#Real cowboys piss their jeans!

[princessbrunette]

bountyhunter!rafe finally trusted you to sit behind him on the horse. he knew you weren’t going to jump off and take off. where would you go? you were in the middle of nowhere.

for a while you were lethargic, cheek pressed to rafe’s warm back with the only sound for a long time being the clip-clopping of horse shoes on the desert sand. you had a hat balanced on your head today. one like the ones rafe wore, all cowboyish. he said he wouldn’t be able to deal with you getting all sick from the sun. after a while, rafe breaks the silence — which is surprising, because usually he’s too grumpy to converse.

“collectin’ another bounty today… by the way.” he informs you, and you lift your head, glancing at the small town appearing on the horizon before you.

“hm?”

“yeah uh, some chick. ‘bout your age. apparently shes been stickin’ her nose where it doesn’t belong so uh, yeah. gotta hand her off to some outlaw.” he shrugs, focused on what’s infront of him. an unfamiliar and grotesque feeling slides down from your chest and settles in your stomach. a girl. your age.

“why have you gotta do that? you don’t need to be catching more bounties. where’s she gonna go anyway? there’s no more room on the horse.” you huff, still a little disorientated from being in and out of a nap against rafe’s back.

“we’re not going anywhere on the horse, kid. she’s up in this town here. did some real bad stuff, i’m talkin’ real slimy criminal shit. gonna hold her up in a motel with me ‘til the guy comes n’gets her. i’ll get my pay and — and don’t worry alright, you’re not gonna be in any danger you’ll be waiting in the diner across the street so… it’s fine.” he sounds a little irritated to be explaining it all to you. the thought of him in a motel alone with this girl pushed some immature feelings to the surface, some that you weren’t proud of.

“what do you need more money for?” you’re getting whiny now and you see his jaw clench.

“you think it’s cheap draggin’ you from town to town? paying for— for your little motel trips and food? no. i gotta take care of us ‘cause you’re no good for any of that.” he lectures you, and you dig your fingernails into the saddle.

“you don’t need her! find someone else.” you raise your voice a little, and surprisingly— rafe doesn’t say a thing. however, the silence does little to soothe you. in a moment, he arrives to a fence and jumps off before yanking you down and ropes up his horse to the wooden panel, planning on leaving it there for the day with the trough and bowl of water nearby. when he’s set the horse up, he turns back to you — looking at you like he’d just noticed you were there as he walks right up to you, wiping his hands on his jeans. leaning down to your height, he speaks more quietly with a pissed off edge to his voice.

“i’on wanna hear any more jealous tantrums today, a’ight? i’m doin’ this — for, for— hey—” when you look away shamefully with a pout he grips your jaw and turns you back to look at him. “i’m doin’ this for us. for you. alright so… so you should be thanking me if anything.” he blinks grouchily before letting go and swaggering past you, assuming you’d follow. you did.

you sat in that diner for hours. he’d set you up with a platter of buttered waffles and grits and sausages— all things that were considered a luxury when travelling out on the open desert. he’d taken one more glance at your sad little face peering up at him before heading out the door, with no more than a demand not to talk or look at anyone whilst he’s gone. it was a risk leaving you there, you both knew it — but some things just had to be done. it was more of a risk to take you with him anyway.

you felt all sick and anxious the whole time he was gone. not just because you were on your own surrounded by strangers and mysterious cowboys, but because you couldn’t stop imagining rafe in there with that girl. a motel room. you wondered if they both sat on the bed together. whether they talked, shared experiences. maybe he showed a bit of remorse to her, like he did with you. she was a criminal after all, just like him — perhaps he’ll decide she’s a more worthy partner to travel with, now that he’d decided to keep you all to himself instead of handing you off. maybe they’ll kiss. maybe he won’t come back to get you.

your spiralling thoughts are interrupted by rafe arriving back at your side hours later. he glances at the plate of untouched food and presses his lips together, about to tell you off for wasting his money. when you look round at him, your eyes are all red and there are tears on your cheeks. whatever words he was about to spew die in on his tongue and he sighs, crouching down beside where you sit in the booth.

“hey. what happened?”

you don’t say anything, opting to look at your hands instead. he sighs, biting his tongue before standing back up to full height. “alright. move up.” he gives you a light push to signal you to move up along the worn leather bench and you do so.

once sat besides you, he grabs your cutlery and starts to fork up a mouthful to feed you. “you gotta eat, okay? i paid for this shit.” he speaks softly, lifting the fork to your lips and shovelling it in as soon as you open them just a little.

“its cold.” you garble miserably as he shovels a few mouthfuls past his own lips, hungry after the day he’d had.

“should’ve thought of that, alright— open.” he feeds you another mouthful. you give in, realising now that you were so hungry that you didn’t even mind the food being cold. relaxing a little, you lean against his shoulder slightly, deflating as he feeds you. “yeah, see. spoiled.” he mutters.

you head back to the motel as the sun goes down, your skin feeling relieved of the constant beating down of the sun, replaced by a cooler breeze over the dunes. the motel is an old and rickety one, but it would do. rafe had purchased the room until tomorrow, so the two of you figured you’d use it and get a good nights sleep. he dumps the bags by the door when you enter, and you walk in slowly — taking a look around. your stomach cramps with that feeling again as you look at the bed. the sheets were still tidy, and made — but you still wondered.

rafe follows your eyes as he walks in behind you, glancing between you and the bed. “what? not good enough?” he shrugs a shoulder.

“did she sit on the bed?” you ask quietly and he squints.

“wh— who? the bounty?”

you nod and he scoffs, wandering past you. “no. locked that bitch in the bathroom, alright — she wouldn’t shutup.”

you know it’s wrong, and you shouldn’t. but you feel this sick sense of pride, like in a way you’d won something. you were not sure what exactly, but it satisfied a side to you that you didn’t know you had.

he clocks onto the small, prideful smile on your face and he blinks, resisting an eye roll.

“jesus christ. c’mere, yeah?”

rafe sits on the bed, spreading his legs and patting a knee for you to sit down. you do so without question, in disbelief that there was a time that you’d scream, cry and refuse anything like that. once you’re perching on him, he speaks.

“not getting rid of you, alright— i can see that look on your face. y’know it’s a little ridiculous getting jealous i—i kidnapped you, kind of. okay? but that’s… in the past now. i’m with you. just… behave… and cheer up. paid for the food, paid for the motel — you’re lucky i don’t put you to work to earn your keep.” he pats your ass, signalling for you to stand. “now go shower. we’re leavin’ this place at sun up.”

you wander towards the screen bathroom door before turning back round to look at him with a small and demure smile.

“i’m just happy you came back to get me.”

rafe raises an eyebrow. “the hell are you talking about? i will always come back for you.”

[littlequeenies]

Hello!

What kind of outfits/clothing pieces were a staple in Demri Parrott's everyday wear?

Thanks so much!

Barbara Dearaujo: “Demri was a fashion nut. She loved everything vintage. Victorian style dresses, 70’s stuff, overalls and combat boots. She wore things no one else could even try to pull off without looking like a weirdo but she always seemed to make the weirdest things look cute and cool. I’m pretty sure Demri was one of the girls who started the so-called ‘Seattle Grunge Look’, for girls at least. Demri was not a rocker chick, she totally had her very own style going on that we all secretly wanted to emulate.

In the early 90’s she dressed in all kinds of crazy yet cute clothes, anything retro or vintage. She loved long dresses, skirts, tutus, overalls and Doc Martins, hand-made clothes, she never really wore jeans and t-shirts, it was always something you’d never think of wearing but looked great on her and made you wish you would thought of this type of thing but even if you had it probably wouldn’t of looked as cool on you. She had that tiny little body that looks great in clothes.

She always wore her hair really long like to her butt or longer and she had thick wavy auburn hair. It was usually knotted and dred locked here and there but knotted or not it always looked cool. She wore black nail polish and when she wore make up she used maybe some black mascara and red lips but she didn’t usually wear a lot of make up, maybe except for lipstick when she went out. She was also the first girl I met who used her lipstick to add blush to her cheeks.” [5]

[Spring 1990 - by Krista Kay]

Ryan Kalsbeck: “Layne and Dem had that full on vintage clothing styles mixed with a hippie, new grunge rock twist. Homemade glass beaded long necklaces and bracelets, funky hats, hair sticks. Dem had pink lace and satin knickers that were real and from the 1900s.”

[1992 - By Alison Dyer]

Sherri: “She would always wear the rolled up overalls with black tights. She was so cute and original. Biggest smile, she always lit up the room. Heart of gold!”

[1991 - By Ed Chalfa]

Jacque: “As to her clothing style, it was kind of hippy chick but distinctively Demri.”

[1988 - By Krista Kay]

Kathleen Austin: “Someone once told me she would show up at a club in an outfit and the next night there would be several girls copying it.

She could pull articles of clothing that no one would think to combine and she would look adorable. She once designed a skirt from boxer shorts. I saw it on paper. As far as I know, it never came to fruition.” [6]

[Ca. 1990s - ByJack Plasky]

Shawna Murphy: “I had one of her necklaces ‘Forever’. It was like black cut glass stones, three strands with a gold clasp. She wore a lot of old-timey costume jewelry.” [6]

[Ca. 1990s - By Jack Plasky]

Tracy Johnson: “She did not want to be known as the girlfriend of a rock star and did whatever the hell she pleased but was friendly and personable to everyone she met. She wanted to be a model that’s why there are so many pictures of her posing. One thing that was funny. We were in Canada (canvouver, as we called it) and Dem couldn’t find Layne and was drunk and pissed off. But she has to pee, so we stopped and she walked in this alley, many people were around, and she just squatted and peed, then pulled up her long johns with her tutu tucked in the back of it and started to walk away. She was gonna find him come hell or high water, even with the whole backside of her tutu tucked into her long johns and wearing converse, of course.

A lot of things she wore didn’t go together, like long johns with big baggy overall shorts and a frilly blouse with cowboy boots. It doesn’t make a lot of sense but you would have to know Demri to understand.” [6]

[Summer 1988 - By Randy Hauser]

Hope that helps :)

Everyone please check the book we put together with our beloved friend Ana, you can download it and read it from *here*. There's all the memories sorted by subject like style,hobbies, voice, dreams...

[deathenfield]

Jupe is a fake cowboy.

So, I just saw Nope with some friends for Halloween and it became all I could think about recently. One of the things I realized is that Jupe and OJ are foils of each other in the most funniest ways possible: Jupe is a fake cowboy, OJ is a real one.

What do we know about OJ? He’s a horse trainer, it’s his passion, he would risk life and limb to save his horses. He knows what they like, what sets them off, how to calm them down, how to tame them. His familiarity with animals is what helps him figure out what Jean Jacket is and what sets her off. He's the first to really understand Jean Jacket. When they need to bait Jean Jacket out, he goes out on his fucking horse and stares that bitch down, even though he knows its what pisses her off. He has a standoff with a fucking kaiju and comes out alive. He’s a working man, always busy, always wears a hoodie and trucker’s hat because it’s practical. He’s lives in the desert, out in the middle of nowhere, in the frontier. It’s so out there and nowhere that it’s where Jean Jacket hides. He’s broke, he’s selling his horses to Jupe to make ends meet. He’s a loner, he’s an outcast. He keeps his cool, even when’s scared out of his mind. He’s gruff, he speaks sparsely but intently, he’s brave. He’s a cowboy.

Jupe, though? Jupe is a former child actor who owns a western-style theme park. He wears the gaudiest, glitziest cowboy outfits you’ve ever seen. He’s never touched a horse in his life. He doesn’t give a shit about them, he treats them like food. He gives this spiel about taming this wild chestnut stallion before the show but it’s all bullshit. When he’s trying to sacrifice Lucky to Jean Jacket, he tries to usher it out like it’s a fucking dog. “Get out. Come on, do it, now!“ Lucky doesn’t budge an inch, he commands no respect. He’s buying OJ’s family horses just so that he can kill them all. He’s pressuring OJ to sell his land, his family ranch, to him, for his theme park. He had a traumatic experience with a chimp on a TV show, and because that chimp died before it could do anything to him, he thinks he’s special. He thinks he’s chosen, he thinks he’s tamed Jean Jacket - this predatory, alien beast, like you would tame a wild stallion. He’s one of the first people we see die to her. He’s a liar, a sell-out, a thief, an exploiter.

Jupe dresses up like a cowboy, likes to acts like one, but he’s pretend. He’s not a cowboy, he’s a land baron. If Nope was a classic western he would be wearing a mustache and a monocle. He’s nowhere near the cowboy he thinks he is.

This is why Jupe dies to Jean Jacket while trying to exploit her, and why OJ comes out alive even when he’s pissed her off. Westerns were always about the frontier, the unknown, which is why sci-fi and horror work oddly well with the genre. Jean Jacket represents the unknown, a spectacle of the unimaginable a new frontier. She’s alien and dangerous and completely uncontrollable. OJ, the broke working man who works with horses and lives out in the frontier, respects the unknown, understands it, works within it’s rules. Jupe, the land baron theme park owner, tries to market it, commodify it, exploit it, turn it into a spectacle, and it’s ultimately what kills him. You can’t tame the unknown, you can only try to understand and respect it.

A land baron could never understand the frontier - the unknown - the way a cowboy can. God this move is good.

[mickmeasley]

I stopped caring about Helluva Boss a long time ago (like anyone with taste would) but it did inspire me to think about what I'd do better and how, and because of that I've done quite a few redesigns, which seems to be a common thing with -i won't say fans- but people who followed helluva boss for however long they could tolerate it.

In particular I was really pissed off (again, like anyone with taste would be) at the human design for Stolas in that one episode of Helluva Boss and generally unsatisfied with how unrealistically twinkish most of the human designs for Blitzo were so I did my own take on both of them, going for a wonky nick cave/super hans-esque visage for blitzo and something more appropriately DILFy for Stolas.

like lets be real blitzo spent his 20s smoking, boozing, partying and schmoozing and doesn't seem like the type to have a great self care routine, he would NOT look like a perfectly preserved twink with no wrinkles or hair recession at 35 no way no how, and stolas has been stressed and worn down from like the day he was born even at his (very stupid retcon of an) age of 35 he'd probably have greyed just a little maybe idk

as for their outfits, blitzo totally wears shit like orphaned suit blazers, snakeskin belts, and skinny black jeans (not pictured are his middle-finger sole jeffery west cowboy boots) and i've always headcanoned the weird skull thing he wears on his neck as a bolo tie because western rock'n'roll-y stuff like that feels up his alley.

Stolas, in place of the generic steampunk goth cosplay store shit his official human design wears, is of course wearing a brass button navy blazer, grey wool pants, and a silk ascot (plus some bracelets a token gay little earing) because theres no way he's not old-money-WASP-coded as fuck and I think it does well to illustrate his economic and cultural distance from Blitzo. Costume design, people, It says things.

[frasier-crane-style]

Some random musings on Picard season 3

-I’m not trying to be an asshole, but in the very first scene, Beverly Crusher is operating a pump-action phaser rifle. I really don’t mean to be a pedant, but it’s a laser gun! what exactly is she pumping?

-I assumed... and according to Wikipedia, this is the case... that time had progressed in real-time for both the Trekverse and the real world. So 21 years have passed since Star Trek: Nemesis was released--21 years have passed for Picard and co since the events of Nemesis. Then we’re introduced to characters who... seem unlikely to have existed during Nemesis. Crusher has a secret love-child that is said to be about 23 years old and Geordi has a daughter who is at least old enough to be a bridge officer on the Titan. (The actors are both in their early thirties.) The notion that all the characters, immediately after Nemesis, got down to making babies is pretty silly.

-As for Jack Crusher himself... I really wish Star Trek would stop throwing in characters that are meant to be their version of Han Solo. We tried it with the Outrageous Okana, he banged Teri Hatcher--if it didn’t work then, it’s not going to work now...

And like... I’m sure this bunch of Hollywood nepo baby commies loves the idea that Star Trek is socialist and evil late-stage capitalism and shit and like... you do realize you keep introducing these grizzled captain rogue tramp freighter characters, they undermine that completely? You’re literally characterizing the socialists as lame dweebs and the capitalists as cool, sexy badasses. Which is valid, but I don’t think you intended to do that, Alex Kurtzman, I think you’re just lousy at your job.

-The circumstances of Baby Crusher’s existence are particularly silly. I’m going to get into spoiler territory, but apparently after Nemesis, Picard and Bev started dating, had unprotected sex, and conceived a child. But this Picard is a sort of workaholic Spider-Man and Beverly realized her new son would never be safe because of all Jean-Luc’s enemies. So she cut off contact with everyone from the Enterprise and started raising young Jack with Picard having no knowledge of her existence (I’m really tired of this trope, which I think no rational human being would ever actually do, but at least Picard chews Beverly out for this psychotic and incredibly uncharacteristic decision).

-This is where the TNG characters and the Picard characters feel like two separate entities that happen to be played by the same actors and share the same names. It’s not just that as they’ve aged, their ‘character development’ has led to Stewart and co. essentially playing themselves more than anything else (at one point, Picard calls someone “a dipshit from Chicago.”). It’s also that they’re treated as action heroes who are always going rogue and getting into crazy adventures; this season even introduces a mean, by-the-book Starfleet officer who acts as something of a pissed off police commission trying to rein these loose cannons in!

That’s just not my recollection of the characters. It’s the pop culture perception of Kirk, sure, and not a particularly accurate perception. But Picard was never really a cowboy. Yet they have these dumb moments like in the first season where he shows up at Riker’s house like “I’m in trouble” and Riker turns on a forcefield and busts out the phasers like the two of them are Murtaugh and Riggs. Picard had his moments of bucking the system, but they act like he was constantly riding around on a motorcycle in a leather jacket, smoking a cigarette--it’s even retroactive! They have Jean-Luc tell this anecdote about him and Jack Crusher Sr. stealing a shuttle from the Stargazer to go get laid. I really don’t think these writers have actually watched TNG--they just assume Picard is an older version of Shepherd from Mass Effect.

-Speaking of video games, the requisite superweapon this time around is portal technology. Yes, like in Portal. And the big obligatory terrorist attack is the bad guys opening a portal under a Starfleet recruitment center and then dropping it on top of a few city blocks. It’s a cool visual and all, but as a weapon, this seems to rate way behind good old-fashioned 20th-century nukes, much less all the phasers and torpedoes that are commonplace in Star Trek.

-And I know the last two seasons sucked, but it’d be nice to have some consistency. In Season 1, Picard was a contentedly retired old coot, not daredevil workaholic Spider-Man. In Season 1, Riker and Troi were happily married, albeit dealing with the grief of losing a child. Here, they’re estranged because Riker suddenly can’t take the grief we’d previously seen him work through.

And another thing: I found it risible in S1 that the technology existed to cure Riker’s son, but it was illegal, so Riker and Troi just shrugged their shoulders and said “Well, nice knowing ya, kid.” That’s the time they’d get the old gang together and steal a starship. And that’s the by-the-book, competent, dutiful officers we saw in TNG. The bunch of renegades and outlaws they’re characterized as in Picard just laid down and buried a kid? It’s so stupid!

-I know remaking The Wrath of Khan is the ol’ reliable of the Trek franchise, but this has to be the most bald-faced redo yet (with bits of Treks 3 and 4 The Force Awakens into the mix). I think Picard suffers in comparison.

-Speaking of comparisons, that “these Enterprise crew members have no respect for the law!” guy I mentioned before has a mad-on for Picard due to his time as Locutus. Obviously, that’s recycled from Sisko’s anger at Picard.

Now the DS9 example is pushing it a little far as the melodrama goes--Sisko’s being blatantly disrespectful, but still, he acknowledges the tension between them, Picard feels awkward, then they move on to official business and try to ignore the past. They actually get more heated about current events: Sisko’s reassignment and his possible departure from Starfleet.

In Picard, the character in Sisko’s shoes is far more unprofessional and emotional (we’ve given the excuse that he’s on painkillers, but you’d think that they’d have pain meds that would leave people entirely rational in the future--he certainly acts rational enough for the remainder of the episode). In front of his demoralized crew, he goes on a lengthy tirade about how much he hates Picard and all I could think by the end is that this is a guy who’s lost all respect of the people under his command. He’s more pissed off at Picard thirty years after the fact than Sisko was just a couple years after his wife died!

-They’re also doing... what I think is a dead name metaphor where the captain, because he’s a jerk, refers to Seven as Annika Hansen instead of Seven, since he hates Borg? But all it does is make it seem odd that Seven is still going by Seven long after she’s reclaimed her humanity and even joined Starfleet, given that the Borg are the ultimate evil of this universe. It’d be like if someone left a Neo-Nazi organization and decried everything they stood for, but still insisted on being referred to by their SS rank or something. What a weirdo!

-Wait, Seven joined Starfleet in Season 2, which was last year... and this year, she’s already first officer of an entire ship? Shouldn’t she still be in the Academy? And you thought it was silly when Kirk became captain of the flagship at the end of Star Trek 09!

-Raffi is awful, as usual, always either acting like a crackhead or ‘acting’ like a crackhead. She’s Space Jack Bauer now, so every scene she’s in is acted like she’s on the verge of tears, about to fly into a homicidal rage, or both. She has a scene with Special Guest Character The Audience Cares About Worf (’member Worf? I MEMBER!) where they’re both interrogating a bad guy and Worf is trying to build a rapport with the guy and Raffi is threatening to cut his dick off and shit. Raffi’s method works, because why should Star Trek be about communication and diplomacy working out when violence and aggression fails??

-My least favorite moment, though, is this bit where Riker is in command and Picard is giving him advice. Riker decides to listen to his advice, it goes to shit, and Riker turns to Picard and literally goes “You’ve just killed us all!”

You’d think a veteran starship commander would take some responsibility for his own actions instead of going “He told me to do it!” like a fucking little kid.

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

A Slice of Texan Beef

Featuring Character Actor, Barry Corbin

I was at No Frills Grill off of Eastchase the other the night and who should walk in the doors? One Mr. Barry Corbin, dressed like one of his on-screen characters. I've seen him lots of times with his wife and NTN trivia/poker playing buddies, then proceeded to get wasted. He is super nice and if you ask him for a picture or autograph, he will happily give it to you. I wasn't fanboying or anything as I said, I've seen him there plenty of times.

Anyway, I had to piss. Entering the bathroom I was surprised to see him. The thing is, the bathroom is VERY small with only a sink, two urinals and one stall all next to each other with Barry using one. I thought what the Hell, it's not everyday you can stand next to your celebrity crush and piss.  

"Talk about a dream come true." I jokingly blurted out without even thinking as I looked up to see he was looking right at me.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to offend, I just had a crush on you for years." I said before I could catch myself.

Suddenly he was looking at me differently. His eyes seemed to stare at me as thought he was looking at me through a magnifying glass. And at that moment, it was if I'd seen him for the first time. He stood 5'10" and had broad shoulders like a linebacker. Corbin has no hair on the top of his head, and alopecia has just about claimed his eyebrows, but a prodigious gray goatee encircles his mouth. The look of real-life Texas cowboy. A real man's man. If he hadn't of smiled at that moment I think I would have run out of the bathroom.

Then the old actor suddenly turned toward me with his cock still sticking out of his jeans. It was thick and uncut, almost prefect. My first celebrity cock I had ever seen in person.

"Well, why don't we make this dream... a reality. I've always wanted to see how it felt to have my dick sucked by a man." Corbin said in that Texan drawl as he stood there shaking his dick back and forth as it swelled up.

I was so shocked, I couldn't speak. All I could do was nod, follow him to stall next to us and sat on the toilet in front of him.

"Don't get the notion that I'm gay." The old man intoned, leaning forward and peering at me as I reached out and took hold of his beautiful dick.

"I'm married." He said as I fondled his thick cut dick.

"And I fuck her all the time." He added as I closed my lips around his pale uncut cock.

The old man moaned as I easily deep throated his swelling dick down my throat. I loved the taste of cock. It was fresh and masculine. His body smelt slightly of sweat as I pressed my nose against his open fly as I deep throated his dick. Corbin then reached down, grabbed me behind the head with his huge, weathered hands and pulling my face toward his crotch, forcing his now hard cock down my throat. I managed to take inch after inch of his thick 7" dick down my throat until my lips were pressed against his dark pubic hairs.

He held my face to his crotch until I gagged before he pulled my head back. I quickly re-swallowed about a third of his dick as I slowly run my tongue up and down his shaft. Then he started moving my mouth up and down his thick dick shaft as he fucked my mouth like he was fucking his wife. I took his plunging dick and made love to it with my tongue as the old man repeatedly shoved it down my throat and pulled it quickly back out.

"Damn... your going to make this old man cum if you kept doing that." The old man called out excitedly as he fucked my mouth faster and faster.

Old memories of how much I had wanted to suck Barry from ‘Urban Cowboy’ to ‘Northern Exposure’ to ‘No Country for Old Men' surfaced in a rush of passion.

“Never had anyone suck my pecker this good.” He told me as he watched me working on his dick.

“Hell, this is better than fucking my old lady!” The old actor said as he started hunching me harder and faster. With him saying that, I fought to keep from chocking as I let him shove his big cock deeper and deeper into my throat. I wanted to give him more pleasure than he got from his wife.

“Get ready. I’m going to unload! Damn! Here it comes!” Corbin said as he suddenly pulled his dick out of my mouth and shot his huge load of white cum onto my face.

I quickly jumped to my feet and grabbed my dick and started to jacking it as fast as I could as he watched me. I shot off on the tile floor of the bathroom with the old man watching.

"Thanks. I'll never forget this." I said as I cleaned the last drops of cum from my chin.

"I won't forget this either son. Thanks." Barry said as I hurried out of bathroom.

I continued to see Barry at No Frills but nothing else ever happened between us.. Just a low key nod or wink.

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2022 Day 11 - Drag

"Are you almost ready, Cas?" Dean hollered, impatiently pounding his fist on a closed and locked bathroom door. "We're going to be late for Sam's Halloween party if you don't get a move on."

Dean turned to face the full-length mirror at the end of the hall, preening a little at the vision he saw reflected there. He was one damned fine-looking cowboy if he did say so himself. He was in mid turn, trying to get a good look at his ass (garbed in chaps and tight-fitting jeans), when the bathroom door opened and Castiel finally appeared.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Dean barked, his gaze raking the former angel from head to toe before settling on his face.

"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Where do I even start?"

"Is it or is it not a costume party?" Castiel inquired, more than a little pissed off at Dean's response.

"We can fix it," Dean sighed. "We might be a few minutes late, but we can scrounge up something else for you to wear.  I think there's an old spaceman suit in the basement that I wore a few years back.  Hey -- we can go as Buzz and Woody."

"I'm not changing, Dean. This is my costume, and I'm happy with it."

"But... but..." Dean sputtered. "You look like a contestant on RuPaul's Drag Race.  Slinky sequined dress, high heels, poofed-up hair...and that eyeshadow!

"The girl at the make-up counter said it brings out the blue of my eyes."

"No one's eyes should look that blue."

"I'm leaving now," Castiel stated. "You can come with me, or we can take separate cars. Your choice."

"Wait." A firm hand gripped Castiel by the arm, halting his angry departure.

"You misunderstand. I don't think you look bad, Cas. You look good. Too good. I don't know how I'll keep my hands off you until we get back home. You're driving me crazy."

"Oh. Alright, then," Castiel said, and kissed Dean chastely on the cheek. "I don't want to smear my lipstick." He winked. "Not now anyway... Maybe later?"

                                               *    *    *

"Oh. My. God," Sam exclaimed as Cas and Dean walked into the party. "Cas, you look fantastic.  If I was handing out prizes, you'd take first place. Wouldn't he, Jess?"

"Oh, wow!" she said.  "You're a walking dream. I'm surprised Dean let you out of the house looking like that."

"I almost didn't," Dean admitted sheepishly.

"Yeah," Cas grinned. "Dean was being a real drag."

[scumgristle]

The sort of revelations that kill your childhood: So like a week ago I covered Columbine on the show. And part of the coverage centered around the myth of Cassie Bernall and the whole modern martyr "The Girl Who Said Yes" thing and how that sort of reshaped Gen. X American Evangelicalism into this..."edgy, post-grunge, faux-radicalism" about being "on fire" for Christ, and the whole preponderance of Dad Rock Youth Pastors. And I hadn't connected that in any real way to the sudden *explosion* of Christian hardcore and metal bands in the late 90s and early 00s. They were fucking ubiquitous for damn near a decade. Zao, No Innocent Victim, Project 86, As I Lay Dying, Norma Jean, Underoath, Thrice, Demon Hunter, Extol, Living Sacrifice...even bands like Evergreen Terrace and Hopesfall Started as Christian metal bands and shed the label early. But the hardcore/underground metal scene was fucking Inundated with kids who went to youth group and church and found metal records in their local Christian bookstore and started going to shows...and there's been an adjacent scene of kids who have NO connection to the sociopolitical or working class roots of hardcore whatsoever ever since. They came in after Columbine when the broader American Evangelical movement latched onto this New thing "the kids" were doing that had ties to skate culture and a million other places they wanted in to. And so you had bands...funded by Church projects...going on tour with Pastors...who handed out Bibles and tracts and did Altar calls at their merch tables. And NOW...24-25 years later? Hardcore is a bunch of spineless neo-conservative/libertarian chuds, who got into the scene through a crypto-grift by Christian propagandists in the music industry when they were kids. And it is *no* wonder I've been looking around thinking "when did everyone here turn into a Republican?" for the last 5 years. They didn't. They already were. And. If you FOLLOW this trajectory through the early 00s with the hardcore scene as essentially a stocked pond for the conservative movement astroturfed by megachurches (if you think I'm exaggerating go look up who half of Thrice worked for)...it explains deathcore and its tendencies towards misogyny and conspiracism. Because a lot of these guys hit their late teens and early 20s and discovered Alex Jones - who blew up in popularity after 9/11 - and the bits and pieces about kleptocracy, RFID chips, Reptilians, and a global shadow government popped up ALL over the place with bands like Molotov Solution, Job for a Cowboy and Pathology. This burgeoning RW recruitment space spun out, and the reaction was A.) A REALLY pissed off atheist sect B.) Guys with hangups carried over from the conservative spaces they came from...like rape culture, traditionalism, and a tendency toward the Fringe of political thought (the Alex Jones thing). Recognizing hardcore was coopted by the Christian Right sometime in 1999...the last 25 years of it make all the sense in the world all of a sudden.

Moxy O'Brien

[deadendranch]

THIS IS US

If you ask anyone who has just met Mette, and heard her husband’s jokes, they would say that she hates the jokes and find them and him embarrassing. But that couldn’t be further from the truth! She secretly adores him, and likes his jokes well enough, even though some of them are very inappropriate.

She is mostly calm and collected, but piss her off (by disrespecting her kids, husband or her livelyhood) and you will be in a woooorld of pain. A verbal whiplash is what she will give you!

There is not much to see, when you meet Mette for the first time. You might see that she is calm and works very hard, but that’s about it. She likes to keep her private life a secret, and likes to not share everything with everyone, which is kinda the opposite of who her husband is. He shares everything, while she would rather just keep private private.

Mette is originally from Denmark, but has lived in USA since she was 5 years old. She went to an American school, and there she met Gabe. She helped them through a hard period in life where they were discovering themself, and her parents even let them move in, when they were kicked out.

She met her husband in High School, and instantly fell in love with him, and he with her. They soon became boyfriend and girlfriend, and has stuck together ever since.

In 2020 she moved back to Denmark with her husband Mateo and her two small kids, and then opened her own stable, Texas style. Of course she wanted to have western horses, as she had lived in Texas most of her life, and when she was told about a stable with American Curly Horses which was closing down, she took the chance and bought them all for her stable Dead End Ranch to breed Stock build Curlies.

Then she bred them to some of the few stocks she had and VUPTI she had stock build curlies!

Mateo is kind of a strange man. He is very friendly though, and genuinely wants to make friends, even though he has a habit of cracking many, many jokes, many of which are kinda inappropriate. He keeps those to himself around his kids though.

He is a kind man, and doesn’t want to say anything that could hurt anyone. Though he likes to make others laugh. The louder the better. Even awkward laughter humors him, because of the inappropriate jokes thing. He is very much into cars, though range rovers are the best, and he is not that much into fast cars, big cars are more of his passion.

Loving his daughters a lot, along with his wife, he enjoys family time more than anything, and likes to crack jokes there too - though those are definitely more family friendly, at least around his kids. He is not the best at words, and will show his love with gestures of love instead of telling someone that he loves them - though he will occasionally tell his kids and his wife this.

Mateo is from Texas, born and raised. He is a real cowboy, and has grown up at a western barn that his parents owned. He met Mette in High School, doing his shy-guy-rutine (though he was genuinely shy back then) and the rest is history.

He of course said yes, when Mette wanted to move back to Denmark and also agreed to move with her as to not rob his daughters of a father. He likes Denmark well enough, though he sometimes misses the Texas sun in the cold and wet/rainy place that Denmark is.

Larke is the more boyish of the Thorne Twins. She likes cars and horse and mud, and everything that’s wild and crazy. She likes the more tomboy-ish style, and has a lot of flannel and jeans in her wardrobe. She likes to have her hair out of the way, but loves her long hair, and would never cut it short - not that her mother would ever let her though!

She is almost constantly arguing with her twin sister, and they can never agree on anything. When they were younger though they were inseparable. Now though they don’t even want to be in the same room as the other, and will leave it (mostly Larke leaves, while the more dominant Sorine stays) if they see each other. Good thing Dead End Ranch has three stable buildings, haha!

Sorine is very femme. She is very much into dresses, makeup and jewelery and all that shabam. She mostly thinks that any other western discipline than Western Dressage and Driving is uncultured and boring, while the “propper way” (her way) is much better. Therefore she also has the only Friesian at the barn.

When she and Larke drifted apart, she began being into English riding as well, and wanted nothing more than to fit into her friend group of English riders and Dressage riders. She has a big wish, only to fit in though, to try out English riding, and preferably get a horse or a pony for that at some point.

In secret she loves Western Dressage and Driving, though she knows it’s more “propper” to like dressage and literally any English discipline.

When Larke and Sorine was younger they were each other’s best friends. Larke would just go with whatever Sorine wanted, and wasn’t much of her “own person” at that time, which made it easy for Sorine to dominate and decide everything for them.

They looked a lot more like each other back then, and their mother Mette loved to put them in matching (though different colored) dresses when at parties or in their every day life. It all changed when they both began school, and the twins got very different friend groups. Larke adopted a more boy-ish style, while Sorine adopted a very feminine and girl-ish style instead.

And their friend groups didn’t get along with each other, which started a rivalry between them, and also the twins. It was hard for them to have to choose between their friends and their twin, but Sorine eventually chose her friends over her sister, and that’s how the two of them became almost enemies.

[silens-oro]

Real Friendly

Rhett Abbott x f!Reader

Synopsis: Rhett’s bein’ a jerk.

Warning: Drinking, angst light(TM), jealousy (derogatory)

AN: It’s Friday night, I’ve had a couple edibles, and this is unedited because I make the rules. This is just a stupid lil something to get out of my writing funk. Also, it should be noted that I don’t know nothin’ about anything. Rodeos especially. No thoughts, just cowboys.

“Stop,” Your patience was wearing thin the longer you sat at the high top in that unfamiliar bar in an unfamiliar city. Rhett was at the tail end of his current circuit and you made the four hour drive to meet him in Colorado. He had a good night as far as his rides were concerned -which wasn’t surprising- and that excitement and joy was diminishing rapidly.  

“Stop what?” Rhett’s voice was heavy, the handful of beers he had consumed aiding in the raspiness as the night went on. He didn’t even look at you when he responded. Rhett was too preoccupied with shooting lasers into the back of the cowboy’s head at the opposite end of the room to notice your own growing glare that was pointed directly at him.

Your flat hand tapped the table three times to get his attention.

“You goin’ home with him tonight?” Your question knocked him out of his one-sided debacle. His normally bright eyes were darkened by the male instinct that nearly turned him into a caveman at the thought of another man stepping into his territory. You were surprised he hadn’t pissed a circle around you to ward off every male within a 10 mile radius.

“What?” Rhett asked dumbly with a pulled face, thrown off by your question.

“I don’t know, you seem mighty preoccupied with him when your actual girlfriend is right in front of you,” you challenged with a raised brow.

15 Minutes Previous

“Can I get another round, Lenny, and put whatever the lady’s getting on my tab,” A deep drawl spoke up from your right. You held up your hand to stop the bartender before he could ring the drinks in.

“Oh, that’s real sweet of you, but I’m gonna have to decline,” You spoke up over the loud rumbling within the bar. “Can I get a Bud and a Stella. Tab’s under Rhett,” The bartender nodded and shuffled about to get the drinks for both parties.

The man winced playfully and held a hand up to his chest. He was handsome, you’d give him that. He couldn’t hold a candle to Rhett, your brain told you immediately. His dark hair and dark eyes were a complete contrast to Rhett. He stood tall in tight jeans, a black t-shirt, cowboy boots, cowboy hat, and a big buckle on display that shone under the overhead lights. You vaguely remember his face from earlier in the night.

“Shame someone beat me to it,” He replied with a dazzling smile. “Lenny! Put her drinks on my tab!” He shouted. The bartender, who seemed to be familiar with the man, rolled his eyes and nodded. The man turned his attention back to you. “I insist,” 

“You really didn’t have to do that,” you gave him a kind smile, “but it is appreciated all the same.”

“Not a problem-” He held his hand up for you to shake as you gave him your name. “Beautiful name for a beautiful lady. Name’s Mark,”

“It’s nice to meet ya, Mark. You rode tonight, right?” Your brain made the connection between his face and his name. 

“Sure did,” He confirmed with a nod of his head, chest puffing up just the slightest. “Mr. Rhett,” He referred to the name on your tab, “take you to see the show?”

“He rode,” You nodded over to Rhett, who was looking in the opposite direction. Even from a distance you were absolutely mesmerized by him. Mark’s eyes lit up in recognition.

“Rhett…Rhett,” He turned his attention back to you and snapped his fingers repeatedly, trying to remember Rhett’s last name. “He rode Bad Bronson,” He snapped his fingers again. “Abbott!” He hit his hand against the bar in his eureka moment.  

“That’s right!” You confirmed with a laugh.

“He had one hell of a ride on his last go around,” Mark commented. “Been a long time since I’ve seen Bronson keep a rider,” His kind words towards Rhett made your chest fill with pride.

The bartender made his way back with six bottles in hand, dispensing them between yourself and Mark.

“Thank you again for the drinks, Mark,” You said kindly. “You have yourself a good night! And stay out of trouble,”

“You as well, little lady,” Mark tipped his hat with a goofy grin and took off towards his friends, bottles in hand. “But I ain’t makin’ any promises!” 

Little did you know that Rhett had watched the entire interaction like a hawk, eyes narrowing into a scowl by the time you set the beer bottle down in front of him.

“Made a friend?” Rhett’s question wasn’t aggressive, but you picked up on his tone instantly. Considering they both rode tonight, Rhett knew who Mark was.

“Mark,” You knew the response was going to rub salt in an already irritated wound, but you weren’t the type to pussyfoot around a man’s ego. “He kindly bought this round for us,” you stressed ‘us’ to get your point across. All Rhett did was grunt, taking a long drink from the bottle.

“Just seemed like you were up there for a while is all,”

“It’s a busy bar,” You replied with a shrug.

“Sure is,” He said dismissively, his eyes trailing over the crowd and stopping on their target. “You two got real friendly,”

“We were talking about you,”

“Mmhmm,”

Present

Standing from your barstool, you pushed your empty bottle towards the middle of the table.

“Other women might find this attractive, Rhett,” you started, voice firm, “but I don’t, so if I were you, I’d knock this shit off. Now.” Rhett opened his mouth to argue, but you held a finger up to his face, effectively silencing him.

“I took time off of work for you. I drove four hours to a different state for you. I stood in that crowd and I cheered for you.” You shook your head, “When Mark approached me, I shut him down near immediately, and he was a gentleman about it.” You pushed the stool under the table and shoved your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

“If I didn’t want you, I sure as hell wouldn’t be here right now. I’m not entertaining this for another second of my night, so when you decide to get your head out of your ass, you know where to find me.” With that you turned around and headed back to the bar. There was an open billiards table in the corner that was calling your name and you knew sooner or later, Rhett would find you with his tail tucked between his legs.

[frannyzooey]

is wildest dreams going to be a jack daniels cowboy au with an age gap reader romance?

You write ONE FIVE age gap fics and suddenly you have a brand — 🤡

No age gap! I don’t know exactly what it’s gonna be, if anything, but I was thinking about him the other day while driving and like:

Jack Daniels, 1940’s Western movie star, having a secret affair with his co-star. She’s married and has a much better reputation than his — she’s a golden starlet of cinema and not only is divorce not a thing, but her career on the silver screen would be ruined if she was seen having an affair or if she was even associated with him, so they have to keep it a secret.

I just got fixated on the idea of Jack on set — swinging his lasso, shooting his pistols, riding a horse — but also Jack, shirtless with his jeans unbuttoned as he teases her in her trailer, or Jack all gussied up for the movie premiere and getting piss drunk at the bar on whiskey as he watches her flit from reporter to reporter with her husband on her arm, or Jack, wanting to be a better man for her, thinking he’ll earn her in the end.

I pictured him like this on set:

Them like this in the movie, pretending it’s real:

Him, at the premiere:

gif by @a7estrellas ❤️

And you know I’m a sucker for a Western ❤️

[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter one - Big Sky

Also on Ao3

Billy doesn’t give a fuck about the rodeo. 

He doesn’t care about country music, or fancy horse riding, or the beauty queens, even the bull riders. 

What he does give a fuck about it not being in his house today. 

Not when his dad was obviously itching to pick a fight. Not when Max gave him such an easy out over breakfast. 

“I saw a flyer for a rodeo. I think it’d be kinda neat.”

It was in town for four more weeks. 

And Billy could tell the second he and Max bought tickets, he was about to be spending more time than he ever fuckin’ thought he would spend at a rodeo. 

He based that on the way Max’s eyes lit up the second she stepped inside the big fairgrounds. 

Not knowing that he was right. He was about to spend a lot of time at the rodeo. 

But not for Max. 

For himself. 

And a pretty horse rider named Steve.

He didn’t see Steve that first day. 

Was too busy shelling out his own hard-earned cash to buy Max sugary funnel cakes. Sitting next to her watching the poor suckers get bucked off their pissed-off bull. 

But when Max was in the car she turned to him, the sun setting outside, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

And the tickets were dirt cheap. And Billy hates being at home. 

So they did. 

And they watched the rodeo queens. 

And the team-roping. 

But it wasn’t until the calf roping that Billy felt his heart sink. 

Because he thinks Steve Harrington might be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

Tall and broad, smiling like sunshine at his gorgeous black quarter horse, patting her strong neck and leading her to the entry point of the arena. 

His name was loudly announced after the event name. 

Calf roping, with our very own Steve Harrington! Steve will navigate his beautiful June into the arena, trying to rope and tie down a calf as quickly as possible!

Billy had tuned out everything but his name. 

Leaning forward on his bench seat to watch him lead June up to the starting line, give her a few more pats before swinging one leg up, heaving himself up and over her back, settling into the saddle with a grace Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to describe. 

Steve appeared to shake himself out, leaning forward over June’s neck to speak quietly to the sleek horse, wiggling his hips a bit in the saddle. 

And then he sat back up, readying himself and waiting for the countdown. 

He was off like a fucking shot. 

Billy’s never seen anything fucking like it. 

June kicked up dirt as she thundered through the arena behind a small herd of a few calves, Steve ducked low against her neck as he led her forward, his lips moving as he spoke quietly to her, egging her on and forward. He was clinging to her for dear life, his legs straining as he was tossed up and down in the saddle. 

And then he let go of her reins, one hand reaching for the rope on his belt. 

And it was the most hick shit he’s ever seen. 

This flannel-wearing cowboy on his perfect fucking horse, roping a baby fucking cow. 

He slipped the knot around it from his perch on the moving horse, lassoing it easily like that was a common skill, and with a fluid practiced movement, he tossed himself off the slowing horse, getting on one knee to tip over the calf and tie it up like it was second nature. 

And maybe it was. Performing in a show like this. 

That’s all it was, a performance. Practiced and rehearsed over and over for Steve and June. 

It was over in a blink, Steve tossing his hands up to show he was finished, and the calf didn’t break its bonds. 

The whistle blew and Steve’s time was read to the arena. Nine seconds. And apparently, nine seconds was a good time, judging by the way Steve’s raised his fists in the air, and patted June’s neck so gently. 

He mounted back on his gorgeous horse as the calf he had roped was released by a few of the rodeo workers and the next guy took his position at the starting line. 

Steve did a lap around the arena of June’s back, smiling and waving to the crowd. 

And maybe Billy just has an overactive imagination. 

Maybe his stupid gay brain was looking for something not there. 

But he could’ve sworn he saw Steve grin just a little bit brighter in his direction. 

There were a few riders after him. Competing to earn a faster score on the same track. 

But Billy didn’t give a fuck about calf roping if he wasn’t watching Steve and June. 

The sun was setting as Billy finally led Max out of the fairgrounds, one hand on the top of her head, steering her towards the Camaro. 

“So, you think we can come back next weekend” Max was giving him a big shit-eating grin, powdered sugar all done her front from the final funnel cake Billy had shelled out to buy her. 

“Don’t see why not. Get’s us outta the fuckin’ house, don’t it.”

“Plus, there are lots of good-looking cowboys, just everywhere. Did you see the guy doing the cattle roping, or whatever? He was cute .” Billy rolled his eyes. Max was just touching the age when she stopped thinking of boys as gross, saw them as cute, and whatever else she said. It also made her realize that having a gay brother apparently meant talking about nothing but boys. It made Billy wanna slam his head into the steering wheel. He grunted in response as she kept going on and on about Steve. 

Like Billy didn’t see the way his thighs gripped the sides of his horse, like he didn’t watch as he hurled himself off June to tie up the fucking calf. Like he didn’t watch him take that fucking victory lap, shit-eating grin looking like home on his pretty fucking face. 

“You gotta carry your own weight, you know that, right Shitbird? I’m talking, pay for your own damn fried shit.” He bets Susan would give him money for tickets if he acts real nice this week. 

He can’t blow all his savings at the fucking rodeo of all things this summer. He’s got plans for the wad of cash burning a hole in the shoebox in the back of his closet. 

Max huffed at him. 

“What am I supposed to do? Get a job? I’m thirteen .”

“So? Babysit or some shit. Rob an ATM. Fuck if I care. Just quit stealing all ‘a my goddamn cash for your fuckin’ funnel cakes .”

“You’re just pissed off because you didn’t try one. They’re the best. You gotta have one next week.”

“I, unlike you, care about what I put in my body.”

“Yeah, because cigarettes and beer are so much better than fried dough .”

“Whatever.” The truth is, Billy’s gotta watch what he eats. Max didn’t know him when he was prepubescent and chubby. He can’t be sitting there shoving funnel cakes in his mouth and not expect it to all go to his gut. Not like her. There’s not an ounce of fucking baby fat on her. She’s positively scrawny. If anything, the funnel cake might help her out a bit. 

“Yeah, whatever .” She huffed, slumping back in her passenger seat. “But can we come back?”

“Fuck, if you keep askin’ me, the answer’s no .”

She huffed again. She does that a whole lot when they talk. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I saw the way you were watching Steve race. You were practically drooling .” 

Billy clenched his jaw. 

“Was not .”

“Was too .” 

And Max had a knack of leading Billy into moments like this, childish little arguments that made him feel kinda weird inside. Made him feel kinda warm at how sibling it was. Like they hadn’t been forced together just a few years ago. 

For all his bitching, he really did like the little spit. If he didn’t, he’d be a bigger asshole than she’s always accusing him of being. 

“You don’t even know what I look like when I’m really eyeing a boy, if you think that was it. Just, you know. Respected his riding.”

“ Respected his riding. Yeah ‘cause you wish he was riding-”

“Finish that sentence and I’m pushing you out of the fucking car.”

“I’m right, though.”

Billy just reached forward to turn up the radio, letting Dee Snider drown out any other awful shit Max wanted to say to him. 

Which was probably showing his hand too much. No direct answer pretty much means affirmative when it comes to Billy. And yeah, Max knows that. Judging by the way she’s cackling like a goddamn gremlin over the sound of the music. 

He just pressed his foot down further on the gas pedal, letting them fly down the highway. 

And he thought about Steve and June, thought about how fast Steve could press that girl to go. Thought about him leaning forward, flattening himself to the horse’s neck, gripping onto the reins and urging her forward, urging her faster. 

And if he thought about those strong legs wrapped around him, if he thought about what Max was about to say, Steve riding Billy like he would that fucking horse, his hips flexing as he bounces up and down, well, that’s his business. 

And the next Saturday, Susan slid him a crisp twenty-dollar bill to buy Max some lunch at the rodeo. 

They took it more seriously this time, bringing water bottles, and Max slathering thick white sunscreen on her freckled skin. 

Billy even wore shorts, some old jeans he sacrificed to the summer gods when he wore holes in the thighs and chopped pretty much in half. 

And it was kinda fun. 

He knew what to expect now. Knew the barrel racing was all women, all beautiful horses winding their way along clover-shaped tracks. He knew that the bull riding was a little more fun to watch with a shot in him, and that his fake i.d. could get him an alcohol wristband from the tent at the front.

Max sneered at him when he bought himself a beer later in the day. 

“Uh, you know you have to drive me home, right? Like, and not crash your stupid car on the way home.” 

“Fuck off. It’s one beer.”

“And also that shot earlier, and I know you have a flask.”

“Okay, what are you, the cops? I’m just tryna enjoy myself in this blistering fucking heat. I don’t exactly get my rocks off to any of this shit.” Which is a lie. He’s totally sold on every stupid fucking event at the motherfucking rodeo. 

“Fine. You wanna get stupid and drunk? Then you have to take me to the pageant. I wanna watch it.”

“Since fucking when do you give a shit about the pageant .” Max glared at him. Her nose was beginning to get red. 

Maybe if Billy were less of a shithead he would tell her to put some sunscreen on. But she was really testing his patience today. 

And then her eyes went huge, and her jaw went slack, and Billy was just about to tell her to close it and quit lookin’ like a dead fuckin’ fish when he heard someone cough slightly behind him. 

And when he turned, he almost made the exact same stupid dead fish face as Max. 

Because gorgeous cowboy Steve was standing right in front of him. In another cracker of a flannel shirt, stupid blue jeans, and fucking cowboy boots, because yeah. He’s a goddamn hick that rides a horse and ties up calves in a traveling rodeo for a fucking living. 

And God save Billy, because hot damn. 

Steve had an easy smile on his face, a little bit lopsided, and perfect white teeth showing between perfect pink lips. 

“Hey there.”

“Howdy,” Billy responded before he could stop himself, his face burning up. 

He was hoping he was already sweaty enough Steve wouldn’t notice the flush. 

But thankfully, Steve’s smile went wider, and he laughed, this gorgeous bright laugh, his head tossing back, and that thick hair flowing easily. 

He had gold streaks in his hair, lighter browns tussled within the darker colors. Billy wondered if they were natural, days spent out in the sun on his horse. Part of him hoped they weren’t. Part of him hoped that Steve was that intentional with himself and his goddamn hair. 

He smiled at Billy. 

“I’m Steve.”

“We saw you. Last weekend,” Max blurted out before Billy could kick her. She looked shocked that she had even spoken when Billy turned to give her a death glare. But Steve just laughed his gorgeous laugh again. 

“And what’d you think?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about you on the way home.” And Steve was back to looking at Billy, and his eyes are so fucking big, like, who’s eyes are just. Like that. Just fuckin’. Big. 

“And what about you, uh-”

“Billy. And this is Max. My sister.”

“Well, Billy,” and fuck Billy nearly creamed himself at the sound of Steve saying his name. “Did you like my display of talents ?”

“Could say so. I don’t give too many shits about all this hick farm stuff. But I can respect it.”

“Well, that’s alright then.” And Steve reached out to pat Billy once on the shoulder. “I hope I see y’all around. I gotta head off, June needs some TLC before our time.” He smiled at Max, and her already red face flushed deeper, almost blending into the roots of her flaming hair. 

And then he doubled back. 

“You know what, I forgot why I came over here in the first place.” He was digging through his jeans, rummaging around in his back pockets. 

Billy wanted to slide his hands in there, cop a feel while he helped Steve look for whatever he was going to offer Billy. 

And then Steve brought out two white wristbands. 

“They’re for, uh, VIP seating and stuff. If you’re interested. Gets you closer to the arena. That way I can just see what you look like after I’m comin’ off a ride.”

Hoo boy. 

This little cowboy has some fucking charm. 

And he knows it too, judging by his smug little half-smile he gave Billy while he fastened the wristband around his wrist. 

He helped Max with hers, doing it faster than he had Billy’s, and with a lot less eye contact, which was a good sign. He’s not perving on his twelve-year-old sister. Which is cool. 

And then he was looking back at Billy, and brushing his long fingers over the tops of Billy’s shoulders, his arms out in his shirt, the arms torn off an old Aerosmith t-shirt he found at the Goodwill last year. 

“You should reapply sunblock. Don’t want you burning now.” And Billy’s sure if Steve was wearing a Stetson, he woulda tipped it at them. “Enjoy the pageant.”

And he was off, and Christ, those jeans. How did Steve even successfully ride his horse in those things? They were so tight, showed off his nice peachy ass as he walked through the fairgrounds. 

“Wow,” Max said. And yeah, Billy felt the same. 

“In case it wasn’t clear, based on the way he was flirting with me, and also that he’s way too old for you, but, uh, dibs .”

“Billy, you can’t just call dibs on a person.” Billy just laughed. 

He knows that his twelve-year-old fucking sister doesn’t have a shot in Hell with Steve. Really, he doubts he even has a shot in Hell with Steve, but he also likes to spend his time making her life as difficult as possible without actually being a shitty person. So, he just riles her up. Says shit that’ll get her going. He wouldn’t be doing his brotherly duties if he didn’t say that shit. 

Max calls it even by kicking him in the shin twice and making him watch the stupid beauty pageant. 

Which, like, why the fuck are there beauty pageants at the rodeo anyway? 

Turns out it wasn’t pageant at all, but the four previous Miss Rodeo’s all lined up and looking far too glammed out for this fucking heat. 

Max faked being disgruntled by the disappointment, but Billy knows, somewhere inside that tough bitch little soul of hers, she’s glad she didn’t have to sit through a goddamn pageant just to make Billy miserable. 

Besides, Billy had whipped out his flask a few times, and he was feeling alright. Just buzzed enough that the heat had stopped making him feel quite so disgusting. 

But not too drunk to miss calf roping. 

And yeah, maybe it was a little bit lame to make their way over to the VIP seating earlier enough that they scored the front row. But when Steve came trotting out, leading June behind him, Billy was close enough he could pick out the cluster of moles on Steve’s left cheek. 

So, lame was not in Billy’s vocabulary today. 

It was pretty much the same thing as last week. Steve made everyone in the arena ooh and aah with his riding, tied up the calf in less than ten seconds once again. 

But this time, when he took that jaunty little lap around the small arena, Billy knows for a fact Steve grinned at him. Knows his stupid gay brain wasn’t making up the wink he tossed effortlessly in Billy’s direction. 

And they left, just like last weekend, as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. 

“Just, c’mon. Mom gave you money .” Max was whining for a corn dog, of all things. When they have perfectly good, not fried food, at home. 

“Maxine, I swear to Christ, I’m fucking tired. Let’s go home so I can crash, and you can fucking drive Susan up the goddamn wall with your whining.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem too bad.” And Billy felt his insides curdling at that voice, felt himself wilting and shriveling because he would not be getting out of this day without one final, no doubt embarrassing, encounter with his gorgeous cowboy. 

Steve was leaning against a booth selling chili fries, looking like a perfect picture of a Clint Eastwood movie. 

Billy had never liked westerns. 

But he was gonna go home and spend all night watching every one he could get his grubby little hands on. 

Steve pushed off the side of the booth as Max found her words again. 

“You don’t have to live with him.”

“And you don’t have to live with my folks. I’d trade you any day.” 

And Billy nearly died. Right there. On the spot. Because. Holy shit. I’d trade you any day. 

Billy was more than happy to follow this fucking hick around America, watch him ride his pretty horse before fucking him against the stable wall. 

Or whatever. Do they have stables? Billy doesn’t know how a traveling rodeo works. 

But like, they’ve gotta have stables, right?

“Nah, you’d get sick of him. He stinks.”

“Have you ever smelled horse shit? Because that’s the fragrance I wake up to every morning.”

And Max was laughing, and Steve was laughing, and Billy was trying to keep his hands as casually as possible in front of his slight chub. 

“Will I get the privilege of seeing you two again?” And what a way to word it? The privilege. And then Steve was looking Billy up and down, and he was biting that perfect bottom lip and opening his mouth and “I could always give you my phone number. So we can. Meet up. Next time you’re here.”

“‘Course. You can give us the grand tour.”

And Steve was digging in those tight back pockets again, and shoving his phone into Billy’s hand, and he doesn’t have a passcode, but his home screen was a picture of him and his fucking horse which is, just about the sweetest thing Billy’s ever seen. 

And Billy put himself in as Billy Hargrove , and then panicked because Steve doesn’t know his fucking last name. So he settled for Billy and then for good measure shoved San Diego after it because. Billy’s a common name, okay?

And Steve took his non-password protected fuckin’ horse girl phone, and Billy was giving him as charming a smile as he could muster with sweat on his upper lip and saying-

“You better text me, Pretty Boy. So I can save your number.” Billy shrugged, looking off to his left to try and seem. Nonchalant. “In case I wanna see you again.” 

And Max was rolling her eyes, but she wasn’t stopping away. Wasn’t even whining at Billy, no doubt on her best behavior in front of hot cowboy Steve. 

But Steve had a glint in his eye, and if Max wasn’t here Billy would be playing this all different, laying on the charm a lot thicker than he was. 

But he can’t be a horny bastard in front of her. That’s just, like, gross. 

So he settles for making a real show of licking his bottom lip, and maybe flexing his bare arms just a tiny bit. 

“We should probably get goin’. Got a curfew for this one,” Billy jerked his head in Max’s direction. She huffed before she could stop herself. “See you around, Cowboy Steve.”

And Steve gave another one of his pretty ringing laughs. 

“Come again soon, Billy and Max.” And again, Billy’s sure that if Steve were wearing a hat, he would’ve flicked the brim at them as he set off back into the rodeo, dodgin off the main thoroughfare. 

“Wow. That was embarrassing for you.” 

Billy whipped his head around to stare at Max, giving her the most disgusted look he could muster. 

“The fuck you mean?”

“You were so obvious.”

“That’s the fucking point . We were flirting. It’s supposed to be obvious, you demon.” Billy shoved her once before stomping in the direction of the parking lot. 

“Yeah but you were like, making these faces at him.”

“Shut the fuck up. I know what I was doing, okay? It was all very calculated . Let him know I’m down for it, and if he texts, then I’m good to go. If not, then I move on.”

And the thought of Steve not texting was kinda, disappointing. Because Billy really wanted him to text. He wanted to stay up late giggling at his phone and the dumb things Steve texts him and pretend they don’t make him flush like a fucking school girl. 

He pointedly didn’t look at his notification when he reached the car, just shoved an old tape in and turned up Black Sabbath when Max wrinkled her nose at it. 

They were both quiet on the drive back home. Something heavy unsaid between them. 

And only as Billy was pulling into his spot in the driveway did Max suck in a big breath to actually put it out there. 

“I won’t tell. About him. Not even Mom. Not even that I think he’s cool.”

“Thanks. Easier just to. Avoid at all costs.” 

And if Billy were a better person, maybe he would hug her or something. 

But they don’t do that. Instead he sighed and didn’t hip check her violently off the porch like his instincts were telling him. So really, he’s a fucking saint. 

[we-are-inevitable]

burning house // javid (small town au)

A/N: I FINISHED IT !! inspired by an amazing anon ask i got !!

WARNINGS: implied child abuse, injuries, breakdowns, mentions of slurs (said by a queer character)

Read On AO3!

***

“We should make out.”

David’s head snaps to the left, eyes wide as he stares at Jack. Jack, who is nursing a Sonic sweet tea, still in a pearl-snap dress shirt and starched jeans. They’re still sitting in Jack’s truck in David’s driveway, having just left a wedding; one of Racer’s sisters, who Jack has known for ages. David didn’t really know anyone besides Jack, Racer, Albert, Kath, and Charlie, but it was fun. 

It was fun, and now Jack wants to make out, and--

“I’m sorry, what?”

David asks, confused; he blinks a few times, trying to force himself to process what Jack had just said. Trying to will the flush in his cheeks to go away.

But then there’s Jack, looking at David through his eyelashes as he repeats, “We should make out.”

David freezes. Gulps, and his hands clench at his sides. 

Jack stares at him for a few seconds, before that signature Kelly grin of his sinks into a smirk. “I mean, can you imagine what Snyder’d say? Old bastard would have a heart attack. It’s worth a shot, if ya ask me.”

One by one, the pieces start coming back together, and- oh. Oh, right.

They were talking about how much of an asshole Snyder had been at the wedding. Kept making inappropriate comments about some of Racer’s sister’s friends- college kids, no doubt having been raised in this very town. Those comments turned into drunken rants about women, and then the transphobia hit full force, and then Snyder went on a very loud, very homophobic tangent.

Directed at David.

Snyder had been thrown out of the wedding after that; a few of the older fellas in town dragged him out, just because he was ‘causing a scene’ at the reception. It wasn’t like they were defending David- no, they likely agreed with everything Snyder was saying- but at least they had the decency and respect not to ruin the wedding of a lovely young woman by spewing hateful opinions.

Jack and David had left soon afterwards, after congratulating the bride and groom and saying one last goodbye to Racer, Albert, Charlie, and Kath.

And now, here they are, in Jack’s shitty truck, eating greasy food and sipping on too-sweet sweet teas, talking about… making out.

“I… Okay, elaborate, because- because I don’t understand what you’re saying,” David admits, raising his brows. “You want to… make out with me, just to piss off Mr. Snyder?”

Jack nods, then tilts his head and beams at David. “We might get lucky- Davey, there’s a chance’ll drop dead if he sees it. Wouldn’t that be great?”

David can’t hold back his soft bark of laughter. “I mean, if you’re really okay with it, then I don’t see why not,” He admits, and gulps. “You… you are okay with it, right? Like, the whole--”

“Are you askin’ if I’m okay with kissin’ you, when I was the one to bring it up?” Jack raises a brow. “C’mon, Davey, use that brain ‘a yours. ‘Course I’m okay with it.”

David studies him, just for a moment, and sees the sincerity in those deep brown eyes… It’s almost disorienting, the way that Jack would so willingly give up his status around town just to prove a point, just to support David, just to make a bigoted man angry.

And, okay, maybe it doesn’t help that David has wanted Jack to kiss him for a while now. And, yeah, maybe David agrees because this might be the only chance he has to kiss Jack Kelly.

After a few moments of silence, David sucks in a deep breath and says, “That's the least heterosexual thing you've ever said, but… Okay. Tell me the plan.”

***

Kissing Jack is the easiest thing David has ever done.

There’s tongue, there’s teeth, there’s a formulated desperation in the way Jack balls his fist against David’s shirt, the way he presses their fronts together, the way one of his arms winds up and around David’s neck.

It feels so real, so right, but then Jack pulls away and turns his head and says, “Oh, sorry, Snyder! Didn’t see ya there.”

And then it’s a race to hop out of the bed of Jack’s truck, climb into the cab, and peel out of that church parking lot before Snyder has a chance to get a hold of them.

David’s heart is racing, but it’s not from the adrenaline of running from Snyder.

David’s heart is racing, and Jack Kelly’s kiss is the culprit.

***

Jack doesn’t talk to David at all after he drops David off at his house.

David sends him a few texts, but they all go unread, which isn't a very usual occurrence. 

The next day, too, Jack is nowhere to be found at school; which is great , because David is alone for the most part, and David being alone means he gets shoved against the lockers by the Delancey brothers and is called every slur in the book. It doesn’t stop until Sean Conlon walks up and makes the other guys go away; David hasn’t really talked to him all that much, but he’s seen him at Jack’s rodeos and he knows that Sean knows who he is, knows that he's a friend of Jack's, so maybe that’s why he’s helping right now. 

“Those assholes need to stop causin’ trouble,” Sean says as he shakes his head and helps David up. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah,  I- I’m good, I think,” David sighs. “I’m used to that-- it’s fine, really. Thank you.”

Sean studies him for a moment, then frowns. “It ain’t fine and you know it,” He counters. “They give you anymore shit, come find me. I’ll set ‘em straight.”

Davit smiles sadly, and nods. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” He says, then gulps. “Hey- uh… Have- have you seen Jack today?”

Sean looks up at him, brows furrowed, and he shakes his head. “Nah. He didn’t respond to my text this mornin’, either. Somethin’ happen between you two?”

“What do you mean?”

Sean shrugs, and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, y’all are a thing, ain’t ya? Caught kissin’ at the church.”

David’s eyes widen just slightly, and he gulps. “...How do you know about that?”

“I--” Sean pauses, and he takes in a deep breath. It must hit him that this isn't what he thinks it is; Jack and David aren't together, and what happened isn't what the rumors are saying… He frowns, and looks up at David. “Honestly, some ‘a the fellas were talkin’ about it this mornin’ at the feed store. It’s not a secret anymore. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone knows?"

Sean nods.

It takes David a few moments to register what Sean has said, but eventually, it hits him like a blow to the chest. David sucks in a deep breath and nods, hands clenching, and without saying another word, he hurries down the hall and out the side door that leads to the courtyard. He can’t- he can’t stay at school. Not today, at least; or ever.

Not until he finds Jack.

***

“Hey, this is Jack. Sorry I can’t get to the phone right now! Leave a message after the beep.”

David rubs his forehead, waits for the sound, and says, “Hey, it’s… me again. I know this is- this is my fourth time calling, and I’m sorry, I just… I wanna make sure you’re alright? So, uh, I guess, call- call me back when you get this. Or don’t; you don’t- you don’t have to, I just… I’m sorry.”

The line goes dead, and David drops the phone.

***

He doesn’t hear from Jack all weekend.

Not until Sunday, at least. David is lying in bed that evening, reading one of his books for class, when all of a sudden his phone lights up beside him.

He looks up from the page and gulps, seeing Jack’s name and number flashing across the screen. Part of him wants to ignore it, like Jack’s been ignoring him, but he can’t do that. He can’t. Not now, not after everything; if David ignores it, then what good will that bring to their friendship? 

David grabs the phone and answers, sitting up. “Hello?”

“I’m outside,” Jack says, taking a deep breath. “Can- Can you come outside? I’m in the truck, I just--” He pauses, and David gulps. “I’m- I'm sorry, just… please , Davey...”

“I’ll be out there in a second,” David whispers, and hangs up the phone. He hurries to get dressed; all he does is put on a hoodie and change into a pair of sweats, and he quickly pulls on his Converse as well, before gathering his essentials- phone, wallet, house keys- and hurrying out of his room and down to the front door.

At least, he tries to.

“David, where are you going?”

David stops in his tracks and looks back to the voice- his mother, who is standing in the kitchen. He rubs the back of his neck. “I-... Jack needs me. He’s outside. He sounded shaken up about something, so…”

Esther frowns, and steps forward. “Is he alright?” She asks, concerned, but then she shakes her head. “No- it’s none of my business. Let him know he’s welcome inside, dear, and… Just- Just be back in time for school in the morning."

"Thank you, Ima," David says with a sad smile, before taking a deep breath and walking out the front door.

Just like Jack said, his truck is parked in the driveway. Jack himself had gotten out and is now leaning against the truck, his head down and his arms crossed and he looks so… so small . David walks a little faster.

He also notices, as he comes closer, that Jack is in unusual clothing for himself; David has only seen Jack in sweats and a hoodie a few other times in their six months of friendship, so seeing it now is… alarming. He's used to the cowboy getup; the boots, the jeans, the crisp button down and wide brim hat. But this, this is completely new territory. He nearly doesn't recognize him.

Nonetheless, David comes up to stand a few feet in front of him, biting his lip. "...Jackie?"

Jack doesn't look up. Instead, he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and his breath catches in his throat when it does so- he sounds like he's hurt, but he still doesn't take his gaze off of the ground before him. "Davey, I-- Just to clarify, we're still friends, and I ain't just- I ain't just dropping you, 'cause you're one of- one of the best friends I've ever had, but I- I can't… hang out with you in public anymore. And- And I know how bad that sounds, and I'm so sorry, I d-don't want to do this either, but--"

"What? Jack-- Jack, look at me," David cuts in, taking a few steps forward. That entire tangent is a lot to process. Jack can't see him anymore? He's never seen Jack like this; this is something new, something… scary. But Jack still refuses to look up.

David gulps, and continues moving until he's right in front of Jack, who in turn presses himself flat against the truck and winces . "Jackie," David whispers, then hesitantly brings his palm up to rest against Jack's cheek. Jack takes in a sharp breath at that, and then David gently guides Jack to tilt his head up, to look at David, and--

David’s eyes go wide. "Oh, my God , Jack…"

Jack shoots him a sad smile- but its not like he can smile very wide, with his busted lip and his black eye. They aren't exactly fresh wounds; Jack's lip is scabbed, and the coloration of his bruise says that it's at least a few days old… David gulps hard, covering his own mouth with his hand.

"I- I'm fine, really, just got into a scrape," Jack says with a forced chuckle, but David can see it- the pain, the sadness, the hurt- written all across his face. "I just- I've… been gettin' a lot of people askin' if I'm- if we're a thing, and they aren't- they aren't happy about it, and it- it would be best to lay low, 'cause I- I don't… I don’t know what else to do, and--"

"Who did this to you?" David asks, voice soft, as his hand- still on Jack’s face- tenderly moves from his jaw to his cheekbone. He doesn't mean to ignore Jack's comment, but… right now, this is more pressing than the judgement from the town. 

Jack takes a sharp intake and shakes his head. "I told ya, it- it's nothin', alright? I'm fine, and the face ain't even- ain't even all of it, s-so--"

"Not all of it?" David asks, taking a step back just to look down at Jack. "What else is hurt?"

"Dave--"

"No, Jack. Show me what happened."

And Jack is standing there, teetering on the edge of running away and letting Davey see, but he eventually takes a few quick breaths, furrows his brows, and slowly pulls off the hoodie.

And instantly, David’s blood runs cold.

Jack's sides are littered with bruises. Huge ones, right below his ribs- and right on his ribs, which makes David think there's a reason that Jack looks like it hurts to breathe. There's also a few scrapes on Jack’s skin, which have been scabbed over, and he looks… a mess.

Jack's shaking now, and as David glances up from Jack’s torso to his face, he sees tears welling in his eyes. "Jack…" David whispers, sad and desperate, and Jack shakes his head.

"I-I'm fine, Davey, I- I- I just-" A shallow sob rips from his throat, which seems to surprise him, because his eyes widen and he covers his mouth, as if he were trying to stop it. But David can see that he can't control it, not as the next sob wracks his body, and David watches helplessly as fear shrouds Jack’s features. Jack looks near frantic now, but the tears have begun spilling over, and there's no way of stopping them anytime soon.

Between one moment and the next, Jack is on his knees, one hand supporting his weight while the other covers his mouth. He's shaking so violently, eyes shut tightly as he whimpers and tries to control his breathing, and David feels his heart shattering in his chest for him. 

He drops to his knees in front of Jack, gulping. "Jack, I'm- I'm gonna touch you, alright?" He whispers, waiting a few moments, before he carefully and gently wraps an arm around Jack's torso. With barely any coaxing, Jack climbs into David’s lap and holds on for dear life; the sobs come harder now that his face is hidden within the crook of David’s neck, and they- along with the whimpers of pain, likely from his ribs- make David’s chest tighten.

"You're safe, you're okay," David whispers, as best he can, and focuses on gently rubbing Jack’s back. He shifts, moving from his knees to sit with his back against the truck, and Jack sinks further into his lap, fists balling the fabric of David’s hoodie.

This isn't fair. It's not fair at all, because David should have known the kind of backlash they'd be facing. David should have been able to see it coming; especially for Jack, the town's golden boy, the one that everyone loves, the last person they'd expect to disappoint the community. 

And here Jack sits, broken down by fists and harsh words for something that David encouraged.

Jack doesn’t deserve this.

They stay like this for what feels like an eternity, as Jack has his release and David is there to pick up the pieces. This is wildly new territory; David has never once seen Jack cry, aside from the night that he had to get stitches after Dolly kicked his thigh, but… even then, Jack was laughing through the pain.

David can easily see, though, that this is a different kind of pain.

It takes a long while, but Jack eventually begins to calm down. The sobs are few and far between, now; there are still aftershocks, but for the most part, Jack seems to have gotten it all out of his system. He doesn’t move, though; he's still in David’s lap, still catching his breath, still holding onto him… David just wants to hold him, protect him for hours, but Jack shifts and David loosens his hold.

As Jack sits up, David frowns seeing the tear tracks on his cheeks. It's like David can’t hold back; he reaches up and wipes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, and Jack sniffles. "I-I'm sorry," Jack whispers, shooting David a sad, desperate smile. "That's ne-never happened before."

His voice is a broken thing, high and desperate and choppy and fragile, and David can't help but frown. "It's alright, Jackie, you don’t… You don’t have to apologize for that. Ever . It's okay, you're okay."

Jack nods, not quite believing David's words, but he climbs out of David's lap anyway. He pulls his hoodie back on a moment later, then looks down at his lap. "...I shouldn’t've kissed you," Jack whispers, which makes David turn to face him.

That's all the confirmation David needs. "This happened because of the kiss," He mumbles, gesturing to Jack’s bruises. "Did- Did Snyder do it?"

Jack doesn't answer for a long time.

He looks spacey and out of it, staring up at the stars in the night sky, until he slowly shakes his head. "No," He whispers, hands clenching at his sides. "Not directly, at least. He… He told my dad, and he… Dad didn't take it too well, s-so…"

David’s heart drops to his stomach.

"You… your dad- he did this to you?" David asks, voice soft, and he shakes his head as Jack nods. "Jack, you-- You have to tell someone, he can't just get away with--"

"Who am I s'posed to tell, Davey?" Jack asks, defeated. "Everyone already knows my dad's a piece 'a shit, and no one's done shit about it. He- he ain't ever been good, Davey," Jack frowns, and shakes his wrist- something he does when he's anxious. "The cops don't care, the judge don't care, and he- he's been like this for years, Dave, slappin' me around, but- but… this is the first- the first time it's ever, uh, been… been this bad." Jack frowns. "He said he ain't gonna put up with his son bein'... bein' a fag. I told him to shut the fuck up, and he, uh, started in on me. I shouldn’t've provoked him."

David shuts his eyes and covers his mouth, shaking his head as Jack’s words sink in. He gets it now, why Jack doesn't want to be seen with him for a while; and though it hurts, David would move to the other side of the country in a heartbeat if it meant keeping Jack safe. 

"I… I am so sorry, Jack," David whispers, and reaches over to take Jack’s hand in his own. "None of this is your fault, and you don't- you don't deserve any of that, okay? Not at all. You… you know you don't have to put up with that, right? You- You can move out, come stay with us, and--"

"I ain't gonna put that burden on your folks, Dave," Jack whispers. "'Sides, I… I can't just leave the farm. I still have rodeos comin' up, and I gotta practice with Dolly, and- and it's almost calving season… My dad's too fuckin' drunk all the time to take care of shit like that. I have to stay."

David frowns, and rubs his forehead. Of course Jack wouldn't leave, he's far too stubborn for that, but… but at least the offer is there. "If you're sure," David murmurs, "but the offer still stands."

Jack nods and lets the silence stretch between them. Only for a few moments, though; soon, he squeezes David’s hand and turns to look at him. "Davey," Jack whispers, "I… I need you to promise something."

David looks into Jack’s eyes. "Anything," he whispers, the words heavy, but full of meaning.

Jack grins at David’s response, just softly, but his face falls as he glances away. "If you see my dad, run. Get the hell outta Dodge. Don't try to talk, don't try to give him shit for doing this, just- just run. I don't want somethin' to happen to you."

"Do you really think he'd come after me? Even if you stay away from me?" Davis asks, gulping. "You- you explained what happened, right? That you aren’t--"

"I tried, but I- I guess I wasn't convincing, so--"

"Convincing?" David asks, raising a brow. "You… had to convince him?"

"He tried 'beating the queer' out of me," Jack admits, and gulps harshly. "I- I guess it wasn't enough, 'cause I'm still…"

He trails off, but David picks up on the hint. "Oh, Jack…" He whispers, and looks away. "Are you--"

"I- I don't know yet," Jack sighs. "I… think I still like girls, and… and I ain't ever been with a guy, b-but… I just- I don't know, Davey, it's all t-too much."

David nods, and wraps an arm around Jack's shoulder. "It's okay not to know, alright? It… It was confusing for me too, at first. I'm right here if you ever want to talk about it, alright? I promise."

"Thank you," Jack whispers as moves closer, leaning into David’s embrace. He opens his mouth to speak again, but reluctantly shakes his head and rests against David’s chest in lieu of responding.

They sit there for a long while. The breeze has picked up- the grass sways, and the fields around the property and across the street seem to be teeming with life. David can hear livestock and insects all around them, but he chooses to focus on Jack’s breathing, on Jack’s soft sighs next to him.

Under different circumstances, David would love this. He would have loved holding Jack, and being so close to him, but now… Now all he wants to do is keep Jack safe and never let him leave his side.

David turns to look down at Jack, who has his eyes trained on the stars above. He watches him for a moment, before slowly nudging his arm. "Jack?"

"Hm?" Jack looks up at David, meeting his eyes.

"Stay the night."

Jack tilts his head, and raises a brow. "Davey, I--"

"Jack," David murmurs, frowning. "Please, just… stay. Let us take care of you."

Jack stares at him, just for a few moments, before slowly nodding. "...If you're sure," Jack says softly, and looks toward the house. "Your ma won't mind?"

David scoffs. "I think she likes you more than she likes me. She won't mind at all," He says with a grin, then stands up and holds a hand out to Jack. "They… They're gonna have questions, though."

"I know," Jack sighs as he stands, using David's hand, and he soon rubs his face. "I wanna- I wanna tell them, but… will they tell anyone else?"

"They might try," David admits, and rubs his arm. "They just wanna help. You can explain everything to them, just… just know that, no matter what, you'll be safe here with them. With us. Okay?"

"Okay," Jack murmurs, staring up at the house. With a sigh and a decisive nod, Jack takes David’s hand.

They walk hand in hand up to the house, up the front steps of the porch and to that heavy wooden door. They walk in, into the warmly-lit living room, into the warmth of the home, into the safest space in the entire town.

Jack looks at David and smiles. Mouths thank you, and turns to face Esther and Mayer.

All with David’s hand in his own.

[league-of-thots]

YeeHawks

Pairing: Hawks x female reader

Word Count: 3.3k+

Warnings: 18+, alcohol, riding, is cowboy kink a warning?

A/N: not the way y’all wanted me to return, but the way y’all deserve lol. i didnt really have the energy to give it an in depth edit but sometimes it be like that

         You wipe the sweat from your brow, the sun is high in the bright, cloudless sky. It means that the heat is just pouring down in waves from the sky though, and you curse the fact that you’d agreed to switch shifts with one of the other farmhands that had asked you the day before. Part of you wants to find Kirishima and reem him out, but you know he’s a sweetheart and wouldn’t have ever done something that would make things harder for you on purpose.

         Having said that, imagining giving the man a piece of your mind makes it easier for you to grit your teeth and put your back into heaving large packets of grains into a wheelbarrow for the pigs, so that you wouldn’t have to make as many trips. Instead, it would just be one hellish trip, and a lot less walking in the heat.

         Wiping the stray dirt on your pants you sigh. You feel sticky and can feel the grit on your face, on your arms. You must smell something fierce, though you know compared to the pigs you’d be feeding in a few minutes, you smelt like a bed of flowers.

         You feel the strain on your back as you finally finish loading the wheelbarrow and start to haul it over to the south side of the Academy farm. The ground is rough, and you feel the jarring of the weight in your shoulders, you’re going to be so sore tomorrow.

         After you finish feeding the pigs, you take the supplies back to where they belong and head off to start some of your final tasks of the day. One is milking the cows, and the other being your favourite, plowing some of the dirt to prepare for the new season.

         Is it a bit stupidly cliché that you love riding the big tractor while the sun lowers in the sky? Maybe. Is it worth it? Absolutely. It’s one of the best views you’ve seen in your life. Plus, it always helps clear your mind from a day of hard work so that when you enter one of the farmhouses, you’re ready to do whatever else you need to get done.

         When you park the tractor back to its spot in the barn, you see a few of the other farmhands talking together. They’re laughing with one another, and you wave to them as you walk out with your overcoat and keys.

         You’re in a daze until you realize you’ve somehow already started up a warm shower, standing under the steam to relieve your body from the stress of the day. Your muscles feel so much better with the hot water on them and the steam makes you feel as if you’re in stasis. It’s good because tomorrow is going to be a big day, the August festival, a celebration that the community holds as a sort of last hurrah before the season gets busy once again.

         After you’re clean and put together, you head downstairs to have a quick conversation with the couple other farmhands that share the house with you. You need to check if there’s anything else you need to do to help with the final preparations for tomorrow. The four of you had made some homebrew cider to share with the other townspeople, and it tasted quite good, despite being a little heavy on the alcohol. But nobody would be complaining about that, of course.

         “Mmm, I think its fine.” Mina says, faced scrunched up in thought. “We did pretty well with it for sure.”

         “I agree,” you reply. “Just wanted to make sure I could pass out for the night. I’m fucking dead.” She laughs a little at that.

         “Gotta make sure you have the energy for tomorrow. I hear that it’s going to be extra wild.” She waggles her eyebrows. “You know that there’s going to be a horse-ridin’ performance from our sheriff’s department, but there’s also gonna be some cowboys over here to show off some of their skills too.”

         You’re slightly intrigued at that. Maybe, you’ll even get to see him again… but, better not get your hopes up too much. Instead, you say, “That would definitely be a treat for all the hard work that this year’s been.”

         Mina nods sagely at that. “If I see that blonde, twink of a cowboy I’m goin’ to make him my bitch. Because I deserve it.” That brings a snort out of you, but you pray a little for Denki if you do see him tomorrow, because lord knows he’s going to need it.

         The two of you chat for a little while longer before you wish her a good night and head up to get some rest. You do have a busy day to get ready for after all.

           You wake up early the next day, ready to quickly get your tasks done so you can let loose with friends and community members that night. You wish that you don’t have to do any work, but you can’t have everything you want.

         So, you drag yourself out of bed, muscles tight and body sore, to quickly grab a protein bar and a cleaner pair of working clothes. Your overalls are starting to sport holes and there are some dark stains that just won’t ever come off. You need new ones, you think, as you walk towards the horse pen.

         You love the horses, how sweet most of them are and how peaceful it is in their separated area. It’s especially nice in the early morning, with a crisp breeze and the sun peeking out on the horizon. You grab the feed mix that someone had mixed the day before and drag it over to the troughs, where there are already some of the animals waiting for you to arrive. The horses have learned to expect people in the morning, and some of the more assertive ones wait at the fence to be the first ones to get to eat.

         While they feed, you prepare the cleaning tools inside the small stable that is connected to the fenced off pen. You take each horse that’s finished eating into the small shelter to clean their hooves, brush out their mane and body, and then your favourite part, riding them for a few laps of the enclosure to make sure they run a bit each day.

         It’s while you’re dismounting a cute mare named Starlight when you hear a low whistle from behind you. Someone’s obviously been watching you, and sitting there just outside the enclosure.

“Damn, baby, wonder if you could ride me as good as those horses there.” You feel a vein ticking in your head as you recognize the voice. He’s supposed to be getting ready for the group event, not bothering you while you try to get some fucking work done before you can finally relax and celebrate.

         You turn your body and inwardly groan as your suspicions are confirmed, sitting there waiting is a certain cowboy who’s always managed to piss you off greatly every time one of his short visits brings him to the UA farms.

         “Hello, Hawks.” You grit your teeth as you move towards the next horse that you’re about to take care of.

         “I’m wounded, really, that you don’t sound pleased ta see me, angel.” There’s a satisfied smirk on his face. He really does get off on toying around with you and seeing how much he can piss you off. So, you take a deep breath and calm yourself.

         “Now, why would you expect anything different? I haven’t forgotten the last time you came aroun’-“

         He waves you off. “You’re bein’ ridiculous. It was a harmless joke.”

         “I had to clean the stables for TWO WEEKS.” He just laughs at your anger, totally unphased. It grinds your gears more, the cheeky grin on his face that charms everyone around him, whittling down your intense irritation.

         “Well, if anythin’ everyone else certainly enjoyed it.” You grumble out some choice words about him, making sure they’re loud enough for him to here, as you start brushing out the mane of the mare in front of you. He seems pleased with himself, leaning on the fence, head on his hands.

         “Do you not have somewhere to be? Something you should be practicing for?” He lazily waves away your attempts to get him away from the work you’d like to finish up.

         “Who needs practice? I know exactly what I’ve gotta do so there’s no real reason for me to waste my energy before the actual performance.” He says it with a casual arrogance, that you know comes from years of experience and absolute confidence in his abilities. “The only thing I wanna do right now is try all of the good I know y’all made for the party tonight.”

         You give him an unimpressed look. “Just because we know each other does not mean that I’m going to just give you the cider meant for the community.” He pouts “You can try it when everyone else does later.”

         “Yeah, but we have a special connection.” He grins and you splutter, embarrassed and trying to put away the memories of your bodies pressed together and calloused fingers in your cunt.

         “Jesus, Hawks. Shut up.” You look around furtively, checking to see if anyone would’ve overheard.

         “You like me loud.” God, his smug look makes you feel hot and bothered.

         “Get outta here so I can finish my work, damn it.” He just laughs, turning around before turning back.

         “You better save me some of the goodies y’all made up for after the performance.”

         “Yeah, whatever,” you grumble, face flushed and mind now distracted with memories of Hawks’ hands tangled in your hair.

           “Well, now. This is delicious.” Your eyes follow his tongue that darts out to lick the drop of the cider that had dripped onto his lips. You’d made sure to fill a plate up with the treats that had been spread around the outdoor tables, lanterns hung up around them not only for ease of finding them, but also to light up the evening. “You helped make this?”

         “Yup. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it was between never having done it before and Mina’s enthusiasm. God bless Momo, without her we wouldn’t have gotten it done.” He laughs, and you can’t help that you can’t keep your eyes off of him.

         He was slightly sweaty from his earlier performance, which had been perfectly executed, tank top tucked into worn jeans with a feather-like buckle. His eyes are scanning the crowd around as the two of you lean on the outside of the saloon, the inside being too filled with inebriated or high adults to even try to squeeze into a seat.

         “So, how’s life been around here since I last visited?” he asks between bites of some spicey brisket, obviously enjoying it.

         “Ah, not much. Just the usual social drama. Actually, Shinsou almost got his dick sliced off by some machinery someone had fucked around with. I swear to god that man has the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

         “Holy shit, sure does sound like it.”

         “But yeah, it’s just living day to day for me now. Not much new happens out here, as you very well know.” He shrugs.

         “Might as well see. What’s even keeping you here, then?”

         “Not everyone needs to be on the road their whole life to be happy, Hawks.”

         “I suppose. More cider?”

         “Sure.”

           You’ve drank way too much, you know that. But the fuzziness in your head just makes you want to keep going, to have fun and make up for all the time you lose working long hours every day.

         Besides, Hawks is there beside you, egging you on and matching you drink for drink. His hands always seem to be on your body, either squeezing your ass, wrapped around your shoulders or waist. It makes you feel warm, and you know he’s teasing you, trying to rile you up. He wants to see how bothered he can make you before you snap and drag him off to some private place.

         You’re determined to beat him out though. So, you lean into his body space and trace your hands over his arms, the insides of his wrists. You hear his breath hitch, though his attention is kept on whatever conversation is happening in front of you.

         Of course, this is Hawks, who has just as much patience as a saint, despite being as far from one as possible. But you’re drunk and turned on and the teasing is too much for you to handle, so when there’s a brief pause in the activity around the two of you, you pull him down so you can whisper in his ear how much you want him.

         He grins, “Might as well head back to your place then.” You agree and drag him with you.

         The moment you’re in the house, you wrap your arms around his neck so you can bring his lips to yours. Its messy and rushed, but it’s relieving at the same time. The two of you have done this enough in the few times that he passes through that he’s comfortable enough to let you take charge for a bit.

         “You can’t even wait ‘til we’re upstairs, sugar?” he chuckles, drawing out each word. You feel the rumble of them, pressed up as you are against his chest.

         “Shut up, Hawks.” You grumble, pulling him towards your room if that’s what it’ll take to get his dick out faster.

         After rushing in the room, you kick the door shut behind you and immediately get back to kissing him. This time, he makes more of an effort to assert himself, holding your face in his hands and licking into your mouth. You sigh into him, your hands finding his heated skin beneath his shirt as the pace slows down from the frantic rush it had been. It becomes sensual, and you can feel him getting more aroused as he slowly shifts his hands, starting to grind into you.

         You pull away from him, getting some air as you start to take off his shirt. He enthusiastically moves to help and you get to admire his muscles stretch as he does. Obviously, life constantly on the road does wonders for your abs.

         “You too, sugar. You’re gonna make me feel underdressed.” He says as he moves to take off the rest of his garments. A laugh slips out of you as you hastily get out of your outfit. When you turn your attention back to him, he’s sitting on the bed and he gestures for you to join him.

         When you do, he kisses you again, intensely, as he guides you onto your back. You sigh as he kisses down the side of your jaw to mark your neck, reaching blindly for the lube and condoms beside the bed.

         He quickly slides it on and you hear the squelching of lube as he moves in a rush. You don’t have time to make fun of him though, because as soon as he’s finished, he spreads your legs and puts the head of his dick at your entrance.

         He groans, closing his eyes as he enters you, and its uncomfortable for a little bit. Soon enough though, you relax, and start to feel great as he moves his hips slowly against you. Hawks fucks deeply, you know this from your times before, but each time it feels just as tantalizing as the last.

         “Hawks, please.” You pant, trying to wiggle a little bit just to get some friction, some tiny relief for the edging you’ve been through. He just gives you a smirk, as he keeps you completely locked between him and the mattress. You tense so hard he groans on top of you, but he doesn’t let you move, dick still sitting snug inside your cunt.

         “Well, let’s see those barebacking skills you were showin’ off earlier then, hmm?” he says, his voice low and gruff. With ease, he gets the both of you turned around so you’re now sitting with your ass on his thighs, hands clamped tight on your waist keeping you in place while he lays back on the headboard. He nods satisfactorily, looking you up and down with lidded eyes. “Y’know, I like this view much better, baby. What a pretty picture you make right on top of me.” Part of you wants to roll your eyes, but the warmth that his words give you makes the impulse disappear.

         “You know, Hawks, in order for me to show you said skills, you’re going to have to let me move.” He laughs as you try and lift yourself against the pressure he’s putting, obviously unable to really do anything. “Seriously, you dick, lemme move.”

         “But the face you make when I play these little games with you is so cute, sugar.” He’s got a faux innocent smile across his face and you pout and cross your arms in response. “Okay, okay, I’m done. I promise,” he says, letting off all the pressure, but keeping the two of you connected at the hips.

         “Thank you.” you quip, starting a quicker pace than the one Hawks had been setting, gravity still making it just as deep as before.

         Being drunk obviously makes Hawks that much louder, or maybe it’s the change up in position, you can’t be sure. But, his praises, his deep moans, the lewd noises from the slapping of your body against his hips, it all makes you feel hot as hell.

         You look down, seeing Hawks’ eyes widened and excited, he grins when he notices your look and begins to rock up into you. You throw your head back in as he hits deep within you, crying out his name. Hearing it obviously enthuses him as he grunts in exertion, starting to thrust upwards harder, and you feel your body responding, muscles tightening as you get closer to your climax.

         “God, you’re gorgeous like this, y’know?” he gets out through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to be able to last much longer…” He’s panting, fingers digging into your hips sharply, sure to leave marks.

         “Please, I wanna cum Hawks!”

         “Tell me what you need, sugar, I’ll give it to you.” Hearing that makes you smile, he was always so attentive to your needs.

         “Touch me…”

         “You gotta tell me where for that.” Even when so close to his climax, somehow, Hawks manages to be cheeky. However, when he’s fucking you this well, it’s much easier to let the teasing roll off your back.

         “My clit, Hawks. You do know what that is, right?” He lets out a genuine laugh at that, before sending one hand down towards the bundle of nerves.

         It’s enough, between the stimulation and the deep thrusts into your cunt, that you feel yourself tighten and cry out, cumming hard onto his cock. You lean into him, kissing him hard as pleasure courses through your body.

         He works you through it, breathing heavily, you can feel his pulse skittering under your hands. You feel him twitch within you, and an idea forms in your mind. Mind wrapped up in pleasure, you act on the thought immediately, bringing your hands to his chest to play with his nipples.

         He loves it, making keening noises as you work, legs shaking with effort to stay up and keep pace with him. You let him take the lead and you hear him shout and arch up as you pinch his buds, feeling him release.

         He thrusts a couple more times, lazily and slowly, kissing the top of your head as you settle down to lie on his chest for a few minutes.

         You breath deeply, content in the moment. You know after you clean up and rest, he’ll be gone on the road once again, so you relax, enjoying the presence.

[airyairyaucontraire]

Five episodes into Camp Cretaceous and I can report:

- they ARE acknowledging the "people get eaten" aspect, the kids actually witnessed a couple of adults who were trying to warn them to take shelter being munched by Indominus rex (also found someone dead in an overturned jeep) - no deaths or bodies are visible onscreen but the kids' shocked reactions imply them.

- I now know "Texas"'s name is Sammy, well done me, and she has ditched the black jacket for a much more suitable summery halter top, although she is wearing it with indigo jeans and cowboy boots. She is also a spy who has been taking stolen information and samples to a drone that leaves the island at night, and since she realised Brooklynn accidentally filmed her taking a swab from a friendly dinosaur in the background of one of her videos, she stole the phone while it was charging, wasn't able to put it back with the video wiped before Brooklynn noticed it was gone, had to lie and say she didn't know where it was, Brooklynn is pissed as hell (people keep borrowing her phone because she's the only one who was allowed to keep hers at camp, since the whole point of her being there is to promote the resort with exclusive vlogs), and now the phone (which Sammy was carrying in her jeans pocket) got broken in a fall (nobody else knows yet, Sammy is still hiding it). Brooklynn is absolutely right to suspect Sammy but Yasmina, who only just made friends with Sammy, is already ride or die and defends her fiercely. Presidential Alert THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGG

- can I say how much I appreciate that the girls are fighting over a stolen phone and whether Sammy is engaged in THEME PARK ESPIONAGE, not over something boring like a boy

- I am not suggesting all boys are automatically boring, but fighting over them definitely is

- Also Yasmina does love dinosaurs, she has a sketchbook full of them, I'm glad somebody other than Darius is Here For The Right Reasons. Unclear how she got a golden ticket or, still, why poor Ben is there at all (but his crayon drawing of himself playing chess with a friendly ankylosaurus was very sweet - he just seemed scared of dinosaurs until he got to see a wee anky hatching from its egg at Dr Wu's lab and promptly adored it).

- Contrary to the usual cartoon tendency, even in very detailed CG cartoons like this, for characters' appearance to be fixed on model with changes rare (I remember bitching about this in the Trollhunters/Arcadia series, particularly the way the kids sleep in their school PE uniforms because apparently the asset design budget did not run to designing pyjamas! and when everyone goes to Aja and Krel's house during summer vacation they sit around the swimming pool fully dressed and no one swims because they have not been designed swimsuits!), not only have characters changed outfits since arriving at camp, there's real attention going into how their clothes and hair become more dirty and dishevelled as the peril goes on, eg Yasmina's top has popped a shoulder seam, everyone has spatters of mud and dust on their clothes, Sammy's bobbed hair looks bedraggled and sweaty and Yas and Brooklynn's longer hair is pulling out of their ponytail and bun respectively, while Darius' curls are looking increasingly frizzy. Kenji's hair is holding up remarkably well, I suspect it is rock hard with gel. I love hair details.

- Kenji just showed leadership by declaring himself The Leader, and then as leader, telling everyone to listen to Darius because he knows what he's doing.

- Weird detail: perhaps for the benefit of international dubbing, all the on-screen text with a few exceptions like the park logo and the word "RESTRICTED" on a door in the lab (Brooklynn gets caught snooping, apparently not having considered that posting video of top secret R&D is not the kind of exclusive content the park wants her to share, and claims she thought the sign said "restroom") - whew, where was I? All the on-screen text is squiggles/not any language I recognise, a bit like the writing in Pokémon world:

[babbysquid]

Not A Whiskey Drinker Pt. 5

Author’s Note: Okay I’m having so much fun writing this and I think this is my favorite chapter so far. I’m still looking for a beta reader/someone to bounce ideas off of btw!

Warnings: some sexual tension, anxiety, more suggestive comments from Whiskey

Word Count: 2,836 (these chapters just keep getting longer oops)

Not A Whiskey Drinker Masterlist

------------

As you stood in front of your closet you contemplated what to pack. The two of you were going to be away for a week but Whiskey never bothered to tell you what to bring or what the two of you would be doing. You assumed it would be some sort of training but everything you knew about secret agent training was from Bond movies. You decided on some workout clothes, a pair of jeans that were comfortable but you could still move in, random shirt, sports bra, and a thick jacket. Last minute you added a standard work outfit and a cute dress just in case. Your packing was interrupted by your phone ringing.

“Hey Parker.” you said, answering the call and pressing the speaker button so you could continue with your packing.

“What’re you doing this coming Friday? My parents are coming to visit and they miss you!”

“Oh I have to go on a work trip with Whiskey.”

“So you guys have nicknames for each other now huh?”

“It seems to be a rite of passage to have an alcohol related nickname at this company.”

“Is it also a rite of passage to go on a work trip with you boss?”

“Parker it’s not like that. He just needs me to trail him during some normal meetings. It’s the same thing as here but just at the Kentucky branch.” you recited the coverup that Whiskey had told you.

“Ugh I swear to god if you don’t make a move on this man I will.”

“I don’t know how your boyfriend would feel about that.”

“You know I’m joking. Just stay safe hm?” Parker said, without realizing how accurate her words were. You definitely took into account the possibility of coming back to the city with a couple new bruises.

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

------------

Your anxiety for the rest of the weekend was higher than you wanted considering you had no idea what to expect to happen on the trip. It didn’t help that you hated flying. Hopefully you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself in public. But considering it was Monday morning at 5:30 and you were making your way to Whiskey’s apartment you really didn’t have time to focus on your phobia.

You knew that Whiskey would have to live in a fancy building considering the part of the city he lived in, but stopping in front of one of the nicest brownstones you had ever seen was still a shock. Putting your bag down you pressed the doorbell and waited. Swinging open the door there stood Whiskey.

“Ready darlin’?”

“As ready as I can be I suppose.”

After hailing a cab and starting the drive to the airport the two of you sat in silence. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel awkward. You welcomed the comfortable quiet considering it was still early. Eventually the cab pulled up to the airport and the two of you made your way through security. It wasn’t until you were sitting at your gate that your anxiety started to bubble up again, your leg bouncing. Suddenly a warm hand was place on  top of your thigh, stopping your anxious tic.

“Nervous?”

“I have a fear of flying.” you said quietly, not looking at Whiskey.

“Don’t worry darlin’ I’ll be here the whole time. You can hold my hand if you need.” said Whiskey in a calming voice. You were surprised he wasn’t being flirty about it. Hearing this comforted you. Whiskey didn’t remove his hand from your thigh til you had to board the plane.

You sat down in your seat and took a deep breath as the flight attendant starting going through the safety procedures, the plane rumbling as it made its way down the tarmac. Closing your eyes you braced yourself for takeoff. You were pretty much okay during flights minus takeoff, landing, and turbulence. Whiskey noticed your hand firmly gripping the arm rest and reached over to grab it. He gave your hand a quick squeeze. You welcomed the gesture, knowing he was doing it out of kindness.

“I’m right here darlin’. You can squeeze my hand as tight as you need.”

Overall the flight was pretty smooth, only hitting turbulence once or twice. Even though the flight wasn’t as bad as you were expecting, you never let go of Whiskey’s hand.

“You did it.” said Whiskey, smiling at you once the plane landed.

The old lady who shared the trio of seats with you two leaned over.

“You two make an adorable couple.” she said. “Reminds me of my youth.”

You couldn’t help the blush that crept up your neck. You corrected her, but as Whiskey stood up to grab his bag from the overhead container she leaned in close. 

“With the way that man looks at you he sure as hell wants more with you than whatever your current relationship is.”

Grabbing your bags the two of you made your way out the airport. Outside stood a man, also in a cowboy hat, that you recognized from the meeting Whiskey had you sit in on.

“Tequila.” he said, stretching out his hand.

“Y/N. Nice to meet you.” you said, taking his hand and giving it a shake.

“Oh the pleasure is all mine.” as he gave a wink.

Whiskey gave Tequila a firm pat on the back and put your bags into the back of the car and off you were to Statesman Brewery, Kentucky location. You were staring out the window, you had never been to Kentucky before. Sure it didn’t have as much to look at as New York, but you were still interested nonetheless.

“So Y/N,” said Tequila, looking at you through the rearview mirror. “I heard you’re stuck with this old man.”

“Yeah well this old man still has some moves.”

“Is every agent here a caricature of a cowboy?” you said, meeting Tequila’s gaze in the mirror.

“I have a feeling you’ll fit right in.” Tequila flashed you a bright smile.

The rest of the car ride was filled with Tequila and Whiskey chatting and catching up. You occasionally chimed in to make a snarky comment at Whiskey’s expense, Tequila consistently laughing at your remarks.

“I am not an old man Tequila! I still got it.”

“Well how old are you?” you asked.

Whiskey coughed and mumble some number in the late 30s/early 40s.

“And when did you last get it?” said Tequila.

You laughed loudly at Tequila’s joke. He seemed to have the same penchant for taking the piss at Whiskey. Whiskey looked at you through the rearview mirror, your eyes were shut tight, mouth open with the most beautiful laughter coming from it. Sure he’d heard you laugh before, but never this deeply. He’d suffer through thousands of Tequila’s insults just to hear you laugh like that again.

The car stopped and you got out, looking up at the building in front of you.

“A whiskey bottle? Really?”

“Come on, I’ll show you to where you’ll be staying.” said Tequila, motioning for you to follow him. Grabbing your bag you trailed Tequila to a cellar filled with barrels.

“I hope I’m not staying here.” Tequila just smiled and revealed a secret door. Below the cellar was the most high tech space you had ever seen. Everything was white and silver — it looked like a scene out of a sci-fi movie.

“This is where you’re staying.”

Tequila walked down the halls, smirking at the way you ogled at your surroundings. Making a sharp turn the two of you stopped at a door. Opening the door you were greeted by a simple room that had the same color scheme as the rest of the building. It was sleek and modern and felt like the nicest hotel room you had ever stayed in. Placing your bag on the floor you padded over to the bed and experimentally pushed the mattress with your hands. It felt expensive.

“Like the place?” came the drawl that you recognized as Whiskey’s. You had to admit that Tequila’s accent was attractive, but it was nothing compared to Whiskey’s deep baritone.

“Come on it’s time to meet Champ.”

Swallowing you followed Whiskey and Tequila out of the secret doors and into the main building to the top floor. It felt like deja vu. The three of you reached a set of wooden double doors. Inside was a nice boardroom that reminded you of the one in New York, but nicer, if that was even possible. At the head of the table sat an older man in a brown cowboy hat who you could only assume was Champagne.

“So this is the new recruit eh?” said Champagne, standing and striding over to shake your hand.

“Thank you for considering me Mr. Champagne.” you said, grabbing his hand and giving it a firm shake.

“Oh just call me Champ. Come sit, we have some information to discuss. Whiskey, Tequila, if you could give the two of us some privacy.” he said, waving his hand to dismiss the men.

As the doors closed behind Whiskey and Tequila, the younger man spun around.

“She’s somethin’ else Whiskey.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“If you don’t make a move I will.” replied Tequila, leading against the wall with a glint in his eyes, eyebrows raising. Whiskey’s jaw tightened, his hands making tight fists. “Wish I was training her.”

Whiskey rolled his eyes at the remark and waited outside the boardroom for you to finish with Champ. Fifteen minutes later the door opened to reveal Champ, a wide smile on his face.

“Ah, Whiskey you’re still here, perfect. Come on in.”

Whiskey followed him and sat down in the chair across from you. Taking a seat with a grunt Champ turned to Whiskey.

“I have to admit while I was originally… apprehensive about your suggestion to have her as an agent she surprised me.” you smiled at the compliment. “She’s quite the charmer, a spitfire too.”

“Don’t I know it.” muttered Whiskey.

“While I do like you quite a bit,” Champ said, turning to face you. “I’ll still have to see how you are in action. You start training with Whiskey tomorrow. 6am sharp.”

You swallowed. You were not an early riser and the thought of having to do what was most likely going to be the toughest workout of your life at such an early time created a pit in your stomach. It was in this moment that you realized this was real.

“Come on darlin’. I gotta show off a bit before we see what you’re made of tomorrow.”

You and Whiskey left the boardroom, you gave Champ and small wave and he smiled back.

“I like Champ a lot, reminds me of my grandpa.”

“Champs a good guy. Bit stubborn, but you’re no stranger to that concept.”

“Shut up.” you said, giving Whiskey a little shove.

Whiskey and you returned to the secret entrance and walked through the underground offices. You were met with a room the size of a basketball court that had a huge window so you could see inside from the hallway. Walking inside Whiskey positioned you at one end of the room and made his way to the other end.

“Now I want you to stay right here.”

Opening one of the lockers that resided in the sparring room he grabbed his training lasso. Sauntering back to his original spot his hands tingled and he wiggled his fingers. He always got a surge of excitement when the opportunity to use his lasso and whip arose. Slowly he started to spin the rope, a circle forming. The rope circle rose as it spun and in a flash the rope was around your mid section. With a sharp pull you were dragged towards Whiskey, luckily he caught you before you could fall forward, your hands stuck in the rope. Whiskey smirked.

“Deja vu darlin’.” He pulled the rope over you head and you were freed.

“Wow.”

“I’m quite handy with a rope. Now,” he took off his Stetson, placing it on your head. It was a little big on you and you had to tip it back slightly so it didn’t block your vision. “I want you to go back to your spot and don’t move.” Whiskey’s eyes darkened with the serious tone. You swallowed and nodded your head, unsure of what was about to happen.

Once again his hands started to tingle. As much as he enjoyed his lasso, his whip is where his love truly resided. Cracking his neck he grabbed the hand attached to his hip and quickly released the rope that was positioned snug inside the mechanism.

The whip cracked loudly and your eyes widened. Whiskey smirked at your response, the usual reaction to people seeing him use his weapon for the first time. Raising his eyebrows he cracked the whip once again. You felt a whoosh of air next to your face, the crack sounding loud in your ear and suddenly the hat he had placed on your head was laying on the floor next to you. Your jaw dropped. You weren’t going to tell Whiskey, but there was a warmth that spread to your abdomen. He was hot. Whiskey just smiled and walked over to pick up his hat, placing it back on his head.

“Tomorrow, here, 6am just as Champ said.” the sound of Whiskey’s voice broke your trance. “We’ll do some simple sparring and see how you fare.”

------------

You groaned at the sound of your alarm clock stirring you from your sleep. You dreamt of whips and cowboy and the distinct smell of Whiskey and something you couldn’t quite place. Pushing the button to stop the blaring of your phone you glanced down.

5am.

Sighing you pulled on a pair of leggings, your sports bra, and a tight shirt that wouldn’t get in the way of your movement. Making your way to the small cafeteria that was housed near your room you made yourself some breakfast and of course, a cup of tea. At 5:50 you made your way to the sparring room, mentally prepping yourself for whatever Whiskey had in store.

You were greeted by the backside of Whiskey. You were surprised by his appearance. Instead of jeans or a suit he was wearing some shorts and a tight t shirt, cowboy boots replaced by sneakers and hat nowhere to be seen. Whiskey could feel your eyes searing into the back of his head. Spinning around he greeted you with a smile.

“See something you like?”

“Sorry,” you coughed. “I guess I was just expecting the standard get up from you.”

Whiskey just shrugged and before you knew it you were on your back, the wind knocked out of you.

“Whiskey what the fuck.”

“Gotta be prepared darlin’.”

Taking a deep breath you stood back up and rushed the man. The two of you grappled for a bit. Admittedly, Whiskey wasn’t expecting you to stay upright as long as you had, but once again he gained the upper hand and knocked you down. You came face to face with Whiskey, his weight pushing into you. You narrowed your eyes and quickly flipped Whiskey on his back, straddling him and pinning his arms. His eyes widened, a surge of arousal running through his body.

“Got ya.” you said with a proud smile.

The next few hours were spent with more sparring. Whiskey teaching you proper form, how to sweep your opponent’s legs, and some boxing moves. Of course you took a break for lunch and several pauses for water. Around 4pm you were exhausted, a sheen of sweat covering your body. Without thinking you pulled off your shirt to use it as a towel, exposing your sports bra underneath.

“Didn’t know I was gonna get a show.” said Whiskey. You threw your shirt at his face.

“You’ve seen me in less. Shut up.”

Whiskey chuckled, remembering the sight of you wrapped in a towel and he tossed the shirt back to you.

“Well it seems like we’re done for the day. Same time tomorrow, same thing.”

------------

The next couple days were spent the same way. You met Whiskey in the sparring room at 6am, grappled for a bit, took a lunch break, did some more practice, and ended around 4. You groaned at the end of today’s practice. Your shoulder feeling sore from a punch Whiskey threw.

“Same thing tomorrow?” you asked, rotating your arm trying to loosen your arm up.

“We’ll meet at 9,” you furrowed your brow, confused by the added three hours. “pm.”

“I’m sorry what?”

“We’re starting a new lesson.”

“At 6pm?” You shook your head. “I don’t follow, why would we spar that late in the day?”

“Not sparring sugar, seduction.” you shivered at the way the word rolled off his tongue.

“What?”

“Fighting isn’t the only way to get information. You’ll meet me at the bar tomorrow and you’ll try to get information out of me using your feminine charm.”

You blinked, shocked by Whiskey’s words.

“See you then. And remember: I’m not Whiskey tomorrow, just another adversary.”

And with that Whiskey left you standing in the middle of the room, mouth wide open.

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