#The Bull & Whistle Bar

[reidmarieprentiss]

Ride 'Em Cowgirl

Summary: The team gets a drink in Texas.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: flirty fluff

Warnings/Includes: suggestive conversation (16+), mechanical bull, alcohol

Word count: 1.3K

a/n: this song Cowboy Hat by Jon Pardi was the inspiration lol main masterlist

The Texas sky was painted in shades of purple and gold as the BAU team wrapped up their latest case. Though exhausted, there was a palpable sense of relief and satisfaction in the air. They had successfully apprehended the suspect, bringing closure to a string of grueling crimes that had cast a shadow over the small town.

As they gathered their things and prepared to head back to the hotel, it became evident that it was too late to catch a flight back home. Derek Morgan, always the one to lighten the mood, threw out a suggestion that caught everyone off guard.

“Why don’t we hit up a local bar and celebrate?” he proposed, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I hear they’ve got some real fun places around here.”

Emily Prentiss, eager for a distraction from the grimness of their work, nodded enthusiastically. “I’m in. We deserve a little break after this one.”

The rest of the team quickly agreed, each of them secretly looking forward to a night of unwinding and laughter. After all, it wasn’t every day they got to relax in a place as unique as this Texas town.

After a quick refresh at their hotel, the team reconvened in the lobby, dressed casually and ready for a night out. The bar they decided on was a rustic establishment just a short walk away, known for its lively atmosphere and local charm.

As they pushed open the wooden doors, the sound of country music greeted them, accompanied by the chatter of locals and the clinking of glasses. The place was alive with energy, and the scent of barbecue and whiskey hung thick in the air.

But what immediately caught their attention was the sight of a mechanical bull in the center of the room, surrounded by a crowd of cheering patrons. It was a quintessentially Texan sight, one that none of them could resist watching.

And there you were, right in the middle of it all, riding the bull with a skill and flair that had everyone in awe. You sat confidently, one hand gripping the handle in front of you while the other held your cowgirl hat securely on your head. Each twist and turn of the bull only seemed to heighten your composure, and the cheers from the crowd grew louder with every second you stayed on.

Spencer Reid, ever the analytical mind, couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer athleticism and balance you displayed. “That’s incredible,” he muttered, eyes wide with admiration. “There’s a real technique to staying on that long.”

Derek laughed, clapping him on the back. “Maybe you should give it a try, genius,” he teased, knowing full well that Spencer’s idea of fun usually involved a good book rather than mechanical bulls.

Penelope was equally enthralled, “I need to get my phone out and record this,” she said, rummaging through her purse for her camera. “This is going on my Instagram.”

Hotch, with his arms crossed and a rare smile playing on his lips, watched as you expertly maneuvered the bull, your movements smooth and calculated. It was clear you were in control, and the crowd fed off your confidence.

After what felt like an eternity of twists, bucks, and spins, the bull finally slowed to a stop, and you gracefully dismounted, landing on your feet with a flourish. The room erupted into applause, whistles, and cheers, acknowledging the feat you had just accomplished.

You tipped your hat to the crowd, a wide grin on your face as you soaked in the moment. As you made your way toward the bar, you caught the eye of the BAU team, who had been watching with rapt attention.

“That was impressive,” Emily complimented, her eyes shining with admiration. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone stay on that long.”

You chuckled, brushing off the praise with a wave of your hand. “Thanks. It’s all in the hips and balance. But really, it’s just for fun.”

“Fun for you, maybe,” JJ chimed in, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she glanced at you. “But you’ve set a pretty high bar for anyone else thinking of trying it tonight.”

“Come find me later then,” you said, a playful glint in your eye as you winked in JJ’s direction. “Maybe I could give you a few tips.”

JJ laughed, shaking her head. “I might just take you up on that.”

With the ice broken and the atmosphere lifted, the team began to relax and enjoy the evening. Drinks were ordered, and stories from past cases were shared, each tale punctuated with bouts of laughter.

As the night progressed, you noticed a tall, awkwardly charming man with gorgeous brown hair and an endearing presence waiting at the bar. Spencer Reid was nursing a drink, his eyes scanning the room with a mix of curiosity and nervousness.

Intrigued, you decided it was time to make your move.

“Hey there,” you greeted him with a warm smile as you approached, leaning casually against the bar.

Spencer looked up, startled at first but quickly relaxed when he saw your friendly demeanor. “Hi,” he replied, a shy smile spreading across his face. “You were amazing on that bull.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled, “I’ve had a bit of practice. But enough about me, what’s a guy like you doing here in Texas?”

Spencer blushed, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink. “Just, um, relaxing after work with my friends. We decided to unwind a bit before heading home.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” you said, moving closer, your voice a little more playful. “You know, I’ve always had a thing for guys that look… well, exactly like you.”

His blush deepened, and he fidgeted with the straw in his drink. “Really? I mean, that’s… nice to hear.”

You laughed softly, enjoying his nervous charm. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you reached up, took off your hat, and placed it gently on Spencer’s head, brushing his hair off his forehead as you did so.

“There you go,” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “Looks good on you.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, unsure of what to say as you gave him a friendly nod and turned back to the bar to pay for his drink.

Meanwhile, at the team’s table, eyes were wide and jaws were practically on the floor as they watched the interaction unfold.

“What just happened?” Emily asked, her voice filled with disbelief and amusement.

“I think she just gave him her hat,” Morgan said, shaking his head with a knowing grin. “Spencer, my man, you have no idea what that means, do you?”

Spencer returned to the table, oblivious to the attention he was getting. “What? She just said hi and bought me a drink.”

Rossi leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “Kid, when a woman in a place like this gives you her hat, it’s not just a friendly gesture. It means something else.”

Spencer blinked, confusion written all over his face. “What does it mean?”

“It means, wear the hat, ride the cowgirl,” JJ explained with a teasing smile, causing Spencer’s eyes to widen in realization.

His entire face flushed a deep shade of crimson, his usual composure nowhere to be found. “Oh… oh!”

The team erupted into laughter, thoroughly enjoying Spencer’s flustered reaction.

Spencer turned back to the bar, eyes searching for you. He saw you still standing there, a confident smile on your face as you met his gaze. With a wink, you turned on your heel and walked out of the bar, your sultry strut leaving Spencer speechless and the team in stitches.

Morgan clapped Spencer on the back, still laughing. “Well, Reid, looks like you’ve got yourself a Texas-sized invitation.”

Spencer could only shake his head, his mind racing as he tried to process what had just happened. He sat back down, the hat slightly askew on his head, and took a sip of his drink, still blushing from head to toe.

As the team continued to celebrate and tease him, Spencer couldn’t help but think about the unexpected encounter and the intriguing stranger who had left him with more than just a drink—and a hat.

[traumatrios]

the name of the game

pairing… dodge mason x fem!reader

wc… 2.3k

summary… you don’t talk to strangers— but there’s something different about dodge. was it his charm? his looks? or the way you couldn’t get him off of your mind?

warnings… ends in smut, face riding, drinking (not drunk sex), iconic red cowboy boots, brief pain pleasure, dodge is soooo delusional

josie’s notes! um i kinda don’t remember how panic ended for dodge (i finished it a week ago) so take the beginning plot with a grain of salt

otherwise enjoy my lovelies ❤️

Dodge didn’t have many friends to begin with, but with most of the kids his age out of Cape and attending college, he did feel quite lonely. 

He’s not a stranger to the fact that college wasn’t in the cards for him– he had too many responsibilities. He knew his sister could very much take care of herself, but lazy Sunday’s on the couch next to her was where his heart truly belonged. 

His mother needed help managing the restaurant, because as much as she prided herself for her hardworking motherhood and independence, he saw the breath of relief she had whenever he was there.

He was perfectly fine as a blue collar working adult. What did he need college for anyway? It was too expensive, especially after the necessary but monetarily disappointing ending to Panic. He was too old to apply now.

Dodge took his time off of working at his bar to nurse the foam of a beer from another in a neighboring town. 

Was this really what his future was? He was dangerously nearing a seat in the same boat as the men surrounding him in the ambience of the dive bar: old (21) with a family at home (he was unattached with a sister and a single mother 5 minutes away from his apartment). 

Dodge might as well accept it; this was his destiny.

But the glimmer of fate came to him through a vision he wasn’t sure whether he was imagining from the wild dreams in his head or the material of a Playboy magazine. 

The mechanical bull sitting in the middle of the recreational space of the bar with a pretty girl attached to its saddle.

Dodge couldn’t tell if you were a saddle bronc rider (like himself) or just intensely familiar with your hips. You rode the mechanical bull like it was a kids bicycle with training wheels.

But with how you grinded against the fur of the mechanical bull with the rhythm it was bucking, he landed on the latter.

It was entrancing to look at, he admitted. The winks you sent into the collecting audience only strengthened his hopes of getting one shot at him. 

The mechanics continued to whir and spin you around, pathetic attempts to throw you off of the attraction you were obviously very skilled at riding. Have you been here before? Has he just never noticed you?

How could he never notice you.

Before he knew it, Dodge was leaning against the inflatable rim of the attraction, eyes wide in awe of your performance. One hand gripped the braided rope attached to the nape of the bull’s neck whilst the other waved in the air freely to your girlfriends, who had been screaming your name in the same way Dodge heard it yelled by paparazzi during award shows his sister watched on the weekends through the television.

The moderator of the attraction seemed just as impressed as anyone else watching you, even holding the twinge of suspicion some kept in the quirk of their brow. A crowd eventually formed around your performance, whistling and cheering you on as the meat of your calves squeezed the sides of the bull’s stomach.

Dodge thinks he heard a “yee haw!” come from the intoxicated group of guys (no younger than 30) stuffed in a booth attached to the wall facing your ass.

Bright digits flashed on the screen beside the control booth, announcing the new high score of Big Star Bar. 2 minutes and 36 seconds.

As you unmounted the artificial bull, Dodge didn’t pull his eyes away from you like the rest of the crowd did. You weren’t a one hit wonder, he had to know your secrets. What was a girl with hips like yours doing in a random dive bar in Texas?

Dodge wasn’t sure how to approach you, especially after losing you in the crowd of girls in identical cowboy hats and guys in flannel. He was lucky enough to skin his eyes over the bar and spot your sparkling red boots tapping and gliding against the dingy dance floor.

The boy filed through the crowd until the heat in the air turned from heavy to sweaty dance floor heavy. 

Dodge scanned the horseshoe— painted? —on the back of your jean jacket and how it paired with your cowboy boots. It felt like something out of a movie, seeing your outfit.

“This your first rodeo?” he greeted, though from his stance behind your back, he wasn’t surprised by the small jump in your shoulders. But when you turned around, you were just as beautiful up close than you were on that damn bull. Dodge noticed the thick pieces of glitter scattered across your collarbone and how it seemed to match with the other girls in your party.

“Sorry. I don’t talk to strangers,” you shrugged, offering Dodge a friendly smile in apology.

Your gaze didn’t even falter or scan him, just unwaveringly looking him in the eye before you turned around again to chat with your friends. 

“Aren’t those the most fun to talk to though?” Dodge tried, and god did it form a pit in his stomach to feel like one of those guys that pushed for a girl's attention— a bad guy.

This got you to turn back around again.

Truthfully, his looks were hard to deny; especially with that ivory colored cowboy hat on his head. Otherwise, he wore a navy tee with a pair of dark jeans and black boots; the simplest thing ever. 

One hand was stuffed in the pocket of his jeans, the other tapping its digits against the sweaty glass of a bottle of beer. 

“Do you really wanna talk? Grandma taught me that boys like you never want to just talk.” 

Dodge couldn’t fight against that, not confidently at least. He knew he didn’t want to just talk, but he also didn’t know what else he’d want to do. Is this what being in limbo felt like?

You gave Dodge the grace of a second before pointing an eyebrow at him and turning again, only this time walking off with your friends to a different corner of the bar.

Dodge was too stubborn to talk growing up, and in this moment— and only this moment —did he curse himself for doing so.

In Cape, everyone was a regular. 

It didn’t matter where you went or with whom, you were known better than the alphabet.

When Dodge came into town, he became a regular. In most places, at least.

He knew you weren’t from Cape because you weren’t a regular here. Which is why he was surprised to see the same red heels he’s been dreaming about since the weekend stroll into the establishment he worked in.

You knew what you were doing, of course. You knew about Dodge Mason because Gina knew about Dodge Mason, and she knew about Dodge Mason from her boyfriend Daniel.

That’s how you got here, wasn’t it? But, Dodge didn’t need to know that.

He didn't need to know how your girlfriends teased you for playing hard to get or how you began sweating just from looking into his piercing eyes.

And when those piercing eyes caught the sight of the painted horseshoe on your back, he thought it must be my lucky day.

As you sat at the bar, Dodge couldn’t think of any other way to praise whatever god trailed you in here rather than repeating the same ‘thank you’s in his head.

“Evening, lucky,” he coined the nickname from the symbol. You fought a smile at his wit, instead rolling your tongue along the flesh of your lip. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you sir?”

Dodge chortled at your act, but your face stood unwavering. Your tits looked perfect while pressed against the bar, but Dodge managed to pull his eyes a little higher to see the small tick in your neck signaling your so-called ‘confusion’.

You must’ve not liked his silence, because you picked up the silence with a small sigh and your order.

“May I have a shirley temple with just a dash of lime juice, please?” you batted your eyelashes at the unconvinced boy, being met with the playful roll of his eyes. 

Despite himself, Dodge began to concoct your beverage. You were strange, he thought. Where did you come from? Were you visiting? Would he see you again if nothing came from this conversation? How would he be sure?

He had to make sure this one counted, not like that pathetic excuse of conversation at the bar. The clicking of your nails rippling against the waxed bar behind his back mimicked the ticking clock– he might as well shoot a shot. Perhaps it was an easy target, especially with his luck sprawled against your back. 

“Did your grandma also teach you these manners?” Dodge planted the highball in front of your impatient hands. You took a look at the glass, then him, then to the glass again, where your eyes stayed as you tasted the drink. The sugar spreads across your tongue, satisfying its parched state.

“I still don’t talk to strangers,” you said, but the smirk that played on your face told Dodge something different. Your game wouldn’t fool him, not when you drop it just as limp as that. Did you want him like he wanted you?

You two weren’t strangers, no, he knew you were meant for something more. 

“So you admit to it,” he turned his head from the focus on your drink, only to catch your face hot with guilt. He chuckled to himself at your game.

“We ain’t strangers. This is our second meeting, perhaps fate is sending a message?” God, when did Dodge Mason become so sappy? He was grasping at the ends of a rope he wasn’t sure you were on the other end of.

But then you smiled. You smiled and twirled the skinny black straw around the ice of your drink. “And what message would that be?” you challenged.

Dodge leaned his elbows on the dark oak of the bar. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before his proposal, or rather, ‘the message’. “You should come home with me tonight.” He kept it at that; simple and charming. 

You giggled like a schoolgirl at his confidence. By the looks of it, he had been a lustful young adult, admittedly like you, with maybe a studio apartment. Your mind could only think of one thing he planned to do if you accepted the invitation, and you knew it wasn’t puzzles and lemonade. 

Were you opposed? Not entirely. 

“And what would this night entail? What do I get from entering your home? You gon’ drive me home after?” You matched his stance, leaning forward on the folded elbows you stuck to the waxy countertop. Dodge felt a stream of intimidation flow through his veins at the way you pointed your eyebrow at him.

“Might have to come to find out,” he replied, swiping his tongue over the toothpick that hung from his mouth. You couldn’t restrain your eyes from flickering down to the pair of lips. 

You were sure the sharp metal of his handle left a burning mark when he pushed you against it in the barren hallway of his apartment building. But with the incessant kissing of his lips distracting your mouth– and eventually everything else –it didn’t matter much to you anymore.

Your frame had been stripped of all fabric, laying in addition to his in the ratty hamper dejected in the corner of his room. Soon enough, he was insisting on a third round to cure the burdens of his barren tongue.

“Wanna see how you ride up close, baby,” he reasoned through a hushed tone, kissing the clammy skin of your temple.

How could you refuse? Especially when his hands began to rub those soothing circles into your hips and the tip of his tongue licked the shell of your ear during the whisper.

When he was prodding his tongue into your entrance a few minutes later, you knew it was the right decision to follow him out of the door. With your tits bouncing underneath the warm light thrusting through the ceiling of the sauna he called his room, Dodge took it upon himself to bruise your skin of this (rather heated) interaction through two large grips of his hands on your ass whilst you fucked his face. 

Dodge’s curious tongue soon turned into a hungry one, accompanied by the brief scraping of his teeth against the puffy lips of your pussy. The small bumping of his skull against the wooden headboard spurred him on rather than slowed him down, and you hoped the string of moans and mewls coming from your mouth were enough gratitude to satisfy his desires.

Due to popular demand– a loose request that fell in pieces from Dodge’s dumbstruck position underneath you –you wore his cowboy hat, glaze sticking from your hairline onto the weaved material. Dodge didn’t mind, in fact, he reveled in the thought of that same sweat mixing with his own during a rodeo. Dripping down his face just like how the sudden flood of your sweet juices were coating the stubble on his chin and the point of his nose. 

Dodge lived up to his word the morning after, tapping the ends of his fingers against the leather of the steering wheel to the tune of Bruce Springsteen’s voice singing “Glory Days” from the beaten up radio of Dodge’s Cadillac. Summers' heat wavered through the air of Cape even when Dodge drove past the speed limit on a lonely road. 

When you arrived at the doorstep of your grandmother's house, Dodge didn’t worry about the possibility of seeing you again, only admiring the way you swayed your hips and clicked your heels against the pavement during your strut. The corners of his lips pulled up into something that was not quite a smirk. 

He liked how your game was turning out.

traumatrios, 2024

divider by @saradika-graphics !

[madelynraemunson]

— along for the ride ☆

🐃 the tag team (co-writers): @joshlmbrt @swiss-mrs @mediocredreams 🩶

eddie x fem!reader

a/n: reading flight of icarus and finding out eddie is from tennessee REALLY husked my corn 🤠 also, this may or may not have been inspired by the bull fight scene in hoard

cw: daydream p in v sex, riding, eddie gets a hard on watching reader ride, innuendos, play on words

Stamina. Strength. Strategy. Safety. The Four Important S’s when it comes to bull-riding. 

‘Support’ is your unofficial fifth. You’ve generated quite the following after showcasing your riding skills at Whisky Jim’s every Saturday night, the ooohs and aaahs of your spectators filling the air as the spotlight drenches your cute… calculated… perspiring body. 

Bull-riding at the dive bar every weekend has become a favorite hobby of yours. It’s a perfect outlet for all the stress, the rough-and-tough of it all perfectly counterbalancing your slow-as-snails, but somehow busy and draining 9 to 5. Riding gave you something to look forward to.

“Look at her go,” an onlooker coos in admiration. “She’s got life by the goddamn horns.”

You toss your head back, glossy lips parted in excitement as the crowd’s appreciative hoots and whistles filled the air.  You could get used to this. You have gotten used to this.

Even with the world at your feet, things were starting to get boring again. And you are constantly craving something wild, something new. Something or someone that will make like the bull by sweeping you off your feet and taking you out for a spin.

Someone like Eddie Munson, perhaps.

Eddie isn’t sure what drew him… here out of all places. But something about the rowdiness compels him as he climbs out of his van, Halen and into the bar, boots scuffing the hard wooden floor. But the flight-risk metalhead is determined to find out, itching for adventure as he saunters with feigned confidence into the southern saloon. 

He flags down the closest bartender, a country heartthrob of a man with black hair and blue eyes. The Casanaova places a coaster down in front of him as Eddie steps up to the plate. “What’ll ya be havin’?”

“Anything local,” Eddie replies, more of a question, unsure of what exactly is available. “Anything hoppy.”

“Bottle or Tap?” the man follows up after a curt nod, mindlessly running a hand over his thick mustache.

“Tap. Pint, please.”  

The bartender gives another nod before disappearing to fulfill Eddie’s request. Meanwhile, the outcast takes this short window of time to look up and down the bar at the different patrons. 

All from different walks of life. But all here for presumably the same reason.Whisky Jim’s is decently packed, but for the most part, the crowd is congregated either in booths, at tables, or in the middle of the floor.

A glass is placed onto the coaster. The same deep country twang effectively regains Eddie’s attention.

“Wanna start a tab, brother?” The older man asks with a polite grin, eyes crinkling up at the sides as he does. 

Eddie offers a polite smile in return.

“Uh, sure. Thanks.” 

The bartender studies him intently this time, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“First timer?”

 Eddie clears his throat uneasily, kicking at the peanut casings at his feet to avoid contact with the John Wayne of a man that was in front of him.

“Obvious?” 

The man cackles at Eddie, the slight patronization of the old-timer’s demeanor making him want to evaporate. But the amused blue eyes and downturned smile indicates it’s all in good fun, much like his uncle Wayne who always liked giving him a hard time whenever he made himself too small. 

“Son, you couldn’t stick out further if you were a dog’s balls.” 

A fellow bartender laughs at the man’s remark. Then Eddie joins in. It was pretty funny. 

“You just don’t really look like the kind to be into square dancin’, is all,” the bartender remarks as he narrows his eyes at Eddie. Eddie shrugs and takes a sip of his beer, slightly wincing as the first sip hits him.

“Well, you’re not wrong. Just thought I’d explore a bit outside of my usual.” 

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Eddie.”

“Greg.” The bartender gives him his hand to shake. “You from around here or you comin’ from outta town?” 

“Hawkins.” 

“Not too far from home then. And it seems you came on a good night.” 

And as if on cue, the crowd towards the middle of the building erupts in cheers. Eddie briefly glances over his shoulder in the general direction before turning back to Greg with a curious head tilt.

“What’s happening?” 

Greg nods his head over in the direction of the crowd.

“Bull Ridin’ Night.”

Your thighs are wrapped around the firm leather seat as you’re whisked around in one fluid motion. You turn to give your rapt audience a wink. The crowd eats up your presence, evident by the adorn kisses they blow your way. You buy into the theatrics, pretending to catch them before putting them in your back pocket for later. It only riles the audience up more.

“They bring that thing out on Saturdays,” Greg explains. “Between the Karaoke Nights and the Hoedowns, Bull Ridin’ is one of the most popular.”

 Eddie tries another glance in that direction, but due to the crowd, he doesn’t have the best view of who is actually riding.

 “You gon’ give it a try?”

 Eddie’s head whips back around to the older man to find a teasing smirk on his face. Eddie shakes his head.

“I… don’t think so.” He chuckles. “I’m not the most balanced or coordinated person.” He admits that with a grimace and another sip of his Hawkins Pale Ale. 

“I’m just teasin’ ya, boy. HEY!” Greg whistles at the bartender next to him. “Who’s up there now?” 

 The coworker throws a quick glance over their shoulder before replying. There’s a bashful smirk when they reply, 

“Who do you think?” 

The crowd erupts again, cheers and whistles alike. Who else gets this kind of crowd engagement? No one else other than you, of course. 

“Looks like my girl is up there breakin’ hearts again.” Greg lets out a soft laugh. 

Eddie gulps as his breathing shallows. A girl? Up there? On that thing?

Eddie, once again, nearly strains his neck trying to get a glimpse of the rider. When he fails, Eddie turns back to the bar, downing the final quarter of his pint, before looking back at Greg.

“Fetch me a bottle for the road, yeah?”

 Greg issues him a chuckle, grabbing the empty glass and handing him a bottle version of that very ale, while Eddie sets off on his curiosity journey to the middle of the floor.

“Boys will be boys.” Greg’s female coworker remarks with sassy pursed lips.

Eddie closes in on the crowd,  slipping through the few empty spaces between the onlookers with half-assed ‘Excuse me’s. Though no one was paying him any mind. And when he settles by the barrier, just a mere two rows behind, he finally gets the perfect view of you.

Eddie couldn’t fight the grin that spread across his face at the sight of you working the crowd. He watches as you give a practiced flick of your hips to get the crowd going and the enticing jiggle of your breasts under your tight shirt. Drew in Eddie’s eyes like a laser beam. The thin material was stretched taut, giving a hint of the perfect tits underneath as you arched your lower back and thrust your chest forward to keep your balance. 

“Christ,” he exhales sharply, in awe of your natural performance, the boisterous, unpredictable gravity of the machine whirling you around as you wrestle to hold on. 

His eyes drink in the sight of the soft, rounded curve of your ass that peeked out of the bottom of your faded Daisy Duke’s as you lean forward to steady yourself in the saddle.

WHOOSH!

The bull jerks sideways and you flex your thighs and circle your hips in the saddle to keep yourself astride. The plush skin of your upper thighs press tightly against the seat and your upper body sways in rhythm with the bull’s movement. 

You were born to ride.

“That’s how you do it, Indiana!” a spectator hoots in adoration as you cling on for dear life. “That’s how you do it!”

You give a deep roll of your hips to meet the thrust of the machine, causing Eddie to run the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip before sucking in a shaky breath. Your hips… the way they roll… is almost hypnotic, and Eddie’s brown doe eyes can’t help but linger on the sliver of skin that peeks out, black, intricate swirls of cyber-sigilism that tease him slightly. 

Fuck.

“God, she’s so pretty…” he thinks to himself. “And she knows how to ride.”

Eddie’s eyes trail to the white of your knuckles, his own fingers gripping the bottle of his beer when his eyes slide up your arm and land on your face.

The front of his pants start to feel uncomfortably tight. Eddie adjusts himself as discreetly as he could, but even the soft brush of his fingers against the strained denim causes  him to hiss under his breath.

“Ride it, cowgirl!” an audience’s comment centers Eddie once again. “LET ‘EM KNOW!”

The way you matched the bull’s gyrations and anticipated its every move made him weak in the knees, and as he watched you swirl your hips in the saddle like a modern day Annie Oakley he couldn’t help but wish it was him straddled between your shapely thighs instead. 

As Eddie stood there watching, the dull roar of the crowd faded into the background. At that moment it was just you and him. 

In his mind he’s already lassoed you to his bed; and you’re sat astride him like a cowgirl in your saddle, hands splayed on his chest for balance as you lowered yourself onto his throbbing cock. And you’d bite down on your plush lower lip and let out a soft moan as you sank down onto him slowly, taking your time and adjusting to his size. 

“Oh, Eddie,” he could almost hear you purring. “It’s so big.”

And he’d chuckle with false modesty and rub a hand tenderly along your thigh as if to soothe the delicious stretch of his thick girth.Then once you adjusted, you’d move, meeting each unpredictable roll of his hips with your own as you mastered the rhythm of your very own long-haired bucking bronco.

And he’d be gripping you tight with each deep thrust, pistoning, plowing himself into you while watching his cock disappear into your slick pussy over and over with each forceful snap of his hips. And with every strained mewl he milks out of you he’d press you down by the hips and drill into you further, your weak cunt just about ready to tap out on top of him. This handsome bull’s sure a challenge, you’d be thinking to yourself. Eddie is a ride you wouldn’t be able to survive.

———

The crowd disperses when the show is over. Eddie stands a bit straighter when you finally leave the middle of the floor, eyes darting towards the plush smirk that your soft lips create. If it’s even possible, he thinks you look even more heavenly. He’s sure you don’t even realize what you’re doing to him. 

Little does he know that for you, he’s taken that same effect. You’ve grown so accustomed to everyone here that a new face has captured your attention. And you felt him staring at you, with a gaze so impassioned that you just about almost lost your footing up there. But you pulled it off real well, attempting to shake off the redirection in the form of a dramatic bounce of your tits.

It perplexes you. A man making you that nervous? Up until late, it’s become rather unheard of. You want to know this man and see for yourself what his energy is all about.

Eddie finds himself fixing his appearance when he notices your legs striding over, clearing his throat as his palm slides over the stubble that he had been trying to grow. 

“You know it’s kinda rude to stare the way that you do,” you remark.

“How so?” Eddie challenges. “Everyone else is doing it. What makes me different from everybody?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” you smile at him.

Eddie shifts his weight onto the counter, bringing the bottle up to his lips, taking another gulp. His eyes dart everywhere -- the metal buckle of your belt, the skin that was shiny with dried sweat, your hands that tap at the sticky countertop of the bar, the way your lips wrap around the tip of your bottle and the liquid that slips out and down your chin that he greedily wanted to tongue away. 

“Funny,” you observe. “I’m here every Saturday and I’ve never once seen your face.”

He thinks he’s looking over at an angel, really, heart beating faster when he realizes it’s him that you’d made an effort to come up to. Made an effort to get to know.

“Interesting that you saw me.”

“I see everything from up there. And you’re a newcomer, I can tell. Sticking out like a sore thumb in the best way.”

You invite him into your energy, closing up the distance between the two of you with a graceful stride in his direction.

“You were amazing,” Eddie says to you. “Really know how to put on a show, cowgirl.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie insists. “Spotlight loves you. Killer crowd engagement as well.”

“You a performer too?”

“Depends who’s asking.”

“Mmm, I don’t know…” you sigh dreamily. “Just a fellow performer lookin’ for some tips and pointers.”

Not much needs to be said to know that you two ache for each other, judging by how the intimate dive bar grows non-existent for as long as you two are captured in the forcefield of each other. Eddie thinks that there would be absolutely nothing better than giving you some pointers, his hand leaving the bottle, some of the liquid sloshing around the precipitating glass, heart pounding in his ears as he nods quickly. One rowdy night wouldn’t hurt anybody, he thinks to himself. And it’s very apparent that, the stunner that is you, wants take him for a spin.

“So what do you say, cowboy?” you cock an eyebrow at him. “Why don’t we ride off into the sunset, just you and me?”

dividers by: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more @saradika @mikeykuns

[darylssunshine]

Ride a Cowboy

genre: almost smut but like technically not

non-apocalypse au

can be imagined as any era!

word count: 1.4k

summary: Daryl has fun with you on a bar date.

Glasses clinking and joyous conversation filled the air of the club while you eyed Daryl down his fourth shot of vodka, barely grimacing as it went down his throat.

“How can you do that? I've only had two shots and my mouth tastes literally disgusting right now.” You chuckled at the tolerance of your boyfriend, sipping your sweet tea to get the taste out of your mouth.

“Years of practice, sweetheart.” He retorted, leaning his elbows on the bar in front of him and flicking a piece of hair out of his eyes.

Daryl had been wanting to take you on a date for a while, and it was his choice for the location this time. So, of course, you and him had ended up at a southern style club a couple miles into town. It was very old-fashioned, with all wooden furniture and brick walls, adorned with framed photos of the owners, along with iconic landmarks of the surrounding area. The lights, however, were colorful and energetic, flashing along with the beat of the music at times. The bar area took up half of the building, while the other half housed a mechanical bull that was currently inactive.

With your attire being black skinny jeans, a band tank, and a black cowboy hat you stole from Daryl, the regulars could tell that this wasn't your scene. Juxtaposed with Daryl's rugged dark red flannel that fit his biceps just right thrown over a v-neck and blue jeans, you two were a sight to see.

You were broken out of your thoughts by a man over by the bull with a microphone, his voice loud enough to be heard over Low blaring over the speakers. You snapped your head over to his direction, your boyfriend's head moving slightly slower than yours.

“Alright, y'all! Bessie over here is finally up ‘n runnin’ and ready for a ridin'! Any of you folks wanna give ‘er a ride? Show ‘er a good time?” The man in the beige cowboy hat gave a wink and a few women sitting at surrounding tables shouted and whistled.

“Oh my God, Dar, can we? Please??” You gasped, eyes gradually lighting up as you shook his bicep, signaling your excitement.

He chuckled in response. “(Y/N). Really? Ya wanna ride the bull?”

“Yeah it'll be fun!!”

A raised eyebrow was all you got in response.

“If you do it with me, I'll pay for your tab.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled lightly. He then suddenly downed his fifth shot and placed it down on the bar harshly. “Aight. Fuck it. Le’s go.”

You immediately beamed and jumped off your barstool and basically pulled Daryl off of his, stumbling slightly from inebriation and the sudden incoordination. Daryl could only kind of keep up with the pace of your speed walking.

“Us! Us! We will!” You shouted, dodging a few groups of casually dancing club goers.

“Oh, we've got some volunteers!” A few patrons that were paying attention whooped and applauded your bravery. “Step right up!” He announced, motioning to an opening in the inflatable, cushiony material that surrounded the bull to avoid injury. “You better hold on, little lady.” the announcer said quietly to you, followed by a wink. You smiled and rolled your eyes while walking across the inflatable floor to the bull.

The bull was slightly elevated, so you were having trouble mounting it, and Daryl could tell. He let you try and struggle for a few moments before lifting you by the waist and placing you on the bull, the sudden gesture causing you to giggle and grip one of the bulls ears for balance. You felt the bull jostle and then settle, signaling that Daryl had hopped on behind you. You blushed at the feeling of his hands holding your hips.

“Y’all ready?!” The announcer shouted, talking to you and Daryl, but also everyone else in the bar, including the small crowd that surrounded the bull. You grinned and gave a thumbs up in the announcer's direction. “Alright! Hold on, you two!”

The bull then whirred to life and rose a couple inches higher than it already was. You kept both hands secured to it’s ears in front of you, thanking whatever deity that was listening that Daryl had agreed to go on with you.

Then, it began to move.

Startled, you gasped and moved your hands to the handle in front of you for more balance. You slowly got used to the up and down diagonal movement, even taking one of your hands off the handle to raise it above your head, only to return it a couple seconds on a particularly deep downward slope. Meanwhile, Daryl was calm, barely reacting to the movement at all, instead choosing to keep his hands firmly planted on your waist to ensure your security. He softly chuckled in your ear at your inexperience.

“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure ya don’t fall off.”

You felt your blush grow impossibly bigger. What does that mean?

He started by stealing back his hat, placing it on his head and returning his hand to your shoulder and squeezing it. His hand then snaked to your throat, engulfing it with his large fingers and making your head lean back. Your eyes widened and your breath hitched.

“Dar we’re… we’re in public.”

He bit your ear lobe in retaliation. “Ya think I care?” Your airflow was then slightly restricted, and you sighed in pleasure.

“Yeah. Ya like it, ya dirty little slut.”

He then took a hold of your hair and pulled, continuing to leave your neck exposed, and cockily put the other hand in the air. Your eyes had closed and your hands had migrated to his knees.

The patrons surrounding the bull cheered and whooped at Daryl’s action, a few women squealing.

“Everyone's gonna know who ya belong to.”

Your head was then tugged to the side and his lips were hungrily latched to your neck, sucking hard and adding a good amount of teeth so that when he pulled away, there was a decent sized purple mark left in its wake, growing deeper by the minute. You let a small moan escape your lips and Daryl huffed.

He then had an idea.

The brunette let you and the crowd calm down a bit, riding the bucking bronco how it was intended. He waited until the bull moved diagonally downward, then he strategically flung himself to the front of the bull and moved his legs on top of yours, earning another cheer from the crowd. You, on the other hand, were absolutely stunned, staring at him with your mouth agape. Your heart was going a million miles a minute, and he could tell. He loved it.

“Wha’d I say, darlin’? Years of practice.”

The sporadic thrusts of the bull now had a new intensity to them, Daryl’s bulge clearly being felt through your thin jeans. You steadied yourself by gripping Daryl’s shoulders and looking at him with half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. Daryl smirked, leaned down to your ear, and grumbled, “What’s wrong, sunshine? Thought ya was worried ‘bout bein’ in public.” He bit your cartilage for extra measure and continued to smirk down at you, proud of the needy little fuck doll his actions have created.

Daryl’s lustful gaze along with the thrusts of the bull and the cheers of the bull were all too much to handle, so you shamelessly latched your lips with his with intensity, something that he gladly returned. Both of you barely even registered the roar of the crowd while your hands were tangled in his hair and his hands firmly held your torso.

Right after Daryl had drunkenly and fervently introduced tongue into the mix and was already winning the battle of dominance, an especially quick jolt of the bull had you falling off the side. You tried to stabilize yourself by gripping Daryl’s shoulders again, but that just caused him to fall as well, ironically, right on top of you.

You both gazed at each other longingly for a few moments before finally registering your surroundings. He stood up first and held out a hand to help you stand as well. The crowd was wild, some of them waving their cowboy hats in the air in excitement. Daryl snicked. He wrapped a heavy arm around your shoulders and used his other hand to take his hat off and return it to your head. Almost like he was showing off a shiny gold trophy that he had just won for his performance.

The announcer beamed. “Holy shit! We haven’t seen that level of ridin’ in a while, literally.”

Daryl looked over at you and winked.

You and him will definitely be returning soon.

[theonottsbxtch]

WHAT'S LEFT BEHIND PT.3 | MV1

an: teehee teehee teeheeeeee

summary: when max verstappen left his childhood girlfriend behind to face her career ending injury alone to chase his dreams of being the best bull rider the country has ever seen, he thought it would be easy. except it wasn't, he was back in town and they hated him, for one reason. they hurt their star barrel racer.

wc: 7.1k

part one | part two |

The bar had the usual hum of Friday night energy, filled with locals seeking an end-of-week drink and familiar faces. She hadn’t planned on coming out tonight, but Heidi had insisted, and now here she was, feeling somewhat out of place in her jeans and the flowy top she’d pulled on at the last minute.

“See? I told you we needed this,” Heidi said, nudging her with a grin as they walked in. “You clean up good, girl. You should do it more often.”

She rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “It’s just a top.”

“Sure, sure,” Heidi teased, “but you know you look good.”

They found an empty booth near the back, away from the louder crowds near the bar. Sliding into the seat, she glanced around, spotting familiar faces scattered throughout the room. This was the place to be on a Friday night, after all—nothing else to do in their small town.

Just as they settled in, she saw Max walk through the door. Her heart skipped for just a second before she forced herself to act nonchalant, her expression cool. He hadn’t seen her yet, thank God, but it wouldn’t be long.

Heidi followed her gaze and let out a low whistle. “Well, well, well. Speak of the devil.”

“Relax, Heidi,” she muttered, sipping her drink to avoid responding too quickly. “It’s no big deal.”

Heidi raised an eyebrow. “No big deal? Town talks, I know he was with you at the Rodeo Grounds”

She gave Heidi a warning glance, not wanting to dive into that conversation just yet. But Heidi wasn’t one to let things go.

“You two seemed pretty... civil when he helped you out apparently,” Heidi continued, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

She shrugged, trying to sound indifferent. “It wasn’t a big deal. I fell, and he helped. That’s it.”

Heidi snorted. “Oh, come on. You don’t just let Max help you if it’s no big deal. What happened?”

She hesitated, but she knew Heidi wouldn’t drop it. “After I fell, he offered to help, and, I don’t know... we talked a bit. It was civil.”

“Civil, huh?” Heidi grinned, leaning in. “I mean, you were both stubborn as mules the last time I checked. That’s progress.”

She huffed. “It’s nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You keep saying that.” Heidi’s voice was teasing, but there was a knowing edge to it.

Before she could reply, Max caught sight of them. His gaze lingered for just a moment longer than it should have, and she quickly looked away, hoping Heidi didn’t notice.

No such luck.

“Ohhh, he’s going to the bar,” Heidi said under her breath, her grin widening. “Act normal.”

“I am normal,” she snapped, her fingers tightening around her drink. She shot Heidi a glare, but Heidi was too busy enjoying the moment to care.

Just as Max approached the bar, a blonde woman with long, wavy hair and a tight shirt slid up beside him. The woman laughed at something he said—or maybe didn’t say—and casually rested her hand on his arm. It was a subtle touch, but it made something tighten in her chest. Jealousy.

Heidi saw it instantly.

“Ahhh, and there it is,” Heidi muttered, smirking. “Jealousy, in all its glory.”

She turned sharply to Heidi, her eyes narrowing. “I am not jealous.”

“Oh, honey,” Heidi replied, shaking her head with a laugh. “You’re jealous. It’s written all over your face. You’re about to snap that glass in half.”

She glanced down at her drink, realising her knuckles were white from how tightly she was gripping it. She set it down quickly, willing herself to relax. “I’m not jealous. Why would I be?”

Heidi shrugged, though her grin didn’t falter. “I don’t know, maybe because a part of you still cares?”

“I don’t care who he talks to,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “It’s none of my business.”

“Sure, sure,” Heidi said, leaning back in her seat, clearly amused. “But you should see the look on your face right now.”

She shot Heidi another glare, but it was more defensive than anything. She hated that Heidi had a point. She hated even more that it bothered her to see Max with someone else. They weren’t together—hadn’t been for years—and yet, seeing that blonde flirt with him made her stomach turn.

Max leaned against the counter, talking with Daniel, Heidi’s boyfriend, who was working the bar tonight. He seemed oblivious to the woman beside him, but that didn’t matter. She was still there, still trying to get his attention, and it was driving her crazy.

Heidi noticed her tension and nudged her playfully. “Come on, don’t let Blondie get to you.”

“I’m fine,” she replied through gritted teeth, but Heidi wasn’t fooled.

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Heidi said with a wink. “But if looks could kill, that girl would’ve dropped dead five minutes ago.”

“Shut up, Heidi,” she muttered, grabbing her drink and taking a longer-than-necessary sip.

Heidi grinned, leaning forward on her elbows. “You could always go over there, you know. Show Blondie that you’re still very much in the picture.”

“I’m not in the picture,” she snapped, setting her glass down harder than she intended, letting the bubbles flow to the top. “And I’m not going over there.”

“Okay, okay,” Heidi said, holding her hands up in mock surrender, but there was no mistaking the laughter in her eyes. “But for someone who claims she’s not in the picture, you sure seem to be acting like you are.”

She huffed, staring hard at the table. She didn’t want to care. She didn’t want to feel anything about Max anymore. But the truth was, he still got under her skin, no matter how much she tried to deny it.

Over at the bar, Daniel gave Max a nudge and muttered something under his breath. Max turned slightly, his gaze sweeping the room before landing on their booth. His eyes met hers for a moment, and she quickly looked away, heat creeping up her neck.

Heidi chuckled, leaning in again. “Well, he’s definitely looking. Seems like you’ve still got his attention, whether you want it or not.”

She groaned, rubbing her temples. “This was a bad idea. We should’ve stayed home.”

“Oh, stop,” Heidi said, waving her off. “You’re fine. And for the record, if he’s looking at you like that while some other girl is practically throwing herself at him, that says something.”

She wanted to argue, but she didn’t have the energy. Instead, she slumped back in her seat, trying to ignore the way her heart raced whenever Max glanced her way.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“And you’re in denial,” Heidi shot back with a grin. “It’s a good thing one of us is honest.”

Max’s gaze lingered on her again from across the bar. This time, there was no mistaking the subtle smirk playing at the corners of his lips. She narrowed her eyes, trying to ignore the sudden spike of heat rising through her. She knew that look—it was the same one he used to give her when he was trying to get under her skin.

And then he did it.

Max leaned in closer to the blonde, who was still standing beside him, clearly eager for his attention. He said something—she couldn’t hear exactly what—but the way the woman’s laugh rang out was unmistakable. He flashed a grin, cocky as ever, and the blonde practically melted in front of him, her hand brushing against his arm again.

“Oh, that cheeky fucker,” Heidi muttered from across the table, eyes wide in disbelief. “He’s tryna get a rise out of you!”

She froze for a second, her heart pounding, before scoffing in response. “He’s what?”

Heidi leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. “You heard me. He saw you looking, and now he’s flirting with Blondie just to push your buttons.”

She clenched her jaw, trying to play it cool, but the blood in her veins was starting to simmer. Max’s smirk had grown just a little wider, and now he was leaning even closer to the blonde, his body language practically shouting look at me.

He wanted to play games? Fine.

“He wants to play that game?” she muttered, shooting Max a glare from across the bar. “Game on.”

Heidi’s eyes lit up with excitement, practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

With determination in her step, she stood up, grabbing her drink and making her way toward the bar. She wasn’t about to sit back and let Max think he had the upper hand. If he wanted to push her buttons, she’d push right back. Two could play at this game.

“Where you going?” Heidi called after her, barely suppressing a grin.

She turned back, a wicked smile on her face. “To remind him who he’s messing with.”

As she approached the bar, she could feel the weight of Max’s gaze on her, even though he was still pretending to be engrossed in conversation with the blonde. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she had no intention of letting him get away with it.

Sliding onto an empty barstool just a few feet away, she waved over Daniel, flashing him a charming smile. “Hey, Daniel. Can I get another drink?”

Daniel smirked as he handed her a fresh glass. “You sure can. But, uh, what exactly are you up to?”

She leaned in just slightly, her voice low enough so Max could hear if he was listening. “Oh, nothing. Just enjoying the night. It’s been a while since I’ve been out.”

Daniel chuckled, clearly catching on to her game. “Sure. Well, enjoy yourself.”

As Daniel walked away to serve other customers, she casually let her gaze drift to Max and his blonde companion, making sure to look disinterested—but not too disinterested. She could see the blonde’s hand on Max’s arm again, and it made her grit her teeth, but she wasn’t about to back down now.

She leaned back against the bar, crossing her legs and swirling her drink, her body language as casual and confident as she could muster. Max’s eyes flicked toward her once again, and she saw that little spark of amusement in his gaze. Oh, he knew what she was doing. Good.

He turned back to the blonde, his grin widening as he said something that made her laugh again, but this time, she caught the quick glance he threw in her direction afterward. He was testing her patience. Pushing her buttons. And she wasn’t going to let him win.

Heidi’s voice echoed in her head. Game on.

She then leaned back toward the bar, catching Daniel’s attention. “Hey, Daniel.”

He looked up from cleaning glasses, grinning at her. “What’s up?”

“When’s your shift over? Me and Heidi were thinking of heading down to the bull-riding place a few blocks away. We could all go. You in?”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, glancing at Heidi, who had somehow teleported, stood next to her, nodding eagerly beside her. “Oh, hell yeah, we are definitely going,” Heidi chimed in, looking thrilled at the idea.

Daniel’s grin widened, but then his eyes flicked to the back of the bar, where Max was still talking with the blonde, though not as engaged as before. “You want company?” he asked, with a sly look in his eye.

She felt her stomach flip, already knowing what he meant. She hesitated for a second, then shrugged, trying to sound casual. “If you wanna bring him, go ahead.”

Daniel’s smirk grew. “I’ll ask him.”

Turning on his heel, Daniel strolled down the bar toward Max. She watched as they exchanged a few words, Max’s head turning slightly to glance in her direction. For a moment, she wondered if he’d refuse—if he’d let her have the night with no further games. But then, he pushed off the bar, said something to the blonde, and grabbed his hat.

Daniel returned moments later, his grin intact. “He’s in.”

She tried to swallow her unease, feeling the electricity in the air spark again. “Perfect.”

The bull-riding place was exactly what she remembered from the last time she’d been there. Low lighting, the smell of worn leather and sawdust in the air, and the mechanical bull sitting in the centre like a beast waiting to be challenged. A few locals were already taking their turns, each one trying to last longer than the person before.

Heidi nudged her, clearly already in high spirits. “You gonna ride, or are you chicken?”

“Please,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You know I’m no chicken.”

Before she could backtrack, Heidi raised her hand and waved toward the operator. “Hey, Lando! We got a rider over here!”

Lando, the bull-riding operator, grinned as he made his way over. Tall and broad-shouldered with a laid-back charm, he had the kind of easy confidence that immediately drew attention. She knew Lando well enough—he’d been working here as long as she could remember, always running the machine and giving encouragement to the brave (or foolish) souls who wanted to test their skills.

“Hey, ladies,” Lando greeted with a smile. “Who’s ridin’ tonight?”

She took a step forward, flashing him a playful smile. “I am.”

Lando’s eyes lit up, and he let out a low whistle. “Well, well. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you on this thing.”

She shrugged, pretending not to notice the fact that Max had just walked in with Daniel, his eyes immediately locking on her from across the room. “Thought I’d give it a go. See if I’ve still got it.”

Lando chuckled, giving her a once-over before nodding toward the bull. “Alright, let’s get you on, then.”

He moved toward the machine, adjusting the settings, while she turned her back on Max and made her way to the bull. But before she could climb on, Lando stepped in, holding out his hand. “Here, let me help.”

She smiled at him, letting him place his hands on her waist as he guided her onto the bull. The contact was light, easy, but she made sure to laugh softly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She could practically feel the heat of Max’s gaze burning into her back, and she couldn’t help but relish the fact that she was getting under his skin.

Lando grinned up at her as she settled onto the bull. “Ready?”

She smirked. “Always.”

As the machine started up, she focused on staying balanced, the thrill of the ride pushing her adrenaline higher. But out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Max leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching her. His jaw was tight, and his usual playful smirk had faded. She had his attention, alright.

After a few minutes, the machine slowed, and Lando helped her down, his hands lingering just a little too long on her waist. She shot him a smile, laughing as she stumbled slightly, the high from the ride still buzzing in her veins.

“Not bad,” Lando said, his voice low and teasing. “You still got it.”

She caught Max’s gaze again, just in time to see his eyes narrow at the sight of Lando’s hand still resting on her hip.

Good. Let him stew on that.

Heidi sidled up beside her, grinning from ear to ear. “You’re having way too much fun with this.”

She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I’m just enjoying myself.”

Heidi chuckled. “Uh-huh. Sure you are. And I’m sure the fact that Max’s over there, glaring daggers at poor Lando, has nothing to do with it.”

She glanced over again, seeing Max’s expression darken as Lando leaned in close to say something to her. She couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t matter. Max had seen enough.

Heidi’s laughter was soft but filled with mischief. “You cheeky fucks,” she whispered, echoing her words from earlier. “He was trying to get a rise out of you, and now you’re doing the same thing.”

She bit back a smile, feeling the thrill of the game once again. “He wants to play? I’m all in.”

As the night went on, she found herself flirting more with Lando, laughing at his jokes, letting her hand brush against his arm as they talked. But no matter how much fun she pretended to be having, she couldn’t ignore the fact that Max was always there, lingering in the background, watching her every move.

At one point, Daniel wandered over to Max, nudging him with his elbow. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she saw the tension in Max’s posture, the way his hands tightened into fists at his sides.

He was jealous. And she couldn’t deny that a part of her liked it.

But then Max pushed off the wall and started walking toward them. Her heart sped up, her mind racing with the thought of what he might say, what he might do.

Before he could get too close, Lando called out to him, breaking the tension. “Hey, Max, you want a go? Haven’t seen you ride here in years.”

Max stopped, his eyes flicking between her and Lando, the tension clear in the air.

For a moment, she thought he might decline, that he’d brush off the offer and leave her alone.

But then he smirked, tipping his hat toward Lando. “Why not? Let’s see if I’ve still got it.” He replied, mirroring her words from earlier.

Her stomach flipped as Max approached the bull, his gaze flicking toward her for just a second before he mounted the machine.

Lando set the bull in motion, and Max rode with the same confidence he always had—easy, smooth, like he belonged up there. The crowd around them cheered as he lasted longer than anyone else had that night.

When the ride finally ended, he hopped off, swaggering back toward her with that cocky grin she both loved and hated.

He stopped just inches away from her, his voice low and teasing, his breath warm on her ear. “Seems like I  still got it too, sweetheart.”

Her heart pounded, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them crackling like a live wire.

After a few more laughs and lingering glances at Max, she excused herself from the group. “I’m gonna hit the restroom,” she said to Heidi, who nodded, caught up in her own conversation with Daniel.

She made her way down the dimly lit hallway, past the crowd and noise, finally reaching the relative quiet near the back of the bar. The pulse of music and laughter faded as she approached the bathroom, but before she could step inside, a hand caught her wrist.

She turned, ready to snap at whoever it was, but her breath hitched when she saw Max standing there, his eyes intense, cornering her in the narrow corridor where no one could see them.

"I know what you’re doing,” he said, his voice low, rough, as if barely keeping his own frustration in check.

She blinked, feigning innocence as she leaned casually against the wall. “I have not one clue what you mean, sweetheart.” The last word dripped with mockery, her smirk playing at the edges of her lips.

Max's jaw tightened, his gaze flicking down the hall as if to ensure they were truly alone. He took a step closer, the air between them buzzing with electricity. “That game you’re playing with Lando,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper. “Flirting with him, letting him put his hands all over you…”

She laughed softly, her eyes bright with amusement. “Flirting? Lando? Oh, darling, we’re just having fun.”

“Cut the crap,” Max growled, his frustration slipping through the cracks.

“Ain’t you just jealous I’m no longer riding you?” Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper as she leaned forward, close enough that her breath ghosted over his cheek. “You should ask that blonde if she wants a ride,” she added with a wink, throwing his own game back at him.

He clenched his jaw, trying to hold onto whatever cool he had left. “I wasn’t affected,” he said, the lie heavy in his voice.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips, her eyes glinting with challenge. She took a step closer, the scent of her perfume curling in the tight space between them. She reached out, her fingers brushing the hem of his shirt before finding the cold metal of his belt buckle. In one smooth, deliberate motion, she slid her hand just below the buckle, her fingertips tracing the line of his jeans.

Max’s breath caught, his body tensing under her touch. His hand instinctively shot out to grab her wrist, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in, her lips barely an inch from his ear as she whispered, her voice thick with satisfaction, “Seems like I still have the same effect on you, Max. Pity.”

The warmth of her breath sent a shiver down his spine, and though he wanted to deny it, his body betrayed him. His grip on her wrist loosened, his breath coming heavier than before.

For a second, he looked like he might pull her closer, close the gap between them, but before he could say or do anything, she withdrew her hand, stepping back with a smirk that screamed victory.

Without another word, she turned on her heel, leaving him standing there, his body still humming from the brief contact.

As she walked away, she felt his eyes on her, his frustration rolling off him in waves. The game wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. And they both knew it.

She sauntered back to the bar, her pulse still racing from the charged encounter with Max. The air between them had been thick with tension, and she knew exactly what she was doing—pushing him to the edge, seeing how far she could take it before he snapped. But she wasn’t done yet.

Lando was still by the bull-riding machine, chatting with a couple of regulars when she approached. His face brightened when he saw her, and she could tell by the sly look in his eyes that he had caught onto her little game.

“Back so soon?” Lando said with a playful grin, his eyes flicking over her as she settled next to him.

She smirked, leaning against the fence. “I figured I could use a little more fun tonight.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, glancing briefly over her shoulder, where Max still lingered by the bar, his eyes locked on them. “Ah, I see. You’re having fun alright.” His voice dropped, more serious now, but still amused. “Trying to wind him up, huh?”

She didn’t even try to deny it. “Is it that obvious?”

Lando chuckled. “To someone who knows you? Yeah, it is.”

She shrugged, biting back a smile. “You gonna help me out, then?”

Lando shook his head, laughing softly. “Hell, why not? Can’t say no to a little drama, especially when it involves Max.”

Without missing a beat, Lando stepped closer, his hand brushing the small of her back as he guided her toward the machine again. His touch lingered a little too long, his arm draping casually over her shoulder as they walked. He leaned in closer than necessary, his lips just near her ear as he whispered something she couldn’t even focus on—all she cared about was that Max saw every single move.

When they reached the bull-riding machine, Lando turned her to face him, his hands sliding down to her hips as he steadied her. “You sure you’re up for another ride?” he asked, his tone teasing but loud enough for anyone nearby to hear.

She laughed softly, knowing Max could hear, and leaned into Lando’s touch just enough to make it obvious. “I think I can handle it.”

Lando’s hand rested on her waist, guiding her onto the bull again. The whole thing was exaggerated, overly touchy, but she played along, laughing and teasing Lando right back. Every now and then, she glanced over her shoulder, catching Max’s stormy expression as he stood near the bar, watching the scene unfold.

Lando, fully aware of the tension, turned up the flirtation even more. His hand brushed her thigh as she settled into the seat, his grin widening as he stepped back to start the machine. “You look good up there,” he said, winking.

She shot him a playful smile. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

As the machine started up, she could feel the weight of Max’s gaze like a physical thing, heavy and charged. Every move she made felt deliberate, every laugh louder than necessary. And with every second that passed, Max’s frustration seemed to grow, his jaw tightening, his hands gripping the edge of the bar.

Lando helped her off after the ride, his hand once again lingering a little too long on her waist as he pulled her close, laughing about something she didn’t even register. It wasn’t about Lando—it never had been. It was about seeing how far she could push Max before he snapped.

When she finally glanced back toward the bar, she saw the moment Max had had enough. His face was tight, his knuckles white as he set his beer down on the counter. Without a word to Daniel or anyone else, he grabbed his cowboy hat and stormed out of the bar, the heavy thud of the door echoing in the space as it swung shut behind him.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding, feeling a strange mix of triumph and something heavier, something that tugged at her heart in a way she didn’t expect. But before she could process it, Heidi was by her side, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

“I think you won,” Heidi said, nudging her with her elbow, her eyes glinting with amusement.

She tried to act casual, like she hadn’t been watching Max leave or like the whole night hadn’t revolved around getting under his skin. “Won what?”

Heidi raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh, come on. Don’t play dumb now. That cheeky fucker was trying to get a rise out of you, and you just sent him storming off like a sulking teenager.”

Daniel wandered over, wiping his hands on a rag. “Yeah, he’s got it bad,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I haven’t seen him look that pissed since high school.”

She shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s his problem, not mine.”

But even as she said it, a knot tightened in her chest. She should’ve felt victorious. She’d gotten the reaction she wanted—had sent him walking out, angry and frustrated. But instead of satisfaction, there was something hollow about it. Something that felt unfinished.

Heidi leaned closer, studying her face with a knowing look. “You sure about that?”

She forced a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m sure.”

________________________________________________

The sun was barely peeking through the blinds when Max groaned, rolling over on the couch, his head pounding from the night before. The faint smell of bacon and coffee drifted through the door, making his stomach turn and his head throb even worse.

He cracked one eye open, squinting at the mess of beer bottles scattered on the floor. He’d clearly been trying to drown something—everything, really—after that stunt at the bar last night. Didn’t work, though. He still felt like hell.

A knock sounded at the door, followed by the sound of it creaking open.

“Get your ass up,” Daniel called out, his voice way too chipper for this hour. Max barely managed to sit up, rubbing his temples as Daniel strolled in, carrying a bag of greasy breakfast sandwiches and two coffees.

“You look like shit,” Daniel said with a grin, setting the food on the coffee table and dropping down into the armchair beside the couch.

“Feel like shit too,” Max muttered, blinking through the haze of his headache. “What time is it?”

“Not early enough for how much you drank,” Daniel replied, handing him a cup of coffee. “Here, this should help.”

Max accepted the coffee with a grunt, taking a sip and wincing as it scalded his throat. He set it down, eyes unfocused as last night’s events replayed in his mind. He could still see her—dressed up, laughing with Lando, teasing him, winding him up. She knew exactly what she was doing. And he fell right into the trap, like a fool.

Daniel leaned back in the chair, studying Max for a moment. “You good? Last night seemed... intense.”

Max sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know, man. I thought I was handling it, but seeing her with Lando—hell, seeing her with anyone—” He trailed off, frustration and regret mixing together in his chest.

Daniel didn’t say anything at first, just tore open one of the breakfast sandwiches and took a bite. After a few moments of chewing, he spoke up, his tone more serious than before.

“You know, it wasn’t just Lando that got to you last night.”

Max frowned, looking up. “What do you mean?”

Daniel set the sandwich down, wiping his hands on a napkin. “I mean, you’ve been gone for eight years, man. You can’t just walk back into town, see her for five minutes, and expect everything to go back to normal. It’s not that simple.”

Max exhaled, shaking his head. “I know it’s not simple. But she—she looked happy last night. With him.”

Daniel snorted. “With Lando? She was winding you up. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Max muttered, rubbing his temples again as the headache throbbed. “But it still hurt like hell.”

There was a pause before Daniel spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “You hurt her worse.”

Max froze, his hand dropping from his forehead. He didn’t need Daniel to remind him of that, but hearing it said out loud still felt like a punch to the gut.

“I know I did,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Daniel studied him for a moment before leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “Do you?”

Max looked up, meeting his friend’s eyes.

“Because, from what I’ve seen,” Daniel continued, “it’s not just that she’s mad at you for leaving. She’s mad because she hasn’t moved on. And maybe she hasn’t let herself move on because of you.”

Max swallowed, suddenly feeling nauseous, and it wasn’t just from the hangover.

“What are you saying?” he asked, his voice rough.

Daniel sighed. “I’m saying, you messed her up more than you realise. She hasn’t dated anyone, Max. Not once, in eight years.”

Max blinked, staring at Daniel like he’d misheard him. “What?”

“You heard me,” Daniel said, his voice calm but heavy. “Not a single guy. Not a date, not a fling, nothing. Hell, she hasn’t even taken anyone home from the bar. And we both know there’ve been plenty of guys who’ve tried.”

Max felt his stomach twist. “But—she seemed fine.”

“She’s good at seeming fine,” Daniel said. “But she’s been shutting people out for years. Everyone around here knows it. You left, and it messed with her.”

Max’s head was spinning, and it wasn’t just from the hangover anymore. Eight years. She hadn’t been with anyone for eight years?

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He felt sick to his core. “I really fucked her up.”

Daniel didn’t argue. He just sat back in his chair, letting the weight of Max’s words settle between them.

“You did,” Daniel said finally. “But you’re here now. So what are you gonna do about it?”

Max stared down at his hands, the coffee in front of him going cold as he wrestled with everything Daniel had just said. Eight years. He’d been running, chasing something that had never mattered as much as she did. And all the while, she’d been here, alone, waiting for something—or someone—who never came back.

“I don’t know,” Max said softly. “I don’t know if I can fix it.”

Daniel leaned forward again, his voice firm but not unkind. “You don’t get to decide that. She does. But if you want even a shot at making things right, you need to stop playing these games. Stop acting like you’re just here to stir shit up. Show her you mean it this time.”

Max closed his eyes, the weight of guilt and regret pressing down on him like a heavy blanket. He didn’t know if she’d ever forgive him, or if she even wanted to, but Daniel was right about one thing—he couldn’t keep playing this back-and-forth game.

“I need to talk to her,” Max said, his voice resolute, though his heart was still heavy with doubt. “For real this time.”

Daniel nodded, standing up and stretching. “That’s a good start.”

Max sat there for a moment, watching as Daniel moved toward the door.

“And hey,” Daniel added, turning back to face him with a small smile. “She’s tougher than you give her credit for. But don’t take that as an excuse to keep fucking it up, alright?”

Max gave him a weak smile in return. “I’ll try not to.”

As Daniel left, the room fell into silence again. Max sat there, staring down at his hands, the weight of everything he’d learned sinking in. Eight years. She hadn’t moved on, because of him.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself again.

But this time, he wasn’t going to run from it.

Max sat in silence after Daniel left, the weight of his friend’s words pressing heavily on him. Eight years. Eight long years, and she hadn’t been with anyone. The realisation gnawed at him, stirring regret deeper than he’d ever anticipated.

No more running. No more games.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second echoing his resolve. He needed to do something—now.

With a determined breath, Max pushed himself off the couch, downed the rest of his now cold coffee, and splashed water on his face. His reflection stared back at him: bloodshot eyes and messy hair from a restless night. He was tired of running from his past and the woman he still cared about.

He grabbed his hat and jacket, feeling the weight of the decision settle on his shoulders. The drive to the barn felt both too short and interminable, the morning sun casting long shadows over the dirt road.

When he arrived, the familiar sight of the barn filled him with a mix of nostalgia and dread. This place had once been a sanctuary for both of them, but now it felt like the stage for a confrontation he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

He spotted her truck parked outside, a painful reminder that she was already here, immersed in her work. Just another normal morning for her, while he prepared to unravel everything again.

With a deep breath, Max pushed open the barn doors. The comforting scent of hay and horses greeted him, but the atmosphere felt charged with tension as he stepped inside.

There she was, at the far end of the barn, brushing down a horse. Her movements were fluid, confident, but there was an edge to her, a wall that felt impenetrable.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him.

She froze, then continued brushing, refusing to acknowledge him.

“Sweetheart,” he tried again, stepping closer. “Can we talk?”

“Talk?” she repeated, finally turning to face him, irritation flaring in her eyes. “What about? Yesterday? The last eight years? Pick your topic, I’m all ears.”

“Look, I know I messed up. I’m not here to make excuses,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just want to understand where we stand.”

Her expression hardened. “Where we stand? You left, Max. You ran away when things got hard, and now you want to come back and act like everything’s fine? Play a little game yesterday? Is that all I am, a game?”

“I’m not saying it’s fine!” he shot back, frustration bubbling over. “I know I hurt you, and I get that it’s going to take time to rebuild that trust. But I want to try.”

“Try?” she scoffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “You think you can just show up and expect me to forget all the shit you put me through? It doesn’t work that way!”

“Then what do you want from me?” he pressed, stepping closer, the tension thickening the air between them. “I can’t change the past, but I can prove to you that I’m not that guy anymore.”

“You want to prove it? Tell me how,” she challenged, her eyes flashing with anger and hurt.

“I don’t know!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, his heart racing. “I can show up, I can be here. I can—”

“You can what?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You can disappear again the moment things get tough? Because that’s what you did before!”

“I won’t! I promise!” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “I’m done running, sweetheart. I’m here, and I want to be here for you.”

She stared at him, her breath quickening, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her anger. “You think I can just believe you because you say so?”

“Trust isn’t built in a day,” he replied, frustration bleeding into desperation. “But I’ll fight for it if that’s what it takes.”

“And what makes you think I want you fighting for anything?” she shot back, her eyes narrowing, but he could see the uncertainty lurking beneath her defiance. “You hurt me! You abandoned me!”

“I know! I know I did!” he exploded, his voice echoing in the barn. “But I’ve spent the last eight years regretting it. I’m not the same person I was, and I want to prove that to you.”

The tension between them crackled like electricity, both angry and raw, every word charged with unspoken feelings.

“Prove it,” she dared, stepping closer, their faces inches apart. “Show me you’re not that coward anymore.”

Max’s heart raced as he searched her eyes, feeling the heat radiate between them. He was done playing games, done with the hurt. In one swift motion, he closed the distance, cupping her face in his hands, and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss ignited like a wildfire, filled with all the pent-up frustration, longing, and pain of the past eight years. It was desperate and consuming, a collision of passion that threatened to overwhelm them both. His lips moved against hers with a hunger that had been building for far too long, pouring every unspoken apology and unresolved feeling into that moment.

She responded fiercely, her hands tangling in his hair as if anchoring herself to him, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as though it were the very breath she needed to survive. Their bodies pressed together, the heat between them radiating like a summer storm, swirling with intensity and urgency.

It was a kiss that spoke of years of hurt, of love that had been buried beneath layers of pain and resentment. Every brush of their lips was a whisper of everything they had lost, and every sigh echoed the yearning that had never truly faded. It was a promise and a plea wrapped in one heated embrace.

As they finally pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, the world around them faded into the background. She searched his gaze, her expression a mix of surprise and vulnerability.

“Max…” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Just let me show you,” he murmured, searching her gaze. “Let me prove that I’m here to stay.”

As they pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, reality began to seep back in. She took a shaky step back, her heart racing, the warmth of his body still lingering against her. “We shouldn’t have done this,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

“No, we shouldn’t have,” he admitted, the gravity of her words hitting him hard. Yet, there was a fire in his chest that wouldn’t allow him to let go so easily.

Before she could pull away further, he cupped her face again, his fingers gently cradling her jaw, and drew her back toward him. “But I can’t help myself,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

With that, he pressed his lips against hers once more, deeper this time, as if he were trying to erase the eight years apart with each kiss. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of the barn and the intoxicating heat building between them.

She responded instinctively, her body arching against him as his hands slipped to her waist, pulling her closer. The kiss grew more urgent, more fervent, as the walls they had built around their hearts began to crumble.

Their lips moved together in a rhythm that felt both familiar and new, a dance of passion that awakened every nerve ending in their bodies. He nipped at her lower lip, drawing a soft gasp from her, and she answered by pressing herself against him, her hands exploring the muscles of his back, feeling the solid strength that had been absent from her life for far too long.

Max’s hands slid lower, gripping her hips as he pulled her body against his, their hearts racing in unison. The taste of her was intoxicating, and he couldn’t get enough. The kiss was no longer just a kiss—it was a release, a long-overdue confession of everything they had both felt but never dared to express.

“Sweetheart…” he breathed against her lips, his voice husky with need. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she admitted, breathless and caught in the moment. “But—”

“Shh,” he silenced her with another kiss, deeper and more passionate, as if to prove that this moment was theirs alone. There was no past or future—just the here and now, and the undeniable connection that had always existed between them.

As they kissed, the world around them fell away. It was just the two of them, tangled in each other’s arms, lost in the heat of their emotions. Max’s fingers slid under her shirt, brushing against the warm skin of her back, sending shivers down her spine. She gasped, pulling him even closer, feeling the undeniable pull of desire coursing through them both.

“Max,” she breathed, her voice laced with need as she tugged at his shirt, wanting to feel him against her.

“Yeah?” he murmured, his lips trailing down to her neck, planting soft kisses that ignited a fire in her core.

“We shouldn’t…” she started, but her resolve melted as his mouth continued its exploration, eliciting soft moans that betrayed her words.

“I don’t care what we shouldn’t do,” he whispered against her skin, his breath hot and tantalising. “I want you, darlin’. Right now. Always. Let me prove it to you.”

part four

[gogogodzilla]

✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟚𝟘: 𝐶𝑜𝑤𝑏𝑜𝑦 & 𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑙𝑒 𝐵𝑢𝑛𝑛𝑦 ✧

【𝑆𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝐻𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑒... 】

╰› 〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: �� ride a cowboy

╰› 〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, porn w/ plot, dirty talk, peeta calls reader "cowgirl," car sex, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex

╰› 〖 𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒 〗:  this is dedicated to the anon who requested cowboy!peeta mellark

✧ 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑡𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚.𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ✧ 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 ✧ 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑝𝑎𝑑 ✧

You loved it when the rodeo came to town. Not only was it a chance for you to make some extra cash and a fancy buckle, but it was also the perfect opportunity to watch some cowboys get thrown off various farm animals. 

The dusty warm air seemed to shift as the crowd buzzed with excitement. You adjusted the brim of your soft felt brim of your hat and took a deep breath, the familiar scent of dirt, leather, and hay swirling around you. 

Nerves bounced around your chest as you leaned against the cool metal fence. You were no stranger to the feeling, having been a barrel racer for years, but tonight was different. Tonight, you were focused on the bull rider that was about to take the stage and your heart along with it. 

Peeta had taken up bull riding with the same amount of determination and patience that seemed to define his every move. You’d been friends for as long as you could remember, you’d bonded over shared training sessions, late-night conversations about anything and everything, and the inevitable nerves right before a competition. You were amazed at how he transformed into a completely different person when he rode. A calm confidence radiated through everything he did, and tonight was no different.

You watched him from the sidelines, and your heart raced as he climbed into the chute. He wrapped the rope around his wrist and adjusted it every so often. His eyes were focused and his muscles tense, but his face remained calm. You wondered what was running through his mind. Usually, you attempted to drown the crowd out right before your advent, but it only helped so much when your mind was moving a mile a minute. 

The crowd’s energy was electric, and you all seemed to wait with bated breath for the gate to open. 

The gate burst open, and the bull shot out like a force of nature, bucking and twisting its body violently. Peeta moved with fluidity, gripping the bull tightly with his legs. He gripped the rope with controlled precision, almost as if he was anticipating the bull’s moves.

For eight heart-pounding seconds, the arena was completely his. A buzzer rang throughout the arena, signaling a successful run. Peeta jumped off the bull, landing in the dirt before scrambling away from the bucking animal. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and you tried to fight the grin that began to form. 

His eyes moved furiously as he scanned the crowd, halting once he found you at your usual position by the fence. With a mischievous grin, he reached up and pulled off his cowboy hat, his light blonde hair tousled slightly from his ride. He neared your spot at the fence before raising his hat in the air, pausing just long enough for the crowd to notice. 

He tossed his hat in your direction, and, for a moment, it felt like time slowed as it sailed through the air. Out of pure instinct, you took a step back and raised your hands, your palms open. His hat landed perfectly in your hands.

For the first time in your life, Peeta Mellark surprised you. 

Your eyes widened as your gaze flickered between the hat nestled neatly in your hands and the man who threw it. Whistles and hoots erupted from the crowd, and your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you wished the ground would swallow you whole. 

Peeta reached the fence, grinning ear to ear. “You know what that means,” he teased, leaning against the bars of the fence. 

You felt the heat creep up your neck at his words, knowing damn well the insinuation of him throwing you his hat. 

You clutched his hat in your hands, wrinkling the soft felt under your grip. “I didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter,” you mentioned, pressing your lips in a thin line. 

“You could’ve dodged it,” Peeta suggested, leaning in slightly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m glad you didn’t though.” 

You were painfully aware of the crowd watching the hushed conversation between Peeta and you. 

“I’m not riding anything besides my horse, Mellark,” you managed to force out, shoving his hat back in his hands. 

He shrugged, placing his hat back on his head. “I’m sure you can make some time for me afterward.” 

You pretended to think before responding, “Nope, I’m all booked up for the night.” 

He chuckled, “Fortunately, I don’t shy away from some competition.” 

You rolled your eyes, laughing a little. Before you could reply, the announcer's voice echoed throughout the arena, calling for all barrel racers to line up. It was your turn to astonish the crowds. 

Peeta tipped his hat in your direction, “Guess you better show ‘em how it’s done, cowgirl.” 

As you mounted your horse, your nerves from earlier had long dissipated, leaving room for a different kind of excitement. You caught one last glimpse of Peeta leaning against the fence where you once stood, watching you with the same teasing smile. 

You rode to the starting line, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The barrels loomed ahead, and you swallowed hard. The crowd still buzzed from Peeta’s performance, but now all eyes were focused solely on you. 

With a deep breath, you spurred your horse forward, racing into the arena with a newfound determination. Your horse’s hooves pounded into the dirt below you as you raced toward the first barrel. You leaned to the side, and your horse matched your movements, mirroring your actions and weaving tightly around the barrel as if she was born to do it. 

The second barrel was just as clean, your horse responding to every shift of your body and tug of the reins. As you rounded the third barrel, you hung on tight as your horse burst forward, kicking up dirt behind you. You released the reins only slightly, allowing her to stretch out, and, together, you flew toward the finish line. The world blurred around you, and for a second, all you could feel was the wind in your hair and your horse’s muscles coiling and releasing below you. 

And then it’s over. You crossed the line, and the crowd exploded into applause. You tugged on the reins, bringing your horse to a stop in front of the crowd. You panted as you ran an affectionate hand down her neck, congratulating her for a job well done. 

You heard the announcer’s voice crackling through the speakers, but all you could focus on is your time flashing brightly on the scoreboard. You just beat your personal best. 

The deafening roar of the crowd hit you all at once as you locked eyes with Peeta, who was cheering and applauding just as wildly as everyone else. 

Finally, you dismounted and handed your horse off to an attendant, giving her one last affectionate pat and promising her a handful of treats. 

You made your way over to Peeta, and he watched as you hopped over the fence, landing on the other side with a thud. 

“Well, cowgirl,” he drawled, the teasing lilt back in his voice. “You ride pretty well.”

You laughed, “You’re not so bad yourself.” 

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Still waiting on that ride though.” 

Your pulse quickened as you looked up at him. The two of you had been square dancing on the line between friends and something more, and you debated whether to push your luck just a little further. 

Fuck it. 

“My truck or yours?” 

Next thing you knew, you were perched on Peeta’s lap trapped in a heated kiss in the back seat of his truck. Your shirt is half unbuttoned, and your bootcut jeans have long been tossed to the side. Attempting to undo the buckles on both of your belts was a battle in and of itself.

Peeta ran a hand up the bare skin of your thigh as he worked at undoing the rest of your buttons, uncovering your lacy bra beneath. The tent in his jeans pressed against your clothed core, causing a shiver to run through you. 

“Feel what you do to me, cowgirl?” he questioned against your lips, his voice husky with an edge of desperation that had you aching. 

You nodded, leaning down to kiss him and run a hand over his covered length. Peeta jutted his hips up to meet you, his breath stuttering at your movements. His nails raked against your thighs as you touched him. 

Peeta was quick to repay the favor, pulling your panties to the side and dragging a finger through your dripping folds before circling your clit. Breathy moans escaped you as you shoved your head in the crook of his neck, lazily pressing kisses to the skin there while your fingers tangled in his hair. 

He dipped a finger into your entrance and you pressed against him, begging for more. He obliged you, slowly inching a finger inside you before quickly adding another, stretching you divinely. He pumped his fingers, savoring the way your walls fluttered around him. He curled his fingers inside you, brushing up against the spot that had you crying out his name as you rutted your hips against him. 

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, grinding against his fingers when his movements slowed. “Please, Peeta.” 

He removed his fingers, and your whine was cut off by him shoving his fingers past your lips, making you taste yourself. Your tongue darted over the pads of his fingers as you looked down at him. Peeta used his free hand to tug at his belt buckle, and you reached down to help him. The smooth leather brushed up against one thigh while the cool metal of his buckle pressed into the other. 

You reached down to where your hips met, unbuttoning his pants and yanking down his zipper, impatience coursing through you. You released his length from his jeans, earning a breathy groan from Peeta. You pumped your hand, sliding your thumb over the leaky tip of his cock. 

You aligned him with your entrance and a strangled moan left both of you as you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock. A sigh left you when your hips were finally flush. 

Your hands settled onto his shoulders and you began to rock your hips against his. Peeta rested his head against the headrest, releasing little pants and moans that increased in volume with every thrust of your hips. 

Peeta glanced down to where you were joined, watching as you ground against him. Your lips chased after his, nearly losing yourself in the feeling of him. 

You weren’t sure what came over you, but you plucked his hat off his head and placed it on yours as you rode him. Peeta groaned at the sight, and his fingertips dug into the flesh of your hips. 

“You’re killing me,” he whimpered, looking up at you with the fucked-out expression that you’d dreamt about. 

You grinned, “I’m just following the rules.”

Condensation dripped down the windows, and it made the air warm, thick, and hazy. It settled on every exposed inch of your skin, and Peeta’s hands glided over your ass as he helped you move a little faster. 

You chased after your high as Peeta licked and nipped the bare skin of your chest, his tongue on your collarbone and his hands roaming over the lacy triangles of your bra. 

He rested a hand on your hip and extended his thumb, drawing hasty circles against your clit. You swore against his lips as you clenched around him.

Your thighs ached as you jerked your hips against his, urged on by the pretty noises he was making. You were driven by pure instinct, chasing after the release only he could give. 

You arched your back against him as he hit that spongy spot inside you that had you seeing stars. His name fell like a prayer from your lips as you hit that spot over and over again. 

“Fuck,” you whined, leaning your head back. “Feel so fucking good.”

It took no time for your release to hit you, practically knocking the wind out of you as you spasmed around Peeta’s cock. Your vision went hazy as you rode out your high. 

Peeta’s grip on your hips tightened as he planted his feet and pistoned into you, pursuing his high. Your fingers tangled into his shirt as he used you, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the truck. 

With one final snap of his hips, he came, his release costing your walls, hot and steady like the rest of him. It dripped down your thighs as you slowly pulled yourself off of him. 

You settled into the seat next to him, taking off his hat and resting your head on the window. 

“That was,” you drifted off, unsure of how exactly to describe what you just went through. 

“Yeah,” Peeta nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. 

Your features matched his, and you laughed. 

God, you loved the rodeo. 

[agoofyannoyancetolaw]

☆ Rodeo star ☆

a/n: this is for @gazcakeglazer cuz gaz as a cowboy or in a cowboy outfit is such a good idea and also fits my blog oddly perfectly- 😔

minors DNI

being in a small town was tough. Especially when gaz happens to be the only cute guy around, sadly for him. And he’s simply just all pent up :(

with nobody around, how is he supposed to learn? So he simply ignores his longings for some boy to come and sweep him off his feet. Simply sticking to his farm-work and occasional looking around town evens in the little out of they way place.

this time it’s a rodeo- and oh god was he glad he came. Seeing your masculine frame riding a bucking bull as if it were second nature.. sweating and whistling and- god just the sight made him rub his thighs together looking for friction.

he follows you around town while your here like a lost dog, brushing up against you, dressing pretty in assless chaps with wrangler jeans or with a button up shirt skimpily tied up into a crop top because it was ‘too hot outside’ whenever your ‘accidentally’ at the same bar as him, asking you questions and pretending he was dumb just to hear your voice- and feel your from grip on his hand as you ‘teach’ him things.

but of course, your not in town forever. You’re a rodeo rider, you have things to do! So he starts to get closer to you, walking you back to your old hotel and borrowing your hoodies in a bad attempt to at least smell your scent as he desperately attempts to relieve the growing heat licking against his brain like a forest fire.

He even starts taking you out drinking just to get closer to you.. and eventually you pick up on his little signals, his little nervous glances, his small whines and whimpers when your hands get to close to his thighs or waist.

maybe it was you being drunk, maybe it was lustful thinking, maybe it was his desperation to feel someone inside of him instead of a toy- but he ended up perched on your lap in your hotel, his hands gripping the sheets as he awkwardly tried to sink down on your length. Clothes long discarded other then his cowboy hat and your own.

he whined and moaned as he tried to ride you, oh so tightly clenched around you like a vice as you hummed tips and held his waist, slowly pacing him up and down as your girth hit alll of his nerves just right. Making him feel so full. His body having a thin layer of sweat before he had even started to go any faster then achingly slow!

eventually you flipped him over, humming praise as you pounded into him. His moans and whines and begs to keep going stuttering as his came all over his stomach and chest. However that didn’t stop you from chasing your release as the fog of overstimulation clouded his mind.

he could have spent hours with you pounding into his gummy walls with your tip hitting his prostate and he would be too damn cock-drunk to care. And as soon as you came and filled him up, he felt filled to the brim.. almost hoping you’d keep him like that. Filled with your cum and sprawled out on the bed of the hotel like a common whore.

god he loved it.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Cowboy hat rule p.2

Hii guys I hope you enjoy part 2 of this story, here's part 1 if you've missed it :)

The next morning, you wake up feeling restless, your mind filled with thoughts of Daniel. His deep brown eyes, the way his lips felt on yours, the sound of his voice still lingering in your ears. You roll over in bed, hugging the pillow to your chest, wondering if last night had been a dream. It felt too perfect, too unexpected, but the hat sitting on the chair by the window is a reminder that it was all real.

You sigh, shaking your head as you stretch and sit up. Today’s your last day in Texas, and even though the memory of Daniel is burning in your mind, you know you can’t let it distract you. Your friend has planned for all of you to go to a rodeo today, the final adventure before you head back home.

After a quick shower, you rummage through your suitcase, settling on a cute denim skirt and a red top that ties at the shoulders. As you twirl in front of the mirror, you feel a little spark of excitement. You reach for Daniel’s hat, gently placing it on your head, your heart doing a small flip at the thought of him. It still smells like him, that mix of leather and warmth that made you feel safe. You run your fingers along the brim and smile softly, feeling a flutter of something deep inside you.

Once you’re ready, you meet your friends in the lobby, all of them excited for the rodeo. They tease you a little about Daniel, but you laugh it off, pretending the thought of him doesn’t have your heart racing all over again. As you pile into the car and head to the rodeo grounds, you try to focus on the day ahead, but his face keeps slipping into your thoughts.

The rodeo is bustling when you arrive. The smell of popcorn and barbecue fills the air, and the sound of country music floats through the crowd. You and your friends find seats in the stands, and you settle in, your eyes scanning the arena. You can’t help but wonder if Daniel might be here—Texas isn’t that big, right? You laugh at yourself, shaking your head. He’s probably back at the bar or out on the ranch, far from the chaos of a rodeo crowd.

But just as you're about to turn your attention to the show, you spot a figure in the distance. Your heart skips a beat. From where you're sitting, he looks just like Daniel—same tall frame, same casual confidence in the way he moves. You blink and lean forward in your seat, squinting. Could it really be him?

No. It couldn’t be. There’s no way he’d be here. It’s just a coincidence.

The show starts, pulling your attention back to the arena. The cowboys are skilled, roping and riding, the crowd cheering and gasping at all the right moments.

Finally, the announcer’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker, announcing the last event of the day—bull riding. The crowd goes wild, clapping and whistling in anticipation. You watch, trying to enjoy the moment, but the feeling of unease is still there, gnawing at the back of your mind.

The announcer calls out the name of the final rider. You don't hear it at first, but then you see him step out into the arena.

It’s Daniel.

Your breath catches in your throat. The world around you seems to freeze as you watch him walk out, his cowboy hat tilted low, the same confident smile you remember from last night. The crowd roars, but all you can hear is the pounding of your own heart.

It is him.

Daniel mounts the bull with ease, his movements smooth and practised. The bull bucks wildly, and Daniel holds on, his body moving in perfect sync with the animal. Time seems to stretch out, each second feeling like an eternity as you watch him ride.

When the buzzer sounds, Daniel dismounts, landing gracefully on his feet. The crowd erupts in cheers, but your heart is pounding too hard for you to join in. He tips his hat to the audience, that familiar, charming smile lighting up his face. And then, as if sensing your gaze, he looks up—straight at you.

For a moment, everything else disappears. It’s just you and Daniel, locked in each other’s gaze from across the arena. His smile softens, and his eyes twinkle with recognition. He tips his hat again, but this time, it’s for you.

Your cheeks flush as your friends nudge you, teasing you again. But you don’t care. You’re too lost in the way Daniel’s smile makes you feel—like you’re the only person in the world who matters to him in that moment.

As the rodeo wraps up and the crowd begins to disperse, your heart is still racing. The excitement of seeing Daniel, of that shared glance across the arena, leaves your thoughts spinning. You can’t just leave it at that—something is pulling you toward him, something more than just curiosity.

Before you know it, you’re standing, mumbling something about needing a breath of fresh air. They nod, distracted, and you take your chance to slip away unnoticed.

As you weave through the crowds, your mind races. What are you going to say when you see him? What if he doesn’t remember you? The thought makes your stomach flip, but you can’t help the little spark of hope igniting in your chest.

Finally, you spot him near the back of the arena, leaning against the wall with his hat pulled low, talking with a few other cowboys. You freeze for a moment, nerves tangling in your chest.

He sees you before you even get a chance to speak. His eyes light up the moment they land on you, and that familiar, slow smile spreads across his face.

"Well, look who it is," Daniel drawls, pushing away from the wall and sauntering toward you. “Didn’t expect to see you here, darlin’.”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you try to keep your voice steady. “I, uh… I just wanted to congratulate you. You were amazing out there.”

Daniel’s smile deepens, and he steps closer, his warm, brown eyes locking onto yours. “Thanks, but I was only half-focused on the bull.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Half-focused?”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Hard to concentrate when I’ve got a pretty little thing like you in the crowd, wearin’ my hat.”

Your cheeks flush, and you lower your eyes, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. You didn’t expect him to say that, and now your heart is doing flips inside your chest. “I… I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Daniel chuckles softly, his finger tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his again. “I notice everything about you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his thumb brushes lightly across your jaw. The intensity in his gaze makes your stomach flutter, and you suddenly feel very small under his attention, like he’s the only thing grounding you in this moment.

“And since you’ve been kind enough to congratulate me,” Daniel continues, his voice husky and thick with something that sends a thrill down your spine, “I think it’s time I collect my prize.”

Before you can respond, his hand slips to the small of your back, pulling you closer in one swift movement. Your breath hitches as you’re pressed against him, his chest firm against yours, his warmth surrounding you. There’s a fire in his eyes, one that makes your knees weak, and all you can do is stare up at him, your lips parted in surprise.

“Prize?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Daniel grins, a slow, dangerous smile that makes your heart race. “Yeah, sweetheart. A prize for putting on a good show.”

And then, without warning, his lips crash against yours.

The kiss is hot and insistent, nothing like the soft, tentative one you shared last night. His hand tangles in your hair, tilting your head back as his lips move hungrily against yours. It’s overwhelming, the way he kisses you—like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have, like he’s claiming you as his in a way that leaves no room for doubt.

You gasp against his mouth, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shirt as if to anchor yourself. You’ve never felt anything like this before—the heat of him, the way his body presses you back against the wall behind you, the sheer intensity of it all. You’re dizzy, lost in the sensation, completely at his mercy.

Daniel’s hands explore your waist, his touch sending shivers through you. He’s rough and confident, the complete opposite of the innocent, hesitant way you respond to him. You moan softly into his mouth, and that’s when you feel it—his smile against your lips. He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath hot against your skin. “You look so damn good in my hat,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with desire. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”

Daniel presses you further into the wall, his body firm and strong against yours, and the heat between you flares to life. His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your hip, tracing the line of your back as if he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. Your own hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and he responds with a low growl that sends a thrill down your spine.

When he pulls back just enough to look at you, his breathing ragged, his eyes are dark with desire. “You’re somethin’ else,” he murmurs, his voice rough as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw. “So sweet and innocent, but you’re driving me crazy.”

As Daniel’s lips trail down your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake, you let out a soft sigh, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Daniel,” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze intense, filled with something deeper than just lust. “You’re somethin’ special,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I can’t get enough.”

Your heart swells at his words, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe it’s the hat,” you tease, your fingers playing with the brim of his hat on your head.

Daniel laughs, the sound low and rough, and he leans in to kiss you again, his lips soft but full of promise. “Maybe,” he whispers against your lips. “But I think it’s you.”

[ghostmoon1]

Dusted Rivalries - Chapter One

Master List | Chapter Two

Call of Duty Fic - Task Force 141 - Cowboy AU

Summary: You were at the bar after a long day but get way to drunk and end up riding the mechanical bull that is in the bar. Simon and Johnny witness this... and so do other men.

Paring: Not yet, y'all find out who soon :P

Words: 2,153

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drinking + being drunk, guy being a creep (touching without consent, not very bad), vomit, swearing, slight Scottish slang (probably not the best. leave me be), unintentional kidnapping.

A/N: Hello guys!! This fic has FINALLY been started, and I'm very excited for it! I have a fair bit planned, and hopefully I can get chapters out between school. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do :)

Tough days and long, drawn-out nights. Working in the military was always hard, non-stop in one way or another. But now, working on a farm; Simon almost wanted to say it was just as bad sometimes. At least now they were able to go out for drinks almost every night. His favourite bar, The Western Star, was a place full of lively people. The sound of boots tapping against the cold hardwood boards mixed in with the chatter and music echoing off the walls. 

Next to him, Johnny sat in his seat, buttoned top and jeans covered in dust and dirt. He hadn’t bothered to change into something somewhat clean, not that half of his clothes were clean. His own glass of scotch in hand, he was absently chatting away with Alejandro, the owner of the bar, who was cleaning glasses with a cloth.

The bar was full of bright lights, mostly shone towards the wide open area, where people gather to dance. Near the back, sat a mechanical bull. Simon’s seen his fair share of cowboys and cowgirls alike try to tame the mechanical beast.

It wasn't till the sound of drunken words coming from the far corner caught his attention. A beautiful cowgirl. One that even he thought was attractive.

Your hat was lop-sided, a grin plastered on your face from the alcohol, tank top and jeans that snugly hugged your figure. He couldn't quite understand the words coming from your mouth, from both the distance between you both and the effects of the alcohol. Johnny’s head swivelled around, his grin being replaced with an even bigger one as he took in your staggering form.

“Well, who would that wee lass be?” he questions, his eyes not leaving you.

Simon huffs and shakes his head, turning his attention back to his drink, watching the golden liquid swirl around his glass. “That’d be none of our business, Johnny”

He rolls his eyes at Simon’s dismissal, continuing to drink in your figure. 

You continued to saunter up to the bull, tipping your hat at multiple men, who whistled back at you. You make it to the bull, almost tripping up to the platform as you did so. Johnny’s eyes glistened with curiosity and intrigue, watching as your leg swung around the bull, thighs squeezing the sides of it and boots digging into the leather. One of the other men in the bars steps up the control panel, flicking a switch with a smirk on his face.

The bull roars to life, instantly throwing you forward, causing you to hold the sides of the beast even tighter, creating a tingly feeling in your legs. Your hand grips the long rope handle even tighter, knuckles turning white, while your other arm is up in the air above your head. The alcohol was making it almost useless to use your arm for balance. The bull continued to throw you back and forth with no mercy, the force lifting you from the seat a few times and almost throwing you over its head.

Cheers erupted over the bar, people lifting their drinks to the spectacle, including Johnny who whistled and whooped at you, his grin even wider as he enjoyed the way your body rocked with the bull. Such a graceful movement, hips rocking and your torso leaning back and forth, side to side as the bull threw you around. Even with the alcohol in your system, your body moved with such grace Johnny was almost drooling.

Simon tilted his head slightly to get a better look at you, then eyeing Johnny as he watched with hearts for eyes. He bumped his arm against his, causing an annoyed grunt to escape his lips. 

Alejandro chuckled as he watched the spectacle happen, placing the glass and cloth down and leaning against the counter. “Been a while since I’ve seen this happen” he muses.

Johnny was still watching, his eyes excessively focused on the way your hips moved, while Simon was practically ignoring you and the cheers around the bar.

“She’s probably just cocky ‘cause of the alcohol getting to ‘er head. She’ll come off any second now,” he scoffs, bringing his glass to his lips to drink the rest of the golden liquid that was left.

Alejandro turns his focus back to you. “I don’t believe so, amigo,” he replies, nodding his head in your direction. “This isn’t her first time, that’s for sure.”

Simon simply shakes his head, setting his glass down with a small clink against the wooden countertop. 

He’s seen this act before out of the many times he’s been to the bar. Drunken girls and cowboys, not once has he seen it end well. To him, drunken girls were trouble. Overconfidence and emotions flared up, a perfect mix for trouble. 

He fixed the bandana that wrapped around his face, making sure it was covering his mouth again and pulled his hat down over his eyes, not wanting to draw attention to himself, which earned an amused scoff from Johnny.

“Keep going like this Simon and you won't ever get ‘yerself a cute lass.”

“I don’t need one,” he replies gruffly, eyes focusing on the patterns of the wood in front of him.

More cheers erupt through the bar, men tipping their hats with smirks playing on their lips at you. The bull had come to a stop, dizzy and fatigued you slid off the side of the beast, one well dressed man even offering his hand to you. In your drunken and disoriented state you take it, thighs burning and crotch aching.

“Quite the show you put on there, eh cowgirl?” he purrs, his eyes dark and hooded, raking over your sweaty figure, not a damn in the world of what others would think about his actions.

You mumble a reply, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. His smirk widens and he brings his own hand to your face, wiping a bead of sweat that rolled down your cheek.

“Hands off,” you mumble, swatting his hand away as you try to take shaky steps back down from the bull.

“Oh a feisty one I see?” he places a hand on your hip, making it easy for him to keep you rooted in place. “Why not join me for a dance, hm doll?”

“I don’t wanna’,” you shake your head, taking a step back. He quickly pulls you back, hands gripping onto your hips just a little harder.

“That’s a bit rude doll… rejecting a dance with a nice guy like me?”

Johnny, who was still watching narrowed his eyes as he observed your situation, the obvious discomfort on your face and your failed attempts to walk away. “Simon…” he mumbles, nudging his ribs and nodding in your direction.

He grunts a reply, turning his head towards you and his body immediately tensing. “We gonna’ go help?” Johnny questions, his eyebrows furrowed in worry and concern. 

Simon huffs and stands from the bar stool, back cracking slightly with a groan. He fixes his flannel up and makes his way over to where you were, not in any rush as his boots tapped lightly against the ground. He clears his throat as he stops next to the both of you, eyes flickering over the man.

“Well, who’s this?” the man muses, studying Simon for a moment before returning his attention to you. “Your man here to save the day or somethin’?”

You shake your head, gulping from the sheer size of Simon. He looked massive. Tall yet strong build, his flannel struggling to hold his biceps without the seams popping.

“Mate it’s obvious she don’t wanna be with ya, get your dirty hands off her” he warns, his voice gruff and laced with warning.

The man only raises a brow, scoffing at his tone and words. “What are you gonna do about it, big boy?”

His words make something in Simon snap, his hands coming up to grab the man's collar and pushing him back until he hits the far wall, a gasp escaping his lips, coming out more as a wheeze as the air left his lungs from the force. 

“The fuck?!” he gasps, before shrinking down as Simon raises his fist, his breath ragged as it hit his cheek, the warmth flushing over his face. 

Johnny was there in an instant, grabbing Simon and pulling him off. “Calm down! The fuck you think your doing?!”

Simon gives the man one last glare, watching as he stands back up and brushes his sleeves off before turning on his heel and stomping out of the bar. Alejandro just shakes his head, going back to cleaning the glasses. 

Johnny comes into your view, taking your chin in his fingers gingerly. “Lass… you alright? He didn't hurt ya did he?” his eyes were full of worry, looking over your face for any more signs of discomfort or hurt.

When you give him a weak shake of the head, he nods and carefully takes your hand in his. His hands were calloused and rough, and overly large compared to yours. “Cmon lass… yer rat arsed”

You tilt your head in confusion. He was obviously a Scotsman by his thick Scottish accent, but whatever slang he was babbling on about did not make sense what-so-ever in your mind. As he gently led you out of the bar, your gaze didn't leave him, studying him intently. A dirty button up tucked into worn down jeans, belt that looked to be falling apart, a once cream coloured cowboy hat sat snuggly on his head. He was a strong, almost stocky build, skin slightly tanned from work out in the harsh sun.

He was gentle as he pulled you out of the hot and sticky bar, into the cold and crisp air of the night. Simon was leaning against the truck, deep blue and covered in mud. His eyes narrow as he watches Johnny lead your stumbling form out of the bar.

“What are you doing bringing that girl out here? She’s hammered, it's not our responsibility.”

“We can’t leave ‘er there. They’ll take advantage of ‘er,” Johnny counters, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly.

“Alejandro can look after her. Go sit her at the bar with him, she’ll be right”

“He has enough on his plate dealing with other roasters!”

You groan as you start to feel saliva build up in your mouth, leaning heavily against Johnny. His arm subconsciously wraps around your waist, holding you tightly so you did not topple over. “Yer alright, lass?”

You shake your head, clutching your stomach as an uneasy feeling floods your body, causing your legs to almost give out. The world started to spin, causing you to throw an arm out trying to grab ahold of anything to keep you upright. 

Johnny’s hold on you tightens, trying to keep you from falling. Simon looks down at you, eyebrows raised. Johnny shoots him a look, silently telling him to get off his ass and help, which only gets an eye roll in return. Simon watches you stumble to the ground, hand covering your mouth as you heave. 

“Johnny, away from the truck! Ain’t no way she’s being sick over it” he barks, taking a step back and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“Don't yer give a shit?” Johnny grumbles, his hand moving to your back to gently rub in soothing motions.

He screws his face up as you heave again, being sick over the gutter and a groan coming from Simon. “Yer alright lass… deep breaths… yer doing well.”

While both you and Johnny were too busy with your situation, a small pang of guilt hits his chest. You looked so small… struggling to keep anything down, the alcohol was doing a number on you.

He felt bad…

He shook the feeling away, rolling his shoulders back with a huff. Johnny wiped some of the spit rolling down your chin away with a tissue, helping you back up and fixing your hair. Simon watched, now displaying no emotion on his face.

“What are you doing with her now?” he asks, studying how you leaned into Johnny, trying to find any way to keep yourself upright.

“Gonna’ bring ‘er home with us”

His words hit him a little harder than they should have, he grunts to cover up the shocked gasp he almost let out. “That's kidnapping, Johnny.”

“For a good reason!”

| Ao3 | Tik Tok | C.ai |

[mynameismckenziemae]

Unbroken

Part 2

(previous chapter here, next chapter here)

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x You

Summary: You and Bradley get to know each other

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! A bit of smut, heavy petting (lol).

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Time stands still when his lips meet yours; tentative at first, letting you know it’s okay to stop. But that’s the last thing on your mind. Your tongue licks at the seam of his lips and his hand pushes into your hair as he deepens it with a satisfied hum, kissing you with an unhurried tenderness.

Your hand grips his bicep in an attempt to not drift away when the dormant butterflies in your stomach unfurl their wings and take flight. A tidal wave of hope and relief washes over you at the long-gone feeling and you smile against his lips.

Maybe you’re not broken. Maybe you are still capable of feeling something.

Your phone rings; breaking the spell as it startles you apart.

“I better answer. It’s Charlie,” you say regrettably.

He hums in agreement. You swallow thickly when he fails his attempt at discretely adjusting himself in his jeans before he gathers the trash.

He does have a big cock.

“How’d it go at Anderson’s?” Charlie asks after you greet her.

“Uh…not great. But at least I don’t have to deal with him again,” you answer, watching Bradley walk the garbage to the receptacle.

“What happened? You okay?” Jake says from the background.

You repeat the morning’s events and Jake’s relief is palpable in his tone when he responds. “I’m glad Bradshaw went with you.”

“Me too,” you reply, smiling as he walks back up.

“Is he still with you?” Charlie asks.

“Yeah, I wanted to treat him to lunch as a thank you but he paid,” you roll your eyes good-naturedly. “I took him to Breakneck to eat.”

“Did you make out like teenagers?” She teases, knowing it was the town’s prime parking spot.

Your hesitation gives you away and Bradley grins sheepishly when he hears Charlie’s squeal.

“Oh my God, you so did!” She laughs and Jake groans in the background. “You shush, they’re both adults.”

“So what’s the plan for later?” You ask with a cringe, trying to change the subject.

“You know I’m gonna get the details later,” she says lowly. “We’re going to pick up the rest of the squad from the airport in about two hours, then meeting at Buck Wild around seven.”

“Giving the real Texas experience, huh?”

“You know it. You’ll have to ride the bull, show ‘em how it’s done.”

“We’ll see. Who knows, I might not be good at it anymore,” you reply, knowing it’s likely ingrained into your muscle memory from the college summers you worked there.

“Oh whatever,” she laughs. “See you at seven.”

“See ya,” you reply and look to Bradley. “Well, they know. I should’ve denied it but the Seresins are terrible liars.”

“It’s all good. I don’t regret it,” he answers, offering you a hand to get off the tailgate.

“Me either,” you smile, taking his hand before you hop down.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley can’t help but smile as you drive away from the hotel after dropping him off. It’s been a long time since a woman made him feel this way.

His phone buzzes as he flops on the bed.

Jake: Sounds like you got some explaining to do. 😒We’ll pick you up at 6:30.

Bradley: 👍

He sets down his phone and closes his eyes; exhausted from rising with the sun this morning from his excitement to see you.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Em! Over here!” Jake calls when you walk into the bar later that evening, followed by a wolf whistle from Charlie.

You laugh, finding their group near the mechanical bullpen.

Introductions are made and the group razzes Jake for not inviting you to California before he moved back. You can tell already that you and Natasha are two peas in a pod.

Bradley makes his way over to your side.

“You look good,” he says over the loud country music as he hands you a beer, eyes lingering on your cleavage pushed up by the tight black leather vest you’re wearing.

“Thanks, so do you,” you reply, taking in his gray shirt and tight jeans.

He smiles. “I got the big brother talk from Jake on the way here, but not the one I anticipated.”

“Yeah? How so?”

“It’s usually the ‘hurt her and die’’; Jake told me he’d spare me that bullshit since you can obviously hold your own, but to be careful ‘cause he doesn’t want me to get hurt either,” he replies, leaning closer. “Why is that? Are you gonna hurt me?”

“Only if you ask me to,” you murmur hotly near his ear before you take a long pull of your beer.

Even in the dim lighting, you can see the flush rise up his neck.

You smirk at his reaction before calling out, “Who wants a shot?”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A few hours and drinks go by and you’re comfortably buzzed as you watch Jake’s friends take their turns on the bull. You laugh when Jake goes first and gets thrown off quickly (in his defense, the operator and your old boss, Willie, was gunning for him). Bob surprises himself and gets the longest ride, Natasha is a natural is a close second, poor Javy over-anticipates and ends up with a bloody nose.

Bradley’s next and your mouth goes dry as you imagine him fucking into you while you watch his hips follow the movements. He has a good run but loses his balance at a sharp turn and drops gracefully to the mat.

“Emma Lou, it’s your turn!” Charlie says, gently pushing you towards the entrance to the pen.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and wink at Bradley as you pass by.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Go easy on me, Willie! It’s been a long time,” you call as you straddle the bull.

“I’ll start slow, ease you into it before I start going hard,” he teases with a laugh. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Charlie elbow Bradley, as if he isn’t watching you like a hawk.

“Just the way I like it,” you blow him a kiss as the movement starts and your thighs tighten instinctively.

You smile when you hear the cheers. Your muscles do indeed remember as go around and around, up and down.

You slide off gracefully with a breathless laugh before you get dizzy but when you look up, Bradley’s gone.

“He went to the bathroom,” Charlie answers tipsily. “Quickly, I might add. As if he couldn’t watch you gyrate on that bull anymore.”

“Okay. I wasn’t gyrating, and I wasn’t gonna ask-“

“I saw you looking for him,” she teases. “I think you need to go to the bathroom too,” she says pushing you towards the bathrooms before she turns. “My turn!”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley’s coming out of the bathroom as you walk down the long hallway.

“You okay? You’re all flushed,” you ask.

“Yeah, just, uh…warm,” he replies.

“It gets hot in here. Wanna step outside? There’s a door at the end of the hall here.”

You lead him by the hand when he nods.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

It’s not much cooler outside but the fresh air is nice.

“That was fun. I don’t remember getting dizzy that fast though,” you smile, leaning back against the rough brick. “Gettin’ too old for that apparently.”

He just shakes his head with a chuckle as stands beside you. “You definitely know how to ride one.”

You hum in agreement, smirking at the innuendo. “Why’d you leave?”

He clears his throat and looks away. “I uh, had a…situation.”

You smirk when your eyes flick down. Looks like he still has one.

“So you got hard watching me ride that bull? Were you picturing me riding you like that?” You ask as you turn towards him, feeling him tense as you walk your fingers up his chest.

He swallows before meeting your eyes. “Yeah. I’ve been fighting a hard-on since we kissed.”

You grip his dog tags and pull him in for a kiss.

It’s hot and hungry with teeth and tongue; a stark contrast to the sweet one earlier.

A raspy groan leaves him when the hand not holding his dog tags slides from his hip to feel his cock straining against the denim.

“Mmm, you do have a big cock,” you moan, pulling back from his lips, liquid heat pooling between your thighs at the thought of taking all of him.

He smirks before his head falls back against the brick with a shudder as your mouth finds his neck; teasing the sensitive skin there with nips and licks.

His hand weaves through your hair and guides your head back up for a kiss as he pushes a thigh between yours.

You gasp when you rub yourself against him; the seam of your jeans putting pressure right where you need it.

You palm him faster as you get close to your first-ever orgasm with a man, the sounds he’s making spurring you on.

Your grip on his tags tightens to the point of pain as your orgasm approaches but it’s ripped away as the door swings open, startling you apart.

“Oh, sorry. Just came out here for a smoke. I can go around to the front though,” an older gentleman says, swaying in the light breeze.

“No it’s okay, we better get back,” you reply with a sigh full of regret.

Bradley looks equally disappointed as he agrees. “I’ll be in shortly.”

You nod and press a kiss to his cheek before you head back in to find everyone still near the bullpen. No one but Charlie noticing you had been gone.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: sorry for the delay, this chapter just did not want to come out. I’ll be going back to Jake and Charlie next (I think).

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs.

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[firenati0n]

several sentence sunday <3 :)

hello friends :) thank you to @sparklepocalypse @onthewaytosomewhere @captainjunglegym @magicandarchery @getmehighonmagic @bigassbowlingballhead @junebugclaremontdiaz @violetbaudelaire-quagmire (HBD!!!!) @itsmaybitheway @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @anincompletelist for the tags <3

proposal au titled "the full spectrum of human emotion" coming eventually. there is spanking involved:

Alex leans closer to Henry's ear, watching a lone drop of sweat slide down the man's temple, and whispers, “I did say you were allowed, sweetheart.”  Henry's cheeks go a lurid shade of pink, almost glowing from within under the lights. He takes a second to assess, landing on a decision surely meant to end Alex's life prematurely. Extinguished in his youth; death by over-the-clothes lap dance spanking.  He raises his hand and brings it down with a swift crack and Alex feels it through his jeans, all the way to the blood vessels pounding in his temples. But Henry doesn't stop there. No, he goes the extra mile, goddamn overachieving fuck he is, and squeezes. Alex is going to die in this fucking bar. If the bull didn’t do it, and the dancing didn’t do it, it’s definitely going to be the fucking spanking. The patrons are wolf-whistling, Nora is yelling all sorts of dirty encouragement, and Alex. Well, Alex is over the fucking moon.  “That's the best you got, baby boy?” “I suggest you don't push me right now, Alex, if you don't want to cause a scene in this lovely bar.”

xoxo roop

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[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 3 EPISODE 02 || SURRENDER ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

He sat on his favorite rock, near the cave’s entrance, watching the evening stars come out. Even in the worst of the year after Culloden, he had always been able to find a moment of peace at this time of the day. As the daylight faded, it was as though objects became faintly lit from within, so they stood outlined against sky or ground, perfect and sharp in every detail. He could see the shape of a moth, invisible in the light, now limned in the dusk with a triangle of deeper shadow that made it stand out from the trunk it hid upon. In a moment, it would take wing. He looked out across the valley, trying to stretch his eyes as far as the black pines that edged the distant cliffside. Then up, among the stars. Orion there, striding stately over the horizon. And the Pleiades, barely visible in the darkening sky. It might be his last sight of the sky for some time, and he meant to enjoy it. He thought of prison, of bars and locks and solid walls, and remembered Fort William. Wentworth Prison. The Bastille. Walls of stone, four feet thick, that blocked all air and light. Filth, stench, hunger, entombment… He shrugged such thoughts away. He had chosen his way, and was satisfied with it. Still, he searched the sky, looking for Taurus. Not the prettiest of constellations, but his own. Born under the sign of the bull, stubborn and strong. Strong enough, he hoped, to do what he intended. Among the growing night sounds, there was a sharp, high whistle. It might have been the homing song of a curlew on the loch, but he recognized the signal. Someone was coming up the path—a friend. It was Mary MacNab, who had become kitchenmaid at Lallybroch, after the death of her husband. Usually it was her son Rabbie, or Fergus, who brought him food and news, but she had come a few times before. She had brought a basket, unusually well-supplied, with a cold roast partridge, fresh bread, several young green onions, a bunch of early cherries, and a flask of ale. Jamie examined the bounty, then looked up with a wry smile. “My farewell feast, eh?” She nodded, silent. [...]

Nothing out of the ordinary; she had supped with him before, to give him the gossip of the district while they ate. Still, if this was his last meal before leaving Lallybroch, he was surprised that neither his sister nor the boys had come to share it. Perhaps the farmhouse had visitors that would make it difficult for them to leave undetected. He gestured politely for her to sit first, before taking his own place, crosslegged on the hard dirt floor. [...]

After the meal, she packed the basket tidily, leaving out enough food for a small breakfast before his dawn leaving. He expected her to go then, but she did not. She rummaged in the crevice where he kept his bedding, spread it neatly upon the floor, turned back the blankets and knelt beside the pallet, hands folded on her lap. He leaned back against the wall of the cave, arms folded. He looked down at the crown of her bowed head in exasperation. “Oh, like that, is it?” he demanded. “And whose idea was this? Yours, or my sister’s?” “Does it matter?” She was composed, her hands perfectly still on her lap, her dark hair smooth in its snood. He shook his head and bent down to pull her to her feet. “No, it doesna matter, because it’s no going to happen. I appreciate your meaning, but—” His speech was interrupted by her kiss. Her lips were as soft as they looked. He grasped her firmly by both wrists and pushed her away from him. “No!” he said. “It isna necessary, and I dinna want to do it.”

He was uncomfortably aware that his body did not agree at all with his assessments of necessity, and still more uncomfortable at the knowledge that his breeches, too small and worn thin, made the magnitude of the disagreement obvious to anyone who cared to look. The slight smile curving those full, sweet lips suggested that she was looking. He turned her toward the entrance and gave her a light push, to which she responded by stepping aside and reaching behind her for the fastenings to her skirt. “Don’t do that!” he exclaimed.

“How dye mean to stop me?” she asked, stepping out of the garment and folding it tidily over the single stool. Her slender fingers went to the laces of her bodice. “If ye won’t leave, then I’ll have to,” he replied with decision. He whirled on his heel and headed for the cave entrance, when he heard her voice behind him.

“My lord!” she said. He stopped, but did not turn around. “It isna suitable to call me that,” he said. “Lallybroch is yours,” she said. “And will be so long as ye live. If ye’re its laird, I’ll call ye so.” “It isna mine. The estate belongs to Young Jamie.” “It isna Young Jamie that’s doing what you are,” she answered with decision. “And it isna your sister that’s asked me to do what I’m doin’. Turn round.”

He turned, reluctantly. She stood barefoot in her shift, her hair loose over her shoulders. She was thin, as they all were these days, but her breasts were larger than he had thought, and the nipples showed prominently through the thin fabric. The shift was as worn as her other garments, frayed at the hem and shoulders, almost transparent in spots. He closed his eyes. He felt a light touch on his arm, and willed himself to stand still. “I ken weel enough what ye’re thinkin’,” she said. “For I saw your lady, and I know how it was between the two of ye. I never had that,” she added, in a softer voice, “not wi’ either of the two men I wed. But I know the look of a true love, and it’s not in my mind to make ye feel ye’ve betrayed it.”

The touch, feather-light, moved to his cheek, and a work-worn thumb traced the groove that ran from nose to mouth. “What I want,” she said quietly, “is to give ye something different. Something less, mayhap, but something ye can use; something to keep ye whole. Your sister and the bairns canna give ye that—but I can.”

He heard her draw breath, and the touch on his face lifted away.

“Ye’ve given me my home, my life, and my son. Will ye no let me gi’e ye this small thing in return?” He felt tears sting his eyelids. The weightless touch moved across his face, wiping the moisture from his eyes, smoothing the roughness of his hair. He lifted his arms, slowly, and reached out. She stepped inside his embrace, as neatly and simply as she had laid the table and the bed. “I…havena done this in a long time,” he said, suddenly shy. “Neither have I,” she said, with a tiny smile. “But we’ll remember how ’tis.

6 BEING NOW JUSTIFIED BY HIS BLOOD ~Voyager

[wordsaresimple-imnot]

Green Dress - Bill Guarnere x F!Reader

Summary: Easy Company hits the town for a much needed night of fun and relaxation in Paris. Reader, who's always in regular military wear and very tomboy, decides to dress up for the night and receives varying reactions from the boys.

Warnings: 18+ content, cursing, oral (f receiving), 1st person female POV (no use of y/n), I think that's it.

A/N: I have the biggest respect for the real life heroes of WWII (and all other wars, past & current), this work & all other works is based on the actor(s) and character(s) portrayed in the Band of Brothers series.

A/N pt2: This is my first time writing any type of explicit sexual scene, let me know what y'all think. As usual likes, comments, and reblogs give me love. Enjoy!!

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

I look at myself in the mirror and can't decide if I like what I see or should call the whole night off and stay in bed. I've styled my hair in a simple design, flowy but still away from my face. Light make-up highlights my eyes, cheeks and lips; just enough to make everything pop without being over the top. My hands run down my dress, picking away invisible lint. It's a deep, gorgeous green that almost shimmers in the light, falling just above my knee in a way that would cause outrage back home but is just this side of acceptable in Paris.

Ah, screw it. Let's have some fun. With a final twirl, I flash myself a smile and excite my hotel room to meet the guys downstairs. I stop briefly at the top of the stairs and look at the group waiting for me. We've been through a lot together; Toccoa, Sobel, jumping (literally) into Normandy, countless battles won and lost, losing fellow brother's, etc. Never once did they make me feel alienated or less than, each providing different facets of friendship and overall making a family.

In a weird way I was nervous to have them see me so feminine and semi dolled up. I've never wore anything other than the standard OD uniforms and was always down for "boy activities" in the down times. I was constantly referred to as "one of the boys" and never really cared until this moment. I was worried my effort would be turned into a joke. Just once I'd like them to see me as an actual woman. Well, at least one of them to anyways.

Just as I started my decent towards them, Luz catches sight of me and gives a loud whistle before beginning to clap. This catches the others attention and pretty soon the lobby is filled with whistles and claps until I reach the bottom of the stairs. I give them all an embarrassed smile, fully aware that my face is burning a deep red and I'm fighting the urge to run back upstairs and hide.

"Lookin' good kid!" Toye comes up and gives me a small kiss on my cheek, smiling as he motions for me to twirl around. I do a small spin, setting off the whistles and claps again.

"Oh, stop you hound dogs." I laugh lightly, waving my hands at them to quiet down.

"You knew a lady was underneath all those clothes and dirt." Luz shoots me a cheeky smile, grabbing my hand and giving it a kiss. I flip him off once he releases my hand, making him laugh. "There she is!"

"Alright let's get out of here, I'm dying for a drink." I start to make my way through the group to the exit. This causes a small, playful scuffle to erupt as some of the guys move towards me to grab my hand and be my escort. In the end Liebgott wins, shooting everyone a smile and me a wink. As we all spill out into the streets in search of the bar, my eyes briefly connect with Bill and I'm left wondering what's caused the frown on his face.

Two hours later, I'm on my fourth beer and loving the buzz I'm feeling. I've just finished another turn around the dance floor, being passed between Tab, Luz, Bull, and even Martin joined for a few beats. Needing to catch my breathe, I settle on a barstool and wait for my water to arrive. Before my water can get there, a few shadows come up to my side. Expecting it to be some of my group, I spin around with a wide smile and am met with three strangers faces.

"Oh, sorry. I thought you were part of my Company." I give a small laugh, slightly embarrassed. The one closest to me just smiles and shakes his head slightly.

"No need to apologize ma'dam, if you'll have us we'd like to keep you company though." His English was nearly perfect, made sweeter by his French accent. What's the harm in a little flirting?

With a soft smile, I extend my hand out to them and give my name. They each take turns telling me theirs and giving my hand a kiss afterwards. While definitely being more flirty than I imagined they'd be, they were pleasant enough to talk to and even made me laugh a few times. When a new song started to play Pierre, the first one to speak to me, asks if I'd like to dance and I agree.

We are halfway through the song, having a really good time, when someone taps Pierre's shoulder. To my shock and confusion, there was Bill. He looks like he is holding himself back from killing Pierre, for what reason I have no clue.

"Mind if I cut in." It was a statement, flat out. No room for but's or giving a raincheck. I see Pierre is ready to go toe to toe with Bill, but that is a fight he'd never win and I don't want the night to turn sour.

I pat Pierre's shoulder and tell him it was alright and I've had a lovely time. He looks skeptical at Bill, but gave me a perfect smile mirroring my sentiments and gave my hand a final kiss as he walks back to his friends. Without wasting anytime, Bill grabs the hand that was just kissed and tugs me flush against him.

It takes a few seconds to get into a comfortable rhythm after that awkward start, whatever the hell that was, but we manage and are soon swaying between the other dancing partners. I was torn between reveling in the feeling of the heat of his hand on my waist and the skin to skin contact of our hands, and how confused and frustrated I am with how he acted.

"I don't know why you did that. Pierre was a nice guy." I speak low enough so the words stay just between us and can't float out to the Easy boys that seem to be watching us with barely concealed interest. They must have witnessed the exchange too.

Bill scoffs and his hand squeezes my waist for a half second. "Pierre. What kinda name is that for a man. Fucking French." I shoot him a small glare.

"Don't be rude. He was a gentleman." Bill rolls his eyes at me then spins me out then back in.

"Gentleman my ass. He was only interested in getting to know you because you're looking like a lady."

His words turn my body into stone and I frown up at him. "Looking like... Fuck you." I rip my hand out his and push him slightly, it doesn't do more than make him shuffle his feet but it's definitely got his attention.

"What the hell is your problem?" His jaw is set and his eyes are burning daggers at me.

"My problem? I don't have a problem. What's your problem? I'm not some dumb little girl that doesn't know what men are like. I know he was flirting with me, hoping for me to go off with him. He wasn't going to get anything, but guess what...I liked the attention! I liked having someone notice that I'm a woman and reminding me that I can be desirable. I'm not just looking like a lady, I am a damn lady you asshole." With a final shove, I turn on my heel and leave the bar before him or anyone else can try and stop me.

I'm halfway down the street, heading to the hotel, when I hear someone jogging behind me. I decide to ignore them and pray it's someone wanting to get someplace fast and not actually coming to talk to me or convince me to come back. Sadly, my prayers are not answered as a hand grabs hold of my elbow spins me around. I'm once again face to face with Bill.

"I don't want to talk to you anymore." I growl out, trying to yank my arm back to no avail.

"You don't gotta talk, just listen. I need to set some things straight." He's using his stern, Sergeant voice, and normally that'd have me blushing but I'm too angry for it to have it's usual effect on me right now.

"No thanks, I've heard enough for the evening." I make another attempt to pull my arm out, but he just pulls me closer and wraps his arms around me arms and waist, pining me against him. All I can do is glare.

Bill scans the sidewalk and road quickly, slightly nodding to himself as he makes some internal decision and lifts me off the ground, walking us a little ways into an alley to our right. We are far enough in that no one can stumble upon us easily but we can still get some of the street light so it's not pitch black.

"What the hell Bill? Have you become a psycho killer?" I push a little away from him, but that only presses me against the alley wall. He uses this to his advantage by taking a step forward, caging me between him and the wall. My brain short circuits a little at being so close to him.

"You're wrong." When he doesn't immediately continue, I raise an eyebrow hoping to encourage him to elaborate. After a few more seconds he continues. "We know you're a lady. The whole damn battalion knows you're a lady. Wearing OD's doesn't hide the shape of your ass when you bend over to help with the car engines or the outline of your breasts when you take your jacket off to cool down. All you have to do is glance around and you'll see the boys drooling all over themselves staring at you." His hand lands on my hip and squeezes. Hard.

I have to take a few deep breathes to steady myself before formulating a response. "If that's true, then what was the big deal about those guys flirting with me tonight?"

"Because they don't know what everyone in the battalion knows. You're my girl. It's one thing to have the boys dance with you or give you compliments, they'd never cross that line or I'd kill 'em. Those French twats wanted to cross that line." I barely registered anything after his declaration: my girl. His girl.

"You're girl?" My words come out in a whisper. Bill's face finally starts to soften and an easy smile starts to spread across his face.

"You really are oblivious. It's the worst kept secret in Easy Company. You drive me fucking crazy, sweetheart. Gorgeous, funny, sweet, and just the right mixture of feminine and tomboy. Everything I've ever dreamed of. And you're wrapped up like a damn present in this dress and I've been dying to get it open all night." By the time he's done speaking his mouth is a hairs breathe away from mine, eyes searching mine for any sign of rejection.

All words have left me so I decide to respond with action and close the distance between us. What starts out as gentle and timid, quickly transforms to rough and frenzied. Bill gives my bottom lip a bite, causing me to gasp and allowing him access into my mouth. I don't bother putting up a fight, I'm putty in his arms and give him full dominance. The hand not squeezing my hip so hard I know there will be some type of bruise, grasps the back of my neck and angles my head to the side to give him better access.

My hands have made their way up his chest, to his shoulders, and finally still with one in his hair and the other at the back of his neck. When the need for air becomes to much for me, I turn my head slightly to the side and break the kiss. Bill's breathing just as heavily as I am, but doesn't stop his assault. He moves my head again and starts trailing kisses up and down my neck, alternating between nips and licks based on my reactions. When he hits a particular sweet spot, I can feel him grin before biting there again hard enough to leave a mark.

"Fuck." I moan out, scratching the back of his neck. "That's gonna be hard to hide." With a final kiss on the new mark, Bill lifts his head to meet my eyes. His eyes are dark with lust and he can't stop smiling.

"That's the point, sweetheart." I roll my eyes at him, but smile back.

"If you get to mark me, I think it's only fair I get to mark you."

"Baby, you can do whatever you want to me. I'm yours." His voice is so deep, it makes my legs shake and I'm instantly happy I have that wall to hold me.

"I think you owe me an apology for what you said to me at the bar before I decide what I wanna do you with you." I mean more as a joke, but he seems to really be thinking about. Before I can reassure him that I'm not upset anymore, he gives me a kiss that has me seeing stars.

Before it leads to another make-out session, Bill breaks away from my mouth, trails kisses down the other side of my neck and then suddenly drops to his knees in front of me.

"What are you doing?" The situation wasn't bad enough to do this.

"I'm apologizing." Bill's eyes are so dark they could pass for solid black and his voice is deep and sensual. My response is cut short as I feel his hands run up my legs, going under my dress and grasp my thighs. With a smirk, he slowly finishes his trek to my underwear and starts pulling them down.

"Bill." I don't know if I say his name to make him stop or because I'm praising him. Either way, I have nothing to follow it up with. He keeps his eyes on me as I shift my feet helping him get my underwear completely off, noticing that he stuffs them in his pocket.

"Just lean back and enjoy baby. Be a good girl and hold this for me." He pushes my dress up to my waist, waiting for me to take hold of it. Good girl, Jesus.

"Sir, yes, sir." I take note of the tightening of his jaw and how his eyes somehow become even darker. There's something to explore later.

Bill grabs hold of my thigh and drapes it over his shoulder, trailing soft kisses on the inside. As he gets closer to my center, he bites and sucks a mark just for us to know about. A small moan escapes and my unoccupied hand lands in his hair. Before the sting has completely faded from his bite, I'm taken over by the sensation of his tongue gliding through my folds.

The only sounds to be heard is our combined groans, my heavy breathing, and his tongue working me like a man starved. His hand not holding my thigh in a death grip, maneuvers around to spread me more open for him and I nearly pass out when he sucks on my clit. I yank on his hair which only seems to spur him on as he starts starts alternating between licking and sucking.

The only words I seem to be able to say is his name and fuck. As my approach to my orgasm comes closer, I'm able to mumble out that I'm close. Bill tabs my thigh to make me look down at him and I nearly cum at the sight.

"Let go, sweetheart. That's an order. Cum. Now." His words, combined with the determined look on his face and a final hard suck on my clit has me falling over the edge chanting his name over and over again.

Bill doesn't let up as my orgasm washes over me, licking and drinking up my release until I start to whimper at the overstimulation. Slowly he places my thigh back on the ground, gently stroking my legs, and tugs my dress back down to cover me again. My hands grip his shoulders as he stands back up and I take in the sight of him. Hair completely wrecked from my fingers, face red from his efforts, breathing heavy and looking like he might drop to knee's to do it all over again.

I grab his jacket and pull him flush against me, kissing him with all the strength I have. He returns the kiss with as much force and pulls my thigh up around his hip, making our hips meet. I moan into the kiss at the feeling of his erection so close to my center and roll my hips to grind against him.

"If you don't stop that, we won't make it back to the hotel." Bill growls between kisses.

"Then you better get us there quickly." I give his lip a quick bite, before a laugh slips out at how fast he starts pulling by the hand back to the sidewalk and towards the hotel.

I think I'll wear this dress more often.

[shieldofiron]

Vibe Check Part 7

True Bromance

The Frat Boy Au

Read Previous on Ao3 or tumblr.

Carver is the type to get flushed when he drinks too much. He’s as pink cheeked as a choir boy as he dismounts from the mechanical bull with a little bow.

Billy’s showing is just shameful, and he can admit defeat easily in the face of such talent. He whoops and cheers along with Carver’s crowd of admirers, reaching out for the Theta handshake when Carver makes his way over.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding,” Billy slurs, throwing an arm over Carver’s shoulders when they finish shaking. “Your not-boyfriend’s a lucky guy.”

Carver snorts, “Don’t I know it.”

It takes a little work to get through the appreciative throng and back towards the bar. The whole place smells like spilled beer and sawdust and Billy’s feeling good. Better than good. And yeah, part of that is that he feels the alcohol, his arm heavy and his feet slow.

“How are we gonna get back to the house?” Carver asks when Billy stumbles and sags against him.

“I can call someone.”

“Who? Harrington?”

Billy must be making a face because Carver snaps his mouth shut, depositing Billy onto a barstool with a grunt.

“As if he would. He’s too busy with his new,” Billy hiccups, “girlfriend.”

“I’m not sure she’s his girlfriend,” Carver says.

Billy’s brain is working slower than normal and what Carver says just… doesn’t compute.

“Please. If she isn't yet, she will be. Stevie’s so… smart and kind and… bitchy,” Billy covers his face, “fuck. I’m sorry. I just never get to talk about this. It probably doesn't make any sense.”

Carver pats him awkwardly on the arm.

He’s not crying yet, but he feels like he could be. The more time he knows Steve the harder it gets when Steve gets girlfriends. And it’s completely unfair of Billy to hold onto it.

“Sometimes I just want to yell at him. Like a fuckin’... Riverdale character.” Billy mumbles.

Unfortunately for him, the Cottonmouth is the kind of bar where they play soulful Orville Peck and not pounding club classics and so Carver actually hears him.

Carver sits up, “Which character?”

Billy peeks between his fingers, “Cheryl Blossom.”

Carver whistles, “That’s bad.” He pauses for a moment, glancing at the bar. “What would you say?”

“I’d say… Do you really not know?” Billy says after a pause of his own. “Or is this all just some kind of game for you. Do you not know what you do to me? Or do you?”

Carver toys idly with the bowl of nasty peanuts on the bar in front of them. “My… boyfriend. Who isn’t a boyfriend… he’s in the closet.”

Billy shrugs, “And you aren’t?”

“I mean… not really. I’m part of the LGBTQIA plus club. Argyle wants me to speak at this greek inclusivity event, which like feels… I’m just a white gay. But, whatever,” Carver says.

“Shit. Where have I been?”

“With your head up Harrington’s ass,” Carver smirks.

Billy scowls at him, and Carver scowls right back, an expression that looks oddly adorable with his pink cheeks.

“Anyway. My not boyfriend used to be um, bullied in high school. Theta is the first place he’s been accepted.” Carver flicks the edge of the peanut cup with a forlorn little sigh. “So I can’t even be Cheryl Blossom about it. I have to be Betty fucking Cooper.”

“Ugh.”

“I know.”

“But you’re out. He could still be accepted and gay,” Billy frowns.

“That’s my advice to you,” Carver scrunches his nose up.

“Can I get you anything,” The bartender breaks Billy’s concentration.

“Tequila!” Billy cries.

“Don’t listen to him. We’ll close my tab, under Carver, C-A-R-V,” Carver smacks Billy’s hand away from where he’s unsuccessfully trying to cover Jason’s mouth. “Actually if you have bottled water we’ll take two.”

The bartender seems all too happy to leave them and fetch it.

Billy pouts a little, “No tequila.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a huge bummer, I know.”

“Is that why your boyfri- wait. He’s in Theta?” Billy gasps audibly. Like this really is an episode of Riverdale.

Carver shakes his head, “N-no, he’s just in a frat.”

“No, you said Theta. Oh my God! You should just both be out! It would be less weird if I wasn’t the only gay guy in the frat.”

“He won’t,” Carver hisses.

“And then we can all go out and-”

“We can’t,” Carver says desperately.

“Why not?” Billy whines.

“Because I’m the bully!” Carver yells.

Billy blinks at him. The bartender blinks at him. The mustachioed bear with a hat that says Pride & Poppers blinks at him.

“I used to call him all sorts of sh-sh-stuff when I hated myself. And now he just wants to be free of that and me and I don’t really blame him.”

“But you’re all still together?” Billy frowns.

“Yeah.”

“When did that start?”

Carver sucks in a breath, “Last year.”

“That sucks, man.”

Carver just shakes his head an infinitesimal amount, looking down at his lap.

“So you all just hook up but he doesn’t… he…”

“Hates me. Yeah.” Carver says with finality.

“That’s pretty messed up. I’m sorry.”

Carver looks down and then up, sniffling a little. “Who do we call to go home?”

Billy wants to say something but he doesn’t even know what. Move on? As if Billy wasn’t the king of hanging onto unrequited love way past the point of what’s healthy. He hadn’t even danced with a twink tonight, too upset to deal with it.

“Carver, I didn’t mean that was messed up like… like you’re messed up. Have you apologized to him?”

“Like… all the time.”

“You deserve to be happy. You both do. This sounds… bad. Toxic and shit.”

Carver laughs, a dry, angry little huff. “When are we gonna get into your big bad secret, Cheryl?”

“I’m an open book, Betty,” Billy throws his hands out, nearly falling off the stool, clinging to the bar to regain his balance.

“Why aren’t you out to Theta?” Carver nods to the bartender as he brings back the water and Carver’s card. Billy’s not so drunk that he doesn’t notice the scribbled number and ‘Text me’ at the bottom.

“That reason goes by the name of one Steven Alessandro Harrington,” Billy sighs. “And my dad, a little bit.”

“Not accepting?” Carver raises a brow.

“Try abusive as fuck,” Billy shakes his head. “He’s still like… in my head. I want to come out but… then I met Steve. And I don’t want Steve to get weird. I think it might actually break me.”

“You think he’d be weird about it? Really?”

Billy boops Carver on his tiny little nose, “I don’t want to find out.”

“We really are two peas in a pod, huh?” Carver shakes his head, tapping his water bottle against the one Billy’s limply holding.

“Why don’t we call your not boyfriend for a ride. I’d love to tell him that hate sex with you for a year is fucked up and he’s an asshole.” Billy grins.

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I’m unfortunately in love with him. So please don’t. I’m working on it.” Carver slouches. “Lets go home.”

Billy yanks his phone out, even though it takes a few tries, “Fine. Have it your way. I’ll call us a ride.”

Luckily the number is saved in his favorites as ‘Daddy.’

Billy dials, grinning when it doesn’t even get to two rings.

“Where’d you get off to, dickhole.”

“Eden,” He slurs. “We need you.”

[serial-killers-hope]

RONIN WITH A GOD READER

Oh my, how quaint! I shall see to it that I deliver then… ~ DP

Ronin wants to love you.

But how can he when you’re a god?

A Ronin x God MC / Reader

The God I Need Dead.

You weren’t sure how you got onto this so called “pathetic” planet by your superior. Though as usual, you thought nothing of it.

You felt the soft sand underneath your feet, the sounds of crashing waves and loud thunder filling the air though you were praying ( ironically ) for no rain. After all, weather wasn’t in your jurisdiction… funny. But, nevertheless you stood your ground.

The sand from the rain was moist and cold, the air made your skin prickling under the cold air. It was strange to have a mostly mortal body but it felt oddly right with your wings tucked against your back. It was funny how the human body worked… wasn’t it? After all this and you’re still amused by how your comrades in work had made this planet.

You walked along the edge of the water, your eyes stuck on the crashing waves and rising tides of the storm… until they befell a pier. Old but not disheveled by any means… and a human who stood at its end with a long object ( you assumed was a bar of some kind ) in his right hand and a knitted hat in the other. What was curious was the way he looked out into the ocean and seemed unbothered by the high-speed rain that soothes your ears.

Your wings ( thankfully had stayed ) shielded you from the rain. Your brows knitted in confusion as you approached the pier. Climbing up the steps with an odd grace to your step. It honestly would have been amazingly beautiful for a mere mortal to behold…

“Are you alright my dear mortal?”

The man turned to look at you; his dark eyes that you swore were darker than ink, practically glaring daggers at you as he clicked his tongue and whistled slightly through his teeth with a judging gaze. He looked a little angry to see you with all your holiness and that god-like sanctimony you swore you can tell he hated.

“If you’re at all upset I could-“

“God, don’t you lil’ angels need to stop bitchin’?”

You immediately looked perplexed, the veil over your head tilted with your movement as your lips quirked into a frown. You wondered if the man knew who you were at all… he probably didn’t.

“I apologize. I am no angel. I am the divine being of the animals you humans slaughter or keep as so-called ‘trophy pets’ or otherwise.”

The man stares for a second more before practically bursting out in an erupted laugh. It was oddly amusing the way he used the bar in hand as a crutch or cane of some sort and the way his lips curled into a sly smirk as he stopped and took a look at you.

“Dunno you! Hell, maybe you’re one of those fuck ass ‘gods’ that people whine about. You all are some sort of mess, I’ll give you that.”

Your cheeks redden a bit in embarrassment with your wings ruffling in mock anger. But it was honestly quite nice finally ‘meeting’ someone who actually didn’t care about your status.

“And here I was thinking something else was behind me… boohoo for me I suppose.”

The man laughed once more, raspy and deep as he leaned against the bar ( which you suspected was a human weapon of sorts, you didn’t question it at all ) with a cocky grin.

“You here to tell me to convert? To change my so-called ways of evil or some bull shit like that…?”

You hesitate to look up at him; your eyes glued through the veil, onto the man who you swore had horns on his head. Maybe it was a fashion statement of some kind? They were obviously fake… but it was amusing to think that this human was a demon.

“Not at all, I was just curious. May I inquire on you on your name or moniker?”

The man’s grin falters for a quick second before chuckling, walking up to you with a small whistle with the bars hooked end against your chin. His plum hair falling over his eyes as he lifted your veil to view your face with a good stare.

“Call me The Butcher Darlin’… I’m what you gods fear.”

[indigo-graves]

This Dance | Joe Liebgott

It wasn’t often that the bulk of Easy Company had privileges on a weekend. Evelyn convinced herself it was absolutely because she had threatened all of the men within an inch of their life. If she had to spend one more weekend at camp, she would surely short circuit. So when they made it through the end of training on Friday, she was able to let out what felt like a breath she had been holding all week. 

When she exited her separate living quarters, several of the company’s other members were waiting for her. Talbert let out a whistle, earning himself a smack in the back of the head from Toye. Evelyn rolled her eyes in response, giving Toye a smile of approval. 

“Ready, darlin’?” Bull Randleman, her dearest friend, questioned. She nodded. Briefly, her eyes locked with Liebgott, who was biting back a smirk, quickly distracting himself with the cigarette he could put between his lips.

“Ready,” she said, smoothing her skirt decisively and turning on her heel. She had hoped they would mistake the blush rising in her cheeks as rouge. 

Three drinks in, the blush in her cheeks was permanent. The bar they had found themselves comfortable in was hot. The Georgia heat mingled with the warmth of too many bodies in a small venue. The wafting clouds of smoke from cigarettes only thickened the air. She was thankful to sit lower than the rest of them in her seat due to her petite stature, most of it traveled over her head. 

“Fifty bucks says I get the first Kraut kill when we hit Europe,” Guarnere spoke confidently. His accent only seemed to get thicker with each beer he downed. 

“Bullshit,” Toye challenged, slammed a hand down on the table, causing all of their drinks to rattle. Chuckles echoed in response. 

“Yeah?” Guarnere grinned, “you gonna get to ‘em before me?” 

“There’s not a doubt,” Toye lit a cigarette casually. “One gust of wind and your ass will end up in the middle of the Atlantic while I’m on Hitler’s doorstep.” He jabbed at the smaller man. The table roared with laughter and Guarnere chuckled through gritted teeth. 

“I’ll take both your money and take your broads out to dinner with it,” Luz spoke confidently, throwing his hat in the ring. 

“Whatdya say we get a dance in while these boys get out their measuring tape?” Bull nudged Evelyn with a smile. She chuckled, threw back the rest of her drink, and got to her feet. 

As the next song started to play on the jukebox, the two of them found space in the section of the room that was being used by a few other soldiers and their female partners. She felt Bull pull her close, surprised that he was so keen on dancing. 

When Liebgott surveyed the room, he felt a drop in his guts. Through the haze of cigarette smoke and crowd of patrons, he watched as Evelyn moved gracefully in the arms of Bull Randleman. He watched Bull’s hand, splayed at the small of her back, and remembered what it felt like the first time she let him touch her. He thought about the way her breath tickled his ear and neck when he held her that close. The things she had told him. Even more, the noises he had drawn out of her when they were flush against one another in that same way. 

He watched her rhythm, knowing it so intimately himself. The way he held those same hips as he guided her into that same rhythm in their most passionate moments. He thought about what it sounded like when she stifled herself, bit at her lips, his shoulder, the pillow, in attempts to keep their dance so secret. And here, he had to sit back and watch as she so publicly danced with someone else. 

“Liebgott,” there was an elbow in his lower ribs. 

He turned to Talbert, realizing the cigarette in his hand had burned down to a nub in neglect. Talbert furrowed a brow but asked now questions. Liebgott got to his feet and excused himself from the table, leaving his fourth beer nearly untouched behind him. 

When the song ended, Bull let go of her waist and thanked her for the dance. She scrunched her nose with a smile at him. He tried to escort her back to their table, stating that surely some of their other company members would want a chance to dance with her. She provided him with a kind excuse, letting him know she was going to get some air and she’d be right back. Only twice did she have to argue that she would be just outside the door, where she had seen both Winters and Nixon standing. He agreed, only content when knowing she had chaperones. Rolling her eyes at the endearing concern, she navigated the compact crowd of people toward the door. 

Anyone in their sober mind would have clearly observed the level of intent she had seen in Liebgott’s stare for the majority of her dance with Bull. There was an anger that had ignited in her that made it difficult to focus on Bull in those moments. Liebgott had made her a lot of promises, many of them in the throws of passion, that she had not taken with more than a grain of salt. But when she made him promise to keep the extent to which they had become acquainted to himself, she was sure he understood the severity of the matter. 

Liebgott stood outside of the bar, his back resting against the building next door at the mouth of an alley. He knew he could only get away with a few minutes away from the company. Someone would come shouting for him before too long. 

He was surprised when he saw Evelyn exit the bar with a relieved sigh. She nodded to Winters and Nixon, who were standing just to the right of the entrance, enjoying the much less congested air. They addressed her in kind, Nixon held up a glass toward her with a small smile. A less raw version of himself would not have had the intrusive image of himself taking a set of brass knuckles to Nixon’s straight, white, Yale-boy grin. A better version of himself, maybe. 

When Evelyn’s eyes connected with his, her smile fell. The hard line that set along her lips let him know that whatever it was that she was going to share with him, it was not going to provide any solace to his bruised ego. 

“You,” she gritted her teeth as she got closer to him. She glanced over her shoulder to assure herself that there were no interested ears. “You have got to get it together, Joe.” Liebgott bit the inside of his cheek at the sound of his name on her lips. He had only heard it when it bubbled up from deep in her chest in her most vulnerable, passionate moments. God damn, she was so fucking beautiful. 

“What?” He was genuinely confused. How was it that he was getting in trouble for her dancing with Bull? 

“You,” she shoved his shoulder. It was then that he smelled the liquor on her breath. She had been close enough to him that he had also caught the sweetness of her perfume. Something in him ached. “Looking at me like that.” 

He chuckled a little at her. How threatening she was, how powerful. But he knew her soft edges. He knew those vulnerable moments. He knew her fear. He had swallowed it whole for her with the slip of her tongue. He knew her. 

“Looking at you like what?” He asked. His voice teased her in a way that drew goosebumps to the surface of her skin. He stepped forward, daring her to close the distance between them. Her eyes fluttered in response, her tongue tied. She did not respond. He smiled slyly, not able to help the shift between them. This was his place. Standing before her, teasing her, flustering her. Did Bull fucking Randleman do that? 

“Don’t do that to me,” she snapped out of her daze. She steeled herself, squared her shoulders, put a step of distance between their bodies. The haze of the moment passed and she remembered just how public a venue he had started this dance in. 

“Do what?” Those coy responses were what got Evelyn into this mess in the first place. He wanted her to get drunk on him. Addicted to him. 

“If you get us caught, you know what will happen,” she threatened. Joe nodded in response. There were no playful replies to bite back when the reality of what they had gotten themselves into was brought up. She had told him the conditions of her presence with the company. Should anyone catch wind of anything unsavory, she was done. 

She knew he understood how much her career meant to her. She knew he respected it. Respected her. He, however, knew that maybe his deepest fear was that he did not know if he would ever see her again. And that reality was even more frightening than what he had waiting for him on the other side of the ocean. 

Joe nodded, clenching his jaw. They stood at the mouth of that alley, wordlessly standing in the mud of their own making. She reached over, the softness of her fingers against his, caused him to jerk his head up in response, looking over her shoulder at the officers just ten feet from them. She boldly stroked the inside of his palm with her delicate fingers. The same way she did when they laid lazily in her bed under the cover of darkness, sweaty, glowing, and drunk on one another. 

“Don’t make this end before it has to,” she squeezed his hand. “Please.” 

Joe met her eyes. The dimensions of light and dark in them were picked up by the streetlamp. He wanted desperately to wrap his arms around her, tighter than Bull or any man could ever fucking hold her. He wanted to kiss her, taste every unsaid word on her lips. To touch her in ways that would leave her gasping, begging, crying out for more of him. He wanted to tell her that his days started and ended with her. Every single one of them since the moment his mouth tasted hers.

“Evie!” There was a shout from behind them. She pulled away from him with a jolt, her curtain of dark hair whipped around her shoulders. 

“You’ve got a line of men in here wondering when they’re getting their dance!” Nixon called, speaking for the masses he was gesturing to inside the building. 

“Yes, sir!” She responded, smiling brightly. She turned to Joe briefly. He swallowed the ball of fire making its way up from his belly. ‘Be good,’ she mouthed at him. She turned on her heel, the sweet smell of her perfume wafting behind her as she made her way back to the bar. Joe let out an exasperated sigh and reached into his pocket for a cigarette.