#Rodeo fic

[ripperdoc-is-daddy]

She wins her own buckles

Reader is black coded and AFAB.

It's your first barrel race and you are nervous af. Inspo was me reminiscing back when I used to do western riding events. Heavy on the Western Horse world terminology. Mare slander abound. Geldings FTW. MHA/BNHA gang are support af. No pairings but if you can ship it if you want. It's written for you to interpret that aspect yourself. Fluff!

You were nervous. Today was the day all that training and work was gonna finally gonna come to fruition. You were competing in your first barrel race. You were in the open Adults (18-34) category and there were quite a few entrants. You would estimate that there were around 25 people including yourself who had all registered to run. The excitement of the competition was starting to make you nervous and you were gnawing on your bottom lip.  

A harsh jostling under you and between your thighs breaks your thoughts. Looking down you frown at your Grulla tovero mare and smack her thick neck. “Aiight. That was a dick move. How about we just not?” you speak to your steed knowing she doesn’t care. Mares never did. Rolling your eyes you look around for your trainer to hurry up and arrive.   

You had driven here 2 days ago with your mare and both of y’alls equipment. Your 4-horse Gooseneck trailer with quarters was a better ride and more comfortable for the horses than his 2-horse bumper pull. Plus, it had AC and the horses could lounge inside out of the heat. Drinking filtered water and munching that good, good, Alfalfa hay to make them nice and hot. Your trainer would show up the next day and help you prep.   

  

Well, that had been the plan. Clearly, that isn’t what went down since it was just you here. By yourself. Taking care of 3 horses and getting all the gear sets up and organized. Shaking your head, you bite your lip and glare at nowhere in particular. You were going to give him a verbal ass reaming when you saw him. He didn’t even have the decency to call and let you know what the fuck was going on. Well, he might have. You tilted your head off to the side and scrunched up your nose when you remember the signal here was spotty at best. He still could have called one of the other riders you both knew or even the organizers to relay the message to you, so he wasn’t off the hook!   

  

Righting yourself, you nod your head. Satisfied with your logic that said he was def in the wrong. Your mare begins to paw at the dirt impatiently. You cluck at her and she stops with a snort and neck bounce. Shaking your head, you begin to whisper self-affirmations inside your head that will reassure you that you will do great! You will score 2-D and bring home some cash so you can brag to a certain someone that he isn’t the only one who can make money racing.  

A woman with a long blonde braided ponytail is fast walking towards you with a clipboard and some dark shades on. Her skin is a beautiful warm umber color and she carries herself with a sense of authority and command. She stops when she is next to you, gives your horse a quick rub on the neck before her focus settles on you. “You’re up after this run. Gate 2. Stay behind the line and don’t move up until you are told to. Good luck.” She nods at you and you return it. She turns away and you nudge your mare forward with a shift of your body weight.   

As you ride forward to your gate you catch sight of the current race going on for the Men’s Division and wince. The runner had a horse who dropped its shoulder. That was bad form. He was all up in that poor thing's mouth too. Busy hands. It looked like a hot fuckin’ mess. Shaking your head, you nudge with your heels on your mount’s barrel and she begins to trot forward. The aisle is clear so you aren’t too worried about being reprimanded for bad etiquette. Besides, you both had nerves to work out. It’s all good.   

  

You bring your mare to a complete halt after you arrive at your gate and line up. You were happy all the work you put into this paint mare was worth it. She was a registered, 16hh Grulla Tobiano out of a dam and sire you had been in love with. She was pedigreed out the ass with amazing extension and the most beautiful engine you had ever seen on a horse since her Great Great Grand Dam. Densely muscled but testing negative for HYPP and Lethal White she was also a breeder's dream. Hopefully, this would be the beginning of a lustrous career that would set her up for a successful breeding career afterwards. She clocked high and was fully grown and matured at 4 years old. Sure, she was older than most of the 2-year-olds here but she would outperform the vast majority of them. You knew it. Now you had to do it.   

“What are you smilin’ like that for? You look creepy smilin’ to yourself like that.” A brash and deep voice breaks you out of your musings. “Mmm. Oh, look. You FINALLY decided to show up. Good for you. I’m about to run now soooo, you can go. I grained your horses as well. You’re welcome.” you snap back letting annoyance bleed into your tone of voice.   

  

“Yeah, yeah. I had some shit to do back home before I headed out. I thought I sent you a text about it but I guess it never sent out. Thanks for taking care of my idiots. Now stop being an idiot and get out of your head. You haven’t won shit.” Your head whips around so fast you feel the bones snap in a somewhat pleasant way though it sounds alarming as hell. “What the he-ARE YOU OK?” his voice gets louder as he inquires on your status after hearing that. Your mare snorts and begins to nod her head rudely over and over while pulling at the reins.   

Both of you chastise her and she turns her head to rudely bump your trainer in the chest. He grabs her chin and pulls her closer then scratches between her ears. “You haven’t lost shit either. Go in with a clear mind. Remember she reflects you. If you are shit for brains then she is gonna run for shit.” he scolds you while cooing at your mare and telling the traitor that she is the most beautiful and important woman in his life.   

Rolling your eyes, you tap your mare’s neck with the reins lightly and face both your heads forward. “Yeah, yeah. I got it, Bakugou,” you grumble, adjusting the Black Swarovski crystal-studded, 20x Beaver Felt hat with an Ostrich leather hat band that had cowrie shells around it. You hear an approving grunt in your trainer's direction so you sit up a little straighter in your seat. Thankful that your saddle was broken in so nicely. He “tch’s” and flips you off. “Bakugou, is it now?”  

  

Warm hands lightly pat your leg and you lift your black base with turquoise and red feather-stitched ARIATs out of your stirrups while the blonde owner of the hands begins to shorten your stirrups a bit more. “You need a proper seat. You had um too long. Leave them here for now. Any higher and you’ll be a jockey.” He says in jest though part of what he said you know is the truth. You look over at his tall frame, making contact with his Sanguine colored eyes. “Worried?” you question him. “Nah, I believe in her.” He kisses your mare’s neck and brings her head down for another smooch just above her brow bone. “You got a medicine hat. You’ll both do amazing.” Two more pats to her neck and he 2 finger salutes you.   

  

A cough on your other side breaks your attention away from your current conversation. Katsuki continues to check your gear and double-check your girth. Smacking your mare’s gut when she refuses to let out. She does with a loud fart and a rumble in her chest. The blond shakes his head and readjusts the girth one more time.   

“Move to the gate, please. You’re up.” Another somewhat shorter blonde winks at you from underneath a bright red rabbit-felt hat. It had matching red feathers on the browband and a single bright topaz concho affixed to it. “Thank you kindly.” You say as mockingly polite as you can. Trying to hold in the snickers. “Go away Hawks. She needs to focus. Why do people call you that?” Bakugou complains loudly as she places a hand on your mare’s rump and moves behind you both to cross the aisle.   

  

“Later boys!” you call out behind you as you nudge your mount forward. “Later. DO YOUR BEST!” Hawks calls out after you, breaking from his conversation with Bakugou. “Kill ‘em all!” Bakugou yells slightly louder earning him a few wary stares. You chuckle to yourself and steel your mind. Your moment was about to happen and you were going to prove that you were gonna be one of the best.  

  

The aisle is cleared and you see the attendants hop up over the corrugated steel gates. On either side. You are instructed to go forward to the starting line. You take a deep breath and clear your mind. Focusing on the beat of the music and calming yourself. Heart rate slowing and the sound of the crowd was drowned out the by words of the music.  You didn’t need to completely tune out everything.  

  

You hear y/n with your mare’s registered name along with nickname announced. Sucking in one last breath you let all the tension leave your body. Right now, was your time to shine.   

  

And shine you did. As soon as the signal to go went off, your mare shot out them gates like a bat out of hell! You made your way to the first barrel. Hugging it so tight it looked like your black, boot-cut ARIAT jeans were gonna touch the barrel but they didn’t. You and that mare were in perfect sync as you came around to the second barrel. Your hat is still firmly affixed to your head via bobby pin magic. Your 2B Senegalese twists were blowing black behind you as you came around the side and continued the pattern to loop the last barrel. After this, it was the straight shot.   

All those close turns shaved your time down but what you really needed was your mare to let go in this final stretch and secure y’alls win. Rounding the final barrel you kick your mare a few times and urge her to go all out and out all she does. The two of you are blazing down the center. You atop your lightning-fast steed, lookin’ like a force of nature. Running through the exit you use the lane to slow your horse down and bring her into a circle at the end to slow her down into a trot and then a walk until you can finally stop.  

You fan yourself several times and grab the collar of your black and turquoise stitch ARIAT long-sleeve top and pop it to give yourself some air. “Holy shit. Holy shit.” you chant to yourself realizing you finally did it. You made your race! A smile steals itself across your face and you beam up looking proud. You begin to walk you and your mare outside for a cooldown and to clear the lane for the next runner. Trusting your trainer to get back to you about your score results.   

  

You are on your cooldown walk with your mare when Hawks comes walking up to you eyes wide. “You did it!” he cheers quietly so as not to startle your excited beast of burden. “I did it!” you chime back at him happily. He gives you double-finger guns and comes up to your side to help you down. You take the offered assistance and slide out of the saddle and into his arms. You stare up at the man and thank him graciously. “Where is Katsuki?” you ask as you bring your reins around and unclip them as Hawks halters her up and hands you the lead once he is finished.   

“Mm? Dynamite had a run himself that started after yours. He is probably getting both of your scores right now.” the taller red and yellow Stetson-outfitted man says as he hands you a water bottle you have no idea where he produced it from. Not lookin’ a gift horse in the mouth, you begin to chug it. “Settle down now. We don’t want you to choke after that perfect run.” He chastises you.   

Rolling your eyes must have been the theme of the day because here you were doing it again. Sighing you shook your head and resumed drinking till the plastic bottle was empty. The two of you headed back to your truck and trailer pleasantly chatting and catching up with one another. When you arrive, you see a couple members of your circle lounging on your black Dodge Ram 3500 fully loaded.   

  

You whistle at the group and wave at Kirishima, the Todorokis (Touya and Shouto), Ashido, and Midoriya. They look over at you and cheer. Touya nods at you in his black jeans and black short sleeve t-shirt combo. A stark contrast from his brilliantly white hair. He walks up to you and takes the lead out your hand. He guides your mare to the round pen you had brought with you and set up off to the side. Out of the way of everyone and with permission from the grounds manager. He removes her gear and sets it off to the side while he leans against the gate and watches her buck and fart after he turns her out.   

You smile fondly at him admiring how he dotes on your mare. Cheering her on and praising her. Overinflating her already overly inflated mare ego. That would be a thing you were gonna have to deal with later. When you got home. You weren’t gonna deal with that attitude right now.   

  

Right Now, you wanted to celebrate with your friends and wait for Bakugou to get back with your damn results. You already knew he had won his run. He always does. Huffing you dance over to your group. Moving to the rhythm of GIMS-YOLO. Ashido meets you and the two of you giggle as you celebrate your run and Keigo (or Hawks as he goes by) recounts your run with much embellishment.   

  

The playlist continues to go through GIMS, Mohammed Ramadan, Idris, Soolking, and a few of y’alls other favorites when Bakugou shows up with his Gelding. Scowling. Like normal. He ignores you as he removes his tack and ties his horse to the trailer. Going inside the stall compartment to grab a hose, brushes, and various other things he would need to cool his horse off. Izuku joins him and begins to water his horse and quietly praise him while Bakugou leans back on his heels contemplating.   

  

You start to wander over in his direction but stop when two women boldly come up to him and begin to chat him up. Shouto side-eyes them and nudges Eijiro as they turn their focus onto your trainer and his new companions. The conversation starts out harmlessly enough. They praise his run. Say it was expected since he is a 4-time Pendleton Round-Up champion. He nods boredly at first and gives the usual canned answers. It wasn’t until they begin to talk about you that his attitude changes.   

You were upfront by the speakers with Ashido to give Katsuki some space to have his conversation since the area was small when you heard the slander.   

“You must be so sick of y/n following you around all the time.” A short pale blonde commented.   

“For real! Her race wasn’t even that great. I left as soon as I heard you were running, Dynamite.” a slightly taller redhead says beside her.   

Your head snaps back and to the side with your mouth doing an “O” face in surprise. “Oh no they didn’t like I am not here!?” you loudly whisper to Mina who motions for you to quiet down and points to Katsuki who appears to be neutral about the whole thing. For a whole four seconds. Then he is roaring with raucous laughter.   

“The hell are you two harpies talkin’ about? You tryin’ to say she is a buckle bunny? Hah! Right! She is so much of one she went and earned one herself!” he announces proudly as he flashes you a bright and happy smile. Breaking away from the now put-off women to strut over to you and hand you a paper with your time on it circled in bright red.   

  

You had placed first! You were 1-D! Your jaw drops and you begin to whisper your disbelief. “Is this legit?!” you demand to know. “No shit, Sherlock.” He flicks you on your forehead. You jump up and wrap your arms around his neck and hug him dearly. “I won! I really won!” you cheer and chant over and over. “OH OH! GROUP HUG!” Mina announces and runs over to join in. Katsuki growls and wraps his arms around you returning your hug and accepting Mina touching him when she joins to hug you.   

The rest of your group joins in, including Touya. He enjoys the look of misery on Katsuki’s face. Your crew completely dismisses the rude pair of women who summarily leave. They are not missed as your circle continues to celebrate till your next event is to start later that night. Everyone smiles as they cheer you on and leave you fresh and ready to take on your next sport which you were completely at home with. You were on Bakugou’s cow-eatin’ Bay Tobiano Stallion and you were getting ready to show everyone what the sport of cutting was all about.   

  

You grin up at the crowd, wave then turn to face your opponent. A beautiful black Angus steer that had mean written all over it. He was a beacon in the herd of red Angus. Tipping your hat to your quarry you grin deviously and move forward. Ready to win this shit and take home another buckle.   

  

Fin 

[monstersholygrail]

At the rodeo tonight and thinking hybrid thoughts right now…

Cowboys are automatically and naturally hot asf but make it Weredog Cowboys and you can make it so much more attractive. Wearing nothing but assless chaps and their cowboy hats.

Riding centaurs, using their crops as motivation and encouragement. Centaurs who act up and misbehave for the show, wanting the crop— even begging for it. Pushing them to their limits in tricks and otherwise.

And riding bull hybrids, on their backs or maybe somewhere else… Lassoing their horns and tying up their bodies. Doing anything to tame them and make them submit. Even if it takes fucking them into submission to get them to stop bucking.

Taking off their cowboy hats and placing them on the hybrids after they’ve succeeded. Staking claim on them and solidifying their victory against the feisty hybrids.

[vanillajunmyeon]

not to sound absolutely deranged but i have been reading merthur fics (as usual, what i have been doing daily since march) while at work (yes) and the rush of serotonin is just unmatched, i'm giggling and blushing JUST because my blorbos are getting together for the 500th time in a different way

the merthur addiction is going splendidly everyone who knows me is quite done with me

[princesssmars]

no because when i found out a cowboy putting their hat on you was a form of “claiming” you my brain chemistry changed….

so yes im imagining you and rodeo abby who are seeing together but aren’t official official, but she’s jealous at heart so when she sees someone flirting with you at the bar she just comes up behind you and putting her hat on your head, staring the person down until they walk away 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[thatmexisaurusrex]

Hill Country and Swamplands and Rodeos

Hey, people! This fic is inspired by @moeyoon's art, which you will see down below, or can see in its original post here. I meant for this to be a one-shot, but it's 😂 it's a multichapter fic now. It's very Texas, so I hope that's okay. I hope y'all enjoy it! 🥰

Hill Country and Swamplands and Rodeos

| Pairing: BuckTommy | Rated: M | WC: 17.8K | Chapters: 5/5 |

Summary: Pilot Thomas "Tommy" Kinard hasn't been a ranch hand for seven years. However, a chance meeting with his old coworkers and some new cowboys, especially a certain Evan "Buck" Buckley, seems to be changing his life for the better.

Excerpt:

“Evan!” Tommy. Turned his gaze back to the dirty blonde. And Tommy would say the man was a little sheepish, but it seemed as if something else overcame him once Tommy was looking straight at him again. Excitement? Nervousness? Awe? No. Couldn’t be any of those. Tommy wasn’t the kind of guy who inspired that. “Evan Buckley,” breathed Evan. And. And Tommy forgot that he should be shaking his hand too, right? Not that – not that Evan was offering. But. Tommy took the initiative, extending his own. “Wow. Uh. Big hands,” said Evan, maybe babbled, as he shook Tommy’s hand and looked so expectantly at Tommy. Tommy couldn’t say no to that face. He couldn’t say nothing. “You have a good handshake too, Evan,” offered Tommy, a little distracted by Evan’s adorable smile. The little laugh he was making. Wait. Were they still shaking hands? Was that weird?

READ THE REST ON AO3!

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐚𝐥𝐥-𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

main masterlist

pairing(s) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader (can be read as an unnamed oc) wc — 1.8k synopsis — wear the hat, ride the cowboy—even if it might get you disowned.

note — there's one line referring to the reader as jack's twin, but no physical description is given. also, this one-shot is a "party favor" from our feb slumber party

specific content warnings under the cut.

cw — quinn being a dramatic, misogynistic douche-canoe 3000 for the entirety (ratty matty has his moments, too), no actual smut but it's heavily implied they do the dirty on the reg, a disgustingly intimate situationship — ick, off-color comment(s) relating to first times and the concept of virginity, lots and lots of familial angst (jack is a snake), oh! and more than a few loose ends... but you know the drill by now, i'm incapable of keeping a story contained

“Go on, Palomino Princess. Ride me like one of your ponies.” 

Condescension drips from the lazy taunt. Matthew earns a palm to the chest for it; her ire lands with a faint thud, but he doesn’t mind. He gets off on riling her up, and after two years of backseat meetings and hushed phone calls, he’s damn good at it too. That, and she might be the most reactive person he’s ever met—and that’s saying something. 

Matthew’s been going head-to-head with all three of her brothers for over a decade, and he’s known their family for even longer. Having a short fuse must be genetic.    

“Y’won’t break me if that’s the hold-up. S’gonna take a hell of a lot more than a dry humpin’ buckle bunny to put me outta commission, sweetheart.” 

He knows damn well she ain’t anywhere close to the derogatory term, but he likes what the complete disregard for her accomplishments does to her deceptively cherubic face. 

It may look less harrowing than every other event on the card, but barrel racing ain’t for the faint-hearted. The event is a death wish personified, and it feels about as good as someone taking a metal pipe to both shins. It takes balls—metaphorically, in her case—to charge into an arena on an American Quarter horse with the intention of guiding it through a cloverleaf pattern around three barrels while sprinting at top speed, but it takes dedication and skill to succeed the way she has. The winner is determined by just thousandths of a second. 

The woman perched on his tailgate is unmatched—undefeated.  

Flames of pride lap at his loins, the fire of desire stoked by the wicked roll of her hips. 

“Ohh—shit!” Matthew hisses, his head lolling back as his hips buck into her heat. 

She smirks, apparently vindictive as ever. “How’s that, cowboy? Everything you dreamed?” 

“And more,” he growls as he grabs a fistful of her backside. 

His grip is tighter than it needs to be as he switches positions. Not nearly as rough as she would prefer it; beggars can’t be choosers.  

Matthew steps between her knees, and, despite herself, she shivers with anticipation. Chuckling, amusement twinkles in his baby blues. “Now give me a kiss, sweetheart. My lips are feelin’ a little lonely tonight, and you happen to be wearin’ my hat, Little Miss.” 

He flicks the brim of his hat. She catches it before it hits the ground before plopping it back on the rightful owner, the damage already done.  

“You just love that antiquated rule,” she shakes her head while most definitely laughing at his expense. “Y’wouldn’t see any action without it, now would you?” 

Matthew grins. Trading insults is his favorite form of foreplay. “Neither would you. Isn’t that your signature move, outlaw?”

“I should kick you to the back of the line with that attitude. Hell, I’d probably be better off keeping you at a distance anyway.” 

“Keep mouthin’ off and see how far it gets ya. Definitely nowhere near that McMansion castle you call home, that’s for sure.” 

“Oh, don’t you worry ‘bout me, sugar. I’ve got plenty of options if I need a ride home.” 

“I’ll bet, show pony. Sexiest can chaser east of the Mississippi; who wouldn’t be chomping at the bit to carry Cinderella home to her Daddy?” 

Men have a habit of gawking at her; Matthew has a habit of relieving them of their teeth. 

He leans in to taunt her ear with greedy lips and barbed arrogance. “Best of luck finding one that’ll fuck you better than me.”     

“Do you think about other guys fucking me often?” she fires without missing a beat.

More than he would like, actually.

With a heavy, drawn-out sigh, he runs a hand over his face. His patience is running thin, and his jeans are starting to chafe. Exasperated, he tries coaxing her to reason, “Sweetheart, c’mon. We both know you want this—want me. Stop makin’ this so damn hard.” 

“Why? Because you already are?” 

Matthew makes an exaggerated show of play-biting her scrunched-up nose. 

“Woman, you drive me insane.”

“It’s why you’re so obses—“ 

Her teasing is thwarted by the sound of her own name. Spat out of her older brother’s mouth like a heirloom gone sour, it's no great surprise Quinn looks at her like he can’t recognize her. Like a stranger—like a traitor. 

Guilt, thin and fleeting, pieces the tenderness between her ribs. 

She squirms, attempting to put some distance between them as if that could erase the discovery—and her culpability—from his mind. Matthew and his shit-eating grin keep her from getting too far but don’t be fooled. This is no chivalrous encouragement to stand her ground. It’s got nothing to do with her and everything to do with her brother. 

Quinn rages outside the hauler housing Matthew’s precious 3500 Laramie. Walking by, seeing the main trailer hitched Brady’s F-350 made his stomach churn. It didn’t sit right, and now he knew why. 

“You can’t be serious! Nuh-uh, no—no fucking way. Get out here before I drag you out myself.”  

At his tone, what little remorse she felt dissipates. They were both far too old for his tired, overbearing song-and-dance. 

“Who died and made you king?” 

Quinn, blinded by overripe anger, sweeps over the irritation, twisting her tongue and the disbelief arching her brow. “I thought I made myself clear last time. Don’t make me repeat myself.” 

“Oh, crystal, Quinny.” Matthew snorts at the juvenile nickname but is swiftly cajoled into silence with a pinch to the side. “Message received.” 

“Then quit screwin’ around and get your ass back to the truck before Dad blows a gasket. He’s been lookin’ all over for you. So, you best be thanking your lucky stars I got here first. That its me catchin’ you red-handed colluding with the enemy.” 

He’s so serious, nearly shaking with rage, it’s difficult not to laugh. She can count on one hand the instances wherein her brother became visibly angry—all of them involving the man standing between her dangling feet. She fares better than him, but that’s to be expected. Unlike her accomplice, for her, there’s real risk involved. 

“Just ‘cause I heard you don’t mean I have to listen.” 

Lips pressed to her temple, Matthew clicks his tongue in approval. ‘Bout damn time she started giving back what Quinn so readily dishes out. 

“Look, y’can spread your legs for anyone with big dreams and a buckle some other night. Parade around the circuit acting like a slut, see if I give a shit. But not tonight. And not with him.” 

The knowing glint in Quinn’s blackened eyes is telling, but it isn’t as menacing as he thinks it is. The Hughes heir apparent couldn’t be judge, jury, and executioner. He doesn’t have a lick of proof. Just suspicion and a personal vendetta the size of Texas. 

A safety net swaying below, Matthew decides to have a little fun. “Whoa, settle down, Trust Fund. Y’can’t talk to a lady like that, ‘specially not your sister.” 

He’s no white knight, but he can pretend. 

And isn’t that what you’re all doing? Pretending to be people you aren’t. Acting out your roles, putting on a show. After all, a performance will always be more entertaining than the truth. 

“—and here I thought etiquette classes were a Rodeo Royalty rite of passage. Glad t’know she ain’t the only roughneck hellion in your family tree, Huggy.” 

Quinn’s jaw tightens. His tongue threatens to put a hole through his cheek. Hands on his hips, the eldest sibling only nods. He ignores Matthew entirely. 

“Real winner y’got there. A class act. You really know how to pick ‘em—cream of the goddamn crop. Say, what’re you gonna do when he inevitably gets bored of you? When he gets his hands on a fresh doe-eyed virgin to tarnish?” 

After she finishes with Matthew, she’s kicking Jack’s sorry ass. 

Those anxieties—and that majorly personal tidbit of information—were shared in confidence. Because unlike her older brother, she trusted her twin. Well, she used to, at least. Luke’ll be over the moon at the chance to be her favorite. 

She bares her teeth like a scorned lapdog. “We’re not kids anymore, Q. You can’t push me around whenever you want or tell me what to do like you’re my father. And you sure as shit can’t bully me into submission, either. Give it up, or get lost.” 

“Whatever,” Quinn barks as he backs away from the trailer. “Your fuckin’ funeral.” 

Listening to the fading sound of her brother’s Ariats pounding through the dirt, she buries her face in the warm, familiar crook of Matthew’s neck; she needs a moment alone. He seems to understand this, his mouth zipped shut as he runs calloused hands up and down her sides. She’s breathing heavily, but he does her the simple mercy of leaving it be. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was growing on you,” Matthew hums, a low-maintenance attempt to lighten the mood. 

They don’t do the touchy-feely BS. It’s one of the things that reeled him in—and kept him coming back. 

“But you do.” She pulls away to look up at him, chin resting on his sternum. He hates that her melancholic eyes are red-rimmed. “—and stop thinking, it doesn’t suit you.” 

“And what does, princess? I’m dyin’ for your insight.” 

“Shut the door and I’ll show you.” 

He blinks, taken aback. Who is this brazen tart, and when did she take your place? Matthew wonders to himself. Maybe he is the bad influence everyone paints him as… He hasn’t really thought about it until now, and it's troubling the way it makes his chest tighten. 

Matthew clears his throat—and, from his mind, the distressing notion that he’s ruined someone good with his carelessness—as he leans over. 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He pulls the hauler’s heavy metal door shut with clamorous finality.  

Matthew Tkachuk might be the most self-serving swindler on dirt, but Quinn Hughes is just another name on his list. A box to tick and then forget. He wouldn’t lose sleep, it wasn’t like their friendship meant a damn thing. Not anymore. A friend turned foe, reduced to another obstacle in his way, a hurdle to jump. 

Tonight, his sister’s fealty; tomorrow, his title.

Retribution is at his fingertips, so close he can taste it. Yet, it would seem that Matthew merely traded one hornet’s nest for another. 

At least this one’s easy on the eyes. 

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[kedsandtubesocks]

cowboys like us

Bull Rider!Din Djarin x F!Reader x Bronco Rider!Jack Daniels

summary: one cowboy is already a challenge, but two is either going to be your best blessing or worst curse

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, modern rodeo cowboys AU, Din is still a papa and has his baby, light discussion of the rodeo and events, light angst & miscommunication with eventual resolution, Jack & his sweet talk with calling reader ‘baby, honey, sugar,” bar scene with moments of drinking, heavy making out, intense grinding & dry humping, spicy moments, M/M/F & M/M dynamics, polyamorous exploration that leads to eventual poly relationship

word count: 5.9k

a/n: welcome to the first fic of the ‘Let’s Rodeo’ series! I know, I know, this is such a strange combo & AU but I’m such a sucker for cowboy Din and of course Jack decided to barge in and here we are lol, the biggest and deepest thank you’s go to @perotovar @lowlights @nothoughtsjustmeds & @beskarandblasters - this wouldn’t be here without y’all and I’m so eternally grateful…and to you if you’re reading this thank you so much

You wonder if maybe you’ve unknowingly slipped into a strange country song and not realized it.

Popcorn litters the floor all around. The plastic arena seat is a bit uncomfortable. A drunk woman behind you almost spilled beer on you but apologized profusely. There are more cowboy hats here than you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

But as you sit in this strange existence a voice over the loudspeaker comes and sparks up your soul. As the announcer’s voice booms, loud screams swallow up the air of the stadium.

You spot him already climbing onto the bronco and your heart jumps into your throat.

“The man smooth as whiskey!” The announcer screams clear and booming with an accented southern pride.

“Give it up for Jack Daniels!”

Shrill shrieks erupt fanatically loud as if the place now morphes into a boy band concert instead of a rodeo competition.

That is until the alarm sounds. The chute opens, and the ride begins.

Focusing on Jack is chaotic. The bronco bucks frenzied trying to throw the cowboy off with a wild strength. His black Stetson hat goes flying and your stomach drops at how rapidly his body whips around. Back and forth, back and forth, he tries holding on with simply one hand.

It’s terrifying. It’s hypnotic.

Then it’s over fast.

The beautiful horse flings off Jack and he lands on the dirt. You clutch the edge of your plastic seat. The horse continues bucking and your mind rushes to the worst case scenario of the creature’s strong might rearing down on Jack.

Then the cowboy springs up like nothing.

A smile even illuminates his handsome face and it ignites the crowd into a gleeful roar.

You don’t even know if he did good. You barely understand the point system or average or whatever it is.

The horse thankfully settles and Jack struts away effortless.

Suddenly Jack’s salt of the earth eyes flick up. He scans the crowd until his gaze lands on you.

The seat you’re in sits close to the edge of the arena, on the floor just right outside the ring.

Then, with all the confidence of a man whose job it is to ride a bucking bronco, Jack blows you a kiss.

The drunk woman behind you along with her friends scream their heads off thinking he blew the kiss to them. Maybe he did. He’s a damn flirt. You even glance backward to see one of the girls, very drunk, tries to calm herself down from freaking out.

Jack now walks heads to the side to exit. His eyes however stay glued to you. And the minute you turn back to stare at him…he winks.

Then he vanishes.

This cowboy might be this event’s closer, but this isn’t the end of the rodeo for you. The incoming bull rides shift the air. It’s considered another heavy hitter main event and the anticipation bubbles.

Unlike Jack, who arrives like a firecracker ready to brighten up any room he enters, this cowboy emerges like a shadow.

Keeping his head down, it doesn’t help that a protective mask covers his handsome face. However, the energy radiating off the cowboy’s deadly focus composure is like a quiet storm on the horizon.

He stays silent, doesn’t even lift his eyes up, almost in a focused trance.

“Mr. Silent and Deadly himself… Din Djarin!” The announcers boom out his name.

Then you watch as the man becomes a myth, one who tames a wild force of nature.

Din and bull fly out of the chute with a choking force.

In the same way your breath stopped watching Jack getting bucked around, the same dizzying panic fills you as Din battles the same force.

He stubbornly stays on, rides as the bull thrashes around. You wonder if this is where some mythologies stem from because it is something unreal watching this man move with this powerful creature.

The crowd hoots and hollers cheering Din on. You stay petrified in your seat.

Then the ride finishes fast.

Din flies off the bull and your breathing stops. Rapidly the trainers along with other cowboys scramble to settle the bull and check on Din. The bull rider casually rises up unbothered, unshaken, and the crowd goes wild.

You exhale a loud shaken sigh of relief. Your body feels like jello, as if fear has finally been exorcized from your body leaving you a boneless mess.

Suddenly Din rips the guard mask off and all attention falls to him. Sweat adds a shine to his face and his hair is a tousled mess but he’s never looked more gorgeous.

“What the fuck?! Dude, he’s hot too?!” Someone squawks out.

The ladies sitting behind you of course notice Din and squeal out feverishly. Unlike Jack, an actual peacock who owns the crowd basking in the attention, Din’s face stays lowered with his eyes averted shyly.

Until his dark eyes suddenly flicker up, like a viper peering out from a cave. His eyes find you surprisingly fast.

You and him simply stare at each other. Then so quickly Din averts his eyes away again and heads off.

The shakiest exhale leaves you.

Your heartbeat drums loud in your ears as if you were the one who just finished the wild rides. And maybe you did in your own way.

“Oh my fucking god!” Behind you one of the girls screams. “So many hot cowboys! Like, how the fuck do you pick just one?!”

Alcohol drenches her playful words. However, to you they become barbed and catch on your heart. Because how do you pick between two handsome cowboys different as day and night.

“Babe!” One of the girls giggles. “That’s the secret, you don’t pick just one! You have ‘em all!”

She howls a wild laugh and the others scream scandalized but gleeful. One of them even jokingly says ‘so you gotta catch ‘em all like pokemon!’ which almost makes you laugh.

But the words hang in your heart like a rusting anchor.

Grabbing your bag, you head out. Arriving at the backstage area of the arena, you flash the visitor’s access pass to security who lets you through. You’ve only done this a few times before but your heart still races getting this type of entrance.

Earlier today Din said he’d wait for you after in the small rest waiting room. When you open the door, you stumble upon a sight.

Jack's hand firmly holding Din’s face -

As the two men passionately kiss each other.

Jack’s taller than Din, slightly, not by much. Din’s build however is firmer, solid, compared to Jack’s sleek stature.

Immediately they both break away from each other as if electrocuted.

Din and Jack’s eyes catch sight of you and their faces fall. Din whispers your name out while Jack stays silent.

Reality rams into you like a released wild bull.

Because you realize you’ve interrupted them. You're barging in, an actual third wheel.

You want to move, want to say something. But you can’t even imagine what. It clicks that you read this whole situation wrong. Maybe neither of them actually held feelings for you.

A sudden loud knock on the wall makes you and the cowboys practically jump.

One of the event announcers pops his head in casually.

“Hey sorry, but you’re needed out back Djarin.” He says to Din then leaves.

Even with the surprise arrival and then departure, the thick tension doesn’t leave the air. If anything it’s caused a strange vacuum to form.

Jack now breathes out your name hesitantly. Yet, his eyebrows are furrowed hard, concerned and upset. Din’s dark eyes shine so visibly soaked with worry.

Before you can even say anything one of Jack’s main coaches and manager, Champ, waltzes in. He’s a striking presence that draws all the focuses to him

Champ whistles loud. “Who died in here?”

No one says a word.

“Alrighty then,” Champ shrugs, not wanting to dive into whatever he senses.

“Daniels come on,” he urges. “I ain’t waiting anymore. They’re probably waiting for you too Dinny.”

Champ’s nickname for Din, which Din himself detests, makes you smirk and brightens your spirit for a moment.

But the awful tension stays sticking to your skin allowing a poison to seep in.

“Hey there, sweet pea.” Champ nods his head acknowledging you. With a weak smile you nod back.

You politely excuse yourself and leave.

The walk out of the arena is the longest of your life.

Everything you just saw flashes through your mind a rapid flip picture book. You can process what you saw but can’t fully grasp it.

Even outside, the roar of the rodeo swirls around even in you.

You might have wandered into a country song earlier but you didn’t realize it was going to be a heartbreak one.

You met Din first in a grocery store parking lot.

It had been a total accident. Literally. You had gotten into a small fender bender with him in the parking lot of a grocery store.

He drove the oldest silver Honda Civic ever still existing and still can’t believe it didn’t even manage to take a hit. You were also horrified when you saw there was a baby sleeping away in the car.

Yet the entire time Din was so kind and concerned about your wellbeing.

You didn’t realize it then, but that shy and very handsome scruffy man with his ancient Honda Civic would change the orbit of your life.

Because that day you accidentally collided with a cowboy, it opened your world like a vast desert horizon.

Jack arrived soon after.

If Din was the soft daybreak, then Jack came in like a dust devil.

Though they competed in two different categories, you discovered many rodeo circuits crossed paths.

When you went to visit Din months ago at the ranch housing many of the cowboys for training, that’s when you first met Jack.

He walked straight up to you and asked if you were lost because he was concerned heaven was missing an angel.

He hasn’t shut his mouth since.

Before it was simply you and Din. But Jack is a force that seems to barge his way in like the wild broncos he rode.

He is shameless in flirting. He often playfully touches yours and Din’s cheeks often, or casually drapes himself over you or his fellow cowboy.

Din on the other hand is quietly sweet. He routinely sends you photos of the sunrises of all the cities he travels to.

So opposite, they almost are like the sun and moon.

You began caring for them fiercely and fell so fast.

But now, you contemplate if you simply played yourself a fool becoming your own rodeo clown.

All the ideas, all the heavy conflict of having to pick between the two of them, taste bitter on your tongue. You take a long swing of your drink to hopefully wash it away. It doesn’t.

Din texted you asking to please meet him here at this bar near the secondary training arena and now you wait.

It’s lively tonight. Even after being thrown into the world of cowboys, or rodeo circuits, sitting in the honky tonk bar feels as if you’re on another planet. The music thankfully has a nice beat so you enjoy the song playing.

Someone slides in besides you, not even sitting on the bar stool.

“You seem lonely.” The voice of a stranger.

Besides you, a lanky college freshman looking guy leans against the bar staring at you.

“Just waiting for a friend.” You politely answer.

“Well, maybe you’d like some company waiting?”

You’re about to decline when a looming presence arrives at your back.

“Sorry there buckaroo, but this lovely peach is taken for the night.”

Jack’s smooth voice rings out and shocks your system.

The stranger’s face drops comedically fast and the punk scrambles away without another word.

You turn around and it isn't just Jack behind you but Din is as well.

Jack wears his black cowboy hat and you’re surprised to see Din in one as well. He rarely wears his Stetson but it transforms him.

In typical western, the dark midnight cowboy hats are that of the outlaws, the bandits. One of Din’s managers, an older man named Cobb Vanth, once told you that.

And maybe these two are.

Yet, even as bandits, they stand before you like two country romance song dreams. The kaleidoscopic lights dance and radiate off them.

Din mutters your name with hesitation swirling in his eyes.

Panic prickles against your skin. You’re not ready yet.

So you turn to the bartender and order three rounds.

“Honeypie, we gotta talk.” Jack says low, strikingly somber.

Shaking your head, you swallow hard. “Not now. I just…can we just please…just wait for a moment.”

Please let’s just enjoy this false dream a little longer, is what your heart whispers out.

“Of course.” Din mutters and they both move to sit on either side of you, a sort of barricade you’re already missing.

The drinks come and in a nervous quiet move you and the cowboys cling your glasses together. Everyone tosses the shot back. The tequila burns and helps slightly.

You decide if this a goodbye to this dream, you want to at least enjoy it a bit tipsy. So you order another round.

“Careful.” Din urges, ever the cautious one.

“Come on.” You now perk up. “You two both scored high yesterday! We gotta celebrate.”

Which is true. Even with your brewing heartbreak, you still got excited seeing their scores from the app alert. Because that’s the person you’ve become. You have apps on your phone dedicated to rodeo cowboy scores. Well, you might be deleting those apps soon.

You move to take the next shot.

You raise your glass to your two dear cowboys - the ones who you text everyday, the ones you try facetiming as much as you can, your dearest friends.

And maybe that’s all they will be.

You toast to their scores and to them.

Din’s eyes hold a pained shine in them that makes your heart twist. Jack instead wears a rather terrifying steeled up composed face.

You feel empty taking this shot and only Jack throws his back with you. Din even doesn’t touch his drink.

This time the tequila goes down warm and numbing.

The alcohol begins to work its confidence magic in you as you tease Din for not wanting to drink with you. He however glares at you and you’re reminded of an unwavering mesquite tree.

Maybe this is a bad decision.

You can’t be selfish about this. These two found each other. All those moments you thought they had feelings you simply had read the situation wrong.

“Look,” you sigh now, deflated. “I’m sorry-”

Jack suddenly smacks his hand against the bar countertop. It’s aggressively firm, a loud startling whack of a noise.

“Dancin’.” Jack declares loudly. “We’re gonna dance.”

“What? You and him?” You ask over the music.

“No.” Jack snaps. “We’re all goin’. So get your asses up.”

Din scoffs.

Jack, with firm hands yanking on yours and Din’s sleeves, actually drags everyone to the dance floor.

You can’t comprehend what’s happening. The floor is heavily crowded and no one notices three more additions.

“I don’t dance.”

“I can’t dance.”

Both you and Din fling out the same hurried replies to Jack.

He barks a laugh.

“It ain’t about being good at dancin’. S’about feelin’ the music, feelin’ the beat.” He yells back and then instantly transforms into a commanding force.

Sliding behind you, Jack turns you around to face Din.

His and your eyes go wide.

Jack then reaches to yank at Din’s dusty jacket, effectively pulling him forward -

Straight to your front.

Your heart hammers loud in your ears, so loud it drowns out the music blaring.

“Relax.” Jack purrs out. “Just…feel.”

You want to bark back about how that’s easier said than done. But your tongue gets tied up so badly you can’t form words.

Then one of Jack’s solid hands moves to your hips while the other reaches across to rest against Din’s shoulder.

You’re locked into them.

Jack begins to move you slowly.

The music shifts into something sultry, almost aching to be a slow dance, but a lively beat keeps it moving. You didn’t even think country songs could have this kind of vibe. Even though Jack mainly guides your hips, you already start swaying to the beat on your own.

That’s when Jack slowly bumps and nudges his hip against yours, fully pressing you closer to Din.

The position isn’t lost on you. It’s undeniably intimate, overly sexual, and you’re worried how this looks to others in the bar.

Then Din presses forward firmer against you and your mind blanks for a moment. Now sandwiched between a cowboy canyon, a dangerous heat burst from your chest.

Jack moves his nose against your face.

“Relax gorgeous,” he whispers. “Just enjoy.”

Your eyes hazing over flicker to Din who stares out with a deep desire swimming in his eyes. Cautiously his hands now move to rest on your hips. One of them goes on top of Jack’s.

You swallow hard and pray the lingering liquid courage will bless you.

Deliberately, sensually, your hips wiggle and grind between the two of them. You might not be properly dancing right or even swaying to the beat, but desire is the one guiding your body.

Many times nights alone in your bed you've thought of them like this with you. And now, you’re here caught in the sticky heart of that passionate desire.

Din dives forward and presses his face against yours.

Jack groans as his nose buries into your hair. Their cowboy hats create a sort of cover over you casting a shade against the glittering bar lights.

You’re literally under their shadow.

“Oh baby.” Jack whimpers.

Your hands, which you awkwardly kept close to your chest almost afraid to touch this dream and have it pop like a soap bubble, now tingle. You want to touch them both as much as you can.

So one of your hands slides up to hold onto Jack’s face while your other runs up Din’s broad chest to his shoulder. Your hips continue to sway and grind between them.

Then, like a spark ignited, something shifts.

Maybe it’s more people crowding in on the dance floor, or the heat finally bubbling over, but you’re suddenly squished firmly between them, practically glued together. Din’s face, his striking nose, presses against yours while Jack burrows the side of his face against your cheek.

They purposely rut into you. You think this is maybe the closest taste of what it would feel like for them to fuck you and you drown in it.

With Din and Jack, both hard, grinding against your front and back, your eyes close. A debauched sensation sinks its claws into you. It’s sinful and utterly deliriously delicious. You worry you’re about to melt.

Lust rips through you, an incinerating beast, and you bow to it.

In that haze, Din leans down and licks the sweat on your neck. His tongue against your skin, electrifies you. You ascend out of your body and moan.

Your body bucks up hard begging for attention and release only to find you’re still firmly caught between a cowboy canyon.

Jack shushes you firm but low. “G’damn y’all ‘re gonna be the death of me.”

His voice slurs, almost sounded drunk in something dangerous. Din continues licking at your neck not stopping once.

Suddenly Jack moves and shifts your body. The jostling breaks the movement and snaps you aware, like you’re slowly waking up, wearily trying to recapture your focus.

Quickly he snags your hand and Din’s. Out of reflex you clutch onto Din’s jacket. Jack, now a focused man on a mission, guides the three of you out of the crowd.

“Where are we going?” Din mutters against your face.

“Don’t know.” You answer truthfully.

You can’t tell where Jack guides you. The haze still fogging up your focus keeps you surprisingly pliant. It also doesn’t help that Din now practically drapes himself against your back, a protective cowboy like cloak. His lips continue to softly try and kiss any inch of skin he can reach.

You never thought he’d be the greedier one.

Jack guides everyone down a hallway past the restrooms. He even shouts a friendly greeting at someone. Of course he would know people here.

“Get your asses in here.” Jack now growls and his accent seems stronger.

That’s where he opens a door to a small back office type room and barrels everyone inside.

Jack’s not gentle. He almost yanks everyone in like a panicking kid trying to hide something from their parents. The door slams behind him. You’re transported into a badly lit mess of an office.

Jack whips around, pitches forward and before you can react he moves to attack your neck alongside Din.

His tongue licks a possessive strip up to your jaw then starts biting at your skin.

A wild moan escapes you as your eyes blissfully close.

You’re burning up. Your body, now molten, is only held up by your cowboys pressing flat against you. Both Jack’s mustache and Din’s faint beard scrape against your skin beautifully. Two tongues maping out your skin makes your mind evaporate. Every inch of your body screams for them.

That’s when you feel Jack drag his tongue on your neck down towards Din.

With another playful nip at your skin, Jack moves to lick against Din’s mouth still on you.

The wildest moan escapes you and you almost come right then.

Both cowboys almost kiss each other while also trying to still taste at your neck has you absolutely dizzy.

It’s hot and consumes every inch of you. You’re panting ridiculously loud and you can’t even hold back your whines or whimpers anymore. Slick pools between your thighs and sticks to your body. Your neck feels just as wet with the spit covering your skin.

Suddenly a loud aggressive bang rattles the door and your perfect illusion pops.

Panic barrels into you like a wild bull and your eyes go wide.

But your cowboys react fast. Din protectively curls his sturdy arm over you and draws you closer. Jack whips around and stands protectively in front as if to block the view.

Thankfully no one opens the door.

“Ya better not be fuckin’ on my god damn couch, Daniels!” A man howls with laughter.

“No fuckin’ way in hell.” Jack hollers back. “Not when your nasty ol’ ass calls its home.”

From the other side of the door the owner of this room laughs electrically loud. The man smacks on the door twice, an almost playfully goodbye.

The blazing heat that was melting you now simmers out like a fast dying out ember. An awkwardness settles in its place.

Your mind sorts through the heavy doubts again. Were you just a toy for them to play with? And even though a more aggressive side urges you to just enjoy and not think more into this, you don't want to be seen as just an accessory to their duo.

So slowly and quietly you untangle yourself from them.

Din mutters your name slightly confused and Jack turns around looking towards you.

“Where ya headin’ out to, peach?” Jack asks surprisingly composed.

You quietly tell them you’re gonna head home. A thick tension returns, choking the room.

Din calls your name, solid and striking.

“We need to talk.” His words are firm.

You want to make a sarcastic quip that they weren’t much for talking a few moments ago. But you don’t. You want to go home, maybe wash your skin off till you reach bone. You want to wash them away because it’s sinking in.

This last taste of desire is maybe your goodbye.

“Now why ya gotta make it sound like we’re talkin’ about a goddamn funeral, darlin’?!” Jack huffs annoyed.

Din shoots him a sharp annoyed look.

Darlin’

You’ve never heard Jack call his fellow cowboy that.

His nicknames for Din ranged from ‘pigeon’ to ‘sourpuss’ all were affectionately teasing in nature. Now the tender pet name holds the unspoken truth, as if seeing them kissing didn’t solidify it earlier.

“I’m sorry, I just…I read this wrong…” your voice becomes small and deflated. You would head home with a broken pride, but you didn’t want to be bitter about this.

Your eyes flicker up to them.

“You two… I’m glad you both found each other.” You smile weakly, the strongest attempt at being honorable and good. Yet the words turn to ash on your tongue.

You promise you’ll text them when you get home and now turn to leave again.

“The fuck s’that all about?” Jack snarls and his words snap your spine straight.

“Jack.” Din chides him sharp and your attention whips back to them a bit panicked.

Anger, along with the faintest edge of annoyance, colors Jack’s handsome face as he glares at you.

Your face scrunches up confused. What is he so upset about?

“The three of us were practically just humping like fuckin’ barn animals in heat and you wanna say shit like that?” A hot flash runs in Jack’s eye and you swear he even sounds hurt.

“Don’t say it like that.” Din glares.

Your eyes flicker between them and an edge of panic starts crawling on your skin.

“Wait, what?” You mutter out confused.

Silence suffocates the room and it feels like you’ve entered into a classic western standoff waiting to see who will strike first.

“Oh baby,” Jack’s gentle exhale shatters the moment as his eyes stare so directly at you. “Ya haven’t realized it?”

“What?” You squeak out confused.

“We’re crazy for ya… like a bunch of fools tangled up in a damn lasso.”

Jack’s words ignite a flurry of sparks within your chest that knock you breathless.

Turning towards Din, you notice his Stetson hat slid off, possibly during the heat of the moment earlier. But it allows you the clearest view of his gruff face and you think he’s never looked younger. His face is open. Hesitation and worry linger in Din’s dark road eyes reminding you of how secretly tender hearted this cowboy is.

Then Din nods so slowly, agreeing.

You almost choke on an inhale.

The sudden thought of picking between them has a fanged spike of anxiety rushing through you.

You didn’t want to pick. But, were you being selfish because of that?

Sensing your hesitation, or catching whatever emotions now flood your face, both cowboys now hesitantly move towards you.

“Talk to us, please.” Din softly urges.

Your voice cracks, tripping on itself annoyingly conflicted. But you manage to cough out that you don’t think you can pick between them. You don’t think you ever could and you’re worried your heart might not even handle it.

“Oh sweet baby,” Jack breathes out.

Suddenly the back of his hand tenderly strokes your cheek. Din gently glides his hand to your back and softly rubs you soothingly.

Your heart jumps into your throat at their sudden shift in affections.

“You don’t have to worry…or pick.” Din explains softly and with comfort.

Wait.

“You both…” you exhale shakily. “You two want me? Want us?”

For some reason, the notion of ‘us’ strikes you right then and there. That idea of you and them becoming an ‘us’ feels like the most natural progression in your mind.

Your best friend, when you told her about you and these cowboys, had cautiously asked if there was maybe a possibility of a poly type relationship happening. You immediately shot her down, not even wanting to think of the option.

But if you had been honest, a part of you started feeling guilty at the thought of wanting that. You enjoyed spending time with Jack just as much as Din. And you enjoyed spending time with them together.

Now you stand on the new ground of something beautiful waiting for you to step into.

“Sweetheart, hate to break it to ya…but we’ve been an us even before our dumbasses even realized it.” Jack snorts.

Din rolls his eyes and you snicker. But Jack is right.

Tentative date-like nights included Jack joining. Jack constantly invited both you and Din to his ridiculously lavish RV he used for the rodeo road trip days. That eventually led to days where you and Jack waited together for Din to finish. Or Din and you watching Jack practice. Din even began bringing his adoptive son over and Jack took to the baby like a fish to water.

This path you unknowingly had been on now is about to be crystalized before you and it warms every bit of your soul.

But a sharp fanged doubt suddenly gnaws at you.

“Wait,” your voice wavers. “This…this isn’t the alcohol talking right?”

Din sighs, shaking his head no but Jack answers first.

“‘Fraid not gorgeous. Been wanting this for a while.”

All worries get snipped and float out of your body leaving you so limitless.

Din leans to draw you into his side embrace and burrows his face against you.

“Sorry we didn’t discuss this sooner.” He mutters. “It all just…kind of happened.”

You understand and lean back against him. Din exhales shaky, soaked in a relief you can almost feel in your bones.

“Now, now, you two angels can’t go leavin’ out ‘ol Jack.” Of course Jack chimes in.

“Maybe it’s time we rethink this.” Din dryly comments and you laugh when Jack squawks out like a disgruntled crow.

But he effortlessly manages to borrow against both you and Din. It’s a little cluster, a soft clanging of bodies, but it’s cozy and feels right.

Someone yells outside the door laughing and your heart jumps.

“Whose office are we even in?” Din mutters out.

“Jimmy’s. Well technically mine too since I own the bar with him.” Jack casually drops.

Of course he did.

“And as cozy as it is here,” Jack adds gently. Both of their hands now intertwine against your hip.

“I say we move this little party somewhere nicer, like let’s say…my trailer?” Jack offers.

His RV is nice. Din’s is very spartan compared to Jack’s that had a full king sized bed and jacuzzi.

They truly are your sun and moon, so opposite and yet so beautifully brightening up your sky. A beautiful buoyant bliss fills you knowing you’re in their orbit, just as much as they’re in yours.

Din’s baby boy is a fidgety one. While he enjoys running around, he also loves to watch the world form anyone’s welcoming arms.

Which at the moment happens to be yours.

The baby chews happily on his favorite adorable stuffed longhorn plushie while the two of you enjoy the peace of the arena.

Without the noise, the yells and commotion of the crowd, or the sea of cowboy hats, the arena is strangely quiet, almost church-like in its own way. You understand now how it can even inspire a deep devotion.

After all, you see it through the eyes of two cowboys.

The baby happily shrieks and begins twisting in your arms. You turn to see what’s gotten his attention.

“Why howdy there my lil’ tumbleweed!” Jack warmly cries out and without hesitation scoops the sweet little boy into his arms.

The baby squeals in delight as Jack peppers him with kisses. Your heart melts at the sight.

“Don’t worry, didn’t forget about you too darlin’.” Jack winks and leans to kiss you soft now.

His mustache tickles your lips and you smirk. He also playfully and lightly smacks your bottom. You shoot him a look while Jack innocently shrugs.

“Our cowboy come out yet?” He asks.

You shake your head. Not yet. Din being ever the respectful man he is, allowed the others to use the practice bull first and took the last slot available for the practice times.

However, his team and the others arrive just as fast. Din steps out, the true silent assassin he’s regarded as. He’s memorizing to watch, so deeply focused and intense.

The baby now whines at being held and demands to be put down.

“Don’t worry I’ll watch him, you watch Din.” You reassure Jack while he places baby boy on his feet. The baby immediately waddles away, absolutely giddy to be free.

���Lil’ stinker.” Jack affectionately teases with adoration shining in his eyes.

Your eyes now watch the curious little babe you treasure so dearly. Behind you though, the training starts.

The clang of the chute being prepared and the commotion of the team getting ready fills the arena.

Then the alarm blares. The loud noise has the baby jolting in surprise. Before he can cry at the sudden noise, you quickly scurry over and swoop him back in your arms. You playfully press a loud raspberry against his sweet chubby cheeks and he giggles.

The noise of the ride erupts with the thrashing of the bull and the upheaval of the dirt.

Then, it’s all over.

“Attaboy!” Jack cries with a loud proud clap.

The baby, now fully distracted by the commotion, seems happy in your arms again as you approach Jack’s side.

Quickly your gaze goes to the arena to make sure Din’s alright.

“How did he do?” You ask about Din.

“Better! Still ain’t as good as yesterday's time but rides like these just help keep ya warm and flexible.” Jack explains.

With the bull settled, Din moves towards Vanth to discuss the ride.

Din draws his helmet up and already has so much sweat on his face. It’s unfair how handsome he is, rugged and adorably scruffy.

“Bweh!” The baby happily spots his papa and squeaks.

The noise causes all in the ring to turn towards where you three stand. Cobb Vanth grins kindly and Din’s eyes soften immediately spotting your little cheering group.

“Yeah lil cowpoke, you didn’t get to see how good your papa was, but he did great.” Jack coo’s as he softly smooths out the baby’s hair.

With a pat on the back from his manager, Din jogs over to you and Jack.

It’s unique, this new carved out existence of yours with them. But it’s beautiful and feels as if it’s always meant to be, like this has been in your veins long before you even knew.

Din reaches the edge of the ring and you and Jack shower him with praise. It’s adorable watching him get flustered at all the attention given to him, especially when you lean and Jack lean to kiss his cheeks.

“Seems like your ridin’s was a little rusty today though, cowboy.” Jack purrs. “Maybe we should all have a nice private lesson after this.”

“Hope those lessons aren’t with you. Last time you were out by the second count.” Din, like the surprisingly snarky man he is, effortlessly replies back as snatches the baby wiggling trying to for him.

Jack squawks hilariously upset and you snicker as your heart fills to the brim.

The arena is quiet, a sacred space that watches over all of you together like this. And it’s special, having this moment here with both of them.

You think there might not be many country songs about snagging two cowboys, but it’s okay.

You find this song in your heart feels eternal.

[fiveredlights]

old habits die screaming - chapter 1

(alternatively known as the daniel team principal au)

Visa Cash App RB @/VisaCashAppRB • 1 Nov 2027 Ricciardo Returns! Visa Cash App RB is excited to announce that former Red Bull & RB driver Daniel Ricciardo will be taking up the helm as team boss from 2028, following current team boss Laurent Mekies reduction into a part time role. Read more at the 🔗 in bio.

When Daniel’s Zandvoort injury turns out to be much worse than it first seems he officially retires at the end of the 2023 season. Five years later, he’s announced as the new team boss of RB and many people in and out of the paddock have lots of thoughts.

Told through social media integrated through work skins.

(read here)

[bucking-mustangs-with-wings]

So I done goofed, and my brain wasn't happy until I wrote a sequel to my little Barbed Wire Hearts snippet/ask/prompt thing from yesterday. So here ya go!

@swifty-fox @moghraidhs this is very much for you because we all needed this to happen

I recommend listening to this while reading, it had me all up in my feels while writing this:

Walking into the hospital parking lot and seeing his old beat up red F150 still sitting there, like a silent vigil awaiting his return was almost a surreal experience for John. As much as he would have found the thought ridiculous in any other situation, he'd almost forgotten it existed in the time he had spent cooped up in the sterile environment of the hospital, mind awash with more pressing matters. Coupled with the stress and worry that had oozed from every single one of his pores like a sickness, the outside world other than room number 13 and its occupant was the only thing he had been mentally able to put any real energy into.

Curt and a few of the other boys had stopped by every few days to slink their way into the wing, jeans and boots and cowboy hats sticking out like a sore thumb amongst scrubs and white coats and had brought him a duffle bag of spare clothes and toiletries so he could use the visitor's showers. He'd made it pretty clear in the first days that he wouldn't be leaving any time soon, not even to pick himself up anything to eat (when he could remember to).

Curt had been an angel in that sense, too. He'd brought Bucky dinner a few nights in a row in the fortnight he was there, some cheap takeaway from one of the diners in the middle of town, burgers and such. And those nights he couldn't make it in to check up on things John had very helpfully been informed by one of the nurses on shift that she was to remind him to eat, even if it was from one of the crappy vending machines dotting the hospital corridors at the behest of a very worried friend that had called the front desk. The soft amused smile the woman had flashed his way alerted him to the fact that none of the nurses were bothered by Curt's mother-hen phonecalls. Especially when Bucky hadn't turned his phone off of silent since he'd been there and one too many calls had gone to voicemail. He knew he'd be getting an earful off Curt and the other boys once he had made it back to the grounds, but he also knew he'd be quickly forgiven his neglect, given the current circumstances.

As he got closer to the truck, pulling his keys out of his coat pocket and twirling them around his index finger, Bucky took a quick glance back over his shoulder at the figure not too far behind him, making sure they were still following him.

Buck still looked like he'd been hit by a semi truck, blue eyes cast down to the pavement as he diligently followed Bucky on auto-pilot, bruises still stark over his face, albeit slightly faded now, but still evident. Still sore looking. His left arm was cast from the hand all the way up to his elbow, held up gently in a sling over his good shoulder. Bucky had no doubt the other man could still feel the telltale ache in his left shoulder-socket where it had been popped completely out in the accident, features wincing every now and then if he stepped too heavily and jostled himself.

His blond hair was in a messed up disarray, bed-hair born of two weeks of laying in an uncomfortable hospital bed for hours at a time, sticking up in some places and falling softly across his forehead in others. The nurses had helped him up and into the room's private bathroom the night before and had helped him finally have a shower before he got discharged the next morning, an awkward affair that Bucky knew the blond didn't necessarily want to talk about if the blush that had painted his pale cheeks when prodded was anything to go by. Better than having to be given a spongebath though, by a long shot, and Bucky couldn't have agreed more.

He also couldn't help the small smile that pulled up at the corner of his lips as he raked his gaze over the smaller man's body, taking in the soft grey over-sized sweatpants (Bucky's) tightened as much as the drawstrings would allow around thinner hips, tucked loosely into worn Twisted X square toe boots. A good idea in hindsight when there was no way Buck would have been able to get himself into a pair of his usual jeans with the soreness of the bruising up his thigh and over the jut of his hip bone, matching his face in colour albeit a bit more angrier looking.

The nights were a bit cooler than they were a week or so before, so at Bucky's insistence Gale was also draped in one of John's massive Ariat puffer jackets, only one arm able to fill the sleeves while the other hung uselessly at Gale's side. With the collar pulled up around his ears, John felt a sense of pride and slight satisfaction knowing he was wearing his clothes. Everything but the plain white tshirt underneath the draped layers.

Walking over to the passenger side quickly after shoving the key in the driver's side door and unlocking it, Bucky opened the passenger door and swept his other arm out in a low gesture, a smirk on his face.

"After you, princess," he drawled, delighting in the unimpressed lift of an unbruised brow shot in his direction, but no real heat or disdain behind it.

He patiently waited with the door held open, allowing Buck to gingerly hoist himself up into the truck's cab knowing if he tried to assist in any way he'd get sworn at for his trouble, ever the independent hard-headed idiot Buck often was. Once the other man was seated comfortably, only a few winces and sharp intake of breath painfully hissed through clenched teeth, Bucky carefully shut the door and trotted around the front of the truck to climb into the driver's seat. He gave a double glance into the truck bed at his and Buck's bags he had tossed in a little while earlier before he'd gone back in to help with the discharge papers.

The old truck roared to life without much protest, and he couldn't help the self-satisfied little chuckle that escaped him, patting the dash like the vehicle was a loyal old dog at his heels. As much as he'd nearly forgotten about her amongst the chaos, he was happy to be back behind her wheel, even if the leather was peeling just a tiny bit from sun damage. It added more character, he thought.

He looked over at Gale, noticing the younger man sitting still and almost stiff, eyes zeroed in on the dash but glazed over in thought and what was probably left over sedation from the heavy painkillers he was given. His expression was blank, nothing giving away even the slightest hint at what was running through that pretty head of his, and Bucky felt that telltale tightening in his throat creep up again. But before he let it get a permanent grip, he reached forward, grabbing the black felt hat that had been sitting on the dash since the previous day (thanks, Curt) and picking it up before turning and dropping it perfectly over Buck's head.

The other man flinched in surprise, ripped out of his thoughts and his bright blue eyes coming back into focus as he turned to look at Bucky, a confused frown creasing his brow as he brought up his working hand and felt the hat underneath his fingers. He straightened it a few centimetres, eyes looking between Bucky's in a numb sort of questioning expression.

"My hat," he said dumbly, voice quieter and still that hint of lost that had Bucky swallowing back emotions that he didn't want to put a name to, instead letting a bright smile grow from his smirk in the blond's direction, teeth bright.

"Well, can't be much of a cowboy without your hat now, can you?" Bucky smiled, watching every minute change in Buck's expression like a hawk. He was rewarded with a swooping sensation in his chest when he noticed the smallest grin colour Buck's face, eyes flickering away from Bucky's with a small huff of a laugh to focus out the windshield.

"Don't think I'll be much of a cowboy for the next couple weeks, Bucky," Gale muttered. As if in stark reminder, he winced as he shifted slightly in the worn leather seat, obviously jostling one of the many painful areas littering his body.

"Ahhh come on," Bucky joked, leaning forward slightly to grip the ancient clutch and put the truck into gear. "You're still one of the best cowboys around, even if you are bruised and battered to high heaven."

Gale huffed out another light breath of a laugh, lifting his good elbow up to rest it against the open window, hand and fingers dangling on the outside and tapping a gentle beat against the metal of the door as Bucky pulled the vehicle out and towards the end of the parking lot onto the main road.

The next half hour of the drive back to the rodeo grounds was silent, just the monotone hum of the local radio turned down to barely audible from the truck's old speakers and the quick whoosh of another vehicle every now and then, passing them on the highway on the way back to where they'd just came from. The sun had dipped low enough on the horizon now that the reaching expanse of the county they were in painted a picture through the slightly dirty windshield, sky lit up in oranges and reds streaked through by a few stray clouds.

Bucky would hazard glances from the corner of his eyes every now and then at Gale, who sat still and stoic beside him, chin now rested in the palm of his hand against the window, eyes cast out to the scenery that rolled by. Bucky could tell that under the surface there was something much more sinister and harsh squeezing at Buck's heart and thoughts, spiraling down deep into a void that he worried he wouldn't be able to pull the younger man out of, even if he lassoed him like a runaway steer.

At some point, with a nervous swallow, Bucky reached his free hand out, covering Buck's thigh with the expanse of it, feeling the tension in the muscles and gave what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, gentle and barely there, but a reminder he was right there with him all the same. He counted it as a win when he noticed Buck's face turn to him slightly with a soft smile, eyes very obviously still avoiding John's own before turning back to the view from the window. It had Bucky releasing a long breath he hadn't realised he had been holding hostage in his chest. He didn't attempt to remove his hand, and Buck didn't make any effort to shift out from under it. If anything, he leaned into the touch, knee swinging softly towards the gear stick in Bucky's general direction after a few moments. A silent thank you.

Bucky couldn't help the gentle self-satisfied smile that graced itself onto his face.

By the time Bucky turned the truck off the highway and through the big open gates of the grounds, the sun had dipped that much further underneath the distant mountains that everything was washed in a barely perceivable darkness. What was left of the sunset was slowly turning itself to the deep blue of the night, stars beginning to reveal themselves against the quickly fading orange glow.

As the beam of the truck's headlights lit up the dirt road further into the grounds and towards the still set up camps close by the back of the arena, the familiar sight of gooseneck trailers and camper trailers, awnings folded out and a pit fire settled in the middle amongst them came more into view.

They could see the silhouettes of a dozen people, Curt and Dougie and Brady and the rest all chatting away circled around the fire, beers in a few hands as Bucky slowly pulled the truck to a stop up beside Crosby's trailer. It wasn't until he had turned off the engine, hopping out of the cab with stiff knees and moved around to Buck's side that Curt's voice cut through the night and reached them through the other voices.

"Ayyyy, the great Champion returns!" Bucky couldn't help the grin from painting his face as he looked up, mid opening Buck's door and seeing Curt walking in their direction, back lit up in orange from the fire's warmth and arms lifted above his head, beer bottle in one hand.

Buck had only just planted his boots on the ground with a slightly pained grunt before he was swept up in a happy but very careful embrace by Curt, the other shorter man being incredibly cautious as to which parts he touched, but none the less enthusiastic in his greeting. The curve of Buck's own smile, teeth glinting in the half darkness caught Bucky's eye and he couldn't help the weight that lifted from the centre of his chest.

"It's good to see you, Buck. They finally release you from that hellhole, huh? Thought our good ol' Bucky here was gonna rot himself to that chair by your bed if you didn't get outta there soon."

Bucky couldn't help the bashful way he rubbed at the back of his neck at Curt's words, hoping the slight colour that rose to his cheeks wasn't too obvious in the lowlight when Buck shot him a soft glance from his peripheral.

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away, Curt," Buck joked back. It was light-hearted and jovial, appeasing Curt's attention on him, but Bucky could see that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. There was a blank faraway look behind those baby blues, and it made Bucky's chest restrict uncomfortably as he watched as more of the boys made their way over. They all stepped forward to squeeze the blond cowboy's good shoulder or shake his good hand, some like Brady and Jack and Crosby mirroring Curt and pulling Buck into a gentle embrace, ever careful of his injuries.

Once they had all made their way over to the fire's warmth, Curt all but forcing Buck into one of the fold out camper chairs in his usual mother hen ways, everyone took their turn updating him and Bucky on everything they had missed while they had been in the hospital. Buck more-so, considering the first almost week the man had been unconscious for most of the time and had missed more than Bucky had.

Curt took a few moments to admonish Bucky like he had expected at having had his phone on silent for nearly the entire time, but Bucky just waved him off with a cocky smirk. He kept glancing at Buck every few minutes, taking note of every small change in the blond's expression, the way he joked with the others, the small smiles and tilt of his chin when he laughed as much as his broken ribs would allow him to in their process of healing. To any of the others, everything was normal, Buck's gentle quiet nature and injuries the reasoning as to why he wasn't quite himself yet, why there wasn't that normal spark in the shine of his eyes. But Bucky could feel the tension, the exhaustion that was more than just from pain and injury radiating from Buck like he was melded with the man's very mind himself. Could see the way he tucked himself further underneath Bucky's jacket every now and then with a faraway look on his face before he made himself more alert to the conversations around him.

Bucky just sat and boded his time, happy to not have to make too much small talk amongst the other boys as the night further darkened and the numbers on his watch got later and later.

When most of the conversations had died down and a few of the boys had retired to their trailers for the night, a few still milling about with the happiness that both Buckies return had caused and talking amongst themselves, voices slightly slurred from alcohol, Bucky stood from his seat against the wheel of one of the goosnecks and shoved his slightly chilled hands deep into his pocket. Making his way over to where Buck was still seated in the camper chair, staring blankly into the fire which wasn't as fierce as earlier in the evening now.

Leaning down, his lips close to Buck's ear from behind he whispered a low "Come on, Sunshine, follow me for a sec. Got something I wanna show ya."

He smirked when Buck jumped slightly in surprise at the sound of his voice so close, obviously so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed Bucky make his way over. Craning his neck backwards so he could look up at Bucky's face, blue eyes trying hard to focus on him upside down, he frowned in question.

"Come on," Bucky repeated, smile soft and obvious as he stepped to the side a little and held his hand out to Buck in an offer to help hoist him to his feet. The blond almost looked like he wasn't going to move, body language hesitant and lips pursing into a tight line, before he sighed and reached out with his good hand, gripping Bucky's offered firmly and allowing himself to be lifted into standing, a small grimace of pain fluttering across his features at his ribs obviously screaming in protest.

Once Bucky was sure he had recovered, he tugged at their joined hands gently, tilting his chin in the direction of the arena with a small smile. Buck looked at him, still questioning in his gaze before he allowed himself to be lead through the cluster of trailers. He didn't drop Bucky's hand, but instead almost hesitantly thread their fingers together. Bucky couldn't help his heart from soaring as he gave Gale's hand a gentle squeeze in silent comfort.

Like second nature he guided Gale out of the gathered maze of trailers, the sounds of the other boy's voices growing further and further behind them until the arena was not far in front of them, only just visible by some of the smaller flood-lights that were still on around the barriers. When they got closer, and Bucky turned towards the holding yards, he felt Gale falter slightly, his hand pulling back subconsciously but he didn't drop their hold.

Bucky looked back at Gale's face, seeing the blond's eyes focused out onto the sands, expression blank but taut like a frayed guitar string on the verge of snapping, and he slowed his stride.

"Hey," Bucky spoke gently, like he was approaching a ready-to-spook horse. When Buck still didn't look at him, he gave their still joined hands a squeeze and a shake, until Gale finally snapped his eyes back to Bucky's. They were wide and had a look of slight fear buried deep behind, flickering over Bucky's face trying to look for some semblance of comfort. Bucky held their gaze for a few moments, both men having stopped in their journey, and waited until he knew Buck was partially back in the present. "Hey it's okay, I promise. Trust me."

Gale's expression was still one of veiled panic and grief for a few more seconds, before he found whatever he was looking for in Bucky's own face and let his shoulders slouch and relax, breath exhaling slowly with a small nod.

With a comforting smile, Bucky tugged at their hands gently until Gale fell back into step behind him, eyes still glancing over to the middle of the arena every now and then like he was seeing invisible monsters advancing towards them.

Bucky could only imagine what was going through the smaller man's head, still often privvy to his own torturous memories and images from the day of Buck's accident no matter how hard he tried to forget and push them back. Every now and then the picture of Gale's face, bright red blood flowing down one side of it and slack in unconsciousness, pale and looking for all intent and purposes dead kept haunting him. But he stamped those thoughts down, focusing instead on the feeling of Buck's thankfully now warm fingers between his own, the slight sensation of his fluttering pulse.

Making it to the holding yards out behind the bull chutes, Bucky carefully made his way through the maze of yards, keeping a firm grip on Buck's hand as the two men threaded their way in and out between metal gates and runs in the dark.

Gale's voice, hushed and urgent, reached him from behind, and the smile only grew on his face. "Bucky I can't fucking see. We're both gonna fall head over tit if you don't slow-"

"Shhh!" Bucky answered back, only pulling Gale further into the pens.

Gale made an affronted noise, mouth parted. "Did you just fucking shush me?!"

"Sure did, now if you'd just shut your pretty mouth and look."

Gale gave his hand a harsh squeeze in retaliation. "Did you forget the part where I just said I can't see? What the hell am I even supposed to be looking a-"

Buck froze in his following of Bucky, the taller man allowing himself to be pulled to a complete stop when Buck's hand pulled against his as the whuffled knicker of a familiar horse finally reached the blond's ears in the darkness.

Bucky turned, facing Buck so he could catch sight of the smaller man's face in the dim light, and he couldn't help the genuine warm smile that split his face, noticing Gale's eyes focused somewhere off behind him, shock evident and an obvious glint of wetness beginning to form against dark blond bottom lashes.

His lips moved silently, stuck on actually producing any noise, until he glanced up at Bucky, brow furrowing into a look of pain. "John.."

"She's been waitin' for you," John said simply in response, still smiling brightly and allowing Buck's hand to drop from his as the blond stepped past him towards the last square pen at the end of the lane.

Almost as if he was seeing a ghost, Buck walked up carefully, eyes flickering over every inch of the palomino mare's body, taking in every inch of her as she walked up to the rails and shoved her head through and pushed her nose into Gale's chest, still murmuring at him. He couldn't help the way his breath rushed out of him at the contact, good hand lifting up shakily until he rested it on the white of her blaze. She nudged at him again, a questioning sort of move and lipped at the cast around his other arm. A silent question of 'what the hell is this thing? Why do you have this?'

Bucky slowly walked up to stand beside Buck, reaching up and resting his arms onto the higher rails in a casual air of relaxtion, and watched, transfixed as Gale just stared at the horse, hand still on her face, the younger's breathing jagged and coming in short bursts. Shock, relief.

After a few more moments, Buck seemed to come back to himself, a disbelieving breath escaping parted lips and turned his gaze back to Bucky. John could see the tears still evident in the other man's lower lashes, glittering and growing and threatening to fall to the dust underneath them.

"H-how..?"

Bucky smiled at him, resting his forehead against his folded arms and looked at the mare in question. "Curt's been looking after her while you were gone. Made sure she was real pampered, 'til you got back and did the pampering yourself."

"But she.. Bucky, I thought she was.."

Bucky chuckled, low and easy, and nudged his shoulder against Gale's. "What, dead? Nahhh, barely got a scrape on her. Tiny little cut just above the front hoof. Vet didn't even have to wrap it."

At John's words it was like a dam broke from within Buck, and he could only watch helpless as the tears gathered in the blond's eyes finally fell down his cheeks in silvery lines as he squeezed them shut, body bowing over at the waist with his good hand braced against his knee before straightening again. Buck tilted his face to the sky for a few seconds, breathing ragged, a barely audible sob hitching from his lungs painfully.

"I thought she broke her neck. God, Bucky I thought she was fucking dead, I thought she'd broke a leg, and she had to be shot. Fuck I- As soon as I woke up, that's all I could... that's all I could fucking-"

John stepped up to Gale, reaching up and pulling the smaller man against his broad chest and held him there, feeling the small tremors that wracked Gale's broken body. He put a hand against the back of Gale's head, fingers threading through golden strands, hat getting knocked off kilter and falling onto the ground.

"Hey, hey, you're okay. Everything's okay. Baby's okay. She's as tough as her goddamn rider," Bucky shushed him gently, resting his cheek against the top of Buck's head and just allowing the other to cry all but silently into his neck. He could feel the air chill the wetness there and looked up to the stars himself and thanked whatever was watching over them that Buck was still here, that he was still alive and able to be held in his arms like this. He felt his own eyes begin to gather tears at the fragility of the man in his arms, and swallowed harshly against them.

Bucky inhaled deeply, Gale's good hand clutched desperately in the side of his jacket, a warm weight sitting there as he pressed his lips into the crown of Buck's hair.

"Think she came out of it a bit better than you did, though," he whispered as an afterthought, lips curving into a smirk when he felt Gale clench his hand into a fist and thump it into his ribs in reply. He couldn't help the chuckle that rumbled in his chest, only slightly moving back so that he could look down at Buck, his smirk melting into a soft smile at the sight of Gale now looking up at him. Tear stained cheeks and lashes clumped together, a defiant glare but with no real malice directed at him, eyes bright and blue and more reminiscent of the Buck that John knew and adored.

Gale's eyes flickered from his down to his lips and back, frown easing into something much softer and more vulnerable, and Bucky thought his heart would explode at the pure emotion he could see mirrored in Buck's irises. His breath stuttered, smile slipping off of his lips and heart thundering like a freight train behind his ribs.

Everything fell into a syrupy slow motion as they stared at eachother, Bucky's hand that had been gently cupping the back of Buck's head slowly slipping around to cup the other man's cheek, slow and careful, thumb sweeping over the sharp line of his jaw in a barely there caress.

He swallowed thickly, noticing Buck nudge into that hold, eyes lowering back to his lips. He felt like his entire world was tilting on its axis, narrowing down to just the two of them standing out in the middle of the stock pens behind the arena where he nearly lost the one thing he had ever truly cared for more than the feeling of being perched up on a raging bull's back. Even riding a bull made his heart thunder less than it was right now.

Carefully, giving Gale the chance to pull away, he sighed, breath ghosting over the other man's lips. "Buck, I-"

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me John before we both die of old age," Gale whispered harshly, good hand that was gripping into Bucky's jacket tugging now and John couldn't help the surprised smile from lifting his lips.

"Sure thing, cowboy," John laughed silently, revelling in the familiar exasperated roll of Buck's eyes towards him before he surged forward and ever so gently pressed his lips against Gale's, eyes closing against the absolutely overwhelming sparks that ignited in his chest like someone had just lit fireworks behind his sternum.

Gale's lips were soft, just like he'd imagined a million times, pliant and warm and so gentle it stole his breath away, and it wasn't until Buck's good hand reached up and threaded through his dark curls that he allowed himself to deepen the kiss, tilting his head slightly. His lips parted, allowing Buck the access to slip his tongue carefully along his own, insistent and starved but always gentle. He could feel the taut guitar string tension like a mockery of earlier in the night behind Gale's kiss, a long awaited hunger like a man starved and then unleashed among all the sustenance he could have ever wished for.

It wasn't until Buck made a small sound in the back of his throat, a small needy gasp that Bucky allowed himself to pull back slightly, letting his lips linger as he allowed Buck a few more soft kisses before he gasped himself, pulling air into his starved lungs and it was only then he realised that at some point he had stopped breathing all together.

Buck didn't chase, happy and content with what had just happened, but still comfortable to stay wrapped up in John's arms, no sign of regret or fear in any way, and Bucky let his eyes open slowly and wander over the ruined and wrecked expression on the other man's face. Kiss swollen lips were still parted, breath huffing sharply, body still trembling but for entirely different reasons than before now, and Bucky didn't think he had ever seen anything more perfect, more beautiful in his life. Nothing, not even winning the PBR in Vegas could make him feel as elated or wonder-struck as this moment right here, having just kissed Gale fucking Cleven in some random rodeo grounds.

Trying for a few moments to catch his breath, Bucky let his thumb graze over Gale's jaw again in a gentle gesture, watching half lidded blue eyes peer up at him in wonder. He couldn't help the breathless laugh that escaped him, forehead bumping against Buck's, tips of their noses touching shortly after.

Baby knickered from behind them, shocking them back slightly into the present and John laughed again, the mare reminding him of something.

"By the way," Bucky panted, grin curving even further "Curt may wanna demand some compensation looking after your girl. He's down one half of an ass-cheek as of two days ago. She's got a nice pair of chompers on 'er."

Buck realed back, shock evident in his eyes and the gape of his mouth. "She fuckin' what?"

[derseprinceoftbd]

This is a rant I've been meaning to get off my chest for a while, but the conception on Tumblr, AO3, and sometimes here, that Jake is capable of "teasing" Dirk, and all that implies, irks me deeply.

Let me be clear: Jake English is not self-aware. He, in Canon, never does anything resembling self-awareness, maturity, emotional boldness, or anything else that requires a spinal column. This includes apologizing to anyone, talking about his problems in a way that doesn't end up being selfish, teasing someone, particularly Dirk, or transitioning. (I maintain this especially; he does not have the boldness, maturity, self-awareness, or nerve to have transitioned his gender presentation pre-Act-6.)

He has an *understanding* of pranks, if we allow Paradox Space as evidence, but that's it. He makes *Tavros* look like a fully-roleplayed-into-Class-shift Lord.

You know what the popular Fandom perception of Jake, as a member of a DirkJake relationship, lines up with? *John*, before his main writing trait became a deep, all-consuming depression and repression thing.

Like, John’s original Act 5 and earlier characterization before his underreaction to his dad's death and the spiral that sent him down towards his current "transition would not save her" characterization is what people use for Jake (charming, funny, actually seems to have his shit together enough to maybe be transmasc (man, remember *transmasc John*?), and, most importantly, seemingly capable of dealing with the levels of vaguely sociopathic bullshit that an even-close-to-accurate Dirk would throw at him), but DirkJohn/JohnDirk is less popular, to the point of not having a consensus order, simply because Jake and Dirk are *coded* as liking each other.

I think a lot of people miss that DirkJake is fundamentally the Equius of relationships; Hussie isn't one of those writers that feels pride in finding pathos in the ridiculous, but spiteful glee and humor. He genuinely does not care if he accidentally touches people's hearts in a way that doesn't involve Dave, or *maybe* Vriska. The fact is, DirkJake is a joke relationship, which is spelled out very clearly in their conversation.

You know, their conversation. The one they have together. The time we see someone who is actual Dirk Strider, not Hal pretending, not Aranea co-opting a memory, not a Brain Ghost, talking to Jake. That time.

Yeah, that doesn't exist. DirkJohn has as much conversational basis as DirkJake.

Edit:

LESS! GAME OVER! "I FAILED"! LESS!!!

DirkJake is a joke, a long, subtle one being made on everyone who saw Dirk's affections and immediately wanted him to get together with his disabled(?) ongoing harassment victim. Hussie was having a lot of fun making it seem like Jake found it important in the Masterpiece, I'll tell you that much.

@thelifetimechannel/@geejaysmith/@clonerightsagenda did magnificently wringing blood from this stone, I really do mean that, their Alphas are genuinely written better than Canon for 3/4, but that's all it ever was; every DirkJake writer is the YouTube comments under [this video](https://youtu.be/B7bpv5xyrOY?si=wYTCFDHM5ZzOY8fp) saying Equius could ever have been more than what he was.

TL:DR

1, Jake is pathetic, and we should remember this.

2, Hussie is a jackass who hates us one and all for the sin of caring and everything he has done with this franchise since maybe EOY2 has had an ulterior motive, and we should remember this.

3, Most people who write longfics set in SBURBless AUs, whether normalcy or fantasy, and want to ship Dirk and Jake should really be shipping Dirk with John, since now that history of Dirk-Jake interactions that justifies the ship in-Universe is gone at the Author's leasure, John would have the dynamic they want, and they talk *exactly as much*.

4, If you want to trans Jake, [there's a sensible way to do that](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619856), but there's no in-character way to make him transmasc.

5, Read DDOTA, I beseecheth of you. Like yeah the Striders are emotional to a kinda weird degree but apart from that they really got everyone down right.

[babecoups]

rodeo || johnny suh

⇝ title: Rodeo ⇝ pairing: rapper!johnny x manager!reader ⇝ genre: coworkers with benefits sort of | secret relationship | smut ⇝ summary: After Johnny sees you showing off on one of the set’s mechanical bulls, he can’t help but pull you into his trailer and put your riding skills to the test. ⇝ rating: 18+ ⇝ word count: 2.1k ⇝ warnings: unedited (i’m so sorry) | strong language | johnny wears a grill… warning you now | cowgirl duh | reverse cowgirl because we lit | rope play (not really sexual) | spanking/ass grabbing | them chains are staying on girlfriend | dom but bottom!johnny (like she’s fucking him) | spitting/spit play (sorry not sorry) | pet names | scratching | protected sex | gagging/choking on fingers | controlled orgasm | light obedience play | cum shots | the cheesy ending we all deserve | i think that’s all... enjoy!! ⇝ author’s note: Happy Birthday to my sis Beezy @hobeemin​ !! I love you and I wanted to write you something for your birthday. I did not expect it to get this filthy because I just cannot write Johnny in this way but the minute I thought about this look… I knew it was the one. Anyway, I hope you like it! I wrote it with love. 

⇝ playlist: Rodeo by Juvenile | Handstand by French Montana, Doja Cat, & Saweetie | Distraction by Kehlani

masterlist | join my permanent tag list? | mail box | read on ao3 | banner credits

“She is so going to fall. How many seconds are you giving her?”

Johnny leans against the railing, glancing at your assistant as he ponders in his thoughts.

“I give her about two seconds.”

“Bullshit. Both of you are going to be buying me lunch when this is over,” you chime in.

The two men share a laugh, and the rest of the staff join in as they prepare to watch you fail. Your eyes shift to Johnny when the lights reflect off the diamond-encrusted plate temporarily attached to his front bottom row of teeth. His tongue rolls over his top lip before he bites his lip absentmindedly, watching you as attentively as you are him. It’s a distraction you cannot indulge in due to the multiple people around you and the sudden jerk your body feels when the bull begins to move.

“Thirty seconds, motherfuckers! Pay attention.”

Your thighs clench, and you put on your game face, letting the snickers and side comments travel through your ears and disappear into the air. Your dominant hand holds on with all its strength while your other hand extends outward. You’re devoted to staying balanced because that’s going to be the key to lasting the entire time.

“Look at her only using one hand,” your assistant comments.

“That’s all I need.”

You hear Johnny fake a cough after your reply, and you squint your eyes at him just before the bull begins to spin. The ride starts to get rough quickly but you hang in there. Thirty seconds feel like hours when you’re being tossed around. Once you have a strong grip and a feel of what the bull can do, you’re about fifteen seconds in and ready to knock them out.

For show, you arch your back and smile at the people filming on their phones. The teasing is replaced with praises as everyone starts cheering you on. Everyone except one, who’s looking on with an unreadable expression. 

Suddenly, the ride switches gears, and you almost slip off. You struggle as you’re leaning toward one side, and you almost allow yourself to fall, forfeiting the last few seconds before a voice sways your decision. 

“Keep going, baby girl.”

You don’t even need to look to know who it belongs to. A switch flips on, and you regain control. The countdown begins, and your burning muscles work overtime to keep you on the bull. When time’s up, you make a victorious but not-so-graceful landing.

You lie there relishing in the cheers, but when your eyes open, you only want to see one person’s smile. However, he’s nowhere in sight. You get and dust yourself off before climbing out of the ring, receiving nothing but high-fives as you descend the stairs.

“Let’s go celebrate girl! You did that shit,” someone calls out.

You agree, but only to get them off your back while you seek out the man you’ve been waiting to talk to all day. “Yeah, I’m just going to go grab my stuff, and I’ll be back.”

It’s partly the truth. 

You will be back, but your purse is in the sprinter, on the other side of the set.

Still, you make your way past several trailers, looking for the one belonging to the star of the music video. Unfortunately, every trailer looks the same, and you can only pinpoint a general area of where he is.

As you peek into one trailer’s window, the door to the one behind you opens. When you turn around, you see Johnny standing on the threshold, wearing one of his signature smirks.

“Looking for someone?” he questions.

“Maybe.”

Johnny nods, his cowboy hat still covering his dark eyes. He’s probably waiting for the stylists to undress him since there’s one more shoot tomorrow, but since you’re here, you might be able to help with that.

“I see you don’t have time for me today. But it’s cool.”

You roll your eyes. He knows he can’t let himself get jealous; it’s too risky. 

The first time was supposed to be the last time, but a year later you still can’t keep your hands off each other. The industry isn’t kind to artists who sleep with their managers. No one wants to work with them out of fear of messy situations. The things you do to each other must remain a secret if you want it all to last. However, some days are more difficult than others.

“Whatever. I’m going to lunch,” you sigh. “Do you want anything?”

You start walking away before he responds, and once you’re about three feet away, something flies over your head and you feel it tighten around your midsection.

“What the–”

You look down and notice that you’re caught up in a rope. Before you can ask any questions, you’re pulled back until you run into something, or someone.

“You aren’t the only one who’s learned some tricks.”

Johnny spins you around, making you face him.

“Don’t be like that. You know I like teasing you,” he reasons, but you don’t want to hear it.

He knows you’re sensitive about this stuff, seeing many of your colleagues' reputations ruined for the same thing you’re doing with him. 

“It’s not funny, though.”

Noticing the small pout on your lips, Johnny gives the rope enough slack for it to fall and he pulls you in for a hug. His chin rests on your forehead, keeping an eye out for anyone and listening carefully for footsteps. 

“You’re so worrisome,” he sighs, caressing your back. “I was just trying to have a little fun with you.”

“Fuck off,” you murmur into his jacket. 

Your cheek presses against his bare pecs, and you find comfort in the warmth of his sun-kissed skin.

“Woah. You’re so mean. I just figured since you liked riding that bull so much, maybe you’d want to go for a real ride.”

Your head lifts and moves away from his chest so you can look at him. “What?”

“Oh, now I have your attention, hm?”

His smirk grows into a smile and reveals his mouthpiece. It shines even brighter when he takes off his hat and places it on your head. Johnny gestures towards his trailer and winks at you.

“Let’s get it, cowgirl.”

Seated on Johnny’s lap, your hand grasps the gold links around his neck while you grind against him. Both of you panting and sweating, the world doesn’t even exist at this moment.

“So good for me,” he growls. “How am I supposed to leave you alone?”

His nails dig into your flesh as he holds your globes within his grasp, wanting to be as close to you as he physically can.

“You don’t. Problem solved.”

You start to move more swiftly, feeling a familiar sensation creeping inside your gut. Johnny’s dick enters your womb each time you land on his hips, leaving you gasping and moaning louder than you should be.

“Yeah? So that means you’re mine, right?”

“Fuck. Johnny.”

The way his lips curl into a grin when you cry his name leaves you shivering and begging him.

For what, is unclear to you, but all you know is that you want him badly.

“Yeah, you’re mine,” he states confidently. “Open your mouth.”

He’s right about that. You are.

Whatever he wants, he gets it—because he never holds back when pleasing you.

Your lips part enough for you to stick out your tongue. He wastes no time shoving his fingers deep inside and spitting into your crevice. Two of his digits push his saliva deep into your throat, making you gag around them. You stare at him through your watery eyes, your damp lashes, and fresh tears blurring your vision. However, you can still make out the pleased expression on his face.

You purposely clench around him, and his hips buck off the couch. Johnny then grabs your waist, halting your movements while he speaks.

“I see how you wanna play. Turn around.” You lift yourself slightly, keeping him inside while you turn in the opposite direction. As you find the right position, Johnny slaps your ass, making you squeak in surprise. He kneads the flesh tenderly, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze of appreciation. “Let’s see how long you can stay on this ride.”

As soon as you start to ride his cock, Johnny begins to thrust into you, nearly bouncing you off of his lap. His toned thighs make it difficult for you to control the pace, but with a hand holding onto his leg, you’re saved from falling on the floor. 

Once you’ve gotten accustomed to the way he’s slamming into you, you’re able to regain control. You arch your back and place your free hand on top of his hat sitting on your head. The sounds that begin to leave your lips become feral, and you can hear Johnny’s grunts turn into moans and gasps. He’s close, and so are you. You decide to make the last seconds count.

“You feel so good,” you purr. “Do I feel good, Johnny?”

He throws back his head and whispers a few expletives. 

“You feel like heaven, baby. You already know.”

You whimper in response, his deep voice soothing to your ears.

“So wet, so tight. You know how much I love this pussy.”

“Fuck!”

“What’s wrong? Need to come?” he quizzes. 

“Can I? Please.”

Your raspy cries fill the room just like the lewd noises produced by your arousal squelching between your thighs. Johnny ceases his movements and allows you to chase your own release while he watches in awe. He holds your waist to support you and guide you because your body is moving faster than your mind can keep up with.

“Get you one, cowgirl. You deserve it.”

When those words leave his lips, your sense of reality disappears. Everything grows white, and you have no control over your body. Your orgasm takes your breath away, leaving you struggling to catch your breath. A shockwave ripples through you, and the sensation is intoxicating. 

You can hear Johnny’s groans as he tries to hold on, but the warm feeling of your walls pulsing around his cock is almost unbearable. His cock twitches inside of you as you ride out your high, but he hangs on until you’re flopping forward on your face.

Johnny quickly gets up, and removes the condom, so he can shoot his load all over your ass. Hot ropes of his cum paint your skin, but you’re too out of it to complain about being sticky.

“Are you okay, baby?”

You sigh. “I am.”

“Alright, well you should probably–”

Johnny's phone rings, and he walks across the room to check it. He answers it and puts it on speaker, so you assume it’s important.

“Yeah?”

Fuck. It’s your assistant looking for you. 

“She’s in my trailer,” Johnny explains.

You immediately sit up and look at him with wide eyes. Why would he say that?

“She’s embarrassed because she got sick from that bull ride. You’ll have to take lunch without her.”

You exhale and relax your body, sinking into the couch.

“That was too close,” you whisper.

Johnny throws you a wink, and you respond with a small smile. They’d probably have a million questions had he not thought of that response so quickly.

“Yeah, she’s going to get back to the hotel in the sprinter with me, but I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

When the call ends, Johnny joins you on the couch. He wipes the cum off of your skin and tosses the shirt on the floor before he speaks.

“So,” he begins. You turn so you can see his face. “We have the rest of the day together. What are we doing?”

You shrug.

“I don’t know. Maybe we can…”

You grab his arm and pull him on top of you. Your lips graze his ear, and he shudders.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

Smirking, your fingers dance up his biceps.

“Maybe we can take a nap?”

“Now, that’s hot.”

“I know, right?” you giggle.

When silence takes over, you play in Johnny’s hair as he hums.

“You think they’ll notice if that hat goes missing?”

His question makes you roll your eyes. 

“I fucking hate you sometimes,” you respond. “But, no. They have several because they know how you are.”

You return to twirling his strands between your fingers, enjoying the post-orgasm quality time until he ruins it once again.

“Good. I wonder if it’ll stay on while I’m fucking you from the back.”

Honestly, as long as he shows you what other trick he’s learned with that rope, he can do anything he wants with you.

[belu-bleeb]

👁️‍🗨️ (not litteraly)

[scionshtola]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Prompt 1 - Steer

pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul rating: G | word count: 854 words notes: some rodeo au to start us off :> Part of Y'shtola's first day on the ranch

“Is this really necessary?”

Y’shtola looked down from her seat in the saddle—were horses usually so tall?--and met Corisande’s friendly gaze. Their arms bracketed Y’shtola, one hand still holding the reins and the other resting on the horse’s body behind the saddle, which made her feel somewhat more secure.

“You’re working on a ranch, miss,” Corisande replied. “You should know how to ride a horse on your own.”

“Are there no other ways to get around the ranch?” She had seen several pickup trucks on her way in this morning. Surely they were just as capable of getting them around the property.

“Riding’s the easiest. Besides, the Haillenarte’s own a lot of land, and some places you can only get to by horseback. With all the research you talked about doing on grounds, Miss Rhul, I know you’ll want to see them.”

Y’shtola narrowed her eyes at them, and only got the same friendly smile in return. But the sincerity of their expression, framed by soft red fringe and two braids that hung sweetly in front of their shoulders, and their polite but firm insistence on referring to her as “miss”--which, to her surprise, she found rather charming—set her at ease. 

The appeal to her work on the ranch grounds did not hurt, either, which Corisande seemed to know, as she held the reins out to Y’shtola before she had given her assent. Y’shtola took them and squared her shoulders.

“There’s no need to worry, Pepper is a sweet horse,” Corisande said gently, patting the horse’s flank. Her black coat was flecked with a yellow that glinted in the sun. “She’ll do most of the work, once you learn how to steer her.”

For the next forty five minutes, Corisande taught her exactly that. She showed Y’shtola how to hold the reins properly between her fingers; how to guide the horse into a turn by opening her arm in the direction she wanted to go, keeping the other steady to avoid drifting as they walked around the paddock; how to use her legs to do the same. 

“I think you’ve got the hang of it,” Corisande said the next time Y’shtola pulled Pepper to a stop at her side. She gestured for Y’shtola to follow her across the paddock on horseback, opening the gate and letting them through. Y’shtola watched as she loaded a few small bags onto Pepper’s saddle, before taking Y’shtola’s own backpack and slinging the straps over her shoulders. “I think you’re ready to see the whole ranch now.”

Y’shtola only had a moment to feel satisfied at how quickly she had learned before Corisande pulled herself neatly into the saddle behind her, her hands politely on Y’shtola’s waist as she settled in.

“We’re to share?” Y’shtola said in surprise. “Don’t you have your own horse?”

“This is my horse,” Corisande replied, her amusement evident in her tone. 

Y’shtola fought the urge to roll her eyes, even though Corisande could not see her. “You know what I mean. Why did you teach me to ride, if you were going to ride with me anyway?”

“It’s a good skill to have out here,” Corisande said. “What if something happened to me, and you needed to get back for help on your own? Cell service isn’t particularly reliable out here, you know.”

“Do you anticipate becoming incapacitated? Is there perhaps another, more competent hand to guide me in your stead?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Corisande said. That the statement was not itself a question, and that they sounded far more amused rather than irritated, strangely pleased Y’shtola. 

She pushed the feeling to the side before she answered. “Yes, I do.”

Corisande laughed, and the gentle sound of it in Y’shtola’s ear brought a slight smile to her lips. 

“You learned to steer a horse at little more than a trot. For now, if you want to see as much as you can today, it’s best you let me take the lead. If that sounds alright to you, miss, then we will be on our way.”

Y’shtola couldn’t argue with that—she had been able to make her way around the paddock with no assistance, at a speed that would not take them very far around the property. And now that she had gotten over her surprise, she could admit to herself that Corisande’s earlier point was equally valid—it was good to know, in case of an emergency.

“It sounds fine to me,” she acquiesced, and relinquished the reins to Corisande. 

Their hands brushed hers for a moment, a warmth in the touch that did something strange to Y’shtola’s stomach. She tried not to think about it, but with their arms around her, she had no choice but to lean into their chest. With unfortunately heated cheeks, she realized she was very aware of all their points of contact. Their chest to her back, their legs fitted together, their biceps framing her waist. 

When Corisande nudged the horse into motion, Y’shtola took a steadying breath, willing the warmth in her face to fade, and let her guide them to their destination.

[thewolvesof1998]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley and @wikiangela

Bear with me...Since Halloween's over I think it's time for a change of picture, now its too early for anything Christmas so I thought I would change to my drawing of Rodeo Star Buck as I finally finished drawing it:

And since it's Wednesday, here's a little bit I've been working on today from Chapter three of Alright, Cowboy, Go Get 'Em:

Eddie watches as Buck pulls away, not physically, he stays lying next to Eddie, but he pulls away mentally and it hurts more than it should. It leaves a sour taste in Eddie’s mouth and it makes him want to chase after Buck, kiss him until it washes it away. It can’t end like this, on this sour note with Buck further away from him than when he entered this hotel room.  Eddie rolls onto his side facing Buck, props himself up on his elbow and reaches out towards Buck before he can think better. His hand connects with Buck’s shoulder first before sliding down over his chest and down to sit low on his stomach. He’s so warm even with the T-shirt between them.  “What are you doing?” Buck asks “We have an hour before I have to leave, we could you know, if you want?” Buck raises a single eyebrow, “Fuck?” Eddie blushes, he doesn’t know why he’d said worse things last night, “Yeah, I suppose that’s a word for it.” “I wanna hear you say it.” Eddie meets Buck’s gaze, his blue eyes practically glowing in the early morning light, leans until his lips brush against Buck’s ear and whispers, “I want to fuck you.” He almost says 'I want you to fuck me' but he's not sure he's ready for that yet. Buck swallows, “Yeah, yeah we can do that.”  At the permission Eddie slides his hand down and under Buck’s shirt, he lightly brushes over the skin above the waistband of his boxers, teasing and teasing until Buck is squirming.  “I thought you said you were going to fuck me?” He asks already a little breathless, his bottom lip in what Eddie would call a pout.  Eddie chuckles, “Always so impatient.” “We only have an hour,” Buck says and it’s a harsh reminder of the little time they have left together, something Eddie doesn’t want to focus on right now.  He pulls the covers off of them before returning his hand to Buck’s waistband, he’s already straining against the thin black fabric. Eddie slips his hand into his boxers and wraps his hand around Buck’s dick. His breath hitches in Eddie’s ear and he turns his head and catches Buck’s lips in a chaste kiss, the first of the morning. His lips are dry and he tastes slightly of morning breath, it should not be as cute as Eddie is finding it.  Buck pulls back, “We should brush our-ah-teeth,” Buck says somewhat distractedly as Eddie moves his hand along Buck’s length as best he can within the confines of the shorts.  “I don’t care if you don’t,” Eddie says, watching the challenge register on Buck’s face.  “Come here then,” He says, lifts his hand, slides it into Eddie’s hair and reels him in until their lips are brushing each other but no further. Eddie closes the distance, pressing into Buck, lips moulding together. He sucks in Buck’s lower lip, biting down until he’s gasping into Eddie’s mouth. He takes advantage of it to slip his tongue into Buck’s mouth, tasting the stale morning breath, it’s kinda nasty and so goddamn intimate and Eddie moans into Buck’s mouth. He chases the taste, sucking on Buck’s tongue in a sloppy kiss, that dissolves as Buck's gasps increase in frequency as Eddie’s hand continues its ministrations on Buck’s dick.  “Eddie,” Buck whines Eddie nips at the edge of his jaw, “You want something Darlin’?” He feels Buck shiver at the term of endearment, “You said something about fucking me.”

Masterlist of posts about this fic- 18+

Read Chapter One and Two on ao3- 18+

Tagging: @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz​ @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @forthewolves @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @eddiediaztho @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammy-souffle @smilingbuckley

[holy-puckslibrary]

˗ˏˋ main masterlist ˎˊ˗ 

✩ PAIRING(S) — bull-rider!MATTHEW TKACHUK x barrel racer!hughes!reader ✩ WC — 1.8k and counting… ✩ SEIRES CONTENT WARNING(S) — profanity and innuendo; adult themes and content; family drama and other angst; infidelity, betrayal and deceit; descriptions of injuries; and more.

please refer to individual uploads for more specific content warnings.

MAIN SERIES

feelin' single, seein' double all nighters with rodeo riders (uploaded FEB 3) a legend at lovin' and leavin' movin' on with jack six-gun sugar

EXTRAS & RELATED ASKS

✩ blurbs + hcs coming soon…

✩ asks — prequel vs. sequel (poll) — wild west (grace's version)

✩ tag(s) — #palomino princess | #in conversation: palomino princess | #all nighters with rodeo riders | #in conversation: all nighters with rodeo riders | #cowboy!matthew tkachuk | #bull-rider!matthew tkachuk

MUSIC & MOODBOARDS

✩ knockin' boots ✩ bunkhouse blues ✩ dutton state of mind ✩ raise a garden ✩ make boys cry, make beth dutton proud

my inbox my main blog — @holy-pucks

[kedsandtubesocks]

dance away your cowboy blues

Country Singer!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: who knew the man with the voice of an angel could break your heart this bad?

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, modern/no outbreak AU & Joel has both his daughters, exes to lovers with eventual husband!Joel, angst followed up by good sweet fluff, concert venue, light drinking mention, Joel being stubborn & bad at feelings, hints of spice, fools in love, reader is addressed as ‘honey, darlin,’ use of song lyrics in fic, Pearl Jam & Taylor Swift song mentions, soft & heartbroken!Joel, lovesick!Joel

word count: 6k

a/n: here we are - the last installment in our ‘Let’s Rodeo’ series & I’m so incredibly grateful to finally make it here, also this is my mini tribute to our boy and his SAG award! The main song Joel sings is this one and I highly recommend! Thank you to my forever babe @the-wild-wolves-around-you for letting me scream about plot holes & aiding my Joel brainrot, @tightjeansjavi for always being down to chat about Joel, and to @lowlights & @ahauntedcowboy for being my ever guiding forces for this series, thank you all… And finally to you reading this, thank you so much ♡

A year ago, Joel broke up with you on a warm early spring morning.

He arrived at your apartment, sat you down and shattered your world. You felt every range of emotion as he simply stood there like a man of steel.

So upset and angry, you wanted to rip your heart out and throw it at him.

Then later that week you found out his record was officially getting picked up and you crumbled.

Ending your relationship simply because he was about to step into true proper fame - you never took Joel to be a man so somberly callous. However, you began wondering if that’s what fame sometimes did to people.

When curiosity gnawed too hard, you’d Google him or even check Spotify. Simply catching glimpses of how big he’s gotten sent you spiraling. Last Thanksgiving, your favorite aunt threatened to lock your phone away when she found you upset in the bathroom after discovering Joel was performing at the Dallas Cowboys holiday game.

From that point on you refused to even check any amount of social media or update on him.

A few clunky first dates and a couple of ghosting experiences later, you’ve now decided to simply work on yourself and embrace the selfcare of being single.

It’s why when your best friend called you earlier today eagerly explaining how her parents had extra tickets to the Rodeo tonight, she playfully teased how she knew you didn’t have anything planned for this Saturday night.

You almost hung up on her, but you excitedly scrambled to get ready.

Now the smell of fried foods, popcorn, and beer cloud the air. The fairgrounds hold a chaotic but controlled lively energy. You never knew so many cowboy hats could exist in one space.

Once you meet up with your best friends' parents, you’re transported to a whole new area you never believed could exist during a rodeo. Lux and cozy, the VIP lounge gleams with its elevated experience. You knew your best friend’s mom worked for the construction company managing the arena. You just didn’t realize how big of a hookup it was. The VIP tickets allowed for full premium dining along with a couple of free drinks.

More importantly - it came with the best concert seats.

“In the dirt” is how they’re described because the tickets are literally stationed on the floor, in the dirt of the rodeo stadium, right by the stage.

Ecstatic and bubby energy now fills you. The food being served is divine and you gladly enjoy the free various drinks.

“So wait, did we figure out who’s performing?” You ask curiously while you lounge taking advantage of the nice seating area.

“Uh, I think my dad said it’s that band named Midland is performing today.” Your friend answers but then is quickly pulled away to meet more of her mom’s coworkers.

You’ve never heard of the band, but for a free concert you’re open to enjoy some live music.

It’s a trait you gained from Joel.

Because of him you grew to love music performances, the energy that comes with hearing the band, being among the hum of the crowd. The trips around Austin seeing not just him perform, but enjoying other concerts with him, let you appreciate and admire live shows.

Waiting for the concert allows you to enjoy some of the actual rodeo event. But the main performance of the evening soon arrives.

“You kids go enjoy! We’re getting a little too old and are just gonna stay back and enjoy the free food.” Your best friend’s mom grins with a wink.

The ticket advertisement wasn’t joking when it said close to the stage. The ground level truly sits on the dirt floor. The arena swallows you whole surrounding you like a strange fishbowl. A small crowd already lines the front railing closest to the stage. However sneakily you find a nice open spot by the side that gives a clear sight to the stage.

Even if you don’t know the band, giddiness bubbles in you electric.

You take in the massive general admission floor section already packed full. The band must be popular. So you take plenty of pictures and happily enjoy the time with your dear friend.

The lights dim and excitement crackles in the air. The stage lights up. The large backdrop screens on the stage flutter to life beginning to showcase different picturesque black and white shots of Texas.

Midland, you remember, is a city in Texas so the images make sense. A low strum of a guitar begins playing. The melody dances soft but in a quick beat, a hypnotic tune trying to rev up the crowd.

The tune brews up its intended magic that you even get swept up in the anticipation. The sound gets faster and the strumming is rather simple but so striking.

Then the music stops. Suddenly the lights of the entire stadium shut off. Wild galvanized screams erupt.

The lights brilliantly dance forth back to light. They all focus now on the performer who, like magic, now appears on the stage with the rest of the band.

And the lead singer is Joel.

Your knees almost give out.

Dressed in the most dangerous plaid green button up, it so simple yet beautifully compliments him. More grays pepper his beard and highlight his tousled curls. The brilliant stage lights bask him in a heavenly glow.

Your soul momentarily leaves your body the minute his voice sings his first note.

Instantly your best friend whips towards you panicked. She rapidly screams asking if you’re okay as she apologizes over and over.

“My dad must have gotten the dates wrong! God I should’ve fucking doubled checked or some shit!” She cries deeply apologetic and hurt.

You earnestly tell her it’s not her fault and it’s alright. It was just an unfortunate mixup.

“Do you wanna leave?” Your friend leans closer to you. Her eyes shine understanding and considerate. “We didn’t pay for these tickets and I promise you my parents will completely understand. We can say fuck it and bounce.”

You haven’t even completely processed it’s Joel. It’s like your brain went cloudy and now blinking out of the fog, your eyes return to the stage.

Joel isn’t an extroverted man. He’s reserved, quietly charming, even holds a gruff but poised grace. But right now, he’s an absolute sun on the stage. He’s radiant, naturally swaying to the music while singing his soul soul.

Maybe it’s the piece of you still horribly in love with him, or just the curiosity to see how this goes, whatever it is - you shake your head no.

“We can stay.”

Your best friend’s eyes go wide as saucers hearing your answer.

“Are you sure?” She presses and you nod your head.

“Yeah, let’s stay. Afterwards we can laugh about how old he’s gotten.” You laugh bitterly about him looking more aged even after a year.

When truthfully the stronger wrinkles around his face, the vibrant grays, all of his aging only intensifies his striking looks.

A canyon wide sized hole rips through your heart.

The song flutters to an end and the crowd claps with a thunderous roar. With a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder your dear friend nods then turns back to the concert.

You pray this isn’t the worst decision you’ve ever made.

Then Joel speaks.

“Howdy everyone,” his voice is still so devilishly thick and smooth as a shot of moonshine. His accent does his home state proud. The crowd absolutely adores him, screaming loud just hearing him speak.

“Thank y'all for comin’ out tonight. I’m Joel Miller and m’here to sing y’all a few songs.” So simple, casually eased, and it’s so Joel.

His gruff southern charm made you fall in love with him so fast and now it’s a unique brand of magic charming everyone under his spell.

Joel strums a few notes, rapidly shifting the tune and transitions into the next song.

You now fully soak in Joel.

He seems otherworldly, a god of music reincarnated as a Texan cowboy. You think back to the days sitting in his living room and listening to him play. You were honored to see that side of him, to hear him strum to life so much magic.

During the holiday’s Joel’s daughters, Ellie and Sarah, would often pester him to sing silly songs. He’d grumpily obliged but you knew he basked in their attention and love.

He loved to sing. You always knew he was destined for the stage like it was woven into his veins.

You still remember the day one of Joel’s acoustic performances blew up online gaining so much attention. The excitement and absolute joy you felt then still lingers in the corners of your heart. Although, those feelings have been gathering cobwebs.

There’s of course a bitterness seeing him, but also, an unbearably small twinkling pride knowing he’s here living his dream. The song finishes and again the stadium rumbles in applause.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” Joel asks and your heart jumps hearing his voice again.

The crowd cheers back at him.

“Good good, let’s keep it goin’.” He yells back and then strums the guitar sharp.

That’s when the stage slowly starts moving.

It’s slow but with the surprise purpose to look out to the entire crowd. For some reason you almost laugh thinking of that man, who couldn’t even remember how to FaceTime on his ipad, on a full rotating platform.

However, the lyrics start and you realize he’s singing a heartbreak ballad.

If you’re going out with someone new, I’m going out with someone too…I won’t feel sorry for me, I’m getting drunk but I’d much rather be somewhere with you…

It’s hard hearing him now with how exhilarated the crowd screams at the stage moving. But you try to hear how the rest of the song unfolds.

At the chorus, your throat tightens.

I can go out every night of the week, can go home with anybody I meet, but it’s just a temporary high… ‘cause when I close my eyes, I’m somewhere with you

The words sting every inch of you, but you believe it has to be just a simple heartbreak story and isn’t about you, isn’t directed at you. Yet the words feel like sharpened edges of a broken mirror that seem to reflect every moment of your time with him.

Then the stage rotates to your side of the floor.

There’s no way he can see you or will even spot you. There’s a whole crowd stretching before him. You’re just a fish in a sea of fans.

Joel continues strumming, allowing his voice to so beautifully carry the emotion.

The stage, in its slow movement, is now front and center to your line of sight. Some girls at the very direct front of the railing scream and wave frantically at him.

A small smile tugs at Joel’s lips as he waves back. Joel’s eyes scan the rest of the crowd -

And that’s when he spots you.

Quickly, you rationalize he could be staring out behind you at someone else alongside the side railing.

But Joel’s eyes even narrow trying to focus more. Your gaze stays on him, like something inside of you refuses to waiver.

His eyes flicker with realization then turn into full moons.

He knows it’s you.

Joel continues singing the chorus but emotions cloud his face. His brows are furrowed hard, almost confused like he’s trying to really comprehend what’s going on.

You understand. You’d be so confused too if you were in his position. You’re still even baffled as to why you stayed in the first place.

The stage starts shifting back to the main center direction

But Joel cranes his face to the side, refusing to have his eyes leave.

His focus stays on you.

It’s obvious enough that your best friend now shakes your body.

“Is he staring at you?!” She tries to whisper but she ends up partly screaming.

You think maybe it’s a hallucination.

Yet Joel’s deep inky eyes stubbornly stay locked on you as he sings now.

If you see out on the town and it looks like I’m burning it down, you won’t ask and I won’t say… but in my heart I’m always somewhere with you…

Your world twists warped, melting into a sea of so many emotions you can’t stay afloat.

Joel finishes his song and the crowd enthusiastically cheers. Yet, it sounds muffled as a numbness crawls over you like a thick soupy fog.

You should leave. You need to. But you’re here now. And decide to see the end of this. If he’s singing about someone lingering within him, then you might as well make true to those lyrics.

Joel lowers his face for a moment and shakes his head. The mic faintly picks up his cough of a disbelieving laugh and your heart sinks.

“Alright folks, let’s jam.” He announces composed and brings his guitar to life.

He’s beautiful walking around with it. Strums effortlessly until he shifts from one guitar, his classic, to a more sleek all black styled one.

Joel lets the music and band take over while he makes the switch. He also leans in to whisper something to the stage hand.

Then as if nothing, Joel steps back into the limelight and illuminates the stage.

He walks around freely now that the stage stopped rotating. The current song is lively with a great beat and you hate how badly you want to bounce around to its infectious sound and the way Joel’s voice elevates the tune.

Caught up in the melody, you don’t notice until it’s too late. Joel walks over to the side of the stage directly facing you.

The guitar carries a large piece of this song’s bridge allowing his eyes to flicker across the crowd.

Until they return to your gaze. Stuck in his stare, Joel suddenly cocks his chin towards you.

Most of the crowd around you screams at his simple action. Even your best friend yells out a loud ‘holy shit’ but you stay quiet.

Not knowing how to react, all you do is stupidly shrug.

It’s awful, not even the best reaction you can give.

But Joel barks a laugh, a true laugh that thankfully happens at the tail end of the song, but your knees go weak.

You made him laugh.

On stage.

Heartache finds its way back into your system fiercer than ever and it poisonously tastes of adoration as well.

Joel transitions into another song. This time moving around the stage more towards the other side.

Yet, either his eyes flicker back to you, or he ends up walking to your section.

A part of you wonders if he’s doing this now to mock you, almost showing off how good he is knowing you’re here. You don’t believe Joel would be that heartless, but you hate how that option still lingers.

“He’s been walking over here a lot.” Someone even behind you even notices.

“Well he is old.” Someone yells back. “Maybe he’s just trying to keep his joints in shape.”

You almost want to snap back that he’s looking damn good for his age and in good enough shape that he kept you bent like a pretzel for practically a whole weekend, but you swallow back the protective bite.

You simply go back to enjoying the show, and it’s fantastic. You can’t deny that. Joel is a performer, keeps the crowd focused and engaged. He isn’t showy or dramatic but takes control of his presence on stage.

You think of the days seeing him at small bars around town, sitting on a stool playing till his heart's content.

Then he booked Stubb’s in Austin and when you watched him own that stage - you knew this was meant for him.

You’re reminded of that so vividly tonight.

“Alright, gettin’ to the end here.” He announces and the crowd sounds heartbroken.

“I know, i know,” he coos back soft and low. “But just wanted to say y’all have been lovely.”

So many shrill shrieks crack in the room and you almost roll your eyes.

Your best friend snickers beside you. “Gotta give it to him, man can work a room.”

She’s right of course. Though it’s still so surprising for a man grumpily reserved and introverted at times.

“This next one I hope maybe some of y’all will know.”

He strums the cords to Pearl Jam’s ‘Alive.’

What gained Joel traction online was his renditions and covers of various songs. He added his own country twang and twist to all the songs he covered.

Pearl Jam happened to be one of Ellie’s favorite bands. A hollow nostalgia rip through you, thinking of the two girls you miss.

The crowd ignites recognizing the familiar rock ballad now turned into the tune of a country song by Joel’s touch. He owns the solo and his husky voice melts into the lyrics beautifully.

Under your breath you sing along. You used to sing along when you cooked breakfast at his place or during drives with him and the girls.

It’s a beautiful fondness, yet one still barbed and so aching.

The song ends with the intense but small burst of fireworks that has the stadium cheering. You even clap.

“Appreciate y’all.” He addresses the crowd. “That’s a one of my daughter’s favorites so always means a lot when I get to play it.”

A smile you can’t fight tugs at your lips at the mention of Ellie.

“Now my daughters, they’re like night ‘n day.” Joel continues and your heart fills up so overwhelming fast for those girls.

“One of them, like I said, loves some Pearl Jam. Now my other daughter…” Joel pauses.

“She’s a big fan of someone by the name of Taylor Swift.”

The crowd absolutely explodes and you think you even feel the arena shake. Sarah honestly was a big fan and Ellie loved to tease her about it so much.

“Normally for this next and final song, I’d play ‘‘shake it off.’” Joel had a few songs of hers that he covered. That one was a fan favorite.

“But tonight, I'm itchin’ to play somethin’ else.” He continues.

You even perk up curious.

“So let’s end this on a high note, yeah? Sing along if you know this one.” Joel concludes.

Then the drums begin and the song bursts to life.

The stadium swims in a dizzying frantic energy.

The way Joel sings, he’s pouring his heart out. He’s memorizing. Utterly heart wrenching.

This is the finale, the end of this strange unreal dream you’ve wandered into. You wonder if he feels it too.

The song’s chilling bridge comes and Joel walks to stare directly at you.

I thought I had you figured out, can’t breathe whenever you’re gone. Can't turn back now, I'm haunted…

His eyes never leave yours.

The lyrics sear through your heart. You think about screaming the song to back him. He’s the one who left, the one who’s ghost lives among your ribs.

Then Joel hits the final high note, lets his voice carry the powerful finale, and the crowd roars in earth shaking excitement.

It’s magical, magnetic and utterly devastating in both the best and worst ways. Another few sets of indoor fireworks go off and the show ends.

Joel wishes the crowd a beautiful night and you’re left in a tangled web of emotions.

Your best friend immediately turns to see if you’re okay. While the crowd starts leaving, you and her take a moment. Out of the edge of your focus, you notice a crew member of the arena approaching the side of the rail. You don’t think anything of it.

“Excuse me,” until that crew member stands in front of you on the other side of the barrier.

Blinking absolutely confused you turn towards the man.

“I’ve been asked to escort you backstage.” He explains and your best friend gasps.

You wonder if the ground opened below and dropped you into a free fall.

Quickly you stammer out that you couldn’t. There's no way. Maybe the man must’ve mistaken you for someone else.

“Mr. Miller said you’d say something like that.” The crew member says reaching into his pocket to hand you something.

It’s a keychain.

Not just any keychain, but the one you gave Joel.

It’s a cartoon armadillo, dressed up as a cowboy, holding a guitar. When you first saw it you immediately thought of Joel. His daughters got a kick over it, giggled at how cute it was, and your heart had bursted when you saw it constantly among his keys.

Now the worn little cowboy creature sits waiting for you. It’s sweet marble like eyes stare up at you like a day hasn’t gone by since you gave Joel this.

Your best friend gasps, maybe not fully recognizing the keychain but understanding the significance.

You ask the crew member if your friend can maybe accompany you backstage, but he shakes his head a sad no.

“Then I…I can’t.” You shakily breathe out.

“Yes you can!” She interjects. “You gotta at least hear him out!”

You turn to her and find determination fiercely burning in her eyes as she nods.

“But what about you? I don’t want you or your parents waiting around for me.” You urge.

“Don’t worry about me or especially about them!” She reassures, even offering to wait for as long as you need.

You’re grateful, unbearably so and embrace her tight.

“You call me if he gets stupid. I don’t care backstage or not, I’ll go get you.”

You laugh watery at her well meaning threat and thank her. With a quick sweet goodbye, you follow the crew member along the rails until exiting.

The walk out to the backstage area fills you with a hurricane of emotions. What else could Joel say to you? A part of you wonders if he’s going to be cruel about this, having you simply show up to his dressing room just to laugh so arrogant and smug about how wonderfully famous he is now.

No, Joel isn’t that type of man.

Or you hope fame hasn't warped him into that type of man. Arriving at the green room door, your heart races loud in your ears.

The crew member knocks and before you can compose yourself, Joel opens the door.

He’s bathed in the golden amber light of the backstage room. It highlights all those grays again but also illuminates more of the time passed on his face. More winkles line against his eyes and when he fully stares at you, you wonder how different you might look in his eyes.

A jackrabbit like urge rushes over you to maybe flee, call your best friend to come get you.

“Thanks for comin’,” he mutters out. “Was worried ya wouldn’t show.”

You want to bitterly joke that you didn’t want to, but the armadillo keychain you hang onto holds the truth.

The door closes leaving you and Joel alone. Awkward stale air chokes the space.

You simply keep your attention on examining the room. His classic weathered jacket rests thrown over the couch. The rider is stacked with so many classic Joel snacks like his favorite jerky, popcorn, and even a few familiar favorite treats his daughters love.

Then your eyes catch the mug on the counter and you grin softly.

It must be filled with Joel’s classic drink - chamomile and ginger tea with honey for his throat.

“It’s…yeah. That’s it.”

You didn’t even realize you said anything out loud until Joel replies casuing your heart to jump. Finally your eyes find his.

It's a curse that your greatest heartbreak is this handsome. Exhaustion weighs in you and feels ancient, like if you carry the sum of so many lifetimes before.

“So…You wanted to talk to me?” You speak first, trying to keep yourself strong.

“I…uh yeah.” Answering so cryptically, his shoulders deflate. “How ya been?”

“Good.” You answer simple, curt almost.

There’s too many things that could’ve slipped out if you said anything more. Like how you selfishly kept one of his shirts and hate that the smell of him on it has faded like a wistful memory. Or how you can barely listen to Dolly Parton or Johnny Cash anymore because you’re reminded of Joel singing along to their songs.

So you turn the conversation back to him.

You ask how the girls are and Joel perks up, eyes shimmering with fatherly pride.

“Good, yeah they’re good. Uh, Ellie’s playing softball for the school again ‘n Sarah’s busy with student council. They’re still just bossin’ me all around.”

“As usual.”

You both say the same line at the same time and it chokes you up.

Joel inhales and his lips press tight, a hard line. The air tightens. No one says anything and now annoyance, frustration and maybe even a bit of panic claw at you.

“Joel, why am I here?” You ask him again.

Sighing, so weary and tired, he looks down.

Feels like ages pass between you and him. The faint noise of the stadium leaks into the room muffled.

You think of your best friend waiting and of your own heart waiting to end this.

“Look, it was good to see you,” you half lie. “You did great, hope you and the girls take care”

You turn to walk out.

That’s when he blurts out your name and you stop.

“I miss you.” He exhales.

“Miss ya so g’damn much. Every fuckin’ day.” He mutters.

When you turn back around, he stares at you unwavering. You don’t know what to say.

“Seein’ ya out in the crowd…thought m’heart was gonna give out.” He barks a weak laugh.

“Almost stoppin’ the fuckin’ show just to make sure it was you… y’look beautiful as ever.” His eyes haze over slightly, almost nostalgic.

Suddenly a heated spark rips into your chest, jagged edged and angered.

“You broke up with me.” You snap, voice already raw.

“I know,” Joel nods. “Worst damn decision of m’life.”

Your lips tremble. Everything hurts like a live wire is burning up your veins.

“Then why? Why did you do it?” You croak. You want to scream, maybe even storm out and not even give him the chance to speak.

“What? Did Mr. Big Country Star hate having a partner that wasn’t famous too?” Venom leaks bitter and poisonous in your mouth, choking your throat.

“Y’know god damn well that ain’t it.” He snarls back hard.

“No actually I fucking don’t know Joel.” You reply with a fierce bite. “You so conveniently left out any real damn reason why you were breaking up with me.”

“I said our paths were going in separate directions.” He glares hard at you now.

“And that’s about it!” Your voice raises and you hate it.

The tears come quicker than you hoped for and you hate that more.

“No real explanation,” you exhale, wanting to stay as calm as you can. “You couldn’t even give me that…what else am I supposed to think?”

Even dabbing away your tears, your composure is slowly slipping.

“I couldn’t do this to you,” he breathes out and it’s broken. His eyes are shimmering obsidian pools.

“This life, all the fuckin’ mess that comes with dating someone in the limelight, I couldn’t just throw that on ya.” He explains and the truth rings out a quiet hum.

“And you didn’t think to talk to me about this?” You whisper out now hurt. “Joel, I thought we were a team.”

“We are- were.” He slips and corrects himself fast. “I just knew if we fuckin’ talked about it you wouldn’t have understood.”

“Understood what?” You’re frustrated and it leaks into your voice.

“That I didn’t want ya fuckin’ hatin’ me!” He finally screams the weighted truth.

Stunned quiet but still slightly confused, you ask Joel what he means.

Pain travels across Joel’s handsome face as his jaw clenches hard.

“This shit…it takes away a lot.” He croaks out. “Hell I’ve even missed things with the girls. Didn’t want ya sacrificin’ your life or wakin’ up one day and realizin’ how much you’ve lost ‘cause of me…couldn’t let myself do that to you.”

Your chest aches like a rocket got shot into you. You’re angry he took that chance for you to decide, but you understand.

Joel never wants to be the cause of pain to others, especially those he loves.

He agonizes so much over his decisions and how corrupting he believes he is. When in reality every action he takes you know simply stems from his endless deep devotion to keep those he loves safe.

His decision to end your relationship was him, in his own frustrating Joel way, trying to keep you safe. Even if it was from himself.

Your lips tremble and you cuss bitterly hard under your breath.

“You damn stupid man.” You hiccup. “I didn’t…I don’t care what life fame would’ve given me with you. I would never resent you. For better or worse I just wanted a life with you, that’s all I ever wanted.”

Through a few sobs, you wipe the tears fogging up your sight.

Before you can see it happening, strong sturdy arms suddenly wrap around you and shock you breathless. Curled in Joel’s arms, it’s like a sad coming home party and you cry even more.

“M’so sorry, my darlin’.” Joel whispers against your forehead.

“I hate you.” You don’t. Even on your hardest days, you never could.

“I know, hate my fuckin’ ass too.” Joel replies.

His arms squeeze you tighter.

“Never stopped lovin’ you. Never will.” His voice wavers and now your arms wrap around him.

“You left.” You whisper back so small while tears continue to prickle in your eyes.

“I know honeydew, ‘n I’ll never forgive myself for it.” He replies fiercely like a strike of lightning with its bright force. “Been a fuckin’ mess without ya. Tommy would be the first to agree and the girls too.”

You absorb his words, basking in the safe haven that is Joel. Hours, maybe days pass just in his arms.

“Please forgive me, baby.” He whispers hoarse against your head.

You nod a soft yes.

Because even the part of you that wants to yell and stubbornly say no knows the ultimate answer is, and always will be, him.

“Of course…I love you.” You mutter half dazed against his strong chest. “Love of my life.”

Pressed so close to him, you feel how hard he swallows and his arms squeeze you impossibly tighter against you.

He says your name and you hum out a soft noise.

“Marry me.”

Your eyes, which have sort of glazed over, snap open wide.

“What?” You mutter out, maybe think you misheard him.

“Marry me.” Joel repeats himself.

You practically squawk like a confused bird and scramble in his arms.

“Joel Miller, you can’t be serious?!” You shriek through the tears still lingering in your voice.

Your face snaps up to him. His face is composed, almost serene in a way as he look at you with molten eyes.

“Serious as that g’damn ring I bought ya.”

His words are a mumble but so soft and unwavering. Your soul leaves your body like you were thrown into a cold lake.

“You what?” You stammer out.

“Y’heard me.” He nudges his chin to you. “A ring. Bought it after you dropped everything to go take care of the girls when they got sick.”

Too many emotions overwhelm you and the tears return with a vengeance.

Joel, like a steady man in the storm, places his warm hand on your face to gather you back into his embrace. He places the softest kiss to the side of your head.

“We gotta have a chat about discussing your feelings with me more, Miller.” You manage to chide him through your tears.

“I know.” He mutters against your skin while he continues softly kissing you with utter tenderness. “‘N I’m not lettin’ ya go again.”

You squeeze him hard, trying to burn his memory into your arms worried you’re going to wake up and find this is just a heartbroken hallucination.

“Baby,” he begins.

“Hm?”

“Stay with me for the night.” He urges. “The bus got plenty of room-”

“Ooo, is this what you say to all your groupies, Mr. Miller?” You tease with a snort.

“Behave.” His hand playfully squeezes your hip but his underlying somber tone even with his chuckle ignites a familiar heat brewing in you of the times he’s reprimanded you like that before.

“No groupies.” Joel reassures you. “Only you sweetheart, only ever gonna be you.”

His words flutter into your heart and make a nest there.

Gently you draw back to stare at Joel. Your hand moves to his face, aching to just touch him. Even in his arms you’re waiting for him to vanish from your touch as if he’s a figment of your wrecked heart, a ghost of lovers past haunting you now.

But his stubble tickles against your palm. Running warm as usual, his face feels like a soft morning sun. Your thumb strokes his cheek and his eyes close, melting into your hold.

Gently you place a soft kiss against the corner of his lips.

Joel now tilts his head so he can deepen the kiss before you can even draw away.

It’s not a consuming passion that you expected. No frantic fierce clash of lips or an overflow from a year passed between you two.

Instead it’s a soft welcome home. It’s a kiss you’ve given him when he’s come home late or when you leave for work.

Because his blood, his soul, you believe are simply stitched into the very fabric of you. It’s like a piece of you is returning back to you, or maybe back to your other home with him.

“So you gonna stay with me?” He mumbles against your lips.

“I don’t know Miller, you haven’t even offered to sign anything for me. What kind of famous country singer are you?” You smirk against his lips.

He laughs, hearty, a true wild deep one sweeping you into its joy.

“Hell yeah I’ll fuckin’ sign something for ya, our marriage certificate.” He snaps in classic grumpy Joel fashion and you almost think about dragging him to a courthouse.

You text your friend a million apologies and even take pictures of all the signed merch you’re bringing back to her.

Now in the cocoon of Joel’s cozy bed on his tour bus, among the warmth sheets, you hold the ring up in the dim light inspecting it. Because of course your secretly romantic man kept the ring with him.

“You sure you weren’t keeping this around for someone else?” You ask.

“Fuck no.” He growls low. “S’yours…only yours.”

From behind his arms slide around you and you’re encompassed by his swallowing presence. His beard scrapes against your shoulder.

“If ya don’t like it, can get ya another one.” He mutters casually but hesitant softness peeks out from under his gruff tone.

“It’s perfect.” You reassure him.

It’s the ring Joel got you then and it’s the ring you want now and always will. You even tell him that.

The kisses places on your bare shoulder whispers of his devotion.

“Honey.” However, his voice now is hesitant and makes you pause on your ring inspecting.

“I gotta ask…but do ya have my armadillo keychain?” Joel asks with an utter somberness.

You burst out laughing and it shakes your body.

“Honeydew, I’m being serious!” He growls out. “Want that lil’ fella back!”

Wheezing with giggles you lean back against Joel, floating so blissfully floating in renewed adoration.

Twisting in his arms your lips find his.

“Tryin’ to distract me ‘cause you lost him, huh?” He mutters.

You snort, shaking your head.

“No I just love you so much, you dumb cowboy.” You tell him.

“Your dumb cowboy. For better or worse.” He vows, kissing you back firmer now.

“For better or worse,” you nod breathing into him.

In this carved out slightly cramped space it feels holy, sacred, chapel like. You’re even afraid it might be gone tomorrow morning. However, the ring on your finger is the steeled reassurance it isn’t going anywhere.

But, just in case, you gather this glory and Joel into your arms with the promise of never letting go.