#cattle grazing rights

[graveyardrabbit]

today’s excursion to the Point Reyes Historic Life-Saving Station Cemetery had to be cancelled on account of cows in the way

[canisitsnotlupus]

it's almost like i've grown up on a farm, lived in an agricultural community most of my life (appalachian one, at that), have a special interest in homesteading, animal sciences, etc., have taken numerous animal science classes for one of my degrees, and am regularly reading and getting involved in animal-related things, have two entire servers where we spend numerous hours discussing animal care with studies, resources, etc. ...but hey just a dog blog (but let's ignore i have a farm blog too)

[hellishjoel]

wild like the west

3.3k / pairing: cowboy!joel miller x cowgirl!reader

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summary: joel and his cowgirl warnings/information:  MA 18+ (minors DNI), implied but unspecified age gap, joel is technically reader's boss (so power dynamic stuff), swearing, dirty talk, pet names (baby girl, brat, etc.), unprotected p in v, pussy pronouns, asphyxiation kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, clean up on aisle reader's stomach, reader is described having hair but otherwise (I believe) reader is a blank slate, no use of y/n, barely edited A/N: I unfortunately have not stopped thinking about a game joel miller x yellowstone crossover, and I feel like he would like this to be his long, happy life. I also haven't written for joel since may which feels like a sin! sorry baby!

It doesn’t matter how many ass bruises you get, or the pain of repeated thrashes to your knees from getting bucked off; this unruly horse will bend its spirit to your will. 

Half the job of purchasing new horses for the Miller Ridge Ranch is breaking them in like a pair of new shoes. 

Any cowboy, or for you, cowgirl, knows that a horse can sense your personality and fear from a mile away. If you sprout fear, it won’t trust you to be the guide on its back. It’s a mutual thing to trust one another. It’s the trust Joel thrust upon you after loyally working at the ranch for a handful of years. Sure, you were young, but you had a good head on your shoulders.

He perches his cowboy boot on the low fence rail, teeth gnawing at a toothpick as he watches you with careful eyes. The morning dew settles over the long grass and tall trees, untouched by man, fostered by nature. With the sun clawing at the horizon, the land turns from a pale blue to a beaming orange glow.  It’s beautiful here, peaceful. You imagine this is the life that Joel always wanted, craved. He’s not from around here, he’s got too much Southern twang to be from these northern Montana woods. 

Life guided him up here and he never turned back. 

You can feel the horse grow agitated under your haunches, whinnying with anxiety as it takes a few rough steps backward in the ground-up dirt. 

“S’okay, boy, take it easy, easy,” you coo in a gentle voice that lets the horse breathe through its panic. You grip the colt’s mane at the very base of his neck, right by the horn of your saddle, gently scratching that sweet spot that seems to bring him some tranquility.

You’re the only one who seems to calm these beautiful boys. 

“You got a habit of gettin’ in’ta trouble before it even knows to start lookin’ for ya.” Joel’s southern drawl rumbles deep from his chest, stepping into the training ring and crooking his first two fingers in your direction. 

“I got it, Joel,” you say insistently, guiding the horse by a little squeeze of your boots to its belly in Joel’s direction. 

“Know ya do.” Joel stops at the horse’s chest and pats its neck, large and calloused hand stroking down its coarse mane as he stares up at you, squinting from the morning sunlight. 

His eyes are starkly brilliant in this light, typically a dark brown, now a glowy amber under the brim of his black cowboy hat. “You know that part of learnin’ how to be a cowboy is lettin’ them break in their own horse. Hop down.”

A sigh leaves your parted lips as you unhook one boot from the stirrups and throw yourself off. Taking the reigns, you walk with Joel back to the main fence. 

“You’re too nice to ‘em. I hired you to be a bit more…” He pauses indefinitely, tilting his head.

“Ruthless. I know.” Your eyes connect, both hardened after years of this long life. One day of being a cowboy felt like a year at any other job. 

The plan was plain and simple, a route you’d taken a hundred times with a crew that changed on and off for the past couple of years. The cattle were in need of fresh resources, lush grass to graze on, and streams of pristine crystal water. Up through the valley they’d go. 

The cowboys and cowgirls were gathered on their horses, Joel sat atop his beautiful black mare, eyes piercing his crew even behind his tinted sunglasses. Any season besides summer in this state demanded thick, warm work wear. Joel adorned a chocolate brown Carhartt and thick denim jeans under old, worn-out brown chaps. 

“I want Wyatt and Jack to take front, Bo and Sadie, swing, Jess and June on the flank, Tucker and Sammy on the drag. Wear your bandanas, it’s gonna get dusty back there,” your eyes flick up to a string of confused faces, “any questions?” 

“Why do we have to go through the valley? We’d have to push hundreds of cows through open water,” Bo mutters, disdain for a woman making all these choices for him, perhaps. 

“Yeah, n’I can’t swim. Never learned.” Another pipes in. 

“Then you’re a goddamn idiot,” old man Wyatt gurgles up a chuckle. Wyatt has been a cowboy longer than you have been alive. He raised you up to be tough with a streak of kindness that could never be washed away. He gives you a tight nod of reassurance as you sigh weakly. 

All this tomfoolery seems to be a bit much for Joel’s taste. “She’s takin’ questions about the plan, not your ‘pinions on it. I tell her what to do, she tells ya’ll what to do. You question her, you question me. So do as she says, or you answer to me.”

Joel’s always had a tight hand on the crew. He intimidates them. He is their boss, after all. They have a problem with you or this ranch or anyone else, they answer to him. Joel takes off his sunglasses and narrows his eyes on Bo, the newest cowboy with a pretty big mouth on him who bucks just as bad as your new colts. And his dead eyes are set on you. 

The rest of the crew sets off towards the direction of the cattle herd, everyone except Bo. 

Your head jerks upward in his direction, your own eyes narrowed. “You wanna say somethin’?” You ride alongside Bo, who seems to be wrestling with his stupid thoughts. But before he gets a chance to say anything, Joel intervenes. 

“Got a fight in you? It starts an’ ends with me.”

Bo looks between both of you, simply scoffing before he backs his horse off and trots along towards the crew. 

The view from the top of the valley is beautiful, all yellow and golden, with a pale blue sky and tall trees that harbor the secrets of the forest. Joel used to tell you it would whisper to him, warn him. Your chestnut-colored horse stands tall next to Joel’s, and both of you are overseeing the herd and the crew working together. 

“Not as bad as I thought this was gonna be,” Joel mutters, turning his head in your direction. You’re unrecognizably quiet. He’s never known you to be so still. 

He watches as your fingers anxiously twirl your horse’s mane. “You undermine me in front of them, and they don’t respect me, Joel.” 

So that’s what got you so stiff. He takes in a deep breath of mountain air, crossing his wrists over the horn of his saddle and glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye. Your hair blows in the wind, gentle and flowing. Almost graceful if it wasn’t in this wild west. Your beauty was city beauty, he was surprised you ever found your way out here. 

“Bo’s as green as grass. He needs to learn not t’talk to you like that. And if he needs to learn from me, so be it.”

Keeping your lips zipped, your eyes scan the points that use the dogs to guide the herd in the right direction. The swings and flanks work the mid to back-mid to maintain movement, and the drags stationed at the back ensure that any loose stragglers keep up. 

Joel rolls his eyes and sighs, reaching his hand across to your horse’s reigns, keeping your horse tucked to his side. 

“C’mon, Cowgirl. Spit it out.” 

“You go about defendin’ me, it looks like we’re sleepin’ together,” you gripe, “and I don’t need our crew slingin’ the slander that I got my job fuckin’ the boss. I don’t want that shit, Joel.”

Joel shifts his jaw from side to side, silent as he usually is. His tongue muscles over the right words, the words that will settle that ball of uncertainty you have nestled in your gut. 

He settles on the truth. 

“We are sleepin’ together.” 

Shaking your head, you steal your reigns back from Joel and gently nuzzle your boots against the horse’s underbelly. “Well, maybe that should end.” 

Joel watches on with a small smirk as your horse is set in motion down the grassy hill. He shouts loud enough for his voice to carry down from the high ground. “You set those boys straight, or I’ll have to keep doin’ it for ya.”

You sling back your middle finger in his direction, both of your horses riding side by side now as you follow the crew through to the valley. 

Joel sighs upon entering his large, private cabin, resting his cowboy hat to air out on a hook by the front door. His clothes wreak of his musky sweat, and the shower calls his name. He walks stiffly. Joel’s thick thigh muscles are as strong as iron from riding his horse, and his back cracks each time he inhales.

But he can’t deny that this life was made for him. 

Training to be a carpenter, earning pennies on the dollar to work in the hot Texas sun, and for what? Building someone else’s dream property? He had his own dreams. 

The ranch was his dream.

He always had a profound appreciation for nature and the outdoors. 

Fuck the city, fuck car horns honking obnoxiously, fuck the traffic. He found more fulfillment in listening to the wind flutter through the trees and would much rather hear the moos of his cattle than impatient commuters at six in the morning. 

Plus, he’s never felt more free or independent. This was his land, and he made the decisions on how it was run. Hiring the sassy cowgirl from the metropolis just happened to be a nice bonus on lonely nights when there wasn’t much left to his whiskey bottle, and the ride into town was more than twenty minutes for a new one. She sated him all the same, better, even.  

Despite years of riding and wrangling, you’re so fucking soft. You have soft eyes, a pretty voice, and satiny thighs. Your lips are plush against his weathered ones, and you don’t seem to mind sitting in his lap with his rougher-than-barbwire hands feeling over your body. 

But in turn, you’ve made a little soft spot in his wild like the west heart of his. And he swore he’d never settle down; you seem to have the same intentions. 

Things were easy. Nice and easy. Almost routine. 

The bunkhouse would be busy with cowboys and cowgirls playing card games, drinking their beers, singing to the music on the radio, and talking nonsense. You’d slip out after dark and wind up upstairs in his bed. 

He recalls you saying something about how his bed is more comfy than the ones in the bunkhouse. 

“Whatever you say, darlin’.” 

Tonight was no different. Fresh from his shower with a towel secured low on his waist, he hums curiously at the sight of you sprawled out across his bed. No more than a minute later, you are tugging it loose from his frame and letting it pool around his ankles. 

“Thought you said you were done,” Joel muses with a hint of teasing. You sit up from the bed on your knees and wrap your arms around his broad trap and shoulder muscles. 

“I ain’t a quitter,” you mutter against Joel’s mouth, feeling his tongue glide along yours as he explores you freely. 

He sheds your clothes, feeling your freshly showered skin and hair under his rough palms. He can’t help but touch you like you’re his, like he owns you. But no man can possess the wind. 

You kiss as he slips you under the bed’s cool sheets, drunk on the way you move so pliantly under his guidance. His lips move to the slope of your neck, his greying whiskers scratching your skin before he washes over the irritation with more kisses. 

Joel’s hands slip between your legs, cupping your clothed center in one hand. Your eyes light up at the friction, mewling up a moan of his name as he massages over the wet spot growing on your panties. 

“She’s already soaked, darlin’. You been thinkin’ ‘bout this?” Joel muses, sitting up properly to peel your shirt off your body, two fingers curling around the hem of your panties and chucking them mindlessly on the floor. 

“Joel,” you whisper breathlessly as he’s about to slip down between those pretty legs of yours. 

“What?” He asks, damn near annoyed. 

“I can’t wait,” you beg breathlessly, his eyes meeting yours. “I-I can’t, I’m beggin’ you, please. It’s been a long day.” 

Joel sighs but ultimately nods. It’s not what he wants, but sometimes you both need a quick fix. 

Joel’s body parts your legs, a grunt escaping the depth of his throat as he ruts his hips against your own. 

“Good idea,” he mutters against your mouth, leaning down and distracting himself with your kisses as he lines his length up and down your soaking center. 

You sharply inhale as he enters and the sound is music to his ears. He feels your nails carving into his back muscles as he sinks himself in deeper deeper deeper, both of you panting with eagerness by the time his hips are flush with your own, lost in where you end and he begins.

You let out a string of moans as he reels himself back, only to return to your depths with a snap of his hips that releases a shrill whine of his name from your throat. His forearms are buried in the fluff of the pillows on either side of your head, forehead against forehead, his hips grinding against you now. 

The friction is enough to make your head spin. You can feel the coarse hair of his happy trail tickling your already anxious pearl. 

“Fuck,” you huff out, letting your hands slip down his back, knowing that if you want him to pick up the pace, you’ll have to ignite his fire. In one quick movement, your hands drag themselves up Joel’s back, your nails creating etched lines that raise red once you finish at the very tops of his shoulders. 

Joel releases a long, low groan in response as his eyes snap open to meet yours. The sting of pain creates heat along Joel’s spine. His jaw is wound tight as he brings his large hand to wrap around your pretty throat, thumb on your chin to force you into staring straight at him. 

“Such a goddamn brat,” he growls, adding pressure to the column of your throat as he begins to pound into you harder and harder with each thrust of his hips. You cry out his name, a cacophony of your panting moans and your slick squelching against his hips fill your ears. The ecstasy of losing just a smidge of air is enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

He’s obsessed with the way your eyes gloss over in lust, your body jerking up the bed with each powerful thrust he gives you. Your mouth hangs open, gasping for air that’s just out of your reach. 

“You take it, baby girl, you keep takin’ it. She’s so fuckin’- goddamit, so fuckin’ good for me,” he pants, feeling the warm air dissolve against your skin as Joel begins to swell fatter inside of you. 

Perfectly slick and warm, he loses himself in your pussy. You squeeze and choke him, his orgasm only building as you whimper how good he feels. 

“Holy fuck, Joel, please please please, right there, ohmygod you’re gonna make me-” you gasp, your back arching off the mattress as you grip onto his forearm that’s still holding your delicate throat, your other hand gripping the hair at the nape of his neck. He knows to squeeze a little harder as you fall apart, the euphoria of the combination sending you over the edge. 

Joel’s holding on for dear life, always focused on putting you first, always trying to prove your jokes of him being an old man wrong. But he can’t deny he’s nearly finished twice now, your pretty cunt all nice and warm for him. 

What’s wrong with pushing you over the edge a little?

Joel abandons the hold on your throat as you still are witnessing the aftershocks of your orgasm, his two thick fingers circling over your swollen clit. 

Joel smirks as your eyes snap open, your jaw dropping wide as you silently scream in pleasure. He nods sadistically, smirking as he overstimulates your already twitchy clit.

“You’re gonna give me another, right here, right now,” Joel grunts, stilling his hips as he’s buried to the hilt inside you, feeling your pussy clench around his cock as your gasps and strangled moans fill the room. 

“Fuck, Joel I don’t think I can,” you cry out, bracing the wrist of the hand that’s still working figure-eights around your pearl. Joel watches as your chest rises and falls quickly, nipples at peaks as you continue to clench repeatedly around his cock. 

 “Know you can, baby, cum on this cock again. You’re a strong cowgirl, ain’t’cha? You been thinkin’ ‘bout this all day, getting this pretty girl drilled by me, know ya have.”

And he’s right. Shamefully so. Denying Joel looks good in and out of his cowboy attire is just nonsense. The way he rides his horse with his thighs snagged tight around its middle, gnawing on his toothpicks to ward off the need to smoke a cigarette or chew; at this point, it’s everything that he does that turns you on. 

And maybe that’s why it’s so easy to give him a second one. 

Your nails pierce into his skin as your hands grip his biceps, mewling and moaning something wrecked, feeling the warmth gather deep in your belly once more. 

“Keep fuckin’ me, I didn’t say to stop,” you pant.

Joel disguises his laughter by meeting your lips with his own, giving you messy kisses that taste better than perfect ones. His hips and fingers work in tandem to force you over the edge. You’re shaking under him, your thigh muscles twitching with excitement, legs wrapping around his middle as he grows closer to his own finish. 

Just as he feels like he’s going to give way, he can feel your pussy clenching around his aching cock, his tip brushing so perfectly against that spongy spot that sets your insides alight. 

“Fuck,” he grits, ripping himself loose of your perfectly wasted cunt as he yanks over his length. One, two, three more times, and he’s spilling warm spend across your belly. The pretty splatters are like a Jackson Pollock. He stares in awe at how pretty you look getting finished on. 

The bed dips as he falls into place beside you. He doesn’t lay idle. He reaches for some tissues from his bedside table, politely wiping away his mess as you stare at him with lustful eyes. You were so fucked out. Sorta cute. 

“Quit,” he mutters, avoiding your eyes. 

“You ain’t as old as I thought you were.” You whisper, a smirk tugging on the corners of your mouth. 

Joel chuckles softly at your familiar tease. He's heard it countless times, but it never ceases to make him roll his eyes and pull you closer to him. He kisses your forehead affectionately, his voice carrying a hint of playful banter.

“You gonna keep remindin' me about my age every chance you get? Don’t stop ya from comin’ back each night.”

You lay your head on his chest and listen to his heart thump. 

Joel’s got one arm slung around your shoulders, the other on your thigh that’s draped across his middle. His strong hand works slowly into your tired muscles. You play with the greying curls on his chest, taking note of the dark, nearly black ones still speckled throughout. 

“Goodnight, old cowboy.” You say, patting his chest, hearing his slow laughter rumble from his chest. 

“G’night, pain in my ass.” 

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[reasonsforhope]

"Abby Allen has no problem with her neighbours peering over her luxuriant hedges to see what she is up to on her farm.

For years she has been carrying out ad hoc experiments with wildlife and farming techniques; in her lush Devon fields native cattle graze alongside 400-year-old hedgerows, with birds and butterflies enjoying the species-rich pasture.

Under the environmental land management scheme (ELMS), introduced by the government in 2021, those experiments were finally being funded. “We have a neighbour who has always been more of an intensive farmer,” she says, but he is now considering leaving fields unploughed to help the soil. “It genuinely is having such a huge impact in changing people’s mindsets who traditionally would never have thought about farming in this way.”

The new nature payments scheme followed the UK’s exit from the EU, when the government decided to scrap the common agricultural payments scheme, which gave a flat subsidy dependent on the number of acres a farmer managed. In its place came ELMS, which pays farmers for things such as planting hedges, sowing wildflowers for birds to feed on and leaving corners of their land wild for nature.

But these schemes are now at threat of defunding, as the Labour government has refused to commit to the £2.4bn a year spending pot put in place by the previous Conservative government. With spending tight and the chancellor, Rachel Reeves, cutting back on infrastructure and hinting at tax rises, a cut to the ELMS scheme may be on her list.

However, government data released last week found the schemes were working to tentatively bring nature back to England’s farmland. Butterflies, bees and bats are among the wildlife being boosted by ELMS, with birds among the chief beneficiaries, particularly ones that largely feed on invertebrates. An average of 25% more breeding birds were found in areas utilising the eco-friendly schemes.

...there are also farmers who welcome the schemes. Allen says the ELMS has helped her farm provide data and funds to expand and improve the good things they were doing for nature. “Some of the money available around things like soil testing and monitoring – instead of us going ‘we think these are the right things to do and providing these benefits,’ we can now measure it. The exciting thing now is there is money available to measure and monitor and kind of prove that you’re doing the right things. And so then you can find appropriate funding to do more of that.”

Allen, who is in the Nature Friendly Farming Network, manages a network of farms in England, most of which are using the ELMS. This includes chicken farms where the poultry spend their life outside rather than in sheds and other regenerative livestock businesses...

Mark Spencer was an environment minister until 2024 when he lost his seat, but now spends more time in the fields admiring the fruits of his and his family’s labour. He says that a few years of nature-friendly agriculture has restored lapwings and owls.

“On the farm, I haven’t seen lapwings in any number for what feels like a whole generation. You know, as a kid, when I was in my early teens, you’d see lapwings. We used to call them peewits. We’d see them all the time, and they sort of disappeared.

“But then, me and my neighbours changed the way we did cropping, left space in the fields for them to nest, and suddenly they returned. You need to have a piece of land where you’re not having mechanical machinery go over it on a regular basis, because otherwise you destroy the nest. We’ve also got baby owls in our owl box now for the first time in 15 years. They look mega, to be honest, these little owls, little balls of fluff. It is rewarding.”"

-via The Guardian, August 23, 2024

[mysicklove]

"Well look at you! Say, "meow", Lord Sukuna!"

Said curse blinks at you a couple of times, before using his hands to touch the white, fluffy cat ears placed on his head. "Is...this what humans do for entertainment? Pretend to be animals? I think it would be more appropriate for you to dress up as cattle, considering-"

"Yes, yes I know, you hate humans, i've heard thousands of times," You cut off, quickly smacking his hand away and fixing the ears. "Now look cute — I am going to take a picture!"

Sukuna doesnt move from his position on the bed, just staring at you with a blank face. He crosses his upper sets of his arms and waits for you to be done, slightly amused by your actions, but not enough to give you the satisfaction of his change in facial expressions. Still, you coo at him and tell him to get in different poses for you, but he just continues to stay in place and stare. You arent very suprised, considering it was rare for him to actually listen to your demands, the stubborn thing.

"You arent acting cute at all," you pout, and Sukuna just shrugs, raising his eyebrows. His lower hands trace the skin on your upper leg, and he continues to watch your antics.

"Have I not been taking care of you appropriately?" He asks, slightly narrowing his eyes. "I give you food, water, and even sex. I thought that is all your species needs to live happily?"

You cock your head to the side, blinking at the way he seemed to be in deep thought. "What are you talking about?"

"Uraume!" Sukuna interupts, pulling you closer until the white ears nearly graze your skin. His servant appears less than five seconds later, walking into the room. "My Lord," they bow, before waiting for a command.

You can see the way they look appalled at the cat ears, and are burning daggers into your skin for daring to put him in something so degrading — your class as a human meant that you were the lowest on the totem poll in Sukuna's domain, but still you managed to have the master of it wrapped around your finger.

"Bring me something from a feline descent."

"Of course, My Lord."

"What? No!" you pipe up, but Uraume is already gone. You turn back to Sukuna who was taking the cat ears off, discarding them at his side. Then he pulls you into your lap, ignoring your struggles.

A large hand pets at your hair and Sukuna says, "You should have asked if you wished for a companion."

You cover your eyes with a groan, pulling gently at the skin on your face. "I dont want a companion, Sukuna," you complain, accidentally dropping his title. But, he doesnt seem to mind, continuing to trace your skin with his palms. "I just thought it would be funny to see you in something cute considering who you are."

He blinks at you for a second, before frowning. "I didnt find it funny."

"Yeah, obviously. The only jokes you find funny are about murdering people. Now look, Uraume is out searching for a kitten."

Sukuna doesnt seem to care, instead picking up the cat ears and asessing them. Then he places it on your head, while you narrow your eyes at him. But, the curse cracks a grin, scanning your face. "You are right, this is entertaining."

A breathless laugh escapes you and you shake your head with a whine of complaint. "This doesnt help the "Sukuna's pet" rumors."

"You are my pet human."

"We are dating."

"You can be my lover and my pet."

You push at his chest in complaint, and he rumbles out a laugh. Then you take off the ears, and put it back onto his head. Suprisingly, he lets them remain there, only looking at you with amusement.

A minute goes by, and you hear a familar voice. "My Lord, the cat as you requested."

You immediately twist your body to look for the kitten, excitement getting the better of you. But, much to your suprise, a full grown tiger stands in the middle of Sukuna's chambers, unusually tame.

Your eyes widen in shock, but Sukuna meerly chuckles, before leaning down to your ear and saying, "Is it cute enough for you? A pet for my pet, how humerous."

And after that, you decide to never bring out the cat ears again. Nor mention anything relating to pets — your pride couldnt take the wicked teasing from your lord.

[dandelionsresilience]

Dandelion News - November 1-7

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles on Patreon!

1. Climate Initiatives Fare Well Across the Country Despite National Political Climate

“[California voters approved] a $10 billion bond measure to boost climate resilience across [the] state[…. Hawai’i] voters cast their ballots in favor of establishing the [climate] resiliency fund, with money for the project coming from existing property tax revenue.“

2. ‘You have to disguise your human form’: how sea eagles are being returned to Severn estuary after 150 years

“[… To avoid imprinting,] the handlers will wear long robes and feed the young eagles chopped rabbit and other meat with bird hand-puppets. […] Williams hopes that restoring eagles to the top of the food chain in the estuary will create a more balanced, thriving ecosystem.”

3. 10 states voted on pro-abortion referendums. 7 of them passed

“New York voters overwhelmingly approved the Equal Rights Amendment, adding [… among other characteristics] gender expression, pregnancy, and pregnancy outcomes to anti-discrimination laws. […] In deep-red Missouri and Montana, voters also enshrined abortions protections in their state constitutions.”

4. Giant rats could soon fight illegal wildlife trade by sniffing out elephant tusk and rhino horn

“”Our study shows that we can train African giant pouched rats to detect illegally trafficked wildlife, even when it has been concealed among other substances[.…] They can easily access tight spaces like cargo in packed shipping containers or be lifted up high to screen the ventilation systems of sealed containers,” Szott explained.”

5. Sarah McBride wins Delaware U.S. House seat, becoming the first out trans member of Congress

“McBride spearheaded Delaware’s legislation to ban the “gay and trans panic” defense as a state senator [… and] helped to pass paid family and medical leave, gun safety measures, and protections for reproductive rights.”

6. Critically endangered Sumatran elephant calf born in Indonesia

“Indonesian officials hailed the births and said they showed conservation efforts were essential to prevent the protected species from extinction. […] Sumatran elephants are on the brink of extinction with only about 2,400-2,800 left in the world, according to the World Wide Fund for Nature.”

7. Sin City is Going Green

“[Hotels there] have conserved 16 billion gallons of water since 2007, thanks to […] replacing grass with desert-friendly landscaping, installing water-efficient taps across all properties, and reusing water at aquariums and in the Bellagio Fountain.”

8. Gray squirrel control: Study shows promise for effective contraceptive delivery system

“[… T]he feeders have a very high level of species-specificity. […] The bait and monitoring system developed and tested in the study demonstrated that […] “spring was the only season tested where female squirrels were more likely to visit bait feeders than males. Spring coincides with a peak in squirrel breeding and is therefore a good time to deliver a contraceptive."”

9. Returning Grazing Land to Native Forests Would Yield Big Climate Benefits

“[… S]trategically regrowing forests on land where cattle currently graze […] while intensifying production elsewhere could drastically cut greenhouse gas emissions, with little hit to global protein production, a new study shows.”

10. Interior Department Strengthens Conservation of American Bison Through New Agreement with Canada and Mexico

“Approximately 31,000 bison are currently being stewarded by the United States, Canada and Mexico with the goal of conserving the species and their role in the function of native grassland systems, as well as their place in Indigenous culture.”

October 22-28 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

[mukbangg]

I need billy the kid baby batter in me.

18+

Imagine you're a cowgirl ☝️

You're independent and kinda stoic, you keep to yourself and do what's necessary to get by whether it be cattle rustling or taking up whatever odd jobs ranches offer.

You never stay in one place too long , settling wasnt an option for a woman like you.

Then you meet Billy and it's like hes knocking down all you walls, wiggling between the cracks hes made in your strong facade.

One thing leads to another....and you find yourself in bed with him, having charmed his way between your legs.

Now you're no prude but it's hard to find a decent guy around who doesnt try to walk all over you or put you down just for being a woman, much less a good fuck.

Billy, ever the sweet boy, does no such thing, though he does insist on calling you "doll"or even "my lady".

So when hes between your thighs, tongue lapping at your wet folds, hes pleasantly surprised (and delighted) when you admitted in uncharacteristic shyness, that you've never had anyone gone down on you.

"Oh doll...."

Billy coos, trying to hide how eager he was, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into the fat of your thighs.

"Lemme take care of you, hmm?"

With a warm grin, he starts slow, peppering your thighs with kisses, tongue licking thick stripes through your folds slowly. Soon enough he has you in a mewling mess, arm thrown over your face to hide your embarrassment. You hardly had the chance to register him getting more aggressive, messily slurping up from your hole to clit. Before you know it, your thighs were folded up as he grips the back of your knees to handle you quite literally like a doll.

You try to prop yourself up dazedly, breathless from his hot kisses and filthy promises but he flattens a large palm over your tummy and pushes you back down.

Toned arms locks you in place as he devours your sloppy cunny, mouth open like he wants to swallow you down as he splits between tongue fucking your drooling hole and sucking your clit.

And you? You're gone up and dead in heaven because if the pleasure hasn't ended you yet, the shameless whines and whimpers that tore our your throat would have had you burning in humiliation when you came to your senses.

To be broken down into such a needy mess and he hasnt even stuffed you full of cock yet...jesus when did you become such a whore?

But hes shaking his head as he eats your pussy, moaning and slurping so loudly its vile, saliva pooling with your slick and dribbling down to your puckered hole, and you blank out.

Mind surrendering your last thread of sense to mindless pleasure, hands flying down to fist at his curly hair, gasping for air desperately, gods how is he so good??

Billy pulls back to spit harshly on your cunt, one large palm enough to hold both your legs up while the other hand's fitting two thick fingers to curl roughly up into that sweet spot that has you seeing stars.

"That feels good, huh doll?"

He chuckles, watching your mouth form a surprise 'o',  eyes rolling back as you buck your hips and try to grind down even more.

"Words doll, tell me how it feels. You're smart enough aren't you?"

"Yeeeess billy!!"

You practically sob out, earning a snort of amusement from the man. He dips his head back down and tears spill down your blotchy cheeks when he starts making out with the sensitive nub. His fingers are pumping ruthlessly into you, squelching so loud you think you might have pissed yourself somewhere along the line.

You hiccuped, trying to buck your hips up to hump his face, and he pulls back to chuckle breathlessly before diving back in again.

Then his teeth grazes your aching clit just right and you tug harshly at his hair, head lolling back in a silent scream as you creamed on his fingers. Whimpers and broken whines tumbles from your lips as you go slack, mind fuzzy in the aftershocks of pleasure. Billy pulls his fingers out, dragging his tongue through your slick folds up to collect your juices and press a kiss to your sensitive clit, before he slots himself between your thighs.

Hes leaning over you, one elbow pressing into the bed by your head while the other arm hooks under your head as he nuzzles into your hair and mumble soft praises.

"S'good for me doll....think you earned my cock?"

Hes rubbing the ruddy head of his leaky cock through your pussy slowly, bumping your clit each time.

"Wan'it? Shes drooling all over me,"

Billy slurs against your mouth, tongue swirling and you vaguely register the salty tang of your own cunny, eyes rolling back like hes devouring your last shred of coherence.

"Think shes hungry for my cum,"

Billy mumbles all sweet and soft against your lips, gentle like hes cooing to a baby(your pussy).

"Think I'll fit in her? Doll?"

And you're squealing brokenly as he pushes the fat head of his cock in, stretching your pussy out as you dig your nails into his bicep by your head, sweet pain pleasure prickling at the base of your spine.

"you'll hold your own legs up after I stretch your hole out with my cock and let me taste you again, 'kay doll?"

He says it with such fondness you can only nod dumbly, then hes snapping his hips harshly and you dont know how you'll live without his cock after this.

Maybe you'll settle this time after all.

[dancingbirdie]

This request is really out of the blue but, i need I CRAVE i require a fic where tav and astarion finally find a cure for his vampirism (in dnd5 it can actually happen yay!) and he manages to see his reflection again and finally have his natural eye color again (blue bc he's prob a moon elf but I don't mind other colors too). The fangs can stay or not, idc, i just want my boy happy, in love, and cared for. Bonus points if there's cuddles too

OK first of all, thanks for this prompt!! Second, I had to break this up into two parts because I'm afraid of how unwieldy it would get otherwise. So see part 1 below. I'm actively writing part 2 and should have that posted within the next few days. Hope you enjoy!

UPDATE: Chapter 2 available here!

I Promised You (Chapter 1)

Rating: G

Pairing: Astarion x GN!reader

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings/Tags: mentions of unconsciousness, cheeky banter, domestic life, post-events of BG3, potentially problematic levels of self-sacrifice by reader.

***

“All right. I think you’re ready,” Gale affirmed as he peered over your shoulder, analyzing your hand movements as you practiced the incantation. 

“You think? Shouldn’t we wait until you’re sure?” you replied, heavy skepticism coloring your tone. 

“I can’t give you my complete assurance because you haven’t actually cast the spell,” the wizard sighed. 

The two of you had had this argument many times over the past several months as you studied and practiced. And studied and practiced some more. The conclusion was always the same, but your anxiety always managed to convince you that a different outcome would be had if you just asked him again. 

Conjuration magic was one of the most difficult forms to master. Yes, you had specialized in it during your formative years, under the tutelage of several learned wizards across Faerûn, but this spell was perhaps the pinnacle of feats in conjuration. Only a handful of wizards could perform it. Thankfully Gale was among that number, which is why you had come to him for help.

“As I’ve said, this isn’t a spell you can just cast for practice runs,” he continued. “You have one chance. And if it works, the sheer power of it is undoubtedly going to knock you unconscious.” 

“I know, I know,” you grumbled. “I just… I need to be absolutely perfect. I have to do this. For him.” 

“Have you told him what you’re planning yet?” Gale prodded.

“No. Not yet. I didn’t want to get his hopes up. Or have him tell me how unlikely success will be. Not until I was absolutely sure I could do this.” 

“I see,” the wizard returned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, tonight is as good a time to tell him as any. There’s nothing more I can teach you to prepare for this. You know the incantation by heart. You perform the gestures almost through muscle memory now. You’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” you repeated, as if saying the words would will it to be so. 

“Send me a missive if he wants to go through with this. I’ll come to the cottage and oversee the spell’s casting.”

“All right,” you nodded.

“It’s going to work. You have to believe it’s going to work,” Gale encouraged, meeting your eyes with a serious, stern sort of expression.

“It’s going to work,” you agreed. “It’s going to work.” 

***

It was dusk by the time you returned to the cottage. It was a modest home you shared with Astarion, situated just outside the city walls. It had a lovely view of the rolling hills that surrounded Baldur’s Gate, and proximity to the Chionthar River gave the air a refreshing, misty feel. Pastoral communities dotted the countryside with sheep and cattle grazing freely during the day, though they had returned to their stables long before your return.

Astarion was no fan of the bucolic lifestyle, as he was wont to remind you. But you both agreed that this living situation afforded him better meal prospects than the rats, cats and errant stray dogs that dwelled within the city limits. At least this way, he had more fulfilling options for food, since the livestock attracted their fair share of large predators. A mild, perpetual confusion charm that you cast kept the neighbors from questioning why – unlike their peers in neighboring villages and towns – their animals were never plagued by roving bears and panthers. 

Astarion was lounging listlessly in the bay window of the den when you entered your home, one leg dangling off the ledge of his reading nook while he carelessly flipped through a book. Probably one he had pilfered from Gale’s stockpile a few weeks ago, you surmised. There had been an uptick in the wizard’s grumbling about discrepancies in his library catalog of late. 

“Anything interesting?” you asked as you shrugged out of your traveler’s cloak and hung it on the coat rack by the door. 

“Ugh, hardly,” Astarion grouched. “Nothing but debunked theories and philosophies from bloated scholars who died a hundred years ago.”

“You’re going to have to return Gale’s books to him eventually, you know. He’s beginning to realize how many from his library are missing.”

“Haven’t the slightest clue what you’re referring to, darling,” he replied breezily.

“Of course, love,” you chuckled, planting a kiss on his forehead as you passed him by to make your way into the kitchen. 

“Care for a glass of wine?” you called.

“Mm, yes,” Astarion returned. “Red, please, dear.”

Uncorking the bottle and pouring the glasses gave you a brief moment to collect your thoughts. To steel your nerves for the conversation looming before you. Drawing a deep breath in and exhaling it slowly, you made your way back into the den and braced for the inevitable. 

“Darling, do you have a moment?” you asked as you offered Astarion his glass before taking a seat next to him. “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Gods, it must be serious,” he teased, straightening from his reclined pose to take the proffered glass and make room for you. “You like you’re about to be ill. Go on then, love, before you faint and spill this vintage all over the floor.”

“It is rather serious, in fact,” you began, clearing your throat that had suddenly become tight with nerves.  “I’ve waited to tell you until now, but I’ve been researching some more difficult conjuration magic with Gale the past few months…”

“Oh?” Astarion prompted as you paused. “For what purpose, darling? I thought you had already mastered the school of conjuration.”

“I have. But this is a more specialized form. More… niche, I guess one might say. And, well…” you trailed off again, hesitant.

“Go on,” he encouraged. 

“I’ve-been-researching-a-spell-that-cures-vampirism-and-I-think-I’ve-found-a-way,” you spat out all at once, the words tumbling into each other like a wagon train gone wild. 

Astarion met your eyes with a blank stare, seemingly forgetting that his one hand had been in the process of lifting the wine glass to his lips. 

“I beg your pardon?” he asked hoarsely.

You coughed to clear your throat. “What I mean to say is: I’ve been working with Gale for months now to learn a spell that can cure your vampirism. He and I believe I’m ready to perform it. If you would allow me to try, that is.”

“If this is your idea of a joke,” he murmured, a slight quiver in his voice. “Then I have to tell you, it’s absolutely not funny at all.”

“It’s not a joke!” you assured. “I swear to you, Astarion. It’s not a joke,” you continued, squeezing one of his hands in yours. 

He nodded absently, his gaze trained on your thumb as it soothed over the knuckles of his fingers.

“H-how?” he whispered finally. “How can you cure it? I’ve read every tome I could get my hands on for over two hundred years. Nothing, nothing, I’ve read has ever offered a solution.”

“Because this is a highly guarded spell. It’s only passed down through oral tradition among wizards who specialize in conjuration magic. Which is why I’ve needed Gale’s help,” you explained. “I broached the topic with him some time ago, told him how we were going to look for some way to cure your vampirism. Being a master of magicks himself, I thought he would be a good source of information for me to begin my research. I wasn’t even aware of the spell until he shared it with me. He’s been teaching me the mechanics of it since then. It’s been a difficult spell to master but–” 

“What’s the cost?” Astarion interjected suddenly, meeting your gaze with a new intensity.

“It will cost you nothing, obviously,” you retorted, disliking where the conversation was heading. 

Astarion huffed through his nose. A caustic, frustrated sort of sound. “Don’t play cute with me, darling. You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t,” you hedged.

“What will the spell cost you,” he bit out through a clenched jaw. 

You bit your lip, hesitant to reply. Astarion’s gaze never wavered. 

Finally you sighed. Better to reveal the consequences of it all than attempt to hide the downsides from him. Even though they were negligible in your eyes, compared to the wonder that would be returning his elfhood to him, you knew he would resent being told only partial truths. You couldn’t fault him for it. You would feel the same, were the roles reversed. 

“It will permanently weaken me. There’s a small, very small, chance it could kill me if I perform it wrong,” you confessed.

“No,” Astarion responded bluntly, without a hint of hesitation. He rose from the bench and made to leave the room. As if the matter had been settled and it was time to crack on. 

“Wait! What do you mean, ‘no’?” you blurted. Jumping to your feet, you snatched at the sleeve of his nightshirt. 

He turned to peer at you with a haughty gaze, one eyebrow arched delicately. “Exactly that. No. You’re not risking your life on the off chance of this working.”

“But it’s not an off chance. It will work! And the likelihood of me dying is incredibly slim!” you protested.

“But the likelihood of you being ‘permanently weakened’ is essentially certain, yes?” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as it sounds. And besides, I don’t mind. I want to do this, Astarion.”

He scoffed. “Have you gone absolutely mad? ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds.’ Do you even know what will actually happen to you afterwards?” he shot back angrily.

“No,” you admitted, a bit quieter. 

He deliberately widened his eyes at your response, crossing his arms across his chest as if to say See? My point proven. 

“But I know I can handle it! And I love you enough to try!” you retorted.

That appeared to be the wrong choice of words. You realized it immediately as his expression morphed from outright anger to something darker, icier.

“Well then, it seems we’re at an impasse, darling,” he growled. “Because I love you enough not to have you go through with this.” 

You opened your mouth to object once more, but he continued, ignoring you. 

“AND, since it is my body and my life we’re discussing, it means I have the final say on the matter. My answer is no.”

You had anticipated this conversation going many different ways. You thought you had prepared for the most likely scenarios. But, in all your pondering, you hadn’t seriously considered the possibility that Astarion would reject this opportunity outright. 

Your eyes welled with tears. Hot, angry, disconsolate tears. 

“Astarion,” you murmured, desperate. Angry though you both were, you couldn’t resist the urge to curl into his embrace. Gently, you pulled at his arms in an attempt to un-cross them. With a soft sigh, he allowed you to manipulate him so that you were pressed chest to chest. Your arms banded around his waist, locking him against you. Slowly, he raised his arms to mimic your stance, peering down at you.  

“Astarion, my darling, this is your chance. It’s the only chance we’ve found in over two years of searching. I know I can do it. And you can win it all back. I can help you. Let me do this,” you pleaded. 

“Darling, how could I ever ‘win it all back’ when there’s a possibility I could lose you forever? Or that you could be seriously harmed in the process?” he lifted a hand to cup your cheek, smiling sadly. “I would never forgive myself if you were harmed in an attempt to cure me.”

You closed your eyes, tears slipping freely down your cheeks. “Please. I know I can do this. Please let me do this. I want to do this for you.”

“Come, pup, no more tears. I’ve given you my answer,” he murmured, swiping a thumb across your cheekbones to catch each tear.

You opened your eyes to glare at him. “If the roles were reversed, would you want to try this for me?”

“Of course,” Astarion huffed. “But that’s obviously different, I –”

“WHY? Why is it different?” you cried, clutching him. 

“Because you’re worth it!” he implored, arms vibrating as though he were resisting the urge to shake sense into you. “Your soul is worth a thousand of mine! It’s not marred by death and torture and sacrilege. Can’t you see that? Don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t,” you argued obstinately. “Because you are worth it to me. Your soul is priceless to me. I love you. You’re the love of my life.”

Astarion said nothing, just stared at you with sad eyes. You couldn’t tell if his silence meant you were persuading him, but you couldn’t relent without giving at least one more desperate plea. 

“I promised you. Remember? After everything that happened, I promised you we would find a way for you to walk in the sun once more. I didn’t make that promise lightly. I want to do this for you.”

“Darling…” he murmured sadly, shaking his head. 

“Astarion, please,” you beseeched, shifting to clutch his face between both of your palms. “I’m literally begging you to let me try. Gale and I have been practicing for almost a year now. He wouldn’t tell me I was ready unless he was certain. I know I can do this. Please. Let me try.”

“Don’t you have any regard for your own life?” he whispered. “How is it that I’m more concerned for your well being than you are?” 

“Darling, all of us have the slightest potential of dying every single day we continue to breathe. Anything poses some risk to our lives. I’m telling you, the risk of me dying from this is the same as the risk I take casting any other magic.”

“But there’s still a permanent cost to doing this. Have you even asked Gale to elaborate on what that entails?” 

“No,” you admitted a bit sheepishly. “I didn’t really think about it.” 

Astarion rolled his eyes but planted a kiss against your forehead. “You’re ridiculous, you know.”

“I’m sorry that I was so ecstatic about finding a cure that I leapt straight into studying it!��� you said defensively, although your tone lacked teeth. 

He chuckled and wrapped you in a tighter embrace, resting his cheek on the top of your head. The two of you stood like that for some time, arms wrapped around each other, lost in thought. 

After a while, Astarion cleared his throat. “I want us to speak to Gale. I want to know the full details, the consequences of a spell like this.”

You jerked your head up in surprise, staring at him with wide, elated eyes. 

“I’m not saying yes,” he clarified, attempting to tamp down your burgeoning excitement. “But I’m willing to hear more about this… possibility.”

A delighted squeal rocketed up your throat. Quick as a flash, you jumped to wrap your legs around his waist. Long used to your ebullient antics, Astarion caught you with a practiced ease. His arms banded under your thighs and across your lower back, squeezing gently. 

“I love you, you daft, feral thing,” he chuckled, nuzzling your cheek. 

***

“I would have gone over this months ago, had you afforded me the opportunity,” Gale had groused upon arriving at the cottage the following evening. The three of you shared a bottle of barrel-aged Callidyren while Astarion peppered the wizard with umpteen questions about the spell’s mechanics. To his credit, Gale managed to assuage Astarion’s concerns. At least for the most part. 

The permanent effects of casting the spell, you both learned, would diminish your inner well of magic, rendering you unable to cast as many spells as you currently could before resting for a longer period of time. Almost as though the cost of performing the spell would revert you back to the strength you had had as an apprentice so many years ago. You would still be powerful, capable of wielding even the most intricate of spells. But your endurance would be shorter, more concentrated. It was a price you were more than willing to pay. Even more so now that you had actually allowed Gale to describe the effects in detail. 

“I still can’t believe you didn’t press for more details,” Astarion grumbled. 

“It didn’t seem important at the time,” you sniffed, waving a hand dismissively. “Still doesn’t, in my opinion.”

“You know, in some schools of thought,” Astarion countered dryly, “people believe the difference between bravery and complete idiocy is so fine a line that it frequently gets crossed.”

“So I’ve heard,” you crooned. “But, alas, I’m nothing if not an incredibly adept fool in love.” 

Gale observed the two of you warily, as if uncertain whether this exchange constituted harmless domestic banter or an undercurrent of severe agitation. 

“Yes, well,” he interrupted awkwardly, “as I said before, you’re as ready as you will ever be to perform this magic. I’ll be here to supervise and intervene, if necessary, though I don’t think it will be.”

“Bully for us. Is there anything else we should be prepared for, if we’re to go through with this?” Astarion snapped. “Sudden onset sliminess? Gills? Frothing at the mouth?”

You winced. He was always his most discourteous self when he was afraid. Gale might not realize it, but you knew him well enough to tell when his rudeness was obfuscation.   

“Ahem,” Gale coughed, clearly affronted by the impertinent question. “No, nothing of that sort. But this spell is incredibly demanding on one’s body. It’s very likely they’ll fall unconscious once it’s been cast. The effect shouldn’t last for more than a few hours. Enough time for a proper rest.”  

“You failed to mention that yesterday,” Astarion said peevishly, glaring at you from across the dining table. 

“Because it’s the equivalent to me needing a good sleep after a tiring day,” you quipped. 

Gale winced. “It’s a bit more serious than that, I’d argue.”

“Thank you,” Astarion intoned. 

“Tsk. An inconvenience at worst. Nothing unmanageable,” you retorted. “So, what say you, darling? Are you willing to give this a try?”

Astarion’s glare shifted between you and Gale, studying you both. 

“And you both swear to me that all information is now disclosed, yes? No partial truths, no hidden side effects?”

“I swear,” the two of you responded in unison. You reached for Astarion’s hand across the table. 

“My darling, this will work. I’m going to be fine. And you’re going to be cured,” you smiled gently. “Please, trust me.”

He squeezed your hand, crimson eyes boring into your own. 

Finally, after a moment, he gave you a terse nod.

“All right. Let’s try,” he agreed.

[the-black-manor]

Bad Decisions

Vampire Dom x GN Human Sub Requested by @transpunkslut

Summary: You've been living with your vampire for a few months, but you've never been fucked by him. Tonight, you found the nerve to ask him to be intimate.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, blood drinking,

Kinks: Vampire, terato, blood drinking, master/pet, excessive cum, primal play, oversized cock, rough kisses, multiple orgasms

Words: 2,140

More writings on Patreon.

You had been living with him for a while now, the vampire. It started with a swipe right and an invitation to dinner that you couldn't bring yourself to refuse. He was honest from the very beginning - even before you got to his mansion - that he intended to drink your blood. You still went, and here you still were, months later.

You were cattle to him. Fresh blood in the pantry. That's why you hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask him to do anything more with you. Anything... intimate, even though you so desperately wanted to feel him inside of you. You doubted he would say yes. The night began as it usually did, with breakfast in the living room before the fire as snow fell in heavy flakes outside the grand windows. You were breakfast, of course. After that, things progressed as they usually did, though he seemed to be more present than usual. More attentive.

You were talking and laughing, telling stories, when he rested his hand on your bare leg and gave you that dazzling, sharp smile you had come to adore. Later, he squeezed past you in the kitchen between the island and the counter, his crotch rubbing against your ass as he went. Then, when you were reminiscing about something upsetting, he had taken your hand in his and gave you a soft kiss on the knuckles. There were more instances than these - many more - and every time he so much as grazed you, your heart skipped a beat and your stomach fluttered. Your head was spinning all day, your legs clenched together to provide some friction.

The sun began to rise, and you were beginning to lose control of yourself. He wouldn't need to feed again so soon, but god you wanted him to. Maybe you could convince him to have a snack...

You rapped gently on the heavy walnut door that closed his office off from the rest of the house.

"Come in," his voice came from the other side, always friendly, always inviting.

You stepped into the office and closed the door behind you, then padded forward on bare feet.

"What are you up to?" you asked.

He glanced up from his paperwork to see you in nothing more than an oversized sweater and underwear.

"Working," he replied, and there was curiosity on his lips.

You stepped around his desk, and he turned his chair toward you instinctively.

I hope he doesn't kill me for this, you thought as you sat on the edge of his desk.

"What are you up to?" he asked.

You bit your lip nervously.

"Are you hungry?" you asked.

"I'm always hungry."

You tugged the sweater off one of your shoulders, revealing your neck and the puncture scars there.

"You know I won't feed on you in such quick succession, darling." His voice was part purr, part growl, and despite his words, his pupils were blown.

"I know. But you're hungry and I want to make sure you're well fed."

He swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing, and rested his hands on your legs. He was cool to the touch, but his hands were soft, and the contact send electricity up your spine. You spread your legs, only barely.

"What are you doing?" His voice was low. Warning.

"I'm being good," you answered.

Your heart was pounding in your chest. No doubt he could hear it.

He smirked.

"You're trying to seduce me, aren't you, you little minx?"

You smiled and tried to avert your eyes, but he forced you to look at him with one clawed finger beneath your chin.

"I just want to make sure you're well taken care of... Master."

You had never called him that before, but you saw a fire start behind his blood red eyes when you did. He stopped breathing as yours picked up. He didn't need to breathe, of course, but it had become habit to make you more comfortable. Now, though, he was struggling to restrain himself, so breathing wasn't on his list of priorities.

You took hold of his wrist and slid his hand over your thigh and between your legs, where you pressed it against your crotch.

"I'll hurt you."

That wasn't a threat. It was a warning.

"No, you won't. You wouldn't do anything to risk losing your steady meals."

His pointed tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

"I know you want to, Master. Please. I want it too."

"I know what you want, pet, and it's not for me to drink your blood..."

Despite his hesitance, he pressed his palm against your crotch and began to massage. You let out a huff of breath and your hips jerked forward of their own accord. He pushed his chair out and stepped between your legs. His face was inches from yours, and you could feel his cool breath on your cheek. He smelled like vanilla and nutmeg.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing," he whispered.

"I know."

One hand worked between your legs while the other came up to cup the back of your neck.

"Once we get started, I won't be able to stop."

"Good."

"It will take hours."

"I hope it does."

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"I don't care."

"Your body won't be able to handle it."

"Try me."

Finally, he allowed all reservations to crumble and fall away, and he pressed his lips firmly against yours, holding you steady by the back of your neck. He wasn't gentle. His tongue snaked into your mouth to dance with yours. It was long and slick and strong, and he easily dominated you. His saliva tasted like honey cakes, and you throbbed underneath his palm. Your skin prickled with want. You could feel his long nails digging into the nape of your neck, but you knew he wouldn't break the skin. He wouldn't want to waste any of the crimson wine that flowed through your veins. You wanted him to touch you. You wanted to feel his hands on every inch of your body.

His tongue snaked down your throat and he fucked you with it as his hand made its way past your underwear to paw at you properly. You allowed him to continue as long as you could before you had to push him away to gasp for air. He might not need to breathe, but you definitely still did.

He didn't allow a second to go by before his mouth was on your neck and he sucked deep bruises into the soft flesh.

"M-more..." you begged. "Please..."

He licked a long line up the side of your neck, following your carotid artery, and then his hands were on the hem of your sweater, tugging it up and over your head, and your underwear down and off. He tossed them both to the side and then pressed his chest against yours, forcing you to lie back on the desk. He ground his clothed member against you. You could feel the thick bulge in his pants. He was... much bigger than you expected.

"Please..." you whined again.

"Please what?" he purred in your ear as his fingers tangled in your hair.

"Please. God, fuck me, please."

"You can call me Master," he replied, and you could feel the smirk on his lips as he kissed you again.

Your head was cloudy, filled only with thoughts of him, with wants for him. Your body ached and you arched up to meet him as he pressed his hard cock against you.

"Please..."

A tear ran down your cheek. You couldn't take this teasing. You needed more.

When it seemed as if you might pull your hair out, he finally reached down between your legs. You heard his zipper, and then his cock sprung out of his trousers to slap against you. His length was throbbing and hot, and you nearly screamed in frustration.

"Master, please!"

His cockhead pressed against your entrance, his precum lubing you up, and then, agonizingly slowly, he began to push himself inside. Your eyes rolled back and you let out a moan as the head slipped in, and you clenched as the bulging shaft followed, stretching you painfully wide.

God, he was big.

He bottomed out, buried completely inside of you. You were soft and warm around him. He stilled, allowing you a moment in which you panted and spasmed around him, trying to acclimate to the sheer size of him. He was breathing heavily and you wondered briefly why. It didn't seem like he was doing it to make you comfortable, but more like... he couldn't help but pant.

"M-move. Please, move."

He pulled out, leaving only the tip of his cock inside, before he slowly buried himself deep once more. He set a steady, slow pace, and you were grateful. You had never taken anything so big, and you felt like you might break. You hurt with each thrust, stretching painfully, but your moans gave away the pleasure you were feeling. He crushed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, and his tongue snaked into your mouth a third time. The taste of him... god the taste of him. It made you wild. Feral.

He picked up the pace and you grimaced against the discomfort, but it quickly faded into bliss.

"Uuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." you moaned, long and low.

Your voice caught each time he thrust into you, breaking the word into pieces that got caught in his breath and fluttered away to swirl around the room like music.

"You feel incredible," he broke away just long enough to pant into your ear. "I should have done this sooner."

"Have you ever... nnnng... drank from someone... oh god... while they came?"

"I'm about to," he growled and sank his fangs deep into your neck just as his cock hit exactly the right button.

You came hard, clenching around him so hard it hurt. Your eyes rolled back, you arched up into him, you clawed at his back. He didn't stop thrusting, fucking you hard and fast through your orgasm as he drank deep. Your head spun as you came down. You tapped on his shoulder.

"S-stop... Gonna... Pass out..."

You felt the confliction in the muscles of his arms and chest as he struggled to let you go.

"Master..." your voice was barely a whisper.

Finally, he tore his mouth away from your neck and froze, gulping in deep breaths as he tried to calm himself.

"Master."

His head whipped around to look at you. You had never seen him like this before, so primal. So... monstrous. His eyes were wild, his hair was a mess, his lips were painted with your blood, and the tips of his wicked fangs were visible beneath his frown. You reached a hand up and stroked his cheek gently.

"Cum in me."

He didn't need you to tell him again. He buried his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his pace, hammering into you like a beast breeding its mate. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around him as he fucked you. Minutes passed... First five, then ten, then more. You came at least three more times before he was done. Finally, when you thought he was going to split you open, he pushed inside of you so deeply that you were scooted up on the desk.

The snarl that ripped from his throat was unlike any sound you had heard him make before. It was desperate. His cock throbbed aggressively inside of you as it released cum like a faucet. He filled you quickly, and you dug your nails into his back to help ground you as the sheer volume of his seed forced your insides to stretch. More minutes passed. Two. Three. The heat of his cum was bliss. Knowing that there was no way it was leaking out past his bulging manhood was ecstasy.

He thrusted as he began to come down, seemingly trying to get deeper, and with the heat of his seed, the throbbing of his cock, and the thrusting of his hips, you couldn't help but cum again. You nearly blacked out from the force of it.

After what seemed like an eternity, he relaxed on top of you, shaking. You went limp beneath him, allowing your arms to fall to your sides. Your bare chest heaved. You licked your lips, and he licked his.

"That was incredible," you panted.

He didn't smile, didn't chuckle. Instead, he pushed away from you, hooked his arms beneath your legs, and glared down at you with dark eyes. It was then that you realized he was still rock hard inside of you.

"I told you this would take hours."

Your eyes went wide as he began to thrust.

"I'm just getting started."

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

[honestsycrets]

querido ii: ¿estás bien? | outlaw!miguel o'hara

Chapter List

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | tripleshot(?); explicit

❛ summary | while miguel gathers gabriella, you have an unexpected visit from aaron. miguel doesn't take his visit well.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats, implied physical assault, implied molestation, miguel beating a bitch up, mention of alcohol and smoking, f!reader.

❛ sy's notes | a bit long but-- enjoy.

The path Gabriella took was traceable. He wove through the pass of battered grass with efficiency, passing by groups of grazing cattle until he came upon a small wooden barn. It was nestled just in the mouth of the forest. It was clumsily built and even more sloppily painted. Miguel had no doubt that it had to be Peter’s handiwork. It had that look about it, half done but done in love.

“Gabriella?” her name was clumsy on his tongue. Before today, he’d gotten no word of his daughter in smuggled letters from Peter. Didn’t even know you were pregnant. It made sense, after the accident, that he’d step up. That was the kinda man Peter was.

“Go away,” she sniffled between the fallen tears and snot, her sobbing loud and relentless. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Let me take you home, kid.”

“No.” she bit out. “I don’t know you.”

“You know your mama.”

“I don’ think I do,” she said.

“Yeah, well, that makes two’a us.” Crestfallen, Miguel set his back against the wood panneling, folding his broad arms one over the other. His head connected with the aged old wood, staring into the distance at your little house with its peeling paint and tall flowering trees. He takes a swig of his flask of booze, needing something to cut with the sudden reality that he was an instant father. A smoke would do, too.

He should have known his method of pulling out and praying would slip up one day. Apparently, that came sooner than he thought. If he searched his memories way back when, he might have remembered a time or two that he failed to pull out, your beautiful body riding him for all he was worth. All beat up, he was a sad sex partner, clinging underneath layers of your frilly dress to fuck up into you. Coño, that had to be it. A laugh slipped off his lips, empty of his typical sass and mirth.

“Came back to see my girl and end up a father, fancy that.”

“Your girl?” Gabriella said, in between her raw tears. “What’d you mean your girl?”

“Tu mamá. She was my girl. Met her as a cattle hand for her papá. Back when I used to do things right,” Miguel found himself explaining, turning his head over to the tiny window. He couldn’t help but remember the first time you caught his eye-- the day you dropped that ruby-red rebozo into a muddy puddle on the way back from church. Whirling off his newly broken horse, Miguel near flung himself off her saddle to pick it up. Gabriella shifted to look out the empty window at him. “Shoulda seen her then. She had this glimmer, used to bring me out burros no matter how hot it was.”

He remembers the many days sitting on the wooden gate, tearing tasteless dried meat until you came around. You slipped out of your mother’s schoolhouse without fail to bring him something to eat. He hated sopita days the most. You loved those days the most. Beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd eat it, smack on a smile. Listened with an annoyed grin to the other cattle hands when they teased him about having to drop his entire salary back on the man to get your hand in marriage. Like the asshole would give you to a sunburnt, down-in-the-dirt cowboy like him. If he'd known that, he would've just eloped before things got... messy.

“Mama likes sopita,” Gabriella said. At least she knew her mother. “I like frijoles and tortillas.”

Sencillo. She was a simple child. Miguel exhaled a plume of smoke, spotting a dark brown horse out in the distance. He wasn't sure, but it could be Aaron coming to bother you again. He swore that the man had come in earlier when Miguel was feeding Widow in the barn.

“Abuelo y mi tia were shot.” She stated. What'd you do?! She’s not moving! Miguel shook the memory free. Every time he remembered, he hoped he could forget. He brings his cigarette back to his lips as the little girl goes on. “That’s what mamá said. Then, the paper says you killed the sheriff. Real outlaw like!"

“That’s what they say,” he mumbled, finding his mind running.

The days of running from his thoughts were coming to a quick end. He’s traveled far and wide, never married-- though he had certain needs met. It never fit. No one’s body held the quiet calm of yours under his, your fingers dancing the expanse of his muscled back, your soft lips on his chapped ones. He just wanted to make it right, thinking there was nothing more to tie you down. Looking at the curious twinkle in his daughter’s big brown doe eyes, that was obviously wrong.

“Yeah, but did you do it?”

“Don’t think your mamá would appreciate me talking out of turn.” Miguel unfolded his arms, knowing that he already said too much. He doesn’t know how much of the event you’ve told her. It’s easy to want to tell her things, to be more honest, and to invite open conversation like a papá should. He let Peter handle it all for years.

“What about me?” she asked, curious. “Did’ja come back for me?”

“You?” Miguel peeped over. “I didn’t even know you were alive, kid. Besides that, you won’t even talk to me man to man.”

“Man to girl,” she pushed open the door and popped out with her hands square on her hips. She’s a little spitfire, standing there proudly, fractured in some beautiful way, through moments of grief. It still wears in her girlish eyes, but it's smoothed over some by Miguel’s presence. He suddenly has a terrible fear of letting her down. He caught the tail of a frown before it dissipated. She presented him with her hand.

“My papá’s gone, so you’ll just have to do.”

Great, he’s a second-rate father. He knows he’s no Peter, who could run off with the smallest joy a child had. He could make it seem like the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. Miguel has a cold demeanor, his aptitude in things outside gunfights is questionable, and he has a fat ass bounty on his head-- no doubt spearheaded by Aaron. The deaths were so old. The sheriff was another issue. Why else would he keep chasing him?

“I’ll try.”

He could do this. Whatever having a child entailed, he wanted to do it. To one day bring that smile to Gabriella’s lips. A smile warmed his hardened face as he took hers. It’s the only thing that a newfound father could wish for his daughter-- to be the source of her happiness.

By the time they trek back home, there is no sight of Aaron. Widow is tucked kindly in your barn, out of the sweltering sun that beat down her little face to keep her safe. They take the backdoor in.

“Mamá?” Gabriella stepped in first. Miguel followed after, his hand on his gun out of habit. Too many sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere, nights sleeping in caves and rocky ground. “Mamá, are you there?”

Your clothes are thrown over a wooden chair, forgotten. Your cleaning water is used and indicates that you cleaned up in their absence. Miguel stepped past a broken dish in the kitchen that Gabriella thought fell off on its own accord. He set the sherds on top of one another and continued on in his inspection of the kitchen.

“Oh, mama made pie!” Gabriella picked up the forgotten peach pie from the window and set it on the lace tablecloth that covered the table. Miguel promptly shut the window behind her. He recognized Peter’s old pistol on the table, still holstered up in your thigh wrapping. Night had fallen on the home. Had they been gone so long?

Something’s off-- Miguel decided.

“I’m upstairs,” you called from up the steps. Your voice sounded strained, suppressing something Miguel didn’t quite understand.

“Eat n’ bed,” he told Gabi.

"Can I eat the pie?"

"Eat what'cha want." He minded how she took the pie up to her room with a shake of his head. He wasn’t getting him any of that any time soon. He checked her room first, shooing her off with the awkwardest hug. Not on his part, but hers. She squeezed his waist the tightest she could before she disappeared inside.

On his last visit here, he hadn't gone into depth exploring the home. It was beautiful. Warmed by your touch with well-framed family portraits and knick-knacks he recognizes from a decade ago. It’s terribly domestic, but that’s the beauty of a lifestyle he is alien to. Miguel hovered before a wedding photo. Unlike the typical wedding photos he saw town to town, you were clearly pregnant behind that tight white dress. Peter was clearly grinning like the idiot he was. He draws his knuckles over the heavy wooden door with a silent knock. He doesn’t want to fall into a trap with his daughter next door.

“Adelante,” you whispered, inviting him in. He pushes the door apart.

There’s no sign of Aaron. You sat at a small vanity, combing your hair out with a hand-me-down brush. Your hair fell over a heavy welt on your cheek that wasn’t there hours ago. His eye trained on the bruise. For a few long moments, he was silent. He eventually clicks the door shut and takes several steps forward, peeling your tiny palm that obscures the heavy bruising on your cheekbone.

“Did you find her?”

“What happened?” he asked, plain and dry. No room for debate, no way to deflect. You turned your head to one side, stroking your nightgown for a semblance of comfort. He removed your hand and set it on your lap, his large hand tilting your face in gentle concern. You abandoned your brush on the vanity. The spot was hot and angry, burning with a blotchy color that painted your face in a watercolor of bruises. “Was it Aaron?”

“You saw him?” He met your eyes and kept his gaze steady and strong. That was his answer. You sighed. “It’s not important.”

“Did he put his hands on you? Did he-- touch you?”

Miguel knew how Aaron looked at you in the past. Even back then, married to your sister, his eyes always wandered to any pretty thing. It wasn’t enough that the rumors that spread were full of talk of Miguel and you, ever the hot topic at every dance he took you to. Not because it was unique but because your father had clear objections to the match. Aaron took his presence as a threat. Right now, it was.

“Did you find Gabi?”

“She’s safe in her room,” he cropped his words. “I want to talk about you.”

“Y yo no,” you looked away. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Mi amor,” Miguel brought his hand down, supporting your soft jaw in his hand. Miguel doesn’t beg, but he will this time. It was all he could do to make you tell the truth. To soothe the sick feeling in his gut, to make sure that you were well taken care of. In a surge of concern, Miguel tried to push the issue further. “Don’t shut me out.”

“You’ll get all worked up and that ain’t gonna do nothin’ but raise that bounty on your head.”

"So." It doesn't matter that you had a point. There was a warning hanging in his eyes-- he wouldn’t let it go. Not without an explanation first. It was impossible. "I already got a chunk of change on my head. What's one more gonna do?"

“He’s been pressing me to search the ranch for you every so often,” you admitted, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I left the front door open and he came on in while I was changing. I was about sick of it, querido, so I told him to go away. I guess… he didn’t like that much. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Miguel cut you off. That was closer to a version of the truth than he knew you wanted to admit. He knew you enough to know it wasn’t the full story. Miguel slipped onto his knees, his worn slacks scratching the floor beneath him. He held your hands in his, reminding himself not to lash out, throw something, or hit something for not being there. There was no outlet for his rage right then. He'd take it out on something later.

“He didn’t violate me if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Your lip pursed, struggled to make words that don’t hurt so much. Your tongue was fat in your mouth as you explained. “He just… grabbed on me a bit.”

Grabbed on you a bit? Miguel searched your fingers with an intent expression for an answer that made sense. You were being cryptic. He doesn’t particularly like weighing the options of what it could mean. He could have grabbed the door and forced his way in. He could have grabbed you and tried to force himself on you. The thought burned low in his stomach, simmering the need for revenge.

“What’d he grab?” he drew your name out in a soft, puff of a thing. Your fingers left his, smoothing over your nightgown again in an effort to soothe yourself. Your breath quickened, a clear signal that he was hitting his limit with you.

“I don’t--” you struggled. “I don’t want to talk about none of that. You just came back today, Gabi learned the truth, Peter-- I can’t do it. Can’t you let it go?”

He knew that the tears pricking your eyes weren’t over something like Peter’s death or the bite of dust in your eyes. Shame and embarrassment dangle before him, fueling his enmity with a man that he’d not run up against in many years. If anything were going to force him into action, it would be this.

“If that’s what you want, amor.”

He couldn’t let it go. But if it helped you relax, he’d just let you think he could. Miguel sprung up on two feet and kicked off his dark brown boots under your wooden vanity. He slipped off his suit jacket and vest before offering you his hand.

“I should… check on Gabi. She might be hungry.”

“She took up with that pie you made her. Menudo’s on the stove.”

“Pero… I should make sure she’s okay.”

“Amor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice terribly mild, but bore a seriousness that struck a cord in you. His words hung like the blade of a scythe, cutting through the strength you had to have day to day since Peter passed. First death. Now as Miguel suspected, a molestation?

No, you choked out, your face pale of its usual warmth. You didn’t fight as he brought you into bed, his hand underneath your neck to draw you close. He knew his smoky scent would reek the sheets, yet you did not seem to care, burrowing in the space between his neck. Your hand slipped underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt, curling in his chest hair. He caressed your back in soft circles.

“Miggy?”

“¿Sí, mi hermosa?”

“Make it better.”

Take care of it, he thought bitterly. That’s what you meant. Miguel slid his other large hand over the back of your neck, working you through the tears. The flood of your tears against his neck reminded him of how pathetic of a job he’d been doing, caring for his new little family, for you-- the woman he came to take away.

For this moment, he could only cradle your cheek and distract you with a salty kiss. He clumsily nudged his nose against yours to force you to pay attention to him. He probably tastes of booze, smoke, and a little bit of dried meat, but if he does, you don’t seem to mind it. Your lips shuddered, lips opening slightly to allow him to kiss you more fully. Your kiss held its own familiarity, a signal that he was home despite the years that passed.

“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you murmured against his lips. “I ain’t that strong.”

“You’re plenty strong. Got through a whole pregnancy without your man around, raised her up good.”

“I knew I was with child before you left,” you peered up. Emotions flickered there: a rush of anger, uncertainty, disappointment, most of all, sadness pooled in his eyes. “I just… I ain’t know how to tell you, what’d it change with papa not liking you the least bit after Lupe’s shooting.”

“I would’a wifed you up quick.”

Now-- what would he do? Miguel wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t be just Aaron who would come around the longer he spent in this town. Bounty hunters of all kinds would be breathing down his neck. There was no future for him here. The only alternative was to take his family out of this tiny town, carve out a new life elsewhere. Miguel brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

“I still would.”

Your cheeks are warm as they get, “Who’d marry an outlaw and a widow?”

“Someone out west that ain’t know about us.”

“There such a place?” you asked.

“'Course there is,” he assured you. “Think ‘bout it.”

You looked at him for a long time, considering if Miguel was telling you the truth, but he’s never lied before. Not where it counts. Miguel’s hand wandered, pulling your thigh over his, content with your consideration.

“Think that’d make me a bad mom, whisking my kid off to be with an outlaw, ain’t it?”

Miguel arched his brow at you, his eyes glossy and warm, teasing. In any other case, he might have agreed. But it was his child you cared for. He wasn’t about to abandon you— no way to make money, no way to take care of Gabriella but to remarry or sell off everything and try a life in the city. You liked rocking on a rocking chair at the end of the night, running through the wildflowers, and the taste of honey in the warmer months. You were no city girl.

“Ain’t like they don’t know whose kid it is.” Miguel laughed, a tuft of pride spilling into his words. “She look like she's mine.”

“Peter’d say that too.” The thought made you smile in a way you knew it shouldn’t. As good as a man Peter was, he brought up that fact the day you gave birth, when he abandoned the fields to be by your side. How we gonna hide this? He’d laugh. She ain’t look Anglo. She look just like Miguel. He always did say he hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. It was. Peter was a one-of-a-kind man. The memory brought a twinge of a smile to your face, looking over your marital bedroom. Speaking of others--

“Didn’t you meet other girls out there?”

Miguel forgets the kind of woman you were. A very jealous, terribly protective woman. He knew the question would come up eventually. You were a woman who loved to be the center of his world. Every man and woman wanted to be the only one in their lover’s eyes. He traveled the grassy roads for years and saw all there was to see. All types of women. Native women who lived on the land and slept in longhouses. Anglo women seemed to love to run their fingers down his swarthy skin but never considered bringing him home-- even if he wasn’t interested. Black women always fed him, even if they distrusted him a little. And, Hispanic women whose fathers did not like him prowling around their land. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't want someone like him for Gabi, either.

“I met my share.”

“And you still came back?”

“Yeah? I came back for you. What, you want me out?” Despite your brilliant, soft smile, your mind ran like you’d taken the first ticket on the railroad out of town. He knew what you were thinking. You were wondering how many women he’d been with, what they were like, what--

"You're so sassy," you teased. He slid on top of you, his fat belt buckle catching on your nightgown. His lips peppered gentle but scratchy kisses down the expanse of your neck. The soft bruising there reminded him of Aaron’s mistakes. He'd take care of that next.

“Miggy,” you giggled, tugging on his thick dark brown hair. “Stop it.”

“Todavía te amo,” he lifted off your neck enough to utter the words. Your cheeks flooded with an unfamiliar warmth. You'd not had someone to make your heart soar in a really long time. Your hand curled up his head, dipped along the curves of his face to his sharp jawline, and tugged him to look at you. He complied, a tilt in his head.

“I wanna see you naked. You’ve gotten so big,” you said. “Take off your clothes.”

Well-- he had to know that one was coming. Miguel suppressed a small snicker from leaving his chest as he pushed off the bed and brought his fingers against the buttons you hadn’t undone. You scooted up on the bed, dragged your gown over your knees, and watched him undress. He drew the shirt off his massive arms and threw it in on your chair. His skin was memorable, still as dark and swarthy as you remember, but cut in more defined musculature. You brought your nail to your lip, suckling on the nail as he threw you a half-lidded look.

“Well?” he hooked his thumbs onto his belt buckle, waving a little closer. “You're not saying anything.”

“You’re so big, querido.”

“Believe you already said that,” Miguel teased.

He knew he looked good. It was how he attracted so many different women. You twiddled your fingers to urge him closer. Something about you loosening his belt filled his belly with a distant excitement. He watched you unlatch the fat buckle and draw his belt free of the loops with a whirl of leather. He held his thick leather belt in one hand as your trembling hands came up to unbutton him. The firm fabric slid down over his hips, revealing nothing beneath but his hirsute legs and a flaccid cock that settled on a tuft of nearly black pubic hair. If he wasn't mistaken, you moistened your lips.

Selfishly, he wonders how many men you’ve been with since he ran off. He wouldn't have blamed you if you wanted to be with a hundred. He left you pregnant, without a family, and likely terrified.

“How long’s it been?” Miguel stepped out of what was left, standing there as naked as the first day he came into this world, exposed without his rifle or his handgun. Your cheeks flared with warmth, gliding a hand up his hip. “Since you've been with a man.”

“Eight years.”

He knew that Peter had no interest in you, and you had no interest in Peter. He was simply a good man doing what he thought was right. If not for Peter-- he’s not sure what would have become of you. Yet, illogically, he thought you could stomach to be with another man.

“You never been with another man?”

“I married Peter. I’d never do him like that,” you shook your head, inching your hand over his cock. After eight years, you deserved a good fucking. He can’t bring himself to force you into it, not after what you’ve been through tonight. He allows you to lead, milking his cock with your small hand. Your other crawls up to his scarred stomach, tracing the line of hair to his navel. There were countless scars on his body, never afraid to leap head first into a battle.

“I bet you had needs,” Miguel murmured. "You use your hand?"

“‘Course I did, Miggy. I’m a woman, ain’t I?” You looked up at him, your bruised face beautiful as it was. Despite what other men liked to say, that women ain’t need to do nothing but lay there and take them, Miguel knows better. His mind is full of distant memories of sex with one another. Sneaking out in the deep of night to fuck in the fields, snatching you midway through your chores to kiss and finger you in the barn, or exchanging the smallest of glances around town. "Now don't talk so nasty, Gabriella is right next door."

“Downstairs. Lemme take care of you,” Miguel found took your hand, lifting it away from his cock and forcing you to stand. You complied, following his hand that slipped between your legs, stroking up your thighs to your neglected core. He imagines that on nights like this, quiet and alone when Peter was on a cattle drive, you’d come into your bed just like this. Slip over your bed, stroke your long fingers over your puffy lips, maybe dip one inside, and think of him.

“What if she comes in?”

“She won’t.”

“But I don’t know how to--”

“Mujer. You don’t need to think of anything short of what I’m about to do to you.” Miguel lifted your nightgown up and off your body. Your hands snapped to your midsection, covering whatever it was that was so offensive.

"Stop that." Miguel tilted his head to the side, flicking your hands away from appreciating the sight of your belly, littered with softly discolored stretch marks.

“But I ain’t pretty no more,” you told him. “I got--”

“You got marks from bearing me a baby. I know. Now, hush up,” Miguel teased gently, the pads of his fingers swooping over the marks. They had gone silvery with age. Perhaps, he thinks, you thought you'd never be with a man. Now, you seem so suddenly self-conscious of the marks that litter your skin. He curved his hands around to squeeze your plush hips, flushing his body against yours. You felt his cock rub up against your belly, soft to the touch. Miguel's cock stiffened against your navel, a feeling that brought a crack of arousal through your core. You rubbed your thighs together for the friction. As relief pooled in your belly, Miguel seized your jaw to kiss you, his hands slapping your ass to force you to move. You shifted forward, crying out into his muscular chest. “I’m after a woman, not a girl. Get on all fours. It’s my turn to see you.”

You complied by sliding onto the bed, memories of what Miguel liked flooding your mind: chest against the sheets and ass up. Despite the very real concerns you had about his attraction, Miguel seemed no worse for wear when you looked over your shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grabbed your ass, massaged your cheeks between his palms, and separated your lips. He licked a long band up between your tender lips, enough to wrench free a soft gasp. He suckled on them with a wet pop, the puff of his lips musing hot air onto your cunt.

“That’s cute,” Miguel murmured, letting his palm come on your ass for a teasing slap. You groaned, the hot redness burned in a sweet and unfamiliar way. His lips began to moisten with your lubricant spilling over them, tasting of a woman he hadn’t had in too long. His tongue prodded at the entrance to your gentle hole, pushing in one of his thick digits. Your walls protested the intrusion, clamping over the foreign finger.

“Ah Miguel,” you curled your toes, his finger stretching you in preparation for his fat cock. “I ain’t sure I can take you.”

“Sure you can.” Miguel hummed, inserting another alongside the first. You were tight, that was for sure. He was sure that you hadn’t been with another man in years, just as you said. It made his cock leak to think of it-- your virginity was his, your child was his, and… now you’d be his again. He spat on your hole, his wet saliva squelching with your lubricant around his broad fingers as he entered your body. Your hips rutted back onto him, instantly making Miguel release a husky laugh. "Your pussy knows you can. Look'it eating me up."

"Por dios Miguel, don't talk like that." You stiffened around his fingers. His mouth had gotten nastier in his time away. He knows you like the way he worships you, finger flicking lightly over your walls, making sure to stretch you wide. Another slipped alongside the first, twisting his wrist for a deeper thrust, working you nice and loose, enjoying the gasps of decadent pleasure. Miguel whispered beautiful words of praise, remarking on how easily you took him, how well you'd be in only a few minutes. Your hands ruffled the sheets, cantering your hips back onto him. You needed his words, so tired after years of sexual frustration.

"That's it. Tell me you missed it," he fucked you a few more times before his rhythm would die off, leaving you empty of him. His hand shifted to your breasts, molding them between his big palms, waiting for an answer that sounded right.

"I missed you, Miggy."

Miguel momentarily paused. Then, he stepped up, the hair on his legs brushing your thighs as he mounted you. The blunt head of his cock nudged along your lips.

“I’ma fuck you now,” Miguel murmured into your ear, letting his chest rest on your own. He pushed into you. Your walls stretched with his long stroke, Miguel's face tightening up. He was seated against your cervix, pushed up as far as you would let him go. For all your whining about his language, the obscene cry that left your lips was loud. Loud enough that Miguel slapped his hand over your mouth. He hooked his thumb in your mouth, forcing you to suck him as he sped up his deep thrusts, pushing you closer to your limit.

“Just gorgeous, mi hermosa.” Miguel found himself grinding forth. The repetitive squeaking of the bed made what he was about to say real stupid like. “But you gotta be quiet. Gabi don’t need to know what we’re doin’.”

Your tongue coasted around his thumb, suckling him nice and wet. Your walls clamped back over him, unused to the feeling of having a man inside. Miguel found himself rutting against your cunt, his tightening balls slapping your ass as he moved. Again and again, Miguel set a soothing, quick rhythm, filling the emptiness from years ago.

He'd been with many women over the years. None felt so easy, so like home. He curses himself for not doing it sooner. Your fingers dipped between your bodies, filling the emptiness, and causing your pleasure to blossom under your fingers. Pleasure explodes in your core, battered by his frantic thrusts, and your mind goes over the edge into some distant land of warm pleasure. Your walls spasmed violently, and Miguel's gasps became thin, adjusting his hold on your hips under the clench of your muscles against his length. He holds onto his decency poorly, strain bundled in his brow.

“Could you-- inside?” you said between his thrusts, muffled by the fingers hooked in your moist mouth.

“I do that-- and-- you'll get pregnant,” you’re both older now, he wants to think wiser than being two stupid kids fucking one another without care. Not that his pull-out game was particularly great back then-- Miggy please, you cry his name out, a tone that is stretched sweetly thin, walls spasming tightly over his fat cock. He muffles a curse, his pace jagged and uneven, desperate.

“Please, I miss it,” you cry, a litany of please threatening his ability to be well-behaved. He never was good at that in the first place, never good at saying no. Miguel drags you onto his cock, complying with a groan that he didn’t mean to be quite so loud. Thick streams of cum fill your tight little hole, bubbling out around the site of your union. He rides out the tails of his orgasm, earning you desperate little snaps of his shaking hips.

“Ay dios,” Miguel came down from his high with a slap to your ass, ripping his other hand free from your mouth to comb through his hair. He didn’t just-- he did. Miguel threw a glance at you, your shy eyes hiding behind an embroidered pillow. “I came inside.”

Coño. Great. Just-- great.

“I can feel it,” you teased him. He was stressed out, seeing a stream of his cum dribbling out from your cunt. He didn’t even know how to take care of one. How was he going to take care of two? His eyes narrowed.

“You best pray that it don’t take.”

“Don’t think I control that, Miguel.”

He pieced himself together smoothly, failing to notice anything but the emptiness that settled in your chest. A sigh left his chest and Miguel would set a kiss on the top of your head, looking toward the clothes-covered chair. Your eyebrows drew together in the realization that Miguel did not intend to stay.

“Are you leaving already?” You whined, pulling his name out from somewhere deep and lonely. He knew what it was. He just fucked you-- and now, he was going to run off. “Where you off to?”

“I got something to do. I’ll be back another day.”

A frown marred your soft features, lips slapped shut. You pushed away the warm quilt and slipped below it with your head on pillows that still smelled of Peter. You took one, propped it under your arm, and hid your lovely face from view. Silence filled the suddenly stuffy room. Other women would whine and complain about his fuck-and-run attitude. He didn't usually care.

Miguel dropped his pants, drawing closer to look at you. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see an ounce of the grief in your watery eyes. Panic, embodied in sparks of anxiety, spilled down his chest. Filled his stomach full with a fear of aggravating your already damaged state.

“Hermosa…” he began, his voice tender and soft. He slipped behind your back, his fingers running across your waist. "What is it?"

“I’m-- I don’t want to be alone. I didn’t want you to go,” you stammered into the pillow, blinking back tears that fell so readily. You didn't want to say what happened, but you needed his comfort more than sex. Your words were heavy, hard to make out, almost as if you were suffocating. “Not so soon.”

“Then I stay,” he said, husky and soft.

“You’ll stay?”

His muscular arms bunched around your waist as he set a kiss on the top of your head. He was careful, sliding you away from the hunched position on your bed onto his chest. He’d stay if that was what you wanted. Not permanently. He could never afford you such a promise here, where many a man had 2099 reasons to chase him down. You were his reason to stay, to keep you safe. The other slept next door. Or, he hoped she was sleeping.

“For tonight.”

He forgot what this felt like, the ability to stay in bed with someone you cared for, no pressure to run. Miguel was disheartened without his gun in arms reach, instead combing his fingers through your hair, watching the moon draw overhead. At some point, your breath faded into a gentle rise and drop in your chest to the tune of the whistling wind against the side of your home.

He found himself awake for minutes after, focusing on the bright moon multiple times that night, her embrace cool and welcoming. The constellations pale in comparison to the bright light that streamed into the room. He could almost imagine doing this every day, in another world, where his head wasn’t on a wanted flyer in your biblia. Sleep claimed him, restful and horrible, and hours passed.

The gun was hot. Miguel's fingers trembled, wrapped around the grip of his mother's old gun. "Lupe! Miguel, oh glory, Miguel what did you do?" He hears your distant scream, the desperation rooted in your voice. There was a pool of blood by his feet, dripping out from a woman who gave him nothing but grief.

"What I had to," As much as he'd tell you that killing her, rather than wounding her, was wholly an accident, he knew it wasn't. It was another something he had to do. He knew the next something would be your father wielding that ancient rifle and putting a claim on his head.

Shit. He wakes with a start. Miguel soothes the bags under his eyes. Not a day had gone past that he had good dreams-- less so when he was in a proper bed with a woman. Not any woman, but his woman. You're dead asleep against his chest, his arm having long since gone numb. Still as beautiful as hours ago, blissed out and well fucked, the bruising on your face reminds him that he has shit to do.

There is little disrespect like the disrespect of a man molesting your love, the mother of your child. But you don’t want a body from him. So he would be gentle with this, unpeeling himself from your warmth and striding into town while the moon still howled in the sky, knowing where a useless scum bag like Aaron Delgado would be. He’d be drinking up, his liver fat and useless.

The saloon was still somehow rowdy, stuffed to the brim with men who sought relief from family life and women who knew the easiest way to make a buck off pretty lies. Popping into the saloon was stepping back into his usual life, one of little value other than the skills it gave him. Namely, his hand hooked around the gun.

“Hey handsome,” a maid cooed, trying to call his attention. But he’s not focused on the breasts in his face as he veered past, pushing through groups of standing men. He came up behind Aaron, who was dead asleep on the bar. It never failed that he looked sloppy, his booze soaking his ruffled shirt.

“What can I get you?” the barman said.

Miguel gripped Aaron’s collar and what little hair wasn’t balding, lifting and cracking the man’s head hard on the bar. Aaron may not have been awake before but he was sure now, blinking the stars out of his eyes.

“The hell!”

The sound of feet against the squeaky old floor marked the rush of steps out of the bar. Miguel kicked Aaron’s bar seat out from underneath him, sending him careening onto the floor with a heavy thump.

“Miguel?” he snapped, bright-eyed, eyes trained on Aaron. Aaron snapped his hand to his hip. Miguel leveled his gun at Aaron, threatening him to touch it, just try. Blood flowed free from Aaron’s nose. He pushed it away with the back of his hand, smug smile like he knew Miguel would show up.

“It is you. I knew you’d be around.”

That's him. Some stragglers, friends of Aaron’s no doubt, lurched forward. Miguel shot into the ground by Aaron’s hip as a warning. It burst into the floor with a booming pop. He had no qualms about making double murder a triple, quadruple if he had to. Aaron pushed himself onto one arm. Miguel’s foot connected with Aaron’s ribs, sending him soaring across the floor. He connected with an aged piano, a bundle of keys singing under the small man who stumbled past Aaron's poor, shitty friends.

“C’mon,” Aaron pushed himself up on his palms. "Kicking a man while he's down?"

“You didn't think twice about breaking in and hitting my woman."

Miguel knelt down, checking the urge to blow his face off, but not now. Not while you had a stake in this shit of a town. Aaron's face quivered, what little friends he had gossiping in and among one another, others slipping the fuck out. Aaron has nothing useful to say.

"You so much as think of touching my woman again and you won’t be so much as crawling out of here. The undertaker be putting you under, you hear?"

“Gimme a break. What I did was nothing compared to what you did to Lupe."

"Don't you fuckin' dare bring her up."

"I just touched on her. You killed my wife. She felt mighty nice, Miguel, bet you’re mighty proud--”

Miguel considers himself good up til that point, walloping the butt of his gun across Aaron’s face to force compliance. Once, twice, maybe three times. After the third, he lost the thin hold he had on his control. He just knows it's enough to where the bruises that formed on his face would make yours seem like gentle love taps. He beats the man bloody and slips out to the sound of calls for Sherriff Morales.

He never was good at handling disrespect.

[officialabortive]

Bull hybrid! Bakugou

x

Cow hybrid! reader

Bull!Bakugou had been gone for about an hour now. You hadn't seen him since earlier this morning, when he was being loaded in to the trailer. He had made quite the scene, haphazardly swinging his horns and kicking at the group of farmers that tried to get him in.

Usually you would be trying your best to get to the blond, aiding him to the best of your abilities. But not this time. As much as it hurt to see him struggling against the farmhands, it was best to stay put. Even though your mind was screaming at you to go and comfort Katsuki, knowing he despised being taken to "that fucking hell hole" as he called it, it was for his own good.

Thinking about it now, you slightly regretted not doing anything to help. Not even attempting to be at his side in the moment. But there was no sense in wallowing in the past.

The day prior, you had overhead some of the farmhands talking amongst themselves as they put out the cattle feed. They were going back and forth on who should "it". You didn't know what "it" was and weren't exactly interested in finding out. That was until one of them said "com'on man! I dont want'a take bakugou to the vet, you know how difficult he is to deal with!" Now that caught your attention. Should you share the news? As much as you hated hiding things from your beloved herd member, you didn't want to rile him up with the information. He would find out soon enough anyway.

Now, after waiting so long, the truck and trailer had finaly returned. You hurried over as they slowly pulled in to the pasture, being careful not to let any cattle out in the process.

Violent banging was heard from inside the trailer, so aggressive that it visibly shook.

Bakugou waisted no time getting out once the door swung open at long last, instantly bolting out onto the open grass. You took long strides in attempt to catch up.

Something was off. Usually, he would head toward the area most of the herd grazed upon to make sure no incidents occurred in his absence. He didn't even seem to notice you so eagerly in his pursuit, when at any other time would be well aware of any presence in the vicinity.

Only once he gradually comes to a stop, does Katsuki notice you panting behind him. His next moves were swift. Instantaneously wrapping a firm arm around you to - albeit not so gently - pull you down with him as he sat, forcing you to sit on his lap. Now both arms firmly wrapped themselves around your torso, squeezing the skin beneath his fingers. With your back pressed against him, you could feel the movement of his chest as he let out a huff.

"Did something happen at the vet?"

another huff

Recognizing he didn't want too talk, you both stayed silent. Relishing in the gentle breeze that swayed tree branches rich with luscious leaves, the birds whistling out for one another, and the warmth radiating off of your favorite bull on to your back as you leaned in to him. It was peaceful, calming.

"Turn your ass around"

"What?"

"I said fucking turn around "

You shift positions to do as he said, needing to tilt your head up to look up at him.

Oh

Smack dab in the center of his scowling face was a pristine new silver nose ring. It sat snugly in his septum, looking rather small on such a big bull.

"Ohh Katsuki..."

Chosing not to acknowledge your words, he angrily grumbled while glaring at the ground. It wouldn't be suprising if the grass burst into flames right then and there at the heat of his gaze. But looking at the ground rendered him unable to see the adoring look on your face.

"You look so handsome! Oh Katsuk, it suits you so well, I love it"

He went still in his spot at your words, too many thoughts going through his head at once. What? You like it? Are you just saying that to make him feel better?

"Don't even try fuck with me damn it!"

Now it all made sense, why he was so upset. He was suddenly given a piercing he didn't want out of the blue and was insecure about it. Dare you say, he was embarrassed.

"No, I'm serious" he finaly looked you in the eye. "It's quite nice on you. It actually... well, it makes you look even more assertive, powerful."

The few words of affirmation went right to his head. It's amazing how fast someone could go from sulking to smug as hell. He now wore a cocky smirk and slightly puffed his chest in pride.

'He's such a child'

Masterlist

[acti-veg]

hello, if you have time please could you respond to the Guardian article "If you want to save the world, veganism isn’t the answer"? thank you

Ahhh, her again. She does the same thing here as she always does, comparing realistic arable farming solutions to idealised animal agriculture which exists almost nowhere, and is how a vanishingly small minority of anyone’s meat, dairy and eggs are being produced.

She raises points that we are largely all already aware of, that crop farming can be harmful too, which of course also includes the crops that farmed animals are fed on. She touts the old fantasies of 'regenerative grazing' which is a contradiction in terms that has debunked many times over, perhaps most thoroughly in this report.

I think the best response though, is one from George Monbiot in his excellent book Regenesis: Feeding the World Without Devouring the Planet. Monbiot knows Isabella Tree personally, and has done the maths on her own farm:

"Only when livestock numbers fall so far that their husbandry scarcely qualifies as food production is animal farming compatible with a rich, functional ecosystem. For example, the Knepp Wildland project, run by my friends Isabella Tree and Charlie Burrell, where small herds of cattle and pigs roam freely across a large estate, is often cited as an example of how meat and wildlife and can be reconciled (..)"

"If their system were to be rolled out across 10 per cent of the UK’s farmland, and if, as it’s champions propose, we obtained our meat this way, it would furnish each of the people of the United Kingdom with 420 grams per head, enough for around three meals. This means a 99.5 per cent cut in our consumption (…) If all the farmland in the U.K. were managed this way, it would provide us with 75kcal per day (one thirteenth of our requirement) in the form of meat, and nothing else."

As you can see, this is pure fantasy. People point to examples like these despite them being almost unworkable at any kind of scale, and even in these idyllic, thoroughly unrealistic examples, animals are still being bred, exploited and killed unnecessarily.

Yes, plant agriculture has an impact too, but it is far more sustainable and less resource intensive, producing more food using less land. Even if you ignore animal rights entirely (as Tree always does), plant agriculture and alternative proteins are just objectively a better way to feed our population, which ever way you spin it.

[blyth-me]

while you were sleeping: william h. bonney

Summary: Billy comes home for the first time in weeks to see you asleep in your bed. He knows it's wrong, but he just missed you so much...

Warnings: NSFW SMUT 18+, gun briefly mentioned, somnophilia, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cursing, basically porn with a plot

SMUT 18+ MDNI! IF I CANNOT SEE YOUR AGE, DO NOT INTERACT. ALL MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: Just a short Billy idea I've had rotting in my drafts! Please enjoy! This is unedited.

masterlist

Billy has always been loyal. He'll do anything for the people he loves. Anything. Especially for you. All you've ever asked is that he comes home safe when he comes home and that he stays out of trouble, but since trouble finds him, he just comes home safe.

When he sneaks into your house dirty, tired, and adrenaline fueled, he wants nothing more than to find you and see if you're awake. It's been weeks since he's seen you. He's been out rustling cattle with Jesse and keeping a low profile, but when everyone was asleep under the stars, all he could think about was you.

His mind drifted to your laugh and the way you talk to him all sweet when he's with you. Then it drifted to your smile and your soft lips and just how good it feels to kiss you. He thought about the little noises you make when things get more intense and how he loves to watch you lose yourself in his touch whenever he gives it to you. And now, he's snuck into your bedroom, looking at your peaceful, sleeping body.

Your hair is braided back to keep you cool and your lips are slightly parted as you breathe steadily, blissfully unaware of your lover's presence. Your sleep dress rides up on your thighs and it's apparent that you've been moving in your sleep. You're perfect.

Billy carefully takes off his boots and hangs his hat at the edge of your bed. He puts his gun on the floor and unbuckles his belt. He lays next to you on your bed and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his body. You stir only slightly and he exhales in relief, not wanting to wake you.

He tucks some hair behind your ear and kisses your neck and shoulder. Your body and skin are so soft and he knows he should stop, but he just missed you so much. Billy gently grazes his hand over your breasts and sighs against your neck as he toys with them. You shift against him in your sleep, brushing his hardening cock just right as he groans and moves his hand between your legs. It takes some maneuvering to get below your dress, but when he does, he allows his fingers to rub over the fabric of your panties before slipping them inside you. You're so wet for him even in your sleep as he stretches you out. Just because you're dreaming doesn't mean he isn't going to prep his precious girl to take all of him first.

When he deems you ready, he takes off his pants and gives himself a few pumps. The thought once again crosses his mind to wake you up and slow down, but he's just too hard and too needy to care. He kisses your neck again and slides your panties to the side, slipping in and gently biting your shoulder to muffle a groan. His hand flies to squeeze your hip as he holds your sleeping body against his, your back against his chest as he carefully keeps you on your side so as not to disturb your rest. Billy allows himself to savor the feeling of your silky, tight, wet walls a moment longer before moving.

He starts to move slowly, enjoying the drag of his cock inside you. He missed you so much. You look so innocent when you sleep and it's turning him on even more as he kisses your neck and ear, breathing heavily against your skin. It doesn't take long for you to whimper in your sleep, eventually waking to the feeling of Billy buried deep inside you.

"Hey sweet girl." he pants. "Does it feel good?"

His voice is hoarse in your ear as you nod and whimper as he pauses his movements, leaving his hard length pressed against your cervix. He squeezes your hip and waits for an answer. You should be horrified, yelling at him to get out, but he's stretching your walls just right and the angle in perfect.

"Yeah honey." You say shakily. "Feels so good."

Billy smirks against your skin and moves your leg up so he can get even deeper as he moves again, earning a moan from you.

"Missed you so much, darlin'." He grunts. "Couldn't- fuck- couldn't stay away anymore."

"Billy..." You gasp as he reaches his hand back up to your breasts.

"You're such a pretty sleeper," He starts to thrust a bit faster, smirking as your head tips back against his shoulder. "couldn't help myself."

Your eyes flutter closed as he hits the perfect spot over and over. Moans and sighs tumble past your lips at the feeling. He's so lost in your body that his movements are desperate and erratic. You hold on to his arm that's reaching across your chest as you feel the warmth in your belly growing.

"Billy... " you whine. "I'm so close already."

"Me too, honey. You gonna let me fill you up?"

"Mhm..." you moan lazily in response. The thought alone of Billy's cum coating your walls makes you flutter around him.

Billy moans and chuckles, reaching between your legs to rub your clit. You cry out his name and turn your head to kiss him desperately as you feel yourself teetering on the edge. Your lips stay close to his as you moan out, feeling his hot breaths against your cheek. Billy pulls your leg further back and kneads the flesh of your thigh.

"Come on, darlin', let it go for me. I'm right behind you." he encourages against your lips.

With a few more deep thrusts, you're shaking and cumming hard around him, gripping onto his arm to steady yourself. You feel dizzy and shaky and so fucking good when you finish. Billy thinks it's the best thing he'll ever see and he finishes soon after, cock twitching inside you as he pumps you full of his seed. He gives a last teasing brush to your clit, making you whimper out as he kisses you and pulls you close.

"You were so good for me, precious. Makes me wanna come back and do it again tomorrow."

You look up at his still dark eyes and smile. The both of you laugh together as he kisses your forehead.

"I missed you so much, Billy." you whisper, sighing as he pulls out and gently lays you on your back. "You've gotta stop going away for so long."

Billy nods in agreement as he strokes your cheek.

"I'll be gone again in the morning..." he says, noticing you pout. "but that doesn't mean we can't have some more fun before the I go, does it?"

You smile and shake your head as he slots himself between your thighs, aching for more until the sun comes up.

[tigreblvnc]

NSFW BLUE LOCK OPTION* MATCHUP EXCHANGE — @lumiambrose *Pick the character of your choice!

— Itoshi Sae

We all know that Sae isn’t the sweetest man on earth. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. We don’t know much about his private life. We don’t know much about his life at all.

Thanks to Shidou, we at least know that Sae has an Instagram account. That said, it's a safe bet that it’s not even him who replies to his fans’ messages -- his manager probably handles the annoying stuff. But did you know that Sae has various other apps on his phone?

Yeah, there’s this one in particular. Hidden in a folder. Inside another folder.

Because some things must be kept secret.

"9 am. Be ready."

The message makes you skip a heartbeat.

Sae.

It was rare to receive a sign of life from him. It was even rarer for him to be the first to initiate a meeting. Before his return to Japan, he had sent you a date. An address. A hotel room number. A way to dress. Sae was not usually the kind of man to worry about details, as everything was easy for him. But for certain things, certain, very, very precise things, he could appear as the biggest control freak this earth has ever known.

And here you are behind door 1010. Facing the bay window overlooking Tokyo, you wear the delicate silk. It hugs your contours, feels like a skin of paradise on your warm epidermis.

Someone enters without knocking. You don't need to ask who. You turn towards the entrance, the manifestation of life that blossoms at your voice. There is so much to say, so much to ask. But only one chance, only one possible attempt.

"...Sae."

It's the only word that manages to cross your lips. The one with magenta hair advances. Your eyes rest on the suitcase he brings with him.

"The trip went well?" you ask, almost in a tone of confidence. "It went."

The case of his personal effects is left near the coffee table. Sae doesn't have much time, and you know it. When his gaze, cold as frost, clashes with your eyes, you swallow. He advances. His step is slow. Unbearable and devouring.

"We're going to do this quickly." "Don't hold back."

There was no fear. Only an agreement between two written messages. Between long sinuous discussions, sometimes interspersed with long silences. It was the time it took for Sae's hunger to grow.

"Get on the bed."

And your silhouette lay on the dune of sheets, satin threads draping over the curve of your thighs. Your view opened onto the cracks in the ceiling, and soon, wine-colored locks entered your field of vision. Sae did not lie down. He never actually lay down next to someone. Even after surrender, he would roll to the side, seeming to return to a state of solitude that could not be tamed.

His hand moves closer. Closer still. Until it traces the delicate hollows of your clavicles. He brushed away the brown strands to reveal your neckline. It was the place he loved to mark the most.

"One day. Your name. Right here... Just three little letters." you say with a teasing smile.

And you stuck out your tongue playfully as your body intertwined with the covers again. A snort escaped Sae. His movements stopped.

"Do you think that's how I brand my cattle? So vulgarly?"

The frown lines appeared at the crossing of his eyebrows.

"Hmm. Maybe... No?" you puffed out your cheeks in mock displeasure.

His fingers paused at the height of your jugular. Seemed to consider the warmth pulsing under the thick vein. The heat attracted Sae. He always seemed cold.

So cold.

"So? Still not determined to rip my clothes off? I thought we were going to do this quickly..." your sing-song voice resonated in Sae's ears, whose neutral expression hadn't changed. "Or maybe you didn't miss me that much... Hm?"

"Shut up."

His tone grazed your skin as his hand settled on your throat to silence the music. Gradually his back lost height, and his shadow swallowed you. The heaviness of his breath crashed into your eardrum.

"You talk too much."

And then your arms encircled him in a sudden embrace.

"...I missed you." you murmur. "Don't touch me." "Then touch me."

Your knees lifted, brushing his sides then the bridge of his ribs that opened under the sports jacket. Gradually, the cage of your thighs closed around his hips.

"Two years weren't enough to calm you down." his breathing was heavy. "An eternity wouldn't." "Then I'll have to teach you."

His weight pressed against your chest, plunging your intertwined silhouettes into the hollow of the duvet. He insinuated himself into every corner of you, his breath heavy, as if he would never fully surrender to anyone. Your silent giggle got lost in his ear, and already you could feel your decency being stripped away, lower down. The cotton slid, outlining the shape of a knee and then an ankle, until it abandoned itself on the floor. Something else moved, seeking its way. The budding fire drew a wider smile from you. Every time you tried to grasp that sculpted back, Sae pushed you away, grabbing arms and then wrists to anchor them to the seams of the mattress.

"Don't move." "Or what?"

His response came quickly as his mouth lunged at your neckline, searching for the vein to pierce. Canines sank into flesh, eliciting a jolt of surprise as your back arched. His kisses tasted raw, like a sharp blade piercing your skin.

"Sae..."

The blaze of his growls scorched your skin as he anchored himself, knees planted on the bed, looming over your exposed vulnerability. He devoured the carotid, slid down to the hollow of your neck, and then began at the rise of your chest. His hunger pushed aside the fabric, his ravenous appetite seeped into the cradle of your breath, where your heart filled with love for him.

Since they could do nothing under the weight that pinned them to the bed, your fists closed on emptiness, yet aching to tangle in the magenta locks that bowed over you.

Instinctively, everything in you gradually unraveled to make way. Sae felt it and approached closer to the gates, a blind struggle with his own walls to lower what kept his fury sealed.

He didn't wait. He asked nothing. He simply entered.

Even in this room, where two years of silence had passed Sae entered without announcing himself.

There was something electrifying in the force he used to cross. Everything inside you tightened to trap the intruder. Finally, your fists escaped his authority and seized sides and back. His body leaned forward as he advanced. The shape of his desire pressed against the thin skin of your belly. When he was buried deep inside, his lips parted, and a torrent of growls finally erupted. Nestled on the edge of your neck he swore.

And the tide began. The wave was slow and then faster. Your velvet embraced his contours, tracing the veins that surged and receded.

The waltz lasted a time that seemed so short, so infinite. The heart, a drum with a dissonant beat under the halts of pleasure, threatened soon to explode. It took waiting for the man to reach his climax to finally release the crescendo and let the fire out. When the cry of surrender pierced Sae's voice, you too celebrated, your euphoria spilling over.

Then the sea became calm again, and Sae went down like the tide.

The effort and the heat were pearling on his forehead, his temples.

And yet, facing the retreat, you raised yourself on your elbows, vestiges of euphoria oozing from your skin.

"Don't run from me." your voice made its way to him. "You know, with me, you can let go."

You couldn't see his face.

And his face emerged from the dunes, his gaze, emerald and striking, darkened.

"On your belly. Now."

A word about your match: It's a completely new format I used for this one. It's also the very first time I write an OS on this blog, it took a bit more time than expected. Hope you enjoyed it and that was understandable!

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | INTERESTED IN A MATCHUP EXCHANGE? CHECK THIS.

[crowandmousewritingco]

Safe with You

Pairing: Silva x male!reader

Words: 1 k

Rating: G

Summary: Silva gets a little sappy with you.

Author: Mod Mouse

Notes: I've been working hard on my Kinktober entries so I thought it would be nice to have small little drabbles to post as we get closer to October. Plus I wanted an excuse to write for this lovely cowboy. I used fluff prompts from @voidfxndoms specifically #28. Thank you for the wonderful prompts!

Life has moved quickly for you in the last year. You were a roaming rider for the Pony Express, seeing the West from the back of your faithful horse. It was nice for a time seeing the rolling hills and hot deserts throughout this vast country. But as time went on, the more you realized how much you hated how temporary everywhere felt. One day you would be delivering a letter to somewhere in California, and the next week you find yourself sleeping under stars in the New Mexico territory. Finally you decided that enough was enough. You would find something more stable than delivering mail. 

When the next town rolled around, you hung up your mail bag and scanned the “Help Wanted” sign in the middle of town. Lucky for you there was a job that was just up your alley. “Horse hand needed for long term ranch help.” You made sure to keep that information in your mind as you made your way out of town as the instruction indicated. 

That was when you met Silva. You remember riding into his ranch where he was outside tending to his cattle herds. The clomping of horse hooves had Silva glancing up from his favorite steers. After exchanging words and experiences, Silva deemed you more than capable for the position. From that moment on, you were ensnared in Silva’s world. 

Silva was impressed with how you were with the horses. You learned their quirks quickly and learned what made them tick. He had to admit to himself that he was starting to find that quality about you attractive. But he always kept those thoughts inside his heart for a multitude of reasons. And it would have stayed that way if it wasn’t for one night. 

A rich ranger was in search of a mare for his stud and wound up finding your ranch through word of mouth. You worked with him and soon he had a healthy foal on his hands. He had liked your service so well that he threw in a bottle of locally made wine after the birth. 

That night you and Silva indulged in the gifted booze, celebrating a job well done. The two of you ended up indulging just a little too much and soon all of your inhibitions were out the door. Hours of kissing and other such activities kept you up ‘till all hours of the night. 

Of course the morning came and when he realized that you had shared a bed that night, he profusely apologized for his drunkenness and his forwardness. Unbeknownst to him you did rather enjoy last night, and you stopped his excuses with another non drunken kiss. From there you two grew close bringing both the ranch and your relationship into a new era. 

Five years later and you two had fallen into a nice daily routine. You rose with the sun every morning, giving each other a good morning kiss to start the day off right. It was washing up then a nice breakfast made by you to make sure you had plenty of energy to complete your tasks– You to the stables to feed the horses, and Silva to the fields to tend to let the cattle out to graze. 

And it was one of those days you found yourself in today. You were inside preparing a quick but filling lunch. You were busy cutting up the fresh batch of bread and meat you bought on your last ride into town that you didn’t hear Silva slip in through the backdoor. It was only when a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush with his rugged torso, did you notice his presence.  

You sighed and gently caressed his well worked knuckles as he planted soft kisses on your clothed shoulder. Looking over your shoulder with a small smirk. “Well hello to you too.” You chuckled and kissed his bearded cheek, savoring his touch. 

“You know I was thinking,” Silva remarked. 

“That’s dangerous,” You teased and Silva squeezed your sides sending you into a fit of giggles. “Okay okay I surrender.” Once you got your breath back, you asked. “What were you thinking?” 

“Just how safe you’ve made me feel,” He said, leaning his head against yours. A small smile graced his lips. 

You grinned softly taking in his affection. “What’s brought all this on?” You asked, turning so you could face your love. 

Silva’s rugged hands stayed on your waist gently caressing the material with his thumb. His dark eyes gazed into yours. “Just spending so much time as a hired hand well ya get people comin’ after you. And since you got here I haven't had to shoot for a living.” He reached up one of his hands to cup your cheek. 

A heat flushed your cheek and you cupped your hand over his. The heat of his skin fills you with a familiar warmth. “I can’t take all the credit. You put a lot of effort into this ranch making it what it is today.” 

“But if it weren’t for ya…well I was about to give up on this place until you rode into my neck of the desert.”  

You leaned your cheek into his palm nuzzling against his skin gently. “I guess we found each other at the right time.” 

Silva smiled and kissed your forehead, pausing to revel in your touch. “I guess we did.” Time stilled as you took in each other. The lines on Silva’s face, the sprinkle of sun that covered his cheeks and nose, the graying tufts of hair that lined his beard; all of these aspects made Silva, Silva, and together made that man you fell in love with. 

The two of you bask in your love, until Silva broke the silence.  “Now let's get some food in us, so we can finish that order,” Silva said as he gave your waist a playful couple of taps. 

You chuckled and turned back to the cutting board. The sounds of the kitchen continued, slicing and clinking of dishware filling the room. Setting the assembled sandwiches on a serving tray, you brought over the food to the table. Each of you took a slice and began to eat, conversing here and there. Domesticity felt nice with Silva.

All Works Taglist

@for-a-longlongtime @romanarose

Pedro Character Taglist

@littlemisspascal @burntheedges

@carusolikey @thebeldroramscal

@morallyinept @lady-bess

@pedrostories @rivnedell

@pascalsanctuary @readingiskeepingmegoing

Thanks to the lovely @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the dividers