your cheeks to take more of him in, at least, as much you could before finding the perfect rhythm of your lips moving up and down to fuck him with your mouth. 

“Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he said with the tiniest whimper. 

A low, muffled moan vibrated from the back of your throat to his cock, making him moan out for you again and again. The feeling of him shaking for you and the way he sighed and moaned in desperation as you sucked him off had a special way of making you want him even more. As you delighted in the taste of him, your pussy clenched as your sex slipped from you to coat your panties. As you massaged his balls, you focused your mouth back to the head of his delectable cock, sucking until he gripped the sheets. 

“Stop, stop---don’t want to come yet!” He groaned through sighs and gasps. “Need to fuck you.” 

“No…,” you purred as you slipped off your panties and pulled your bralette off over your head, “I need to fuck you.”

“Well come on then,” Dieter tempted, scrunching his nose with a playful snarl, “ride it like you stole it.” 

You hadn’t even sunk over him, and your pussy was already pulsing with need. The anticipation coursed through you as you crawled over his defined thighs, feeling the muscles in his quads flex as you lowered yourself onto him with an unrestrained moan. With a slow, deep roll of your hips you began to grind yourself on his cock. With each wave of movement, you felt how hard you kept him and how every controlled gesticulation you made stirred the most intense delight in your folds. Your sex glided from your pussy onto his cock as you swayed your hips into him faster and faster. He clutched at the pillow beneath his head, bouncing his hips up for you as you rode him. His herculean hands reached for your waist, massaging your hips as you continued to bounce on him, feeling every inch as he thrust up into you. The head of his cock hit you in the most exquisite way, leaving you shuddering against his hips. Your approaching climax began to light up nearly every nerve in your body like a switchboard. His hands journeyed to your breasts, grasping them, kneading them until his fingers found your nipples to pinch and flick at them like the strings on a fiddle. 

“Ahh, Dieter, fuck!” you cried, your nipples tingling at his touch.

Holding the silver cowboy hat to your head with one hand, you leaned back against his left thigh until you began to gently massage his balls with the other. A long, low moan left his pouty lips, and he gave one strong thrust upwards, making you yelp out in ecstasy. As Dieter propped himself up towards you, you leaned forward to grind your pelvis into the base of his cock. Every nerve ending in your clit simmered with electricity from the motion. Perspiration glistened over your skin as you began rocking into one another. You knew each other’s bodies so well that you moved in unison. With them, you created the perfect rhythm until your hearts raced faster and faster and your breaths became ragged at your approaching climax. 

“Shit---I’m---I’m gonna come this way,” he moaned, his hips thrust deeper into you as you continued to grind onto him. 

“Me too!” Your words came out like a blur as you felt the perfection of your pussy starting to quake around his cock.

His pace was unbridled and rough as he began to lose himself in you, his large hands gripping your ass. The way your pussy vibrated against him sent waves of pleasure that rippled over every inch of your body until you felt them all the way to your head while you cried out his name in exaltation. 

The cowboy hat fell from your head as he gave you one, last powerful thrust. He stilled and then emptied himself into you, letting out a raspy moan that melted into ardent whimpers. For a few moments you let your breath come down to a natural pace while you held each other in ethereal bliss. Your lips pressed against his forehead as he nuzzled against you, his lips and nose kissing and caressing your neck and shoulders.

Both of you sighed as you climbed off him to collapse next to him in bed.

“Jesus, that was amazing!” You exclaimed as you kissed him. 

Your fingers played with the brim of the glittery cowboy hat before looking up at him to see the goofiest, post-coital grin spreading onto his handsome face. 

“I’m taking it, you got this on set as a joke?” you asked in reference to the Western movie he’d been away filming. 

Dieter confirmed it with a nod, unable to get rid of the smile beneath his mustache. Rolling over to his side, he propped himself up on one elbow. His eyes traversed the curves of your body followed closely by his fingers. The caress so soon after your orgasm sent shivers straight to your still throbbing pussy. 

“Just think, now you can tell everyone you’ve rode a stallion and a cowboy.” 

His cheeks were rosy and tight with stifled laughter. You rolled your eyes as you turned to face him, shaking your head with a low chuckle. Everything in that perfect moment - the silly cowboy hat, the bad jokes, and goofy smiles were so classically Dieter. 

“You’re a dork,” you teased, pressing a small peck to his aquiline nose. “Welcome home.” 

[capsicle13]

I love this story!!!! This update totally made my crappy day so much better! How can you not love western stony and some civil war drama!

@snazzyerin Save a horse ride a cowboy 🤠

[iquirms]

Yall i NEED a TimKon AU where Kon is a cowboy/rodeo preformer and Tim is the classic City Boy.

Think about it like OH MY GOOOOD its so perfect???? Clark grew up in Kansas you know when hes relaxed hes got a southern accent and Kon lived on the farm for ages. He'd have the accent and then the sexy ass cowboy hat and the confident attitude he already has !!! And, idk, you could go real hallmark with it and say that Tim has gone to the country side to relax from work or hes there to buy land and then realizes how bad it would be - i dont know, i dont care. I need a fic where Kon is dancing in a hodown (i have no idea how to spell that) and Tim is like smiling and laughing and then Kon teaches him how and Kon takes him on the farm and they ride horses or smt. Think about the tension. The jokes. The way their dynamic wouldnt really change from canon; Kon the confident, coy and loud one whith Tim the fussy, snarky and lowkey kinda spoiled one. Im talking like Hannah Montana the Movie vibes. Im talking Footlose happiness levels. Minimal angst. Or you could go real old school cowboys with Kon as a rogue cowboy and Tim as a sheriff/deputy. Please give me a country fic of these boys. Its so perfect

[xblackreader]

Human AU! Attoye

Currently loving the idea of farm boy/cowboy! Attuma and soft city girl! Okoye 😭😭💗

They’d be so cute!

I imagine her in a pretty white and yellow sundress, bringing him a cold drink after she finishes working in her office and he’s outside tending to farm animals. And he picks her up and puts her on the fence while they chat about things they like and kiss a lil.

And she never lifts a finger around the house, bc he’s strong man and she dainty so 🤭

AND RHEN THEYRE BEAUTIFUL KIDS RUN ARUND THE FIELD AND PLAY AND HAVE FUN AND OMFG 😭😭😭

[gallonofgoldfish]

Flowers and Fireworks

Returning to business as usual on the ranch is hardly monotonous with Abby around. New faces and old trails make for good company, even if it means getting sidetracked.

Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)

Content: established relationship, brief cowboy ellie, fluff, poor attempts at writing southern accents (i dont even think theyre in the south), reader isn't described, sort of a part two?, author needs a cowboy partner asap, i know less about horses than before, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: the brainrot is brainrotting. i wanted to write cowboy ellie but then got distracted by both abby and the excitement of a motor vehicle. had a very specific song stuck in my head while writing this but now icant remember what it was (something colter wall??). anyway hopefully this is a fun read even tho its not too eventful (and also was not proofread lolz). planning to have more ellie in the next part if it ever gets written bc we're going to the CLERBBBB

WC: 1508

You haven’t met her yet, but you’ve felt the tension in the air like something’s about to snap into place.

She’s the rookie. The new kid. The hotshot from some bigger, richer ranch further west with a reputation that stirs more talk than her name—whatever it might be. She’s the racer on the back of a chestnut mare in a denim jacket with rolled-up sleeves and workboots that must’ve lost their shine long before she came here.

And she’s lunging in the ring outside the stables, faded black hat crooked, casting a stubborn shadow over the leafy tattoo wrapped around her forearm. Choppy brown hair brushes her shoulders and burns a color like coffee in the dying sunlight. 

Not that you care. You’ve got places to be, and she’ll fall in with the rest of the wranglers eventually.

Gravel crunches some ways down the road behind you, but Abby doesn’t kill the ATV’s engine in time to sneak up on you completely. She comes coasting down the dusty path, toothpick hanging from the corner of her mouth as she grins sideways at you and rolls to a stop. 

“You talk to ‘er yet?” she asks, and the sun flashes over the lenses of her aviators when she tilts her hat out of the way. 

“Not yet. You?”

Abby shakes her head. “Heard she ain’t done too much talkin’ to anyone yet.”

“Uh-huh.” You plant your hands on your hips and nod. “What else’d you hear?”

“Well, what’d you hear?”

“I asked you first.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, jerking her head at you. “Get over here and I’ll tell you.”

“You’re an ass,” you tease, but hop up onto the quad’s grate so your back leans against hers. 

“What, I get one record and you think we’re some big-timers?” Abby scoffs, nudging you with her shoulder. Her braid shifts in the humid breeze. “We got work to do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” is all you mumble as the ATV purrs back to life and jolts towards the barns in the distance. “Tell me what you heard.”

“Not much,” admits Abby. “I mean, not much you don’t already know. She’s got just about the same story as the rest of us. Some ribbons under her belt.”

Dust kicks up from the tires, funneling right past the mudflaps to gather on your jeans. “She got a name?”

“Relax. I’m gettin’ there.” Abby leans to the side to shoot you a skeptical, if halfhearted, glance. “What’re you tryin’ to get under her belt, too?”

“Abby.”

She laughs, then turns her focus back to the road. “Ellie,” she finally says. “Ellie Williams.”

“Alright.” The smell of fuel mingles with the freshness of the tallgrass scrolling by on either side, either one a welcome break from the tinge of manure drifting in from the neighboring fields. 

“Just alright?”

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to say?” you ask. “I don’t know the girl.”

“I got a good idea.” The engine cuts again. The two of you come to a stop in the shadows just outside one of the stables, before the open sliding doors that stare right out over the mountains. Abby twists to look at you head-on. “How ‘bout you just tell me when we’re good to go?”

----------

“Y’know—” Your nose crinkles as you squint against the sun, shifting in the saddle with every step the horse beneath you takes. “I thought Manny was helpin’ you with this run.”

It’s muscle memory—tacking, adjusting, swinging up into the seat. Practiced. Routine. But it never gets old. Not the cool tones of the mountains shattering the skyline on the far side of the valley, or the steady gait of the horses as they fall into step beside one another. And definitely not Abby.

“He was,” she confirms. One hand holds the reins while the other settles her sunglasses on the brim of her hat. “‘Til he got busy.”

“With?”

The corners of her eyes crinkle with a smile. “The usual.”

“Sure.” You raise a brow. “And who’s the usual this week?”

“Beats me,” says Abby with a shrug. “Long as it ain’t you, it ain’t my problem.”

“Speak for yourself. The last usual kept leavin’ him notes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. In the wrong fuckin’ bunk.”

Another grin creeps across her lips as she looks back. Gold falls over her freckled face, flooding the scar on her cheek with light. 

“A little light readin’ never hurt nobody,” she teases. 

“You think?” You tilt your head, unable to avoid the same expression writing itself into your features. “Then next time—”

She’s drawing away, picking up pace.

“Hey, now,” you call, but she doesn’t seem to hear. You nudge your horse’s side to urge them on. Still, though, Abby’s got a good lead. She passes under the low-hanging branches of the trees bordering the path, through a set of rusted iron gates. 

Then, she flicks the reins and takes off. 

“Abby!” you shout, and with no choice left but to do the same, chase after her. 

A cloud of dust stirs up behind her, but you ride right through it, and soon, the trail falls away. 

“I thought you said you got work to do!” 

She laughs, easing up and straightening to drop back and match your pace when you slow. Tallgrass rises on either side of the makeshift path—trampled dirt and dust and the curled-up bodies of flowers unlucky enough to fall into the path of passing hooves. 

“We do,” she says. “That don’t mean we can’t take our time.”

“It’ll be dark soon, yeah?”

“Not that much time.” Abby rolls her eyes and smiles. “We’re just takin’ the scenic route.”

“You know where we’re goin’?” you check.

“Just c’mon.” Turning back to the trail ahead, she nudges her horse to a quicker gait. The unbuttoned front of her flannel flutters around her, giving way to the thin white tank top underneath. 

The ground slopes down, further into the field, as the sun fades over the jagged peaks. Through the yellowed straw and the waves of rippling green, pops of color appear where bright flowers have pushed through the soil and bloomed.

“You ever been this way before?” asks Abby.

You shake your head. “Not that I remember.”

The field is glowing, burning under dusk’s light. She’s glowing with it.

“Well, then.” She shoots you a wink. “You’re in for a treat.”

Just like that, she’s off again. 

The rough path winds down the ridges in the hill, between weeping trees with lazy, swaying branches that force you to duck. Over wooden planks laid out across the marshier parts of the lower pastures and a bridge where a dried-up river leaves a gash in the ground. Back up another slope, another patchy flower field, another grove. 

Until Abby stops to look back at you.

The Ranch sprawls over the acres of land before the two of you, windows lit in the bunkhouse and the barns and lanterns burning alongside the settled paths. The dark shapes of other hands wander like ants across the grass, while the mingling shadows of cattle fill the squares of plains just below. 

“Wait,” Abby urges. The horses paw boredly at the dirt, but, like you, remain in place as the warm summer breeze snakes around you. “Heard about this from a friend last time I was in town.”

You shoot her a curious glance.

“Don’t look at me.” She waves you away, grinning, and points towards the horizon instead. “Over there.”

The first stars are peeking through the bluish parts of the sky, just where it meets the hills. There’s a flash. A burst of red sparks. 

“Fireworks?” Even from afar, their light unfurls over your face. 

“Sure are.” Abby falls silent as the bang from the explosion crashes, muted, through the valley. “They had some leftovers from the fourth.” She sighs, then asks: “Some view, ain’t it?”

Another smattering of colorful bursts erupts over the hills. Another chorus of pops thunder over the grass. The sky changes from one color to the next, smoke gathering in thin gray wisps along the skyline, before you look away.

The lights dance in the lenses of Abby’s aviators where they’re still sitting on her hat, but don’t quite reach her eyes. She hasn’t been watching the fireworks at all; she’s been looking at you instead.

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning over to kiss her. “Some view,” you say against her lips.

“Anyway—” Clearing her throat, she straightens, then jerks her chin towards the cattle in the field below. “Race you down there.”

“Hey—”

But she’s already gone. Racing back down the hillside, still bathed in the far-off lights.

“You’re gonna owe me a drink!” she calls, though she’s already dropped out of view.

After a last glimpse at the fireworks blooming over the ranch, you pick up the reins again and turn to follow.

The flowers and the fireworks blur, blooming and bursting against the shaded countryside. Lining the hills and lighting the sky and leading you.

Leading you right back to her.

[illiana-mystery]

2022 was the Year of the Old Cowboy

[innytoes]

Something less angstful

Title: I know you love me wearing nothing but your boots, or just Boots.

I know you love me wearing nothing but your boots

When Reggie inherited his Meemaw's farm, he was pretty worried that his partner wouldn't leave the city. Willie had his art, his friends, his cool job as a dancing waiter at one of the most exclusive clubs in town...

But Willie did. And he loved the farm, and the horses, and being able to see the stars. And most of all, he loved Reggie. Which he was going to show him, with a few props for emphasis.

Yeehaw.

[takaraphoenix]

Look who remembered that she wanted to post a sneak peak of Save a Hose (Ride a Cowboy) after getting home from work? This gal!

The premise: Stiles, Scott and Kira decide to go on a nice little post college graduation vacation at the Hale Ranch, where Stiles is quickly charmed by the hot, handsome married couple who owns the place (not that his friends can judge, they're too busy drooling over the owners' daughters, Malia and Allison).

This is supposed to be a supernatural free vacation, but what they don’t know is that the ranch is owned by a pack of werewolves… and Stiles fell for the Alphas.

--

To celebrate their newfound freedom after their final exams and the end of their lives as college students, Stiles, Scott and Kira decided to go on a nice, long vacation somewhere. It was a months long process of arguing where to go and what to do until they finally found the perfect compromise. A horse ranch.

Animals for Scott, fresh air and exercise for Kira, hot cowboys for Stiles. Everybody won.

And oh boy was Stiles winning the most. When they got out of his Jeep at the Hale Ranch, he couldn’t help but absolutely gape at the supermodel cowboy who greeted them with a smirk that made Stiles’ pants want to hit the ground. The man was absolutely gorgeous and at least twenty years older than him, which did make him even more attractive because hell yeah did Stiles have a thing for older guys. He was ridiculously good looking, with such a cut jawline, a nice, thick neck, a well-trimmed beard and the most dazzling blue eyes Stiles had ever seen.

“Howdy,” the hot gorgeous cowboy greeted with a playful wink. “You must be our new guests, booked under Stilinski?”

“Yep. Yeah. That’s me. Stilinski. Stiles. You can call me Stiles,” Stiles nodded wildly, trying hard not to drool. “I also answer to ‘good boy’. But you can call me whatever you like, honestly.”

Scott groaned and covered his face with his hands while Kira giggled.

“Stiles, we are going to live here for the next three months, why can you not even control yourself for three minutes?” Scott complained miserably.

“Listen, you know my brain-to-mouth-filter is permanently broken and it like breaks even more in the face of unfathomable hotness!” Stiles defended himself and, helpfully enough, motioned at the hot gorgeous cowboy. “You know what I always say! Go big or go home.”

Hot gorgeous cowboy raised an amused eyebrow at him, but before hot gorgeous cowboy (honestly, cowman. But no wait that sounded weirdly like Stiles was talking about a Minotaur. Which, also hot, but different flavor of hot) could say anything, another hot cowboy stepped up. This one, Stiles would categorize more as handsome. Salt and pepper hair and oh that gray looked good in his beard in particular, broad shoulders and bulging biceps and also with the pretty blue eyes, though these leaning a little more into steel-gray. Even more daddy energy than hot gorgeous cowboy. Stiles was ready to die, or perhaps he was already dead and had gone to DILF heaven.

“Well then, sugar,” hot handsome cowboy offered, an amused smirk on his lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Chris Hale and this here ‘unfathomable hotness’ is my husband, Peter Hale.”

…Stiles was ready to die from embarrassment right now. Could the Earth maybe open up and swallow him whole? Was that an option? Had his ‘not gotten laid in months because drowning in exams and thesis and preparations and just kill him now’ brain really made him embarrass himself in front of the very married (very hot) owner of the ranch by hitting on him? While his husband was in earshot?

“Okay, I guess ‘go home’ it is then,” Stiles muttered sullenly, ready to turn around and drive off the nearest cliff.

Kira expertly grabbed him by the back of his shirt collar to pull him back. “You absolutely are not leaving. You’re the one who found this place, Stiles. If you can not control your mouth, you will have to live with the consequences of what it does.”

“And what does that mouth do?” Peter asked intrigued, one eyebrow raised.

A wicked grin spread over his lips and yep, Stiles was going to die. Turning around, he buried his face in Kira’s neck, allowing her to pat his back. Because unlike Scott, Kira actually had pity with him when he was being pathetic, sad and in need of being taken out the back and put down.

--

The full fic will come to an AO3 near you on November 20th so stay tuned ;)

[darl1ngpearl]

SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWGIRL ,

COWBOY!ABBY ANDERSON

Coming soon …

[ourtearsofrain]

This immediately made me think of your Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy series!

No because this is actually them at Bradley’s

Also WHAT THEY WENT TO A DRAG SHOW

🌀✨OOOOO THEY WANT TO COME TO ONE OF MINE WHEN WE START SHOWS UP AGAIN SO BADDDDDD🌀✨

(I’d probably freeze on the spot if i saw them in the crowd)