#Saddle Sores

[roadie1963]

Chamois Cream and Avoiding Saddle Sores

Image of Assos Chamois Cream With the new cycling season in full swing and with the Memorial Day weekend coming up, a lot of us will be out on the roads and trails getting in some early summer rides. That said, now is as good a time as any to make sure you are stocked up on chamois cream (if you use it) and that your bib shorts still have a cushy chamois pad, especially if you plan to put in…

[beastwhimsy]

warmup wizard because I'm finally getting commissions done !!

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

ten bucks says I'm going to forget that I'm sore from riding for a second in the morning and move in some way that's going to cause me Pain

[horse-heaven]

cloudy says he’s a big fan of this whole “mom’s horribly out of shape so all we do when she rides me is walk around in the ring for a while, trot a little bit, and then go for a trail ride around the farm” thing

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 19)

masterlist

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A blood-orange sun hangs low in the sky.

You might think it ominous on any other day, but not this one. What more adversity could stand in your way? 

Instead of sharing a saddle with John, you ride the same horse that Graves rode out of town. Days spent on horseback have finally caught up to you, pain radiating up and down your legs, a soreness embedded deep in your inner thighs, the skin positively chafed from the constant friction. At least you no longer have the handcuffs digging painfully into your wrists, the metal cuffs long since unlocked using the key in Graves’ pocket and discarded, now lost some acres back for the coyotes and the hares to prod at and sniff. 

You drift in and out of conscious awareness, coming back into your right mind every mile or so, losing track of time along the way. Sometimes you blink and trees disappear out of sight, already ten miles back. Scouring the landscape for something familiar only to come up empty. 

Recent events lour over your conscience. It’s difficult not to let it get to you. So much has happened in such quick succession that part of you still thinks you’re dreaming in the abandoned shack with Graves sleeping just a few feet away. 

A distinct sound scrapes against the inner recesses of your mind and eardrum. If you were to look behind you, you’d find the source of it wrapped in a shroud and dragged behind John’s horse. Drying blood stains the fabric. The head, obscured under the fabric, jostles from side to side as it passes over rocks and undergrowth. 

It’s beyond you now though, the future shuttling forward at an unfathomable speed and taking you with it, willing or not. The world hurrying on to repeat its past mistakes. 

So you don’t look behind you. 

“Won’t be much longer,” your husband murmurs from beside you, speaking just loud enough for you to hear him over the influx of thoughts in your head, which rapidly empty out at the sound of his voice. 

“We can stop for a break after?” you ask, turning your head enough for your eyes to land on the hard, bristled line of his jaw. He nods. 

“Just gotta get this part out of the way.”

He says it so casually, like a bit of unpleasantness that has to be dealt with; no way around it. Unfortunately, a body isn’t something that can be just swept under the rug. No matter how much your muscles beg for a moment’s reprieve, you won’t get it until all the loose ends are tied up. 

“How do you know the land around here so well?” you ask as John leads the two of you deeper into the plains.

“The boys and I have been out here before. Grew up in this county anyway; been wanderin’ these parts since I was born.”

You can’t imagine John as a young boy, uncertain of his place in the world. He seems like someone who emerged from the womb ready-made, already able to skin a deer and build a bushcraft shelter by hand. But he must have been young at one point. 

Finally, he comes upon a suitable place to bury the body. 

Deep in the wilderness, he digs a shallow grave with the short shovel strapped to his horse, sweating up a storm before the hole is big enough to bury the body. You dismount your horse and wander off while John handles the burial. 

This is the part where you have to turn away and pretend it isn’t happening. You stave off the urge to plug your ears and close your eyes. Dogear any page in your life except this one. This is the only memory that you want to fade into obscurity, pretend that it never happened, that this was some bad dream that you only half-remember twenty years from now. 

You glance back only once to find John breathing heavily at the edge of the hole, having just hauled himself out. Sweat slicks his brow and drips down the side of his face near his temple, a dark flush spreading over his cheeks from exertion. Even his shirt is damp with sweat under the pits and around the collar. 

You force yourself to look away. Now is not the time for your libido to trouble you. 

Graves’ body lands with a dull thump when John rolls it into the makeshift grave. You bite your lip and let your eyelids slide shut. Then he starts the process of covering the body, shoveling the dirt back into the hole. It takes a while. An offer to help hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t quite make yourself say the words. 

A half hour later, it no longer matters, the hole covered until the only thing demarcating the grave is the layer of upturned soil, slightly darker than the dirt in the surrounding area.

“That’s it,” John announces, making his way back to you with the shovel slung over his shoulder. You can smell the ripe scent of sweat wafting off him even from a foot away. “Let’s head out; we’ll wanna make camp before it gets dark.”

You don’t answer. Not verbally anyway. The guilt almost makes it hard to breathe. In all your stupidity and poor decision-making, you’ve inadvertently made John an accomplice in your crimes; forced him, in fact, to commit one as heinous as the one that had started this whole debacle. 

You travel the next mile in relative silence, scouring the landscape for a neat patch of land to set up camp. The sun plummets towards the ground at a faster and faster pace until it’s tugged below the horizon, vanishing with a green flash. Then it’s too dangerous to keep going, the way back far too dark to keep traveling down. 

John builds a small fire after tying up the horses for the night. The temperature drops exponentially as the sky darkens, the cold sinking low to the ground. You help with gathering the kindling, mostly twigs and clumps of dry grass, then take the packs off both horses to use as makeshift seats by the fire, unrolling the sleeping bags as well. 

It comes as a relief to finally sit down after the fire is struck. Rest is a double edged sword though; the longer you sit with Graves’ old pack propping you up, the more the pain has time to sink its claws in deep. 

In the hours since he shot Graves, neither of you have spoken more than a few words to each other. You certainly haven’t brought it up. The memory of Graves revealing the truth of what you’d done back east to John looms over you. It’s inevitable that you’ll talk about it eventually though. It’s heavy in the atmosphere, almost oppressive; the weight of everything said and unsaid. You can’t take back what Graves revealed to John. At some point you’ll have to face it. 

At what point will you have to beg for forgiveness? It sits on the tip of your tongue. 

The small fire crackles in front of you. Red tongues of flames lick at the darkness, the light extending out in a circle around the two of you. You’re grateful for the warmth though, particularly after spending the previous night in the cold.  

“Nothing to eat, m’afraid,” he says apologetically, brow creasing. “I didn’t exactly pack before coming after you.”

You shake your head. “That’s fine. I’m not hungry anyway.”

In a few more hours, you might work up an appetite again, but for now, you couldn’t be further from it. All you want to do is lie down on your bed back home and sleep through to the next day. 

“Yeah,” John sighs. “Me neither.”

He picks up your hand and holds it in his for a time. It’s strange how such a small gesture has become such an immense comfort for you. You wish you could thread your fingers through his and bring his hand up to your lips to kiss all over, but you’re too tired for a gesture of that magnitude. 

When he lets go of your hand, it’s only to transfer it to your face. His thumb runs over your split lip, pulling away when you wince. “Looks like it’s healing on its own.”

“That’s good,” you mumble. “…It hurt a lot more yesterday.”

John’s nostrils flare. The fire reflects off his eyes in such a way that, for a moment, it almost looks like it’s coming from within him. “I’d kill him again if I could.”

Your stomach clenches at the ferocity behind his words. 

“You—you shouldn’t have done it in the first place,” you croak. “Not when he was—” right, you don’t say. Right to haul you out of town by your hair and drag you back to the scene of the crime, back to pay for what you’d done. 

“Now I ain’t gonna hear you go spoutin’ that horseshit,” he growls, clasping you by the back of your neck and tugging you to his side. It’s so sudden that your butt skids across the ground, raking up a small mound of dirt with the weight of your body.

You look away, unable to meet his eyes even as he pulls you forward until you’re nearly nose to nose. “It’s not—”

“Yes, it is, darlin’. That shit weren’t none of your fault. You ain’t done a thing wrong by keeping yourself safe.” 

It’s almost hard to hear. It’s taken you months to scrub the dirt from your soul, which until recently was raw to the touch and pained you to even think back on. And the hopelessness. And the longing, the irreversibility of it; irreversible in the way that you couldn’t turn your pain inside out. You could never go back to the way things were because the only way out was to keep on trudging forward. 

Like rain in a drought, you’ve been missing someone’s mercy. You’ve been waiting for someone to come and forgive you for your sins; someone to absolve you of them. 

You lean forward, burying your face in his neck. Not making much of a sound except for a harsh exhale, your throat quavering with something unsaid. 

Then you grip him by the back of his shirt and pull him to the ground with you. 

Out in the open like this, John doesn’t dare remove your clothes, but he does reach beneath your dress to pull off your underclothes. He’s silent through it all, eyes fixed on yours. Never wavering or dropping your gaze. It’s intoxicating to be stared at with such a fierce intensity. Vaguely overwhelming, the sensation creeping up your chest and lodging in your throat. 

The light of the fire he built for the two of you flickers across his skin, illuminating his face in shades of orange and gold. 

He holds your gaze when he rucks the skirt of your dress up and crawls down the length of your body until his mouth is level with your center, slick already dripping from your sex. Your breathing goes haggard, anticipating his mouth before it’s suddenly there between your thighs, planting a gentle kiss on your inner thigh before dragging his lips over your sensitive skin until they brush your clit. Your mouth opens to a soundless gasp. Electrical impulses travel up your spine, your arching back following their trajectory. 

He pulls back to stare at your dripping hole. “Missed me, my love?” 

You’d answer if you could form words, but then you realize who he’s talking to and your mind goes blank. 

When he runs his tongue up the seam of your pussy, you jolt, legs slung over his shoulders kicking at the air. He eats you out with gusto, with reverence, sighing into your pussy that it’s been too long, that he’d worried himself nearly half to death over you. 

Rough hands hold you by your waist and pull you down onto his face. Long, crude licks of his tongue, rubbing the flat of it over your clit until you’re a roiling, twisting hotbed of pent up arousal. 

The urge to suppress your noises is almost overwhelming. When you twist your head from side to side, there’s nothing but miles of land; trees and shrubbery and a deep, impenetrable darkness. Not another person around for miles. It makes you shiver when you stare out into it. 

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t—” you gasp, chest getting tighter and tighter until you expect it to burst but it doesn’t. It stays all pent up, all itchy and scratchy and you can feel the sweat slicking the small of your back and the blood furiously rushing to your cheeks, heating you up from the inside out. Sweat-laden and flustered. 

Your toes curl in your boots, throat tightening up the closer it gets. All it takes to push you over the edge is John cupping his hands under your butt to tilt your hips up, licking you from hole to hole. The impertinence and thrill sends a rush through your body, the coil in your belly twisting and releasing, core pulsing around nothing. Your body gives a violent jolt when he gives your clit one last wet, suckling kiss.

“Are you comfortable like this, darlin’, or should I wait until we’re home?” John asks when he positions himself over you again, beard still wet with your desire and a big hand cupping the front of his trousers. You stare down at the hair dusting his knuckles and the bulge straining against his pants. 

The shadows make it seem even larger than usual. Your throat goes dry the longer you stare down at where he fists his length through his trousers.

“Darlin’?” he repeats, drawing your attention back up to his face.

“Oh?” you ask, cheeks heating. “I’m, um…I’m quite comfortable.”

It seems absurd to have such a conversation when your husband’s hand is reaching into his trousers to pull out his cock and fuck you with it, but the nervous tickle in your belly is far from unpleasant. 

He’s so careful with you, cognizant that your muscles are already sore and aching from days of being on the road and the abuse Graves put you through. Gentle hands maneuver your legs around his hips and move your hair from your face. Again your belly flips. 

Your grunt is involuntary when he first pushes in, walls stretching around the head of his cock. It hasn’t been long enough for the blunt intrusion to be painful, but it’s overwhelming all the same. You wince and grimace through it all. 

“Easy does it. You’re alright,” John shushes when you whimper, rough hand cupping your cheek. It sends a thrill down your spine, but doesn’t lessen the intensity. 

He stays like that for a time, hovering over you and stroking a thumb over your cheekbone until you relax around his girth, gradually finding your breath again. In and out; one after the other. When he pulls his hand away, it’s to plant his forearms on the ground beside your head and grind his hips forward, taking your breath away. 

“Oh Lord,” you wheeze, then brace your hands around his neck. 

“You’re doing great, darlin’. Just hold on; I’ve got ya.”

It’s nothing like the times before; your arms link around his neck and your breath goes shallow, hitching with every measured thrust. It’s too much and not enough. You feel windswept and battered, bruises smarting now that you’ve had time to feel them, but still you need more from him. 

He works himself into the wet flex of your pussy with slow, heavy thrusts. Taking his time. Not rushing it just yet because though the threat of you being taken from him still looms over his head, he’s sated his bloodlust. His reassurance now comes in the form of your legs spread to receive him and the fat head of his cock fitting snugly in you. 

The heels of your boots press firm against the flesh above his buttocks. Taking him this way with your clothes still on feels debaucherous, filthier than usual; like you were so desperate to have your husband inside you, that you couldn’t even be bothered to remove your garments. 

He must feel the way that thought heats you up because he rasps, “Need a lil somethin’, love?” 

Before you can even answer, he’s reached a hand down and tucked it between your thighs to strum the tight bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex. 

“John—”

Your fingernails must dig into the back of his neck because he grunts. Serves him right, you think, digging your nails in all the harder when grinds a knuckle against your clit and you briefly see stars. 

You’re splintering down to the root, coming apart in his hands like clay; when he says your name, the darkness fades and for a moment, you’re in the light, a shaft of it haloing your face. Chasing it no matter how fast it runs. A hare in a snare, a shadow captured in the palm of your hand. 

It comes fluttering down from somewhere beyond sight. Gasped out in another voice, a truer voice. From the depths of you, true as stone and air. 

“I love you.”

Give it time and it’ll come naturally. Now, it comes as a gut punch. Even John stills over you when he hears the words, and you can feel the shudder that runs through him under your fingertips. There’s no time to sit and talk about it though, not with the frenzy that comes over him, blue eyes glazed over by a manic glint. 

He braces one hand on the top of your head and surges forward, so rough with you that your teeth clack together, eyes rolling back in your head. 

“Say it again,” John growls, leaning down until his mouth is right next to your ear. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Then it hits you. A wall of heat. Your belly rolling and cheeks burning, walls squeezing around John’s cock, tighter with every thrust. You yelp when he lifts himself off you to yank the skirt of your dress up higher and presses his hands to your inner thighs, spreading your legs wider for him. Bullies his cock into your channel even as you try to squeeze him out, pounding into you until the lurid torrent of words spilling out of his mouth go slurred and his release floods into you, his hips slapping against yours until he’s emptied the last of his spend into your womb. 

It’s a while before either of you can move after that. Your energy melts into the ground like rainwater, purifying the earth. Maybe life is already germinating beneath you, grass seedlings about to burst from the dirt, flower buds curled up in tight coils until they’re ready to bloom. 

Your hands shake when you lift one up to wipe the sweat from your face. 

When he finally pulls out of you, the feeling of his come leaking down your inner thighs makes you fussy. You lift your thighs just enough to let him pull your drawers back up before lying back down, no energy left in you to do more than that. You only scrunch your nose a little at the feeling of your combined juices already wetting the gusset.

Time seems to come apart and then piece back together. You roll over onto your side and nestle up against John’s chest, staring up at him wordlessly. His eyes stay shut for some time until he feels your stare on him and they peel open, the color of his irises barely discernible in the flickering light. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” he asks in a tone so devoid of accusation or condemnation that you’re almost thrown by it. He says it like it’s just another day, like something horrible and monumental didn’t just happen. 

It takes you a while to find the words. Even when you do, they come out jumbled and disjointed. “How long have you…—when did you find out?”

“‘Bout what happened back East?” he clarifies, blunt as usual. 

The question makes you swallow impulsively, anxiety secreting from you again. “Yes.”

John looks up into the dark sky, quiet for a spell. “Not until recently. The arrest warrant drifted across my desk probably around the time Graves first stopped by. Wasn’t hard to put two and two together after that—you showing up in a tizzy around the same time as the warrant was issued. General description matched as well.”

You feel a bit foolish in retrospect, certain that you were getting away with it all this time. 

“You know my name.”

“I do.”

“My real name.”

“In a manner of speaking. Got yourself a new last name since then though, didn’t you?”

Your lips pull up at the corners involuntarily. “Yes. I guess so.”

You can almost hear it now. The penultimate note of the overture writhing against convalescence like you might stay this way for a second longer. But it isn’t right to keep feeling the same old pain. At some point, it has to heal. 

“Hey,” John says, giving your shoulder a little shake to draw your attention back to him. The look in his eyes is serious. “This is as far as the story goes, alright?”

You stare up at him silently until you nod against his chest. 

“You’re my wife. End of story. The rest ain’t anyone’s business but ours.”

Off in the distance, an owl hoots, and its call hits your ear as a distant evocation to sleep. You press one last kiss to his chest before rolling off him, letting him put the fire out before the two of you turn in for the night, and then drawing a blanket over the both of you. 

And then, you go to sleep.

[grymghoul]

ARTHUR MORGAN has an impressive cock. You'd always figured a man who carries himself so surely would have one like that. Thick and heavy, crowned with hair a bit darker than what was on his head. The way it would always be half hard anytime he was around you was flattering. The way he'd take up all the space in that hotel room, striding around, parading naked, he'd steal the air from your lungs. The way it'd pat against his thighs as he took heavy steps through the room. You'd stare and he'd look away, flush in the face. There was an inherent sense of boyish charm about him, how he could be so rough and callous, but the second he was alone with you he was nearly shy. Intimacy with Arthur was earned, a privilege, not a thing to trifle with. He'd given it to you and you hadn't even realized how hard it was to earn this from him.

He blushed bright red when you'd seen it the first time, that breathy "Oh, Arthur.." had sent a chill down his spine. Arthur was extra careful with you, fearing he'd split you right in half on his cock. There was no hiding it. The way his ranch pants would be fuller around you, the obvious bulge of denim stretching around it. He loved that you could try to swallow it all you wanted and you could still grip fingers worth of it as his tip touched the back of your throat. He loved being able to have you seated on top of him and see his dick fucking you from the outside. A firm hand pressed against you, making you tighter and he could feel the way he so lovingly damaged your sweet pussy.

He would torment your guts almost effortlessly. He'd have you gripping the sheets, choking back moans and sobs and all manners of pretty noises in a hitched tone without even trying. He wasn't an egotistical man, but he knew it couldn't be like this for every man or no job would ever get done in the world. It'd come to a stand still as everyone would be lined up to fuck the next man. No, no he had to have something special with you. He was easily enamored with you and how you'd feel wrapped all warm and tight around him. How snug you were.

Each time felt like the first with Arthur. The way he filled you and would have you swollen and sore the next day. Even after the bath you'd end up in together, he'd keep you there, wet and sudsy against him and his thick member until you had pruny fingers. He loved that you were a whiny mess just from being near his cock.

You were made for him by God, he wasn't religious but he was sure of it. You fit better than any glove or shirt or saddle he could have tailor made. You were just as addicted to him. The way his flared head could take up residency inside you made you know that there was some higher power and they were merciful in such a way for you to have a taste of heaven on earth with your Arthur.

[roadie1963]

Midweek Post for July 12, 2023 - Ride Essentials: Chamois Cream and Avoiding Saddle Sores

Image of Assos Chamois Cream With the Tour de France in progress at the moment, it’s worth noting the huge amount of miles the pros ride every day. That’s in addition to the number of miles they cover over three weeks of racing. So, the question is, how do they stay comfortable and also prevent damage to their nether regions, specifically saddle sores? While contemporary cycling equipment, such…

[awritersrejections]

I think part of the confusion is what is meant by "ride" and what is meant by "a horse." People see that and think "yeah, if I was at a country fair and there was a horse trained to be ridden by people who don't know how to ride, and there was someone who told me how to get on it, and I didn't have to go in any direction or do anything intentionally—yeah! could totally do that!"

What is meant is "do you think you, unassisted, could ride the average horse in the same way people ride a bike—that is, in a specific direction and with an ability to stop?"

I always thought it was like an exaggeration when horse people would talk about how silly it was for anyone to think that riding a horse does not require any particular level of skill or balance or anything, or even that they "drive themselves" (???) but just the tags on the reblogs of that "can you ride a bike and/or horse" post from me alone are demonstrating how overconfident some people are in their (often entirely theoretical!) ability to stay on an alive and moving animal with a will of its own.

[soapcloth]

Fantasy au -> Warrior!Soap x Healer!Reader

CW: 18+ MDNI, light bloodplay, noncon undertones, dacryphilia if you squint

not edited - 800 words - dividers -> @/cafekitsune

You’ve had just about enough of that axe-swinging asshole, built like an ox and thrice as stubborn.

You’re absolutely beside yourself asking why you’re sticking it out in his half-baked party. John, as he had practically breathed the name down your neck, couldn’t keep a decent healer and now you know all too well why. He was mean, smelly, loud, and worst of all- overly familiar despite your best efforts to stamp out any flame of acquaintanceship. You could write ballads dedicated to reasons you should leave this party, but truth be told? You were down on your luck. You wondered sometimes if you were cursed with misfortune, a hilariously horrid timeline of events leading you to this very position right now. So you’ve made a few mistakes, hasn’t everyone in the pursuit of dungeon crawling?

Even so, was the state of your freelance healing career really so bad that you had to saddle up with someone like John MacTavish? The man had been naught more than a trail thief brute-forcing his way into other parties’ treasure a few years ago, but because of a few lucky encounters in monster slaying, suddenly he was picking up jobs in adventurer hubs like it was something he was born to do. It pissed you off to no end and he knew it. Loved seeing your indignant scowl while you healed him up knowing better work was near impossible for you to come by.

“Och- that’s it, ‘m sore there.” He’d groaned, humid breath fanning your skin, god, why was he always so close? “Gonna show me that pretty glow, lamb?”

“No.” You bit, rubbing the salve a touch deeper than needed. Your lips twitched seeing his eyebrows draw tight. “It’s not so bad that you need healing, stop being a baby.”

The man snorted in response. “That’s why no other parties’ll take ye on, lamb.” His deep blue eyes searched your own, a wild smirk twisting across his mouth. “Terrible bedside manner.” You flushed slightly, shooting him a sharp glare that caused him to lean back on his makeshift fallen and rotted log seat with a pleased grin as he inspected his wound. Like the ever-expressive man he was, his face suddenly took on a shade of concern. “Ach-!”

“Huh?” Was all you could muster, confused as to what he could be so worried about.

“Think I got nicked by something venomous, lamb, need yer healing.” He seethed out. “Oh for- let me see.” You sighed, grabbing his uselessly huge hand. As expected, his palm was fine, albeit still a bit bloody as the salve worked to stop it.

Wrong move.

Upon inspecting his wound, the adventurer managed to shove his palm into your face with a vicious grin, huffing through his nose a bit as he smeared blood across your mouth. Sputtering only invited the acrid taste of bitter salve, sweat, and copper onto your tastebuds as he laughed and continued to wipe his hand across your face. “See?” He chuckled “M’still hurt.” His eyes seemed to glisten like the northern stormy coast seeing his own blood on your skin. “Suits you.”

You pushed his hand away, misinterpreting his words in a way that scratched at a sore spot of your own. “I didn’t kill them, John! Stop holding that over my head!” You snarled, causing his eyes to widen a fraction. You wiped his blood off your face with your arm, only to smear it around more and get it on the limb. Great. It was then you realized you had a runny nose as well, were you starting to cry? “I fucked up- but my god, they lived, okay?” And now you couldn’t get a gig better than this one because of that fact, a voice in the back of your head snarked. It’s true too, they made sure no party worth its salt would ever take you on. You still have no idea why John did either in all honesty, for all his faults and the high turnover rate, he had a seemingly bottomless fount of healers willing to take a shot at being the one to stick.

John cupped your cheeks. “None of tha’.” He spoke lowly. One of his calloused thumbs swiped at an emerging tear before it could fall and you had to watch, mouth slightly agape as he brought the pad of his thumb to his lips without much thought, tongue darting out to taste. You blinked as he clapped that hand down on your shoulder, leaning closer. “None of tha’…” he repeated, quieter this time. He looked so focused. “Dinnae give a shit about those no-names, lamb, neither should you.”

You swallowed audibly when met with his intensity, his voice a rolling growl. “Fuck- seeing ye all covered in my blood’s got me stiffer than a rock. Palm’s busted and you won’t heal me. Cannae do a thing about it, feel like ah’m gonna-“

“I can heal your hand.” You urged, the oppressive haze he left you with suddenly lifting.

He snorted in response. “Though so, lamb.” His palm connected with your hair, ruffling his blood into your locks before moving down to pat your cheek. “What a dutiful healer ye’ are… So good te’ me. Let me see tha’ gorgeous glow.”

[flamesbcrn]

( let flashnose give your muse a ride on her back !!!!! )

[crimsonbubble]

Saddle Up

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, kinda subby cowboy hongjoong, real men whimper and cry, dacryphilia, praise, overstimulation, creampie, handjob, oral, cum play, cum eating *not proofread, just pure horny

[IM SAVING SO MANY FUCKING HORSES RN DAWG]

His eyes are rolling back into his head as you rode him. His hands grab at your hips, his thighs tensing under you. His shirt once neat was now crumpled and hastily unbuttoned. His chest was now littered with soft red lines, as you drug your nails over his skin.

The cowboy hat on his head sat unsteadily as your hips only bounced with more vigour. Hongjoong stared up at you as he bucked his hips up from under you. The rough fabric of his jeans against your thighs is sure to leave your thighs sore. “Baby, fuck- Just like that,” His moans are slowly getting breathier and more pitched as you clenched around him.

Hongjoong’s nails dug into your hips, letting his hands loosely follow your movements. You stopped for a moment, steadying your hands behind you, on his thighs. You watched his mouth fall open as you roughly fucked yourself on his cock. “Fuck, make me cum- Baby, please make me cum-!”

Hongjoon’s mouth fell open as he whined through his release. You didn’t stop for a second, splitting yourself open on his cock rapidly. His grip on your hips tightened as you rode him through his orgasm. You pulled off of him, straddling his thighs. You stroked his cock swiftly, using his own cum to make the slide easier.

You leaned down, keeping your eyes on him as you pressed a kiss to his leaking tip. Hongjoong let out a string of curses, thrashing as you brought him to another orgasm so quickly. He wrapped his hand over yours, forcing you to get him through his next one. Hongjoong looked at you with tears in his eyes, the sensitivity no doubt catching up to him, “Aah- Your mouth, please baby-”

Hongjoong arched his back off the bed, his hand squeezing around yours. “I need- Fuck- Need your mouth ‘round me, please baby-!” You couldn’t help but coo at how he whined for you, locking your eyes on his as you swirled your tongue around his mushroom tip. Hongjoong is biting so hard at his lip, his hips shaking as your mouth sinks down on him.

There’s a mess of cum, spit, and your arousal soaked into his jeans. But the mess only spurs you on, wanting, no, needing to see Hongjoong fall apart again. You sank deep on his cock, taking in as much of him as you could. Hongjoong bucked his hips when the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. You choked and sputtered around him, more drool pooling out of your mouth.

Hongjoong carefully held the back of your head as he shakily fucked your face. His moans were now full blown whimpers, tears streaking down his cheeks as he used your mouth. His movements grow sloppy every time he hits the back of your throat. All it takes is you looking up at him with teary eyes for him to blow another load. Hongjoong held your mouth down on his cock, coating your throat with his cum.

He removes his hands from you, his chest heaving as he watches you swallow his load. You moved up to straddle his hips again, grinding your wet, messy pussy against his aching cock, cooing at his twitches weakly. Hongjoong looks up at you with bleary eyes, cheeks and lips flushed a rosy pink and his chest heaving with every inhale. You nearly moan at his expression alone, watching his eyebrows furrow as you grind your hips on his.

Your eyes shift to the hat that sat on his head. Putting a hand on his shoulder, you lean over to take it, putting it on your own head. Hongjoong knows what this implies; it was the sole reason you dragged him to the bed as soon as he got back to his hotel room, but Hongjoong moans nonetheless. You lean back away from him, pushing the hat down onto your head as you grinned down at him.

Save a horse, ride a cowboy indeed.

[xvxvcaspervxvx]

Maybe one of the gang girls patched his pants.

I'm looking respectfully at the mended spot on his pants honest

[thewritetofreespeech]

May I kindly request Aemond taking a bath to relax with his lover?

But, unfortunately for the poor reader, he gets a little touchy feely.

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

Steam rose in even, wisping tendrils as the water finally settled in the tub. The smell of jasmine and honeysuckle filling the room. The low light from the candles cast an amber glow on every surface. You let out a blissful sigh as you sank further into the tub. This bath was just the thing to settle and soothe not only your spirit but body after a long day of riding with Aemond.

Your husband’s fondness for riding was second only to you; although some days it was hard to tell which was his favorite. Had he had his way, he would be up in the skies from dusk until dawn.

“You said you would behave if I let you share my bath with me.”

Aemond smirked behind you. The prince seated with his back against the edge, you in his lap, as you both soaked in the warm water. He may not be able to get his way about the skies, but he very easily got his way about invading your bath. Conning his way in with promises of decorum and chastity.

“I’m not doing anything, issa jorrāelagon.” Even as he said that his fingers brushed again the moist skin of your shoulder. Innocent enough, but also somehow not very innocent at all.

“I’m too sore Aemond. Being in the saddle all day makes my thighs ache.”

“I could make your thighs ache a different way.”

He coiled around your shoulder towards your face for a kiss, but you playfully push him away. “I said no Aemond.”

“Not even if I massage them for you?” His fingertips dance over the top of your left leg. Eager and ready to make good on his offer.

“What manner of fool do you take me for?”

“No fool,” he assured you, “just irresistible.”

Your skin flushed from more than just the water. Squirming a little between his legs. “Perhaps, if you let me soak in peace, I will feel differently before bed.”

Aemond sighed. Both of his arms coming out of the water to brace against the side of the tub. Clearly moping, but also clearly willing to accept you said no. “You know patience is not one of my virtues.”

“I know.” You agree, but give him a kiss still for his troubles. “But hopefully silence is. At least for the next 20 minutes my love.”

[littlelamy]

An au request idea I can't get out of my head......Rafe is a cowboy and does rodeo shows with bulls and has just started dating Reader, On their first date, he takes her to his stables where he has a fake saddled tied up to mimick being pulled and dragged around (so he can practice). Rafe helps her up on it for fun but realises he has made a mistake when he starts having dirty thoughts from how sexual it looks and tries to be a gentlemen, being super awkward barley holding it together while she's shy and obvlivous

parings: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: none

rafe adjusted his hat, a grin playing at his lips as he led you down the dirt path toward the stables. his boots kicked up little clouds of dust with every step, the quiet hum of the countryside wrapping around the two of you like a comforting embrace.

you’d been seeing each other for a few weeks now, and this was your first proper date. rafe had been eager to show you his world, the place that meant everything to him. his excitement was infectious as he talked about the bulls, the rodeo shows, and his life as a cowboy.

“you ever been around bulls before?” he asked, glancing at you with those piercing blue eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

you shook your head, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “never been this close. it’s a little intimidating.”

“don’t worry,” he reassured you, his hand brushing lightly against yours. “i’ll keep you safe.”

when you reached the stables, the scent of hay and leather filled the air. rafe led you inside, pointing out the different stalls, the various equipment he used for training. your eyes widened as you took it all in, fascinated by the glimpse into his world.

then he stopped in front of a contraption that looked like a bull, but made of leather and wood, with a saddle strapped on top. it was rigged up to ropes and pulleys, clearly a practice setup.

“this here’s for training,” rafe explained, a hint of pride in his voice. “helps me get used to the movements, stay in shape for the real thing.”

you tilted your head, curious. “so you just…ride that?”

he chuckled, the sound warm and rich. “yeah, pretty much. want to give it a try?”

your eyes widened. “me? oh, I don’t know…”

“it’s safe, i promise,” rafe said, holding out a hand. “i’ll be right here the whole time.”

your heart pounded as you took his hand, letting him help you up onto the makeshift bull. his hands were strong and steady as they guided you, making sure you were comfortable. once you were seated, he stood back, watching you with an almost boyish excitement.

but then something shifted.

as you adjusted in the saddle, leaning forward slightly, rafe's breath hitched. the way your hips moved, the curve of your body as you tried to balance—it sent a jolt straight through him. you shifted your weight to get comfortable, causing your chest to bounce slightly with the movement, your breasts rising and falling in a way that rafe couldn't ignore.

he swallowed hard, his eyes fixated on the subtle motion. the gentle sway of your body, the way your thighs gripped the saddle—it was all too much. the way your shirt clung to you, outlining your curves, the soft rise and fall of your chest as you laughed—it all burned into his mind. he cursed himself silently, trying to push the images away.

“this isn’t so bad,” you said, oblivious to the effect you were having on him.

“uh…yeah,” rafe stammered, his usual confidence slipping. he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to focus on anything but the way your body moved so naturally, so sensually on the saddle. “you’re a natural.”

you giggled, shifting again, bouncing lightly to test the movement of the saddle. the slight jiggle of your breasts with each bounce had rafe's jaw tightening, his jeans suddenly feeling a little too snug. he took a step back, his hands twitching at his sides as he fought to maintain his composure.

“maybe…uh, maybe that’s enough for now,” he said, his voice a little strained. “don’t want you to get too sore.”

you frowned slightly, confused by his sudden change in tone. “oh, okay. did I do something wrong?”

“no, no,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “you were perfect. just…you know, safety first.”

he helped you down, his hands lingering a moment longer than necessary on your waist before he let go. as you landed on your feet, you stumbled slightly, pressing against his chest. the warmth of your body against his, the softness of your curves pressed into him—it was nearly his undoing. he sucked in a breath, stepping back to create some distance.

as the two of you walked back toward the house, your hips swayed naturally with each step, and rafe found himself trailing just a bit behind, his eyes betraying him as they followed the movement. every step, every sway—it all stirred something primal in him. he clenched his fists, trying to focus on anything but the growing tension in his body.

“you okay?” you asked, glancing back at him, a hint of concern in your eyes.

“yeah,” he said quickly, clearing his throat. “just...thinking about what to eat.”

you nodded, your shy smile returning. “i’m fine with anything.”

rafe's eyes lingered on your lips as you spoke, imagining the taste of you, the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. he shook his head slightly, trying to shake the thoughts away, but they clung to him like the scent of hay in the stables.

rafe felt the tension between you grow. every glance, every accidental touch seemed to spark something deeper. and as you walked side by side, he knew it was only a matter of time before his restraint snapped, and he’d show you just how wild you made him feel.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @heywardsdoll

[edenavari]

On the Matter of Mirrors

Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else. 

‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed. 

But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right? 

“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps. 

They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.

All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him. 

“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.

He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger. 

“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts. 

“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”

“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again. 

“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”

Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”

It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope. 

Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic. 

Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested. 

His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss. 

He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life. 

The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief. 

Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”

A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute. 

“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge. 

Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own. 

“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly serious. 

“You should forget all about Nancy.”

Steve frowns too. “That so?”

“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”

“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats. 

“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget. 

When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.

Give us a kudos, if ye dare x

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

Southern pride

a/n: I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of writing gay cowboy smut. Anyhow Im 🤏 this close to going insane (my countries so doomed)

minors DNI

Phillip whined almost pitifully as he felt the hot metal press up against his face, his mind flustered and fuzzy as he registered the burn of the ropes around his wrists and the grounding weight of your calloused hand holding his hips with an bruising grip. His pants tugged down and your spurs making a stupidly loud click sound whenever you bucked into him hard enough- his mind seeing stars and pleasure shooting through his tingled nerves whenever your thick tip hit inside him just right.

He was trying to think of how exactly he fell into this situation, bent against a trailer with his feet barely touching the ground, sore in all the wrong places. He remembered going to the rodeo tired and bored and really fucking lonely, how tempting his flask looked in his bag, and damn… he was pretty sure the person behind him was one of the rodeo men he saw earlier preforming some saddle bronc riding and cow roping. He in all truth hadn’t been paying much attention. You looked fucking good, and he was drunk- and that’s all it took.

his thought process was interrupted by a sharp pleasure shooting up his spine like electrical wire as your thick cock bullied its way just perfectly inside him to hit against his prostate with every timed trust, his eyes rolled back and tongue stuck out like some two dollar slut as he took it without complain. Feeling that knowing feeling deep inside him coiling. His vision was a little distorted, but he could see the smirk on your face when he titled his head, the look of it sending a potent mix of anger and utterly pathetic adoration through him. He almost looked like a prey animal, tied up and doe eyed as he just whined and whimpered, occasionally cursing or making some snarky comment to get your attention back on him

he couldn’t truly care less about the fact he could easily be caught if anyone turned the corner behind where the performers trailers and such were parked for the moving rodeo, too lost in sensation and whiskey to dwell on the concerns of his current situation, too close to think about how undoing it could be

All that mattered in this one moment, was the tight pain of the rope, and the bubbling pleasure of thrust after thrust as his body and souls stress slowly came undone. He came with little warning, his body alight with overstimulation and pleasure as his cum dripped down the side of the hot gleaming metal of the trailer wall he was so unceremoniously shoved up against

It didn’t take long for you to follow suit, pulling out and on the dusty jacket he wore, a little groan leaving his bruised lips at the sight of it, and before he could contaplate the world shaking sex he just had, he was reclothed and left there, tipsy and fucked senseless… a rough and fast interaction that left him reeling. He’d definitely have to come to more rodeos with you around.