#cowboy jeans brands

[bpinheiro18]

My rodeo girl jeans must have country jeans

This blog about rodeo girl jeans contains Affiliate links, I will receive a commission if you make a purchase through my affiliate links at no extra cost to you! For more tips & tricks follow me on Instagram Bryttany_Pinheiro I am one that loves Snug comfort, classic to distressed styles..If you’re anything like me, you know that finding the perfect pair of country jeans is like striking…

[nopeferatu]

so based on the little exchange i had w @maelstroem-of-love in regards to the western shirt snaps post, i got rly curious about whether or not jack and ennis could be seen wearing snaps throughout the movie, and

they sure are!! in the first pic, ennis' shirt even has sawtooth-shaped pockets, a staple of traditional westernwear. love all the detail that went into costuming this movie!

[timmurleyart]

Twinkie the kid (allowed one frozen in lunch box to camp)🥾🧁🧡

[pinkhoodi]

saddle up !

✎ᝰ — dc boys as cowboys

♡⃕ — dick grayson, jason todd, wally west x reader

♡⃕ — genre + warnings: fluff & me not tryna go crazy with jason….

♡⃕ — a/n: the entire time I’ve wrote this, I’ve been thinking about cowboy wally with a sleeper build 😵‍💫. its 4 am and I wanna see wally in a fitted white shirt….

꒰ DICK GRAYSON ꒱

Ꮺ COWBOY DICK GRAYSON COWBOY DICK GRAYSON COWBOY DICK GRAYSON- my bad…imma calm down

Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who has the girls swooning at his lil accent. his accent is the lightest out of all three boys, think of something mixed with texas with a very light midwest accent. however, it is heavier when he says certain words or when he becomes angry and raises his voice

Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who has jet black strands blowing as he pushes them away from his face. his hair that glide against his shoulders as he takes off his cowboy hat. the slight curly strands blow into the wind, having him look like something out of a novella. it doesn’t help that he has it shaped somewhat in a mullet cause he thinks long hair and mullet catches women the most and he’s not wrong

Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who is built so so beautifully, you would’ve thought he descended from heaven itself. he stands at 5’10, has broad shoulders with biceps that he flexes without even trying, dark-ish, but noticeable, blue eyes that also have the girls swooning his way. loves to get tattoos left and right, every other month he’s at the parlor getting another tattoo…fien

Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who keeps his looks up mostly for the women. I’m not joking, he thrives on the attention of women, and he can never get enough of it. he never denies a photo opp, an autograph, anything his fan girls want, he’ll give them. soemtime’s he’ll give them a lil somethin extra ;)

Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who, at competitions, sometimes goes shirtless at a competition. if it’s a competition where he gets down and dirty, or in his heart, it’s a serious one and requires more focus, he’ll take his shirt off. one, it signals his fans that this competition is not to be played with, and two, it feeds his ego when girls are going crazy. let’s not be shocked, it’s grayson

Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who brings his voice to a deeper octave and laces his voice with a deeper tone to his voice when he says your name. he delights in the way your name rolls off his tongue, it’s something so alluring, something that he wanna says 24/7, and he has, he can’t help it

Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who likes to add a lil bling to what he wears. he likes to rock a new necklace, some iced out chains, a nice watch from those luxury brands that are hard to pronounce, he likes flaunting his wealth soemtimes. he doesn’t do it often, but he does, he keeps it subtle

Ꮺ cowboy!dick grayson who, on his off days from competiton, he’s a model. his pretty boy face has landed him on the cover of many commercials, magazines, and numerous amounts of ads for men's cologne, his favortie thing to model for

꒰ JASON TODD ꒱

Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who does not play anyyyy games when it comes to his competitions, he knows what he has to do and he is only determined to do just as he is needed. he’s not really into fanservice, however, he won’t turn a good time for a fangirl

Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who has the thickest accent out of all three !!! I’ve said this multiple times but jason’s accent is sooooooo thick and you can tell he’s a native from his vocabulary. also, he differentiates how he talks to women and men; no matter who you are, he talks to women with more politeness and respect than he does around men. especially with older women, he’ll keep all his cursing to a minimum, out of respectability ofc

Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who is the biggest and strongest out of the three. though, he and wally are the same height, he is much bulkier than wally. everything about him is enormous, and I mean enormous, starting from his biceps that flex when he’s working in his shop to his quads that sometimes poke in his jeans. his chest that has a lining whenever he wears casual clothing or pokes through when he leaves a few buttons unbottoned

Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who has a bit of a mustache, a few tattoos, and a couple piercings. he once studied tattoos before getting his first and learned the best placements for each tattoo he owns. he has a lot of niche ones, a couple of typical cowboy ones, and one on his lower leg

Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd, in his free time from competitions, he’s busy working on cars. he’s had a knack for fixing stuff, especially cars, since his teen years. the town usually comes to jason for any of their technical issues, it came to the point where he opened up his shop for it. though, please don’t expect to find him on competiton days cause he won’t be there

Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who doesn’t flirt as often as wally and grayson, but when he does, it’ll make you melttt. he knows his way around having someone gushing over what he says, going back and forth with flirtatious comments that’ll have you on your toes, use his accent to his advantage, he knows how to play it well when it comes to flirting

Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who is bilingual and can sometimes throw in a spanish accent when he flirts. not textbook spanish, but more so original spanish from places like argentina or puerto rico. though, I do like to think he has more puerto rican spanish instilled in him than other variations of the spanish language (shoutout to my twin kai)

Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who would spend money on you more than often. but one of his favorite things that he gifted you was a beautiful jewelry set for you and your initials stitched onto his boots for himself

Ꮺ cowboy!jason todd who always saves his money for a new truck, one of his greatest prized possessions. every few years he would get his truck replaced or modify it to his liking, whether it be a new paint job or a new motor

꒰ WALLY WEST ꒱

Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who is extremely sweet to any and everyone. while, his best friend’s brother, jason, can be a brute and grayson can be found flirting with the women surrounding him, wally helps around the town. he can be found helping with the local farmer’s market, holding tutoring sessions, participating at the senior living, you name it, wally has probably done it

Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who’s usually deemed as being the smallest out of all three. though, that might be the case when he walks around town, he sports a white tank and baggy jeans, showing off his sleeper build. he’s known for having an extreme amount of endurance and he would like to keep it up, so he works out and it has given him greater results than he could think of

Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who keeps his appearance more bare than the other two, but he does enjoy sporting some extremely fine jewlery like a nice snake chain or a ring band. his facial features stands out more than his physique, the green eyes that are soft when first meeting you, the freckles that spread around his face, his pearly white teeth that he uses to charm others ;p

Ꮺ cowboy!wally west whose accent is laced with such refinement, his vernacular isn’t as country as dick and jason. his vocabulary can be said to have elegance, poise, some might say higher class as well

Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who tends to have a bit of cockiness when it comes to his competitons. his time with competiton may not have been as long as the other two, but it still isn’t stopping him from making the top five in the rankings

Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who can usually be found kissing a girl in the back of his truck. though, he can talk with elegance, he can also speak with enough eloquence that’ll have almost everyone agree to a fun time

Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who is keep’s your safety as his top priority !! especially, around the arenas when he knows you can get easily, he’ll hold your waist and walk with you

Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who has a great amount of polaroid pictures of all his loved ones. some in his wallet, plenty placed around his room, and a picture of him and you hanging from his rearview mirror

Ꮺ cowboy!wally west who likes to have his passenger side decorated to your liking of course. though, it’s his truck, who is he not make space for his lover ? whether it’s getting a cute hello kitty bobblehead for your side, a small compartment for your bag, or seat covers that match his and your aesthetics. ask and he will go great lengths to accomodate to it

♡⃕ COWBOY DICK COWBOY JASON COWBOY WALLY. I NEEEEEEEEED, NOT A WANT A NEEEEED

♡⃕ if yall want a pt 2, lemme know. I’m stuck on this concept and im scared I might get fixated

♡⃕ if yall have hcs for them as well, pleaeeeee slide. I wanna hear them ALLLLLL 😩

𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐏 💗: luke 6:27

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟧 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗁��𝗈𝖽𝗂. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[silverskyeline]

.・✭ FANFIC MASTERLIST 13/11/24 ✭・.

⭐ personal favourites // 🔥 smut // 🐻 fluff // 💔 angst

ੈ♡˳ Wolverine

✩ worst wolverine ✦ ⭐🔥 'messy' (nsfw) - worst!logan x f!reader // logan learns that you can squirt, he indulges in that information (1.8k words) ✦ ⭐🔥 'hunger' (nsfw) - worst!logan x f!reader // logan can't tear his mind away from the new barmaid at his usual haunt. he tries to resist you, he really does. but when you're both alone in the bathroom, he finds he's not the only one plagued with filthy thoughts. (3.9k words)

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

✩ old man logan ✦ 🔥 'look at me' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x gn!reader // logan can't fuck like he used to, but you don't care. you get on top, gladly taking care of him in return (2k words) ✦ 🔥 'forever in blue jeans' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x f!reader // riding old man logans thigh while he wears jeans (500 words) ✦ ⭐🔥 'my man' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x gn!reader // he's irresistible in that work suit of his, so much so that you decide to treat him with it on. (1.3k) ✦ 🔥 'big bad wolf' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x f!reader // request: 'couples halloween costumes with old man logan who will begrudgingly dress up for his girl'. (400 words) ✦ ⭐🔥 'disobedience' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x f!reader // moodboard + drabble. (100 words) ✦ ⭐🐻 'domestic life' - oldman!logan x gn!reader // domestic life with logan headcanons (700 words) ✦ 💔 'the man in the mirror' - oldman!logan x gn!reader // comforting logan as he questions his identity (600 words) ✦ 🐻💔 'always' - oldman!logan x gn!reader // logan is struggling to look after himself, you trim his beard while he sleeps. (800 words)

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

✩ general logan / aus / other ✦ 🔥 'nsfw alphabet headcanons' (nsfw) - logan x gn!reader // the word 'logan' for the nsfw alphabet (800 words) ✦ ⭐🔥 'dirty little secret' (nsfw) - logan x f!reader // logan finds that you've left him a little gift behind, and he just can't help himself. (1.2k) ✦ ⭐🔥 'baby fever' (nsfw) - logan x f!reader // after your first baby is born, logan realises he doesn't want to stop at just one. (4.4k) ✦ 🔥 'branded' (nsfw) - logan x gn!reader // wearing logans dog tags as you ride him (300 words) ✦ 🔥 'joyride' - (nsfw) logan x f!reader // logan fucks you on his (scotts) motorbike in the middle of the forest because you can't keep it down inside the mansion. (1.7k words) ✦ 🔥 'heavy metal lover' (nsfw) - logan x f!reader // imagine logan is in a metal band and he uses you before every gig in his dressing room (300 words) ✦ 🔥 'save a horse, ride a cowboy' (nsfw) - cowboy!logan x gn!reader // riding cowboy logan (370 words) ✦ 🔥 'life with lumberjack logan headcanons' (nsfw) - a collection of domestic headcanons for lumberjack logan (600 words) ✦ ⭐🔥 'bad idea, right?' (nsfw) - dofp!logan x f!reader // your father hired him to protect you, not to fuck you. but logan never really liked playing by the rules. (1.7k) ✦ 🔥 'strangers' (nsfw) - logan x f!reader // the stranger in the leather jacket at the bar wants you as much as you want him. (800 words) ✦ 🔥 'the animal in the cage' (nsfw) - logan x gn!reader // you return each week to watch the stranger in the cage, desire swirling in your mind. there's no way he'd ever look at you too. . . right? (830 words) ✦ 🔥 'hands' (nsfw) - logan x gn!reader // moodboard + drabble, taking his fingers in your mouth (60 words) ✦ 🐻 'sunflowers' - logan x gn!reader // moodboard + drabble, logan buys you sunflowers (100 words) ✦ 🐻💔 'im sorry' - logan x gn!reader // logan would never hurt you, but in his nightmares he's often not able to control his claws - he's hurt you, the one thing he never wanted to do. (1k) ✦ 🐻 'soft' - logan x gn!reader // imagine playing with logans hair (500 words) ✦ ⭐🐻 'snow day' - logan x gn!reader // logan hates the snow, hates that it reminds him of the past. but he soon finds that being with you gives it a whole new meaning. (1.1k) ✦ 🐻 'halloween' - logan x gn!reader // carving pumpkins with logan. (200 words) ✦ ⭐🐻 'that funny feeling' - logan x gn!reader // no matter how hard he tries, logan can't escape one simple fact. he's falling in love with you. (900 words) ✦ 🐻 'number one fan' - rockstar!logan x popstar!wade // rockstar logan meets popstar wade backstage. what could go wrong? (1.1k words)

[almostempty]

right kind of dream (joel miller x f!reader) part two

wc: 9k | other fics | rating: 18+ | read on ao3 | PART ONE HERE summary: part two of 'right kind of dream': rebuilding your life, chasing, cans, and hitchin' a ride to the rodeo with team roper joel

a/n: i battled five million error messages to deliver this bad boy so if something is weird or it seems like paragraphs are missing... they might be. i think some formatting got lost. i'll put the whole thing on ao3 asap. i am unsure what i've done to anger the tumblr hq but i apologize

@katiexpunk : here is part two, thank you for being patient, i hope the wait was worth it <3 tags: modern cowboy joel au/ team roper joel and tommy, no sarah, enemies to lovers, dbf lite, choose your own age gap, small town romance, city girl returns to the country, miscommunication, horsegirl!joel, smut, ridin' that cowboy bareback as the good lord intended, no beta-mistakes are my fault for writing at 4am and for spending the afternoon fighting god to get this website to accept me thanks to: @syd-djarin, @auteurdelabre, and @lovely-vamp-princess for support, eyes, and ideas, etc.

Joel wakes you up while it’s still dark, pulling your shirt over your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Sleep,” he mutters in a gravelly whisper.

The ache in your body is a stark reminder of everything Joel did to you. Every movement as you roll over sends a sharp jolt through your muscles, and the hollow soreness deep inside you leaves you raw.

For a moment, you lie still, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment—the way he touched you, the way he looked at you. You can still feel him, the shape he carved out inside of you.

He said nothing. He didn’t gloat, didn’t tease, didn’t even try to explain. The silence felt heavier than any of his words ever could.

You can hear him outside, feeding the horses. You give in, curling up under the blanket for another hour until you figure you might miss your chance for fresh coffee from the visitor tent.

You pull on clothes, feeling hungover with anxiety twisting in your gut. Your head spins and your chest feels tight, but you march toward the picnic tables and get yourself coffee and breakfast.

You aren’t sure what the fuck you’re supposed to do now. You sit at a table, a cup of coffee cradled in your hands, your head pounding as though you’d downed a bottle of whiskey the night before. The anxiety sits heavy in your chest, each sip of coffee doing little to loosen its grip.

You thought you understood what last night was—anger, frustration, both of you taking it out on each other. But the way Joel touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he stayed silent afterward… none of it fits the narrative you’ve been telling yourself.

You glance across the grounds, your eyes catching on Joel’s familiar silhouette near the fence. He’s leaning against the rail, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, but the moment his gaze lands on you, something shifts.

Your breath catches, the air between you thick and suffocating even from across the distance. Joel tips his head slightly, a subtle acknowledgment, but it only tightens the knot in your chest.

You tear your eyes away, focusing on the coffee in your hands, but the weight of his gaze lingers, pressing into you like a brand.

You keep your distance, avoiding Joel as you move through the motions of the morning ignoring the questions and confusion gnawing at you.

The sun climbs higher, the dry heat pressing down like a heavy blanket, but the rodeo grounds are alive with movement. Dust clings to the back of your throat, blending with the faint, bitter taste of coffee as you linger near the edge of the action, pretending to watch.

You’re halfway to convincing yourself Joel’s not even here when you hear Tommy’s voice. He’s leaning on the fence, one boot propped on the bottom rail, his arm resting loosely on the top. A beautiful woman stands beside him, gorgeous with bold makeup and tight jeans, her dark hair catching the light. She laughs at something Tommy says, swatting at his chest, and he grins down at her like she’s the only person in the world.

You almost keep walking, but Tommy glances up and catches your eye, his grin widening as he waves you over. He calls your name in an easy, smooth tone.

“Morning,” you say stiffly, stopping a few paces away.

The woman glances between you and Tommy, murmuring something to him before she wanders off toward the trailers. Tommy doesn’t miss a beat, tipping his hat to you with that same infuriating grin.

“You sleep alright?”

“What?” you gape at him before rushing to fix your face.

“Joel’s snoring didn’t keep you up all night?”

“Oh.” You shake your head. “No, slept fine. Thanks.”

He gives you another smile, and you move to lean on the fence watching the arena with him. He cocks his head, his eyes still on you.

“You worried about runnin’ Blue?” His voice is warm and light. His dark eyes sparkle with his natural charm, but it’s a genuine question.

You peel the edge of the paper coffee cup, looking past Tommy toward the warmup pen. “Yeah, I guess.” You give him a half smile. “We aren’t gunning for the NFR or anything, though.”

“Somethin’ else weighing on you, darlin’?”

You shake your head. Not willing to reveal anything else. “Heard you were up late partying with the roughstock boys and their fan club,” you accuse in a joking tone, attempting to redirect the conversation. “You aren’t worried about your own round?”

He laughs deeply at that. “Nah, that’s what a heeler’s for,” he says. “I just gotta be in the box on time. Joel’s the one that keeps us winnin’.”

“He’s not a partier?” You didn’t mean to dig, but the question slipped out anyway.

Tommy turns his head towards you, but you keep staring out at the arena, watching the crew setting up the barrels for the first division.

He studies you for a long moment, his grin softening into something closer to curiosity. “Joel’s not like me. Not really.” Your brow furrows. The words twist in your chest, setting your thoughts spinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Tommy chuckles again, but there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “Let’s just say, Joel’s always had his head screwed on tighter than mine. Even when he didn’t.” You stare at him, trying to unravel the meaning behind his words, but Tommy just grins. “Joel’s a loyal kinda guy, y’know? Don’t mean he’s blind, though.” He gives you a wink and you feel heat flooding your face. “Just means he wrestles with it longer than the rest of us would.” You scowl at him for that. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Did Joel tell him? Does he know what happened? He shrugs. “Just means you’re a hell of a distraction,” Tommy says, tipping his hat. You laugh it off, but his words linger, your mind racing with questions you’re not ready to ask. You whip your head away again as if staring at the tractor raking the arena can save you from the conversation. But Tommy notices.

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease or prod, but you can feel the weight of his gaze as you swallow hard, your thoughts spiraling. Before you can respond, someone calls his name from across the grounds. Tommy tips his hat one last time. “Good luck out there, neighbor,” he says, his voice light but laced with something heavier. “Don’t let that head of yours get in the way.”

And then he’s gone, leaving you standing alone, your thoughts spinning, your chest burning. You push off the fence and find yourself a spot on the bleachers. They’re dusty and worn. The boards creak as you settle into a spot near the edge. You watch the first few runs.

The riders move with precision, their horses cut through the dirt with sharp, clean turns. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling names and times, but it fades into the background as you watch.

Everywhere you look, there’s something that reminds you of Joel.

The set of someone’s shoulders as they lean against the fence, the low timbre of a voice nearby, a black felt hat in the corner of your eye. You try to banish the worry and the panic creeping in.

You remember the way he watched you train with Blue. The way he offered advice that sounded more like a challenge. The way his voice cut through the air like he knew more than you. The way he looked at you last night. The raw unguarded expression you’ve never seen before.

You hate the way he makes you feel small and uncertain. You hate the way you can’t stop thinking about him.

You can’t stop remembering the way his hands felt on your skin or his tongue. The heat in his voice and the way he saw through every lie you told.

The sound of someone hitting the dirt makes you snap your head up just as the crowd around you gasps.

In the arena, a horse stands, saddle hanging nearly sideways off of it. A rider scrambles to their feet, brushing dirt from their jeans with a wave. They lead their horse out of the arena and you can hear folks around you murmuring that their latigo broke and their saddle slipped as they turned for home. The horse and the rider are both fine, but your nerves flare.

You know the risks of the sport. But it makes you head back to the trailer early to inspect all of your tack closely for anything faulty. From across the grounds, Joel watches you. He stands near the holding pen, arms crossed over his chest. You haven’t seen him yet. Not really. Not in the way he sees you.

He can feel the tension in your shoulders as you walk, the way you crush the paper coffee cup in your hand.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t call out to you.

He doesn’t trust himself to. He shouldn’t have touched you last night. Shouldn’t have let his jealousy boil over. Shouldn’t have taken it that far. But now, standing here, all he could think about was the way you felt underneath him. The way you said his name like he was the only thing holding you together. And the way he needs to hear it again.

By the time your division gets called to warm up, you’ve eased your worries about your tack but you’re still swimming in Joel thoughts until you swing your leg over the saddle and settle on Blue’s back.

Then the rest of the world disappears. Your ride starts off smooth, but Blue’s sensitivity is a curse and a blessing. You figure he must be picking up on some anxiety as he gets a little hot, tossing his head and pulling on the reins when you try to bring him down to a jog.

You work out most of the kinks, circling and working on transitions until he feels supple and responsive to your seat and legs. Your nerves and the energy of the other horses still have his ears swiveling and his head perked up as you wait for the rider ahead of you to be called.

You can see most of their run, it’s smooth and they put up a good time. You squeeze your calves asking Blue to head toward the alleyway, but he’s springloaded.

You hold him back as he crow hops sideways for a beat before you’re backing him up. You try making a slow circle before heading in but he’s still jigging with short, bouncy steps like he’s ready to explode.

You’re tense, holding him back and trying to stay calm, making one more circle when he starts hopping again. You can feel eyes on you from the people standing near the gate. Before you can make another circle Joel is striding towards you with swift long steps.

He grabs Blue by the bridle, speaking directly to him in a calming, low voice. You glare at him reactively, but the words die before you can formulate them.

Blue’s jittering slows and Joel leads you up the alley toward the arena. His steps are sure and confident as he guides you. You bit your lip, fighting the urge to snap at him and tell him you don’t need his help. The truth is you do.

“Go get ‘em,” he says quietly, turning to you.

You gather your reins, giving him a tight nod to signal you’re ready. He lets go and steps back. Your heart pounds as you encourage Blue to push off into a lope.

The moment you cross the starting line, everything else fades.

The noise. The nerves. Even Joel. It all melts away. Just you and Blue and the rhythm of his hooves pounding against the soft dirt.

The first barrel comes fast. You guide him into a tight turn, pushing him to pick it up toward the next. His lead change is smooth as you shift your weight, leaning into the next tight turn. You’ve got your body facing the final barrel before Blue pushes off with his powerful hind legs.

You thunder toward the last barrel. His strides are strong and controlled. You’ve just gotta make this last turn without taking it too wide or knocking the barrel over.

Blue doesn’t forget his training, bending around your leg, picking up his shoulder, and you’ve got one stride left in the turn before you’re free to haul ass home.

You’ve got this.

You’ve got this.

You don’t got this.

The footing is deeper than the arena you run at on Thursday nights. Blue’s hooves slide in the loose dirt. His balance faltering. Time slows and you feel his weight tipping. There’s nothing to do but brace for the impact. His body hits the dirt in a controlled, almost graceful fall.

You hit the ground with a dull thud, the breath knocked out of you as you scramble back giving Blue room to pop back up. He shakes off the dirt, your stirrups slapping at his side and the reins nearly coming over his ears. His eyes are wide, but he stands waiting for your direction.

You catch your breath, chest still heaving from the shock. You dust the dirt off your jeans and wave off the grounds person jogging toward you. “I’m fine,” you call. “We’re fine.” Your voice is steady, but your chest feels like it’s caving in.

You pull his reins over his head and walk toward the end of the arena, keeping your head up and patting Blue on the neck. The crowd claps expressing support and relief that you’re both walking.

Hot, angry tears blur your vision by the time you get to the alley.

You don’t see Joel, staring at the ground as you walk, but you hear him hustling toward you calling your name. His boots crunch against the dirt as he matches your pace.

“You okay?” he asks, low and concerned.”

“Fine,” you snap, not looking at him as you speed up, pulling Blue along faster.

“It was a good-looking run you had going,” Joel says, his tone soft. “You two looked great, making good time. You can’t help the shitty footing—”

“I don’t need your pity,” you cut him off, sharp but trembling. “Not now.”

You don’t see the way his face tightens. The anger is spilling out, uncontrollable, and you don’t care if it cuts.

“I’d rather the ‘I told you so,’” you spit, hot and bitter. “Just say it. Whatever it is. You think I’m too young to know what I’m doing? Too soft? You think I’m a failure? Couldn’t handle the city, the job, the—”

“Hey, easy.” He tries to interrupt you gently, like a spooked horse. “Nothing like that.”

“You think I’m dumb, too?” You keep jabbing him with questions as you get closer to the trailer, not caring if anyone else hears. “Just another woman that fell into your bed at another rodeo.”

“Enough,” Joel says steady and low, but you don’t hear him.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors,” you snap, your voice cracking. “Didn’t think they were true, to be honest. Didn’t seem like you. Guess I don’t really know you though, do I?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, his dark eyes flashing with hurt, but you’re too far gone to notice.

“You know, maybe I was stupid.” Your voice shakes as tie Blue at the trailer to untack. “But for a while, I thought I was finally starting to feel like myself out here. Like I was where I was supposed to be. And now—” Your words catch in your throat. Tears streaming down your face. You shake your head, stopping yourself from revealing anything else. You turn away from Joel and start running your hands along Blue’s legs to check for any swelling from the fall.

Joel doesn’t move for a long beat. He stands rigid, watching you wrestle with your emotions as you work. Finally, Joel exhales sharply, running a hand over his face. His voice is tight when he speaks. “I’ll leave you be.”

He walks away before you can respond, his footsteps heavy against the dirt. Your shoulders sag as the adrenaline starts to wear off, leaving behind the hollow ache of exhaustion. Your hands tremble as you finish untacking and brushing Blue, but you keep moving, your touch soft against his sweat-damp coat. “You did nothing wrong,” you murmur.

Fresh tears pool in your eyes. “You’re a good boy, Blue. You did exactly what we practiced.” Blue snorts softly, his ears flicking back toward you, and you lean into him, pressing your forehead against the warm curve of his neck. “I was the one who fucked up,” you admit, your words muffled against his dark coat. The truth spills out in quiet, broken pieces.

“I should’ve been watching the other riders closer this morning. Should’ve caught how deep the footing was at the far barrel.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “Instead of thinking about how I could still feel his hands on me. Or wondering if he’s thinking about me.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken. Blue shifts beneath you, his weight leaning into your side like he knows you need the grounding.

You pull back, wiping at your face quickly before running your hands over Blue one more time, checking for any swelling or signs of injury. You move methodically, your touch steady despite the way your chest feels like it’s caving in.

When you’re satisfied he’s unhurt, you lead him into the pen and give him a scratch behind the ears. “You’re a good boy,” you whisper again, softly. “We’ll get it next time.”

The afternoon stretched on at the rodeo, the sun climbing high and unrelenting.

You do your best to avoid the temptation to look for Joel, though he somehow has a way of being everywhere and nowhere all at once. Mostly it was false alarms and your eyes playing tricks on you. But once or twice you saw him watching other events. He never seemed to notice you, or if he did he gave no indication.

You hadn’t decided if you were avoiding him out of anger, shame, or if it was because the thought of being near him again after last night still made your chest ache in a way you didn’t want to examine. You’re still burying that last thought somewhere deep when you catch the flash of Joel’s red mare striding through the arena.

You can see Joel and Tommy putting their horses through some practice just past the main arena.

Your lips press together into a thin line as you watch them. Joel has a different aura about him when he’s in the saddle. He seems lighter somehow. Relaxed, but with a quiet command. He guides his horse in a way that looks effortless. His body moving in perfect harmony with hers. Tommy’s horse was a little snappier, making quick sharp turns. The pair of riders worked together naturally, movements fluid and precise as they get their practice in.

It was mesmerizing. Infuriatingly so.

You leaned back, trying to tear your gaze away, but your eyes betrayed you, drawn back to continue admiring him. The longer you watch the more it stirs up something unwelcome in your chest. You can’t keep letting him occupy so much space in your mind or your memories.

He’s proven time and again that he doesn’t respect you. He didn’t even argue when you laid it all out in your outburst after your run. He just walked away from you.

But there’s something in the way he carries himself. Something in the way he rides, the way he works with his horse, that hints at something different than what you know. Something that makes you curious.

You blink, realizing Joel’s head was turned toward the bleachers. For a second you think his eyes are on you and you quickly look away. When you glance back he’s already turned his attention back to something else.

Embarrassment wraps around your throat. This is why you had to avoid him. His presence alone seems to demand every ounce of your attention without even trying.

Before you can drown in your own emotional turmoil, an unfamiliar voice calls your name.

You see Cody waving a few rows down and give him a polite smile before agreeing to join him and his friends. Spending the rest of the evening with them feels like a safety buffer.

You don’t see Joel or Tommy when you get dinner. You watch some of the evening events before splitting from the group to check on Blue.

It’s nearly dark as you walk through the grounds. Your chest feels tighter with every step you take as you approach.

You’re hoping you don’t run into Joel—or Tommy and his knowing eyes. You let yourself into the pen, the noise from the announcer and the crowd are muffled by the distance.

There was a stillness in the dusk and the horses were calm.

Blue’s head swivels toward you as you approach. You pause to untie the braid in his tail before stepping between him and Joel’s horse. It’s not until that moment that you realize you aren’t alone. You freeze when your eyes land on Joel. He’s standing between his horse and yours, posture relaxed. The external light on the horse trailer casts shadows over his face making it hard to read his eyes.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” you say softly. “I didn’t know you were here.”

He responds with a small shrug and shake of his head. “Nothing to interrupt.”

You still feel frozen, like concrete had been poured around your feet. You’ve been carrying the weight of your earlier outburst in your shoulders, and the rest of your muscles are still stiff from hitting the dirt earlier. Maybe that’s why your defenses feel lower, or maybe something else has shifted, but the next words come out before you have a real plan.

“Look, about earlier,” you start with more confidence than you feel. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It wasn’t fair.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, gaze fixed on Blue who huffs a warm breath out after nudging Joel’s pocket in search of a treat. When he finally speaks, it’s quiet but firm.

“You had every right to be upset.”

You frown at that, a line pulling between your brows in confusion, and you shake your head. “No, I didn’t. I was angry, frustrated with myself, and I took it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

He works his jaw like he’s mulling something over, before letting out a sigh. You move closer to give Blue a scratch under his jaw. The spot that always makes him wiggle his lip. You see Joel’s expression softening.

“I’ve been where you are,” he says finally. “Trying to rebuild somethin’ when it feels like the world’s stacked against you. Trying to remember who you are. What matters most.”

You tilt your head, curiosity pulling at you. His words sound familiar for a moment. That conversation you’d had after stacking hay. “When you bought the property from my dad?”

He nods. “Bought the place after my ex split. Had to sell the business. Start over. Build somethin’ from scratch while trying to figure out what the hell my life was supposed to look like.”

“It’s not as simple as it sounds,” you echo your past statement. He laughs a short, humorless sound.

“Sure ain’t. I know I made mistakes along the way.”

You stay quiet, letting the words hang in the air.

“It’s easy to get yourself a reputation in a small town,” he continues, tinged with regret. “I spent a while chasing somethin’ I couldn’t even name. Thought I could skip the pain with sex, drinking, and spending every weekend hauling to any rodeo I could afford the entrance fees for.”

His confession sinks over you, and you feel a pang of understanding.

“Took a while to figure it that it wasn’t working. Wasn’t who I was… or who I wanted to be.”

“I get that,” you say softly. You drop your gaze, not quite sure how to say it. “Not the same circumstances, but,” you take a slow breath, “I had a reputation back at my old job. It wasn’t true but it didn’t matter. Once people decide who you are, it’s like there’s nothing you can do to change it.

You feel his eyes on you. “That why you came out here?”

“Sort of.” You run your hand under Blue’s mane, feeling the warmth of his body grounding you.

“Hated the job. Spent a lot of time and money in school to get there, and I dreaded going to the office every day.” You swallow thickly, still not sure you can look Joel in the eye.

“Then my engagement fell apart. The more we tried to split up our lives the more I realized none of it was my life. None of it was me. I didn’t know myself anymore. I didn’t know what mattered.”

“Takes guts to start over,” Joel says with a current of finality about it. Like it’s a fact. “Most people wouldn’t have the nerve.”

His words warm something deep inside of you, but they also make your eyes well up. You blink away the tears before you look to Joel’s face. His eyes are steady on yours. You offer a small smile.

“Feels less like guts and more like desperation most of the time.”

Joel looks sincere, firm. “Desperation’s just another word for fightin’ for what you need.”

A heavy lump in your throat makes it difficult to respond, but you push yourself to be vulnerable. “I came out here to figure myself out and to do it on my own. I wanted to prove it to myself. But, then today, I got so caught up in my own head that I almost got us both hurt.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.

“I should’ve been paying better attention. Should’ve asked the other riders about the footing. Or—” your voice cracks and you pause to slow down your spiraling thoughts.

Joel moves closer, his presence solid. Anchoring. “You’re hard on yourself,” he says it soft, but firm. “You’ve got grit. You work your ass off. That’s what matters.”

You look up at him. Feeling exposed, like you’re holding the ugliest parts of you in your palms for him to see. “You think so?”

“I know so. I see you. The way you handle Blue, the balance you strike with your dad, the way you work twice as hard as most folks at a part-time job and still have time to learn the names of every old farmer in 50 miles that comes in once a month.”

You laugh at that, feeling something warm blooming in your chest. His eyes soften, and you’re drawn to the lines on his face.

“I’ve seen the way you push yourself even when you’re tired, the way you’re determined to bring out the best in yourself and others. Even those of us with a history.” He runs his hand along the scar tissue on Blue’s shoulder. The horse that broke a girl’s jaw.

“You’re tougher than most people I know. And contrary to what you think, I respect the hell outta you for it.”

His words hit harder than you expect, and you feel like your ribs have been pulled open, exposing your heart and soul in the moonlight.

You’ve spent so long chasing your own impossible standards.

Fighting for your dad’s stoic approval. Suffocating under the weight of other people’s judgment.

Hearing Joel’s praise feels like a warm blanket wrapping around your shoulders.

“Joel,” you start, but your voice falters. The way he’s looking at you feels intense. Almost too much. You can feel your heart beating against your chest.

He shifts, his hand brushing yours lightly, and the air between you feels thick. “Took me a long time to learn how to ask for help or accept it. Still ain’t perfect at it neither,” it comes out like a confession. “But there’s nothing weak about it. And there’s nothin’ more attractive than a woman who’s not afraid to try, fail, and try again.”

The slip in his voice–the raw, unguarded admiration–sends a flush of heat through you. Shit. The praise was already overwhelming, but the way he’s looking at you now—it’s too much. Or not enough.

His centering presence somehow has you rocked off balance.

Suddenly you’re closer, the space between you charged. Humming like one of the generators at the other campsites.

His hand brushes your cheek, gentle but deliberate. Your breath catches in your throat. Everything that has been simmering between you feels like it’s about to boil over.

The rest of the rodeo disappears. Standing there in the moonlight, the world around you dissolves into quiet, only his gravity pulling you closer.

Joel’s hand lingers just long enough on your cheek to make heat crawl up your neck and coil in your belly. Before you can close the distance he pulls back, clearing his throat and stepping away. He moves slowly and deliberately, giving you space to retreat if you want to.

But you don’t.

Instead, you follow him out of the pen, your feet carrying you toward the trailer without thought.

The silence between you is loud, not uncomfortable but full of unspoken words and feelings, each step drawing you toward something you haven’t named yet. When he opens the door and gestures for you to step inside, the creak of the hinges feels impossibly loud.

Inside, the trailer is layered in soft shadows from the glow of a warm lamp. Joel closes the door behind you, and the quiet feels delicate. He stands a few paces away, his hat in hand, his eyes scanning your face as though searching for any sign of doubt.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice low and careful.

When you find your voice, it’s softer than you expected. “Yeah.”

The corners of his mouth lift just slightly, and the warmth in his eyes eases some of the nervous energy bouncing around in your chest. He hangs his hat on the hook near the door. The image of him reaching past you to hang it on the same hook last night flares in your mind and buzzes through your skin.

His movements are unhurried. He steps closer to you. He’s so large in the small space. Not intimidating, but stabilizing.

“Earlier,” he begins, “when I said I respect the hell outta you… I meant it.”

He takes your hand in his, his fingers warm and solid. Your senses are heightened from the emotionally raw conversation, from his touch, and the warm, spiced scent of him wrapping around you. “I see how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve sacrificed to be here. You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with awe.

“And you’ve got no idea how much I—”

He cuts himself off, searching your face. His breath is warm, so close to your face. His lips look soft, so close to yours.

You close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s nothing like the night before. It’s tender. Slow. Sprawling. Unspoken affection passes between you with the slip of your tongues and the soft sounds in your throat.

Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, every thought and worry dissolving into the sensation of your lips on his. Softer than he ever let himself imagine, a sweetness he didn’t think he deserved. The warmth of you seeps into him, steadying him even as it sends electricity down his spine.

His hand settles on your waist, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. There’s no resistance. You’re pliable and willing. He moves with you naturally, like your mouths were always meant to find each other. He holds you like you’re a treasure, a prize, a wonder. Precious.

So soft, he thinks, his thumb grazing the curve of your waist. Every inch of you pressed against him feels like fire and solace all at once. His other hand roams over your back, the delicate shift of muscle beneath his palm grounding him in the reality that you’re here, with him.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, but there’s no space left between you. His palm glides down your spine, lighting you from within. When you break apart, softly breathing in each other’s air, his forehead rests against yours, eyes dark and soft as they hold your gaze.

“You have no idea how much I crave this. Crave you. In every way.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. The reverence in his tone makes your cheeks flush with warmth, and you can’t help but smile.

“I might have some idea,” you reply, your voice just as quiet, but your smile grows wider.

Then he kisses you again, this time with more urgency, his hands moving to your hips and guiding you toward the bed. His touch is everywhere, his lips tracing a path from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, each kiss making you feel lighter and warmer.

He continues to pour his confessions into your skin between each article of clothing he pulls off of you. "I thought I’d never have this. Never have you. But here you are, and you’re perfect." The words spill out of him unbidden, each one carrying a weight he’s carried for far too long. His hands tremble slightly as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down your clavicle, between the swell of your breasts, over the smooth fabric of your bra.

"I used to hate that I wanted you, that I thought about having you like this. But I don’t want to stop, sweetheart.” He unclasps your bra and slips the straps over your shoulders, replacing the cups with his palms, kneading your plush flesh. The warmth of your skin beneath his hands sends sparks through him, and he leans in, brushing his lips over the sensitive peaks.

“Don’t want you to stop,” you murmur back. He hums in response to you, rolling your nipples between his fingers before taking his time mouthing, sucking, licking at each of them until you moan and arch toward him.

“I spent too many nights trying not to think about you,” he confesses, his voice dipping lower. “And cursing myself for it.” He shifts down, between your legs to pull your jeans off. It feels like he’s just handed you a piece of himself you didn’t expect to see. The idea of him, alone and thinking about you, shifts something in your mind. It’s not just desire he carries for you. Is it something deeper?

He runs his hands along your bare legs, warm against your smooth skin. He already looks wrecked and he’s still fully clothed. You reach for him, but he shakes his head, dipping to line another path of kisses down your belly, to the sensitive skin inside the top of your thighs. His lips press against your skin, reverent, as if trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with need. His admiration and desire are intense, making you feel stripped bare in an emotional way. He’s not just saying it; he means it in a way that feels different from casual compliments.

Everything you use to protect yourself falls away as you let his words soak in. You couldn’t hide from him if you wanted to. He’s not just taking—he’s giving, pouring every ounce of admiration and desire he feels for you into each moment. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself take it in, let yourself believe it.

The heat of his touch and the need in his eyes have your core aching for attention. His breath ghosting over your swollen cunt makes you shudder with need.

When his lips press against the thin fabric still covering you, you arch into him. You feel him smile against you, breathing deeply before he slides his hands beneath your thighs, cupping your ass to tilt your hips before he descends again.

He kisses and sucks at your clit through your soaked panties without a care for the lewd sounds filling the small room. He doesn’t stop. It’s warm and wet, and the pressure makes you feel needy. You roll your hips seeking more contact, and he moans against you, the sound vibrating through you causing you to gasp and call out his name.

He looks up at you before pulling your underwear off and pausing to stare at your glistening cunt, before taking all of you in. His eyes dart to your face, all of your exposed skin, and back to your eyes.

“I never thought I’d actually get to touch you. To kiss you. Taste you like this.” His voice is hoarse, barely audible over the sound of your breath.

“Please, Joel.” He’s like a dream between your legs. His mouth, his tongue, his hands, his fingers. He uses everything with expert precision, bringing you closer and closer and erasing every worry, every stress.

You wonder if you should feel more vulnerable being naked beneath him while he’s still fully clothed. But instead, it feels empowering—like this moment belongs to you just as much as it does to him; like every touch and kiss is a promise steeped in devotion.

His hips press into the mattress involuntarily, seeking relief for his throbbing cock as he continues to worship you with his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair as he dips his tongue inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” Your voice is hoarse and ragged already.

He knows exactly what you need next. Filling you with his fingers while he wraps his lips over your clit. The wet noises of his fingers pumping into you are obscene-–but they're nothing compared to the moan you make when you see the way his hips are desperately rutting into the mattress between your legs.

The sight of him losing control, his own need so evident and unrestrained, sends a fresh wave of heat through you. He’s giving so much of himself to you with every movement. It’s not just his mouth or his hands—it’s the way he wants you, completely and utterly, like he’s been holding it back for ages.

It tips you over the edge, chanting his name like a prayer as your release crashes through you. Your walls contract around his fingers and your muscles tense as he groans into your wet flesh before pulling back.

“That’s it,” he murmurs from between your legs, “you did good for me, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You’re boneless as the words melt into you. But you know you wanted to say something before he made your vision blur.

Your breath comes in slow, uneven waves as you blink at the ceiling, reality slowly settling back into your body. He’s watching you, his eyes dark and heavy with affection and need, and you realize the thought that had slipped away moments ago was this: you need to feel him, to see him.

“Joel,” you manage, your voice low and hoarse, your fingers brushing weakly at his forearm. He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smirk touching his lips as he leans closer.

“What is it, baby?”

You swallow hard, the words tangled in your throat as you try to gather your strength. “Off,” you rasp, fingers tugging weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans down to kiss your temple. “Gimme a minute, sweetheart. Let me make sure you’re all right first.”

Your head shakes slightly, determination building even in your post-release haze. “Joel. Now.”

Something in your voice snaps the tension in him. His jaw tightens, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt in one smooth motion, tugging it over his head.

The sight of him leaves you breathless. Broad shoulders tapering to a firm waist, his skin golden and littered with scars and years of hard work. He looks wrecked, his chest rising and falling as though he’s been holding himself back for too long.

“Goddamn,” you whisper, as your mouth hangs open. Your gaze drops lower, taking in the soft lines of his abdomen, and the trail of dark hair leading to the waistband of his jeans.

And then, as he unbuttons them and pushes them down, his cock springs free, thick and flushed and so fucking perfect it sends a scalding wave of desire rolling through you.

Your expression fills Joel with pride. The hunger in your eyes makes his cock twitch, the intensity of your gaze threatening to knock him over right there.

You sit up slightly, your hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist gently, shaking his head. “Not like that,” he murmurs, his voice rough as gravel. He eases you back onto the mattress, his hands warm and firm against your hips. “Not this time, baby.”

You whine softly, your need pulsing through every word. “Please, fuck, I need you.”

His pupils blow wide, his breathing uneven as he settles between your legs. “You need me?” he repeats, his tone darkening, the words laced with a feral edge that makes you dizzy.

“You’re gonna get me, baby. All of me. Gonna fill you so deep you’ll never forget it.”

The shift in his tone sends a fresh rush of slick between your thighs. His hand trails up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast as he watches you.

“Gonna make you mine. Gonna keep you so full of me you’ll feel it in you every time you move.”

The possessiveness in his voice makes your body burn, your hips rocking up toward him involuntarily. “Joel, please,” you beg, your voice raw and edged with frustration as he drags the blunt head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you.

“Fuck,” he pauses after barely pushing into you. His eyes slam shut for a moment before he inches deeper into you, slower than you thought possible. “You take me like it’s what you’re meant for.” His eyes stay locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face.

You gasp as he reaches the deepest part of you, his hips flush against yours, his cock filling you completely. “Look at you,” he coos. “Such a good girl for me.” The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending sparking to life as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “Feel how deep I am? That’s where I’m gonna stay, sweetheart. Right here, fillin’ you up.”

Your walls flutter around him, your body already begging for more. “Joel,” you whisper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Move. Please.”

He obliges, his hips pulling back before driving forward again, dragging out the intensity of every sensation. His forehead drops to yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispers praise between each movement. “You’re so good for me, baby. So damn good.”

Your body writhes beneath him, the pleasure building with each heavy stroke. “More,” you whisper. “Please, Joel. I need more.”

The last of his restraint dissolves as he grips your hips and begins to move harder, faster, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel it everywhere. The pace steals the breath from your lungs, threatening to consume you.

“That’s it,” he growls, his voice rough and unrestrained. “Take it. All of me.”

Your cries fill the air, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hands hold you steady, keeping you exactly where he wants you as he claims you.

“Look at you,” he rasps, his gaze locked on the spot where your bodies meet, where his cock disappears every time he sinks into you. “So perfect, takin’ me so well. Made for this. Made for me.”

You watch, as he instructed, until you look back up to his face. He’s so vocal, so confident with every word—but his face is equal parts hungry and wrecked. Fucked out. Drunk on you.

Again it’s the deep satisfaction you get from his unrestrained desire that makes you come with a blinding intensity. You try to tell him how close you are before you’re violently sucked into the sensations.

Your walls clench around him, making him shudder and groan. You try to beg him to come too. To fill you up. You’re unsure if the words make it past your thoughts, but he’s pulled into it with you either way.

Moments later, a deep groan vibrates through his chest as he tenses and his hips jerk against you. It feels like bliss, the sensation of his cock pulsing within you, the heat of his release coating your walls as they flutter around him.

The room falls into a warm quiet, the only sounds are your ragged breaths and the faint sounds of people laughing and shouting at another campsite, reminding you the rest of the world still exists.

Joel’s weight presses into you, grounding you in the present. He doesn’t pull away, softening inside of you as you breathe through the aftershocks of your orgasms.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Just stay with me.”

He shifts you both just enough to hold tight against his chest, his lips brushing your temple as his hand smooths down your side. “So good,” he murmurs, “so perfect,” voice rough but soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

The early morning sun stretches over the rodeo grounds, bathing everything in a wash of pink hues. You wake to the soft hum of voices outside the trailer and the thud of a bale of hay being dropped just outside the trailer.

Joel’s weight shifts beside you as he stirs, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before he lets out a soft, sleepy grunt. The sound pulls a smile to your lips as you turn to face him. His eyes blink open slowly, still heavy with sleep, and he offers you a lazy smile that you mirror involuntarily.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly and low.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your fingers brushing over his stubbled jaw.

There’s a content silence between you before a loud knock rattles the trailer door, making you both jump. Tommy’s voice rings out cheerfully, "Y’all better get movin’ if you don’t wanna miss breakfast."

Joel groans, dropping his head back against the pillow with a dramatic sigh. "That boy’s got the worst damn timing."

You stifle a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before sliding out of bed to get dressed. Joel watches you for a moment, his gaze warm and unguarded, before he stretches and follows suit.

The three of you sit at a picnic table near the cook tent, balancing plates of eggs, bacon, and biscuits as the camp buzzes with early morning energy. Joel sits across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. You catch him watching you over the rim of his coffee cup, his lips twitching into a barely concealed smile when your eyes meet.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, chatters on about their schedule and the competition, occasionally tossing in jokes that have you laughing despite yourself. Joel leans back in his seat, his body language is relaxed but his eyes are constantly flicking to you.

When Tommy excuses himself to check on their horses, Joel leans forward, his voice low and teasing. “You’re not real subtle, you know.”

You shoot him a mock glare, your cheeks warming. “Says the man who’s been staring at me all morning.”

“Can’t help it.” Joel shrugs.

Later, you find yourself perched on the edge of a fence near the arena, watching Joel and Tommy warm up their horses. Their movements are fluid and synchronized; you openly admire their skill.

Tommy tips his hat to you with a grin as they pass, and you wave back, your gaze inevitably drifting back to Joel. He glances your way, his dark eyes meeting yours briefly, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, private smile that makes your heart skip.

The arena is alive with energy as their division gets underway. You lean against the rail, your fingers gripping the cool metal as you watch Joel and Tommy back their horses into the box.

The chute gate flies open, the steer bolting into the arena with Joel and Tommy in swift pursuit. Joel’s rope swings in a perfect arc, catching the steer cleanly around the horns as Tommy moves in to secure the heels. The crowd cheers as they pull the steer to a stop, their time flashing on the scoreboard.

The announcer calls their time and updates the standings. Joel and Tommy have the best time in their division so far.

You can’t help but cheer, your voice lost in the noise of the crowd as Joel and Tommy ride back toward the holding pen, their smiles wide and triumphant. Joel catches your eye as he passes, tipping his hat to you with a grin that makes your stomach flutter.

When they dismount near the gate, you meet them with a smile. "You two make that look way too easy."

Tommy laughs. "He’s the header," he tilts his head toward Joel. “I can’t do shit if he misses.”

Joel shakes his head, deflecting the comment.

“It’s a team event,” you counter. “Both of you are good at what you do.”

“We should bring her with us more often,” Tommy jokes.

Joel gives you another warm look with unspoken words.

“Your head wouldn’t fit in your damn hat if you had someone talking you up after every run,” Joel mocks. As they both swing their legs over the back of their saddles. You turn to watch as they lead their horses back to the trailer. You want to follow and stay close to Joel for the rest of the day, but you stay put.

Trying not to let Tommy in on whatever’s happening between the two of you until you figure it out for yourself. Instead, you head back to the fence to watch the next pair of team ropers. You’d rather be near him, but staying put feels safer—for now.

The afternoon sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the rodeo grounds. You sit beside Joel on the bleachers, the two of you a quiet bubble of calm amid the hum of spectators around you. The events continue below—tie-down ropers hopping into the dirt, saddle bronc riders gripping for dear life trying to stick it out for eight seconds, bareback riders up next.

Joel leans back, one arm draped across the bench behind you, his body close enough that the heat of him radiates against your side. He’s quiet, but his presence feels steady and grounding. Every so often, his knee brushes yours, the brief contact enough to send a subtle thrill through you.

“You doin’ all right?” Joel asks, his voice low and soft. His gaze lingers on you, dark eyes warm but searching.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “This is nice. I didn’t think I’d enjoy just sitting and watching this much.”

“It’s better when you’ve got good company,” he says, the corner of his mouth quirking into a half-smile.

Your cheeks warm, but you’re spared from responding by the announcer introducing the next rider. Joel shifts beside you, his attention briefly pulled to the arena. You let yourself steal a glance at him—the sharp line of his jaw and the quiet confidence in his posture. He catches you looking and tips his hat, the subtle smirk that follows sending warmth blooming in your chest.

As the next rider lines up, Joel pulls his hat off, setting it on your lap. You blink, startled, and look at him.

“Put it on,” he says simply, his tone casual, but there’s something in his eyes—a quiet intensity that makes your breath hitch.

You hesitate for only a moment before lifting the Stetson and settling it on your head. It’s big, a little too big, but it smells faintly of leather and him. Joel’s gaze lingers on you, his lips curving into a soft smile that feels like it’s meant just for you.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

The weight of the gesture settles over you—the tradition, the meaning behind it. The thought that this wasn’t just a playful gesture but a quiet claim sends a flutter through your chest. You’re not sure what to say, so you lean into his side slightly, letting the moment and the warmth of him settle over you like a blanket.

Later, as the afternoon begins to mellow, Joel takes your hand and guides you to the cook tent for dinner. It feels almost natural to walk hand in hand, weaving through the crowd of people. The smell of barbecue wafts through the air, mingling with the sounds of quiet conversations and laughter from the other riders and their families.

Joel insists on getting your plate, waving you off with a playful, “Sit tight. I’ll take care of you.” You settle at a nearby table, watching as he weaves through the crowd with ease, stopping to exchange a word or two with acquaintances before returning with two heaping plates.

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, sharing quiet conversation. Joel’s small acts of service don’t go unnoticed—handing you a napkin before you realize you need one, making sure your drink stays full, brushing crumbs off your sleeve with a casual intimacy that feels like it’s always been there.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget you’re at a rodeo. The noise and bustle fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in a comfortable bubble of companionship. Joel’s low chuckle as you tell him a story about your first job, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the warmth in his voice when he says your name—it all feels so natural, like this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.

As the sun begins to dip lower, casting a golden glow across the grounds, Joel stands and offers you his hand. “Come on,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Let’s find a good spot for the bull riders. We can cheer for your new friend.”

You expect to see something flare in his eyes bringing up Cody, reminding you of the way he looked at you the first night you came back to the trailer. But, you take his hand and he’s only projecting pride and confidence. It makes you stand taller, knowing he’s a secure man.

He leads you back toward the bleachers. The two of you settle in as the crowd starts to gather, the energy of the evening event buzzing around you. Joel drapes his arm casually along the back of the bench again, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder. It’s a small gesture, but it grounds you, making you feel like you’re exactly where you belong.

Tommy and the woman you’ve seen him spending most of the weekend with join you to watch a few rounds. You tense as they come toward the steps, shifting to create space between you and Joel, trying to seem casual. You feel Joel’s eyes on you, but he doesn’t say anything about your move.

Tommy shoots you a wink before they take the seats next to you. It makes you squirm, but you tell yourself he’s always just playful like that. Too charming for his own good.

They stay and chat long enough to finish their drinks before heading back to watch the rest of the event with her group of friends.

Joel stays seated beside you, his arm still draped casually along the back of the bench, his other hand resting on his thigh. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the kind that feels like its own kind of conversation.

Finally, Joel clears his throat, turning slightly to face you. There’s a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, but it’s quickly replaced with something earnest and determined.

“I know this might be the wrong time to bring this up,” he begins, commanding your attention just with the timbre of his voice pulling at your heart, “but I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding about where I’m at.”

You tip your head, curiosity piqued. “Where you’re at?”

He nods, his gaze holding yours. “Look, I know your dad’s a good man, and I don’t want to cross any lines. But I also don’t want to miss my chance with you.” He pauses, his hand brushing against yours where it rests on your lap. “I don’t want this to be our only day together, and I won’t have you sneakin’ out your bedroom window and hoppin’ the fence to see me. S’just not the kind of man I am.”

Your heart stutters as his words sink in. There’s no wavering in his voice, no attempt to downplay what he’s saying. He’s laying it out plainly, his honesty disarming in a way you didn’t expect.

“So what are you saying?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He takes a deep breath, his hand shifting to fully cover yours. “I’m sayin’ I want something real with you. Not just sneakin’ moments or pretendin’ it don’t matter. I want to see where this goes.”

Your chest swells. You nod slowly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’d like that.” Relief washes over his face, and he leans close to you.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Well, if you’re such a true-blue cowboy, you’re gonna have to be the one to tell my dad.”

Joel nods. “I’ll handle it.” His voice is quieter, but honest. His gaze seems to look a little far away.

You squeeze his hand. “We’ll handle it.” You give him an encouraging smile. “Don’t have to do everything by ourselves right?”

He gives you a warm look. “Right.” He dips toward you for a chaste kiss. It’s sweet and playful. “Just don’t make me wait too long to take you out proper,” he rumbles as he pulls his head back.

You laugh airily, leaning into his side as he pulls you closer. The warmth of his arm around you, the weight of his hat still on your head, and the quiet promise of what’s to come settle over you, the world around you fading into a comfortable hum of possibilities for you and your cowboy Joel.

thank you for reading! pls let me know what you think <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics tags for babes in case they want some cowboy joel: @lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange @itwasntimethatdidit40 @ivoryandflame @indiegirlunited @syd-djarin @harriedandharassed

@bbyanarchist @94namkooksworld

[cheyisagirlkisser]

need cowgirl vi so bad it’s insane

cowgirl vi headcannons (slightly suggestive!)

-general headcannons

℧ Sports a pair of Lucchese boots and off-brand boot-cut jeans that are snug around her thighs. Of course she wears a belt with an impressive buckle sat snug on the center of her body. MANY worn-looking flannel button-ups, especially when it’s too chilly to just wear a tank top and she needs to layer up.

℧ Her back looks sculpted from hard labor, but her thighs? They're firm with muscle, littered with some stretch marks from growth during her teen years.

℧ Has freckles on her tanned shoulders, which are usually faded during the summer when breaks in horses for extra cash in her white wife-pleaser.

℧ Very extensive vocabulary! Her most used word is "y'all" and "hell", but it's pronounced more like "hail."

℧ Very well-read. Favorite novel that you'd find a typical cowboy reading is Lonesome Dove. She loves The Outsiders, even if it's on the mainstream side of literature. Secretly loves herself some Shakespeare. Much like me, spends hours awake at night trying to find the hidden meanings behind the playwright's words.

"She oinked poison in your ears, and you just ate it!" hamlet reference?

℧ Has a farmdog! A border collie she named Roxie. She spend a few weeks building a nice doghouse beside her own farmhouse for the pup, but is too soft-hearted to make Roxie sleep outside half the time.

℧ More of a southern cowboy than a western. You may wonder the difference, but the accent she has is mostly a cushy drawl than something smooth and slurring.

℧ Has a taste for old black and white shows, like The Twilight Zone and Gunsmoke. You find it boring, but there is a strange comfort in watching your favorite cowgirl doze off in her recliner, boots still adorned with the usual western accent audible in the background, much like white noise in the womb.

℧ Was a horse girl in middle school. Not the type that pretended to be a horse and neigh (though she had a small phase, much to her denial), but rather begged Vander to buy her a horse so she could learn to ride.

"Vi, horses are expensive. Plus, if I let you have a horse, then Powder's gonna want a pony." Vander reminds her for the thousandth time, the conversation a day-to-day routine at this point.

"I know, I know! But I just want one. I don't want a whole ranch, just one." She pleads, already prepared to drop to her knees and beg or do a marathon of chores if Vander so asks.

He sighs, and she holds her breath. Is that a sign of relent...? "Fine. One horse."

And so, Vi was given her very first horse at 11. Vi named her Butterscotch. It took a while to get used to riding, and she even fell off once.

℧ Ended up owning at ranch and her own farmhouse at the age of 23 with the help of funding from her town. Farms do good in southern economies. She was rather well-known around the area for her help with training horses and ponies, as well as being a bullrider at the local rodeos.

℧ Got into plenty of barfights, most she won. Most honorable mention is the time she knocked a 6’5” man out for accusing her of cheating at the bull-riding competitions.

-cowgirl vi x fem! reader headcannons

℧ Really domestic. Loves the idea of having you live with her at her farmhouse, folding laundry together, and stealing kisses from you while you work.

℧ Favorite types of physical touch are having you on her lap and playing with your hair. She'll laugh at the way you call it impractical, but she needs you sitting on her thighs any chance she gets. You can't seriously oppose, though. Not when it feels nice to put on a pair of shorts and feel her bare, warm thighs on the backs of yours. She loves to comb through your hair also, kissing the top of your head as she coos words in that thick accent of hers.

"Had a long day, baby?" She asks, voice thick and dripping like honey. Not seductive or sensual (unless she's in that particular mood), but rather low with the moon in the sky.

You nod, letting out a yawn as you rest your head on her shoulder. The domesticity always feels nice.

℧ Watching her move on a mechanic bull is the worst and best thing that could ever happen to you. You can only watch, very much impressed, as her hips jump to keep up with the movements. Her hair is all messy, stray reddish-pink strands nearly sticking upward. Some of her hair hangs down her tattooed back, and you have to stop yourself from simply screaming at the sight. When she eventually falls off, she comes rushing back to you with a smile that reminds you of a golden retriever's. Like a dog bringing you a bone, it's adorable.

"Did ya see that? A whole two minutes!" She exclaims, laughing nearly hysterically. She abruptly pulls you in for a kiss which you eagerly open up for. This is the best part, when your cowgirl riles herself up on the bull and has what seems to be unlimited energy. And trust me, she gets affectionate with energy.

℧ Taught you how to play pool before you started dating, during that weird limbo of flirting but not official.. Her hand resting on your arm, guiding you. Her voice very audible, as her mouth stays close to your ear.

"Not too fast, just hit it with the stick. Pay attention to where the ball goes." She guides. Your hands are shaking with nerves, and you miss the pocket. She doesn't laugh, though. Instead, she gives your waist a squeeze with her free hand, planting a kiss on your cheek. "That's okay. You still did good for your first time."

℧ Big hickey enthusiast. She loves leaving little love-bites on you, and sucks a few marks on your stomach and thighs.

℧ Uses her winnings from the rodeos to spoil you. She tries to be the gentlemen type, so often she will take you on dates to the diner in town or even drive a few towns over into the city to see a movie in a theater.

℧ Likes when you wear her cowboy hat to go out, it makes her feel oddly possessive. Anytime you need to run an errand, she’ll take off her hat and basically crown you with it. It’s like she’s giving you her hoodie or a t-shirt of hers to wear, except it’s her expensive hat that had a feather on the side of it.

[nyc-looks]

Nado, 24

“I wish I knew the brand of the dress but it doesn’t have any tags. It was a rare find that I got from Crossroads. Levi white denim jeans with Moonshine Spirit cowboy boots. What inspires my style these days is fluidity and freedom. When I think of fashion, I want to have fun and romanticize myself as a doll that switches styles based off what I’m feeling in that moment, rather than societal constraints over what should be pieced together.”

Sep 9, 2024 ∙ East Village

[pocoyo-yo]

LEMON MERINGUE PIE

SUMMARY: being cowboy!reiner brauns spoiled little wife

WARNINGS: smut, unprotected sex, fembodied!reader, black!coded reader, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, manhandling, clit slapping, breeding kink, daddy kink, overstimulation, p in v, m/f, petnames (sweet thing, darlin', mama, poundcake,and obviously daddy)

°•°• ●○●•°•°

being reiner braun meant hucking hay bales over your shoulder, petting and caring for your cattle, and going into town to sell your goods.

being reiner brauns spoiled little wife meant you never had to lift a finger— only coming home to your tired man who wanted nothing more than to bask in your sweet scent of lemons.

".. reiner," you had your arm hooked around his large bicep with a grin. ".. lemme take a ride on my baby, I bet my meringue misses me."

but that didn't mean you didn't want to lift a finger.

"ya don't have'ta, sweet thing," he glanced down at you through the shade of his cowboy hat. ".. yur a city girl at heart, don't gotta change nothin' f'me." he told you.

you pouted, "I'm aware.. you remind me all the time, but meringue is my horse— don't you remember our first ride together? you, me, meringue, and knight?"

reiner clicked his tongue, "'course I do, darlin'.. ya caught on so quickly it was like ya were a natural— I think I fell for ya then."

you unhooked your arm from his as you approached the white picket fence that connected to the stables. you could spot her from a mile away, with her pretty blonde main and brown fur that faded to white at the hooves. when you first met reiner through a family friend while you visited she immeaditely caught your eye— her mane reminded you of your blond lace front while her fur was the same shade of vrown as your skin.

"..c'mere," reiner whistled at meringue and smacked the fence as he leaned slightly over. you glanced over at him— his sleeves were rolled up on his arms, sweat beads rolling down his slightly tanned skin. ".. c'mere, meringue, mama wants ya!" he called out.

you smiled bashfully as meringue let out a sneeze and began to trot towards the fence.

"city girl or not this is my baby," you grinned as meringue stood before you and you petted her face. ".. hi pretty girl, did you miss me?"

meringue let out a grunt and you looked over at reiner who was just admiring you with a soft smile.

"what are you looking at, sir?" you teased.

he stood up straight and walk towards you, he was so tall— tall and bulky.

"my pretty lil wife, ma'am." reiner replied.

you rolled your eyes and reiner gave your ass a nice smack which earned a surprised squeal from your lips.

he had been holding back from doing that ever since he saw you come outside in those tiny jean shorts, that plaid crop top that showed off your diamond belly-button piercing and allowed your tits to spill— teasing the lace of your bra, and those brand new one inch heel cowboy boots.

"c'mon, mama," reiner leaned into your ear as meringue walked away in the other direction. your breath hitched as he pressed his crotch right up against your ass. ".. don't ya wanna go for a ride?"

being reiner brauns spoiled little wife also meant that for treating you so kindly, like the princess you are, he expects a little something in return whenever he gets hot and heavy after a hard days work.

"r— reiner! rei.. oh my goood.."

fresh out of the shower, reiner almost immeadiately had you sat on his lap— large, calloused hands clung to the fat of your hips while he pounded his fat cock into your pussy.

"yur so pretty, sweet thing," he groaned at the sight of your ass clap everytime his wet pelvis made contact with your skin. you clung at his muscular thighs while your tongue dared to stick out of your glossy lips. ".. ya can take this dick, can't ya? 'gonna let me take care of this sweet pussy?"

you dug your nails into his skin and moaned as one of his hands hooked around your waist and found your swollen clit while other squeezed on your breasts.

"c'mon fuck me back— ride my cock, yeah?" reiner panted, his lips grazing over the skin of your neck. he thrusted up into you while you attempted to grind on his dick, trying to play with yourself at the same time.

"feels s'good," you whimpered as his hot breath teased the crown of your ear. "..makin' this pussy feel so so good, daddy.."

he chuckled, cock fucking deeper into your belly— a slight bulge poking at your skin. your inner thighs were sticky and wet as your slick and his pre-cum smeared messily everytime you both make contact.

"how long we been married, darlin'?" he asked and you whimpered, the shimmer of his golden wedding band filled your vision.

".. d— daddy slow down," you mumbled, thigh muscles clenching as you began to try and match his thrusts. ".. ooh fuck— daddy! d— daddy! ..daddy!"

reiner huffed, ".. holy— take a breath.. 'nd answer me, mama.."

you gasped as reiner hooked his heavy arm under your thighs and yanked them up— practically folding you in half. you watched as his fat cock slipped out of your hole and you let out a whine before he used his freehand to guide it back into your sloppy cunt.

"we uhm," you arched your back against his chest as the curve of his cock brushed right against your g-spot. ".. r— right there! again please daddy.."

reiner groaned and raised his free hand— landing a slap over your swollen clit. you let out a yelp and clawed at his arm while your cunt squeezed tightly around him in response.

"lemme ask ya one mo' time," reiner leaned into your ear and hissed. ".. how long ya been my wife, mama?"

you felt your eyes sting with tears as his heavy hand smacked your stinging clit again, the cool metal of his wedding band adding some type of relief.

".. two," you whimpered softly— hot tears falling down your cheeks. "two years, rei.."

"mhm," he kissed at your salty tears. ".. I think it's 'bout time I made ya a real mama, ain't it?"

you sniffled, ".. 'nd make you a daddy, rei?"

reiner nodded, "yeah.. and make me a real daddy, sweet thing," he grabbed your hand and placed it over the spot in your belly where the tip of his cock poked at your skin. ".. oh fuck we'd make the prettiest lil babies, poundcake— so how 'bout it? ya gonna let daddy breed up this messy pussy?"

"yes," your toes curled at the thought of reiner emptying himself into you. you two had been careful since you met him— condom, birthcontrol, him coming outside, plan b's after almost everytime because better safe than sorry. "yes I wan' it— please breed this pussy daddy.. make me a mama please please.." you begged him.

reiner groaned and slid his freehand in between your legs to rub circles over your clit while he fuck up into you. your jaw fell agape as the only thought that filled your mind became reiner reiner reiner. your stomach churned and an immense amount of pressure filled your belly— something new, something foreign.

"daddy wait," you moaned softly, eyes rounded out as your legs began to tremble in reiners hold. ".. d— daddy somethin's not— it feels w— weird.."

"yur gonna cum, poundcake." he cooed in your ear.

"s'not that— feels like m'gonna," you let out a cry as reiner sped up his movements— every part of you wanted to run away from this feeling, the pressure was so uncomfortable. ".. oh fuck! daddy— daddy you gotta—"

you let out a shakey whimper and your toes curled as the tip of his cock kissed your cervix. your eyes flickered in the back of head while you squirted all over reiners thighs and the bed sheets.

"and here I thought I married just a creamer," reiner scoffed and his tip teased at your cervix again— earning another stream of wetness which landed on your lower belly. ".. yur still not done, poundcake?"

your body slumped against reiner as he used both hands to spread your legs further apart— alowing him to sink deeper into your pussy. you were too focused on the feeling of yourself about to cum some more to be embarassed at how on display you were. pussy puffy and bruised— twitching everytime reiner sunk himself back in. the overstimulation had you unable to even form a coherent sentence.

".. fuck im 'bouta cum, mama," reiner moaned— his heavy balls slammed right against your ass. ".. ya still got more in there? go on 'nd finish up f'me then daddy will fill this tight pussy, alright?"

you slipped your hand in between your legs and flicked at your clit, shuddering, "o— oh my.."

the last of your release streamed from your pussy and onto the sheets— your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

reiner sloppily kissed your jaw and stammered, "fuck fuck.. ya done now, mama?"

you nodded shakily, "yes daddy.. please cum in me please.."

he groaned, "alright alright— daddy's got you, sweet thing."

you let out a low moan as reiner buried his face in your shoulder— whimpering into your sweaty skin. the veins in his fat cock pulsed while his balls tightened, and he pressed your body right up against his own— muscles tightening at the feeling of his cum shoot into your warm, tight pussy.

"take it all, mama," he moaned, stubble tickling your neck as he lifted his face from your shoulder. ".. take all of daddy's babies."

being reiner braun's spoiled little wife meant that finally, after getting manhandled and fucked dumb, he would treat you with most care and love he could— making sure you were doing just fine because you deserved it after making him feel so good.

you shivered as reiner let your weak legs go, and he left soft kisses on your upper back. you tried to recollect your thoughts with his softening cock inside of you.

".. I made such a mess." was the first thing you managed to mumble.

reiner sighed, "it's fine, poundcake.. I'll start a bath f'ya and clean up."

you glanced up at him and pouted, "stay with me, reiner."

he let out a small groan, "fine.. we'll bathe together— just let me get the bath started."

you reluctantly nodded and his cock slowly slid out of you. you gasped at the feeling of his cum begin to leak out of your fucked-out hole.

"that ain't good," he chuckled, thin eyebrows risen at the sight. "let's see.."

reiner scooped up what had leaked out of his cum and stuffed it back into you with his thick fingers. you let out a surprised squeak and playfully smacked his arm.

"keep them thighs closed, sweet thing," reiner layed you on the bed and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips once he got up. "and if any of it comes out you push it back in, understand?"

"yes daddy.." you teased.

"ya say that again, poundcake, and I'll right back inside that pussy before ya can blink." he warned you.

you giggled and rested your head on the pile of pillows. reiner stared at you for a moment with hooded eyes before he scratched the side of his head.

"I love you, darlin'.." reiner told you in a shy tone.

you smiled sweetly at your husband, "I love you too, reiner."

°•°• ●○●•°•°

!!!THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 1,000 FOLLOWERS!!! I DISSAPEAR SO MUCH SO I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU GUYS DEAL WITH ME LMAO

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ three hundred one-word prompts

¹⁾ balcony

²⁾ sunlight

³⁾ voicemail

⁴⁾ hillside

⁵⁾ tent

⁶⁾ lavender

⁷⁾ candle

⁸⁾ hipbone

⁹⁾ bandaid

¹⁰⁾ wrinkle

¹¹⁾ scar

¹²⁾ curtains

¹³⁾ armory

¹⁴⁾ shell

¹⁵⁾ bouquet

¹⁶⁾ necklace

¹⁷⁾ shotgun

¹⁸⁾ apricot

¹⁹⁾ cheek

²⁰⁾ floorboards

²¹⁾ jacket

²²⁾ bruise

²³⁾ flight

²⁴⁾ streetlight

²⁵⁾ carafe

²⁶⁾ lipstick

²⁷⁾ scars

²⁸⁾ poolside

²⁹⁾ cockpit

³⁰⁾ petals

³¹⁾ mirror

³²⁾ lawyer

³³⁾ cloudy

³⁴⁾ butcher

³⁶⁾ bleach

³⁷⁾ sawdust

³⁸⁾ crib

³⁹⁾ ribbon

⁴⁰⁾ wallet

⁴¹⁾ pearls

⁴²⁾ steam

⁴³⁾ chain

⁴⁴⁾ deckhand

⁴⁵⁾ whiskey

⁴⁶⁾ frost

⁴⁷⁾ lace

⁴⁸⁾ camping

⁴⁹⁾ bakery

⁵⁰⁾ traitor

⁵¹⁾ cherries

⁵²⁾ lightning

⁵³⁾ hide

⁵⁴⁾ tattoo

⁵⁵⁾ bonfire

⁵⁶⁾ reverse

⁵⁷⁾ passenger

⁵⁸⁾ speedboat

⁵⁹⁾ bare

⁶⁰⁾ concrete

⁶¹⁾ lieutenant

⁶²⁾ chili

⁶³⁾ tiptoe

⁶⁴⁾ office

⁶⁵⁾ skull

⁶⁶⁾ bikini

⁶⁷⁾ cabinet

⁶⁸⁾ lumber

⁶⁹⁾ laboratory

⁷⁰⁾ paint

⁷¹⁾ arch

⁷²⁾ bitter

⁷³⁾ staircase

⁷⁴⁾ priority

⁷⁵⁾ cell

⁷⁶⁾ subordinate

⁷⁷⁾ tapes

⁷⁸⁾ mangoss

⁷⁹⁾ bralette

⁸⁰⁾ whiplash

⁸¹⁾ syringe

⁸²⁾ cinnamon

⁸³⁾ tequila

⁸⁴⁾ garden

⁸⁵⁾ cigarette

⁸⁶⁾ sofa

⁸⁷⁾ rain

⁸⁸⁾ teammate

⁸⁹⁾ oleander

⁹⁰⁾ boss

⁹¹⁾ pillar

⁹²⁾ amethyst

⁹³⁾ footpath

⁹⁴⁾ driver

⁹⁵⁾ massage

⁹⁶⁾ stitches

⁹⁷⁾ jeans

⁹⁸⁾ brand

⁹⁹⁾ blackout

¹⁰⁰⁾ sunglasses

¹⁰¹⁾ lunar

¹⁰²⁾ velvet

¹⁰³⁾ captain

¹⁰⁴⁾ afternoon

¹⁰⁵⁾ ivy

¹⁰⁶⁾ salty

¹⁰⁷⁾ portrait

¹⁰⁸⁾ strawberries

¹⁰⁹⁾ torn

¹¹⁰⁾ cocktails

¹¹¹⁾ roommate

¹¹²⁾ bridge

¹¹³⁾ table

¹¹⁴⁾ hotel

¹¹⁵⁾ jasmine

¹¹⁶⁾ armchair

¹¹⁷⁾ satin

¹¹⁸⁾ bedsheet

¹¹⁹⁾ hedgerow

¹²⁰⁾ thigh

¹²¹⁾ cliff

¹²²⁾ gravel

¹²³⁾ apartment

¹²⁴⁾ keycard

¹²⁵⁾ coffee

¹²⁶⁾ babysitter

¹²⁷⁾ fire

¹²⁸⁾ chalk

¹²⁹⁾ hurricane

¹³⁰⁾ crickets

¹³¹⁾ amber

¹³²⁾ sherriff

¹³³⁾ lamplight

¹³⁴⁾ flag

¹³⁵⁾ airport

¹³⁶⁾ gasoline

¹³⁷⁾ cherub

¹³⁸⁾ clementine

¹³⁹⁾ scalpel

¹⁴⁰⁾ motel

¹⁴¹⁾ parish

¹⁴²⁾ lighter

¹⁴³⁾ highrise

¹⁴⁴⁾ crowbar

¹⁴⁵⁾ sundress

¹⁴⁶⁾ newspaper

¹⁴⁷⁾ screws

¹⁴⁸⁾ uniform

¹⁴⁹⁾ gold

¹⁵⁰⁾ buckshots

¹⁵¹⁾ coast

¹⁵²⁾ handcuffs

¹⁵³⁾ gunpowder

¹⁵⁴⁾ badge

¹⁵⁵⁾ orchids

¹⁵⁶⁾ chef

¹⁵⁷⁾ levee

¹⁵⁸⁾ tea

¹⁵⁹⁾ helicopter

¹⁶⁰⁾ cemetery

¹⁶¹⁾ ice

¹⁶²⁾ heirloom

¹⁶³⁾ tarpaulin

¹⁶⁴⁾ rural

¹⁶⁵⁾ sergeant

¹⁶⁶⁾ tsunami

¹⁶⁷⁾ lemon

¹⁶⁸⁾ debt

¹⁶⁹⁾ skyscraper

¹⁷⁰⁾ caramel

¹⁷¹⁾ hottub

¹⁷²⁾ rum

¹⁷³⁾ pet

¹⁷⁴⁾ tradition

¹⁷⁵⁾ perfume

¹⁷⁶⁾ bracelet

¹⁷⁷⁾ secretary

¹⁷⁸⁾ degree

¹⁷⁹⁾ braids

¹⁸⁰⁾ prescription

¹⁸¹⁾ invitation

¹⁸²⁾ cocoa

¹⁸³⁾ ransom

¹⁸⁴⁾ boxers

¹⁸⁵⁾ theatre

¹⁸⁶⁾ mascara

¹⁸⁷⁾ sand

¹⁸⁸⁾ collar

¹⁸⁹⁾ shoulder

¹⁹⁰⁾ lipgloss

¹⁹¹⁾ membership

¹⁹²⁾ heatwave

¹⁹³⁾ disco

¹⁹⁴⁾ cabin

¹⁹⁵⁾ popcorn

¹⁹⁶⁾ altar

¹⁹⁷⁾ radio

¹⁹⁸⁾ bayou

¹⁹⁹⁾ bodyguard

²⁰⁰⁾ glitter

²⁰¹⁾ mustache

²⁰²⁾ protector

²⁰³⁾ contacts

²⁰⁴⁾ bullets

²⁰⁵⁾ groceries

²⁰⁶⁾ raspberry

²⁰⁷⁾ microphone

²⁰⁸⁾ coconut

²⁰⁹⁾ villain

²¹⁰⁾ earlobe

²¹¹⁾ purse

²¹²⁾ flood

²¹³⁾ shot

²¹⁴⁾ windbreaker

²¹⁵⁾ granite

²¹⁶⁾ highway

²¹⁷⁾ eggshells

²¹⁸⁾ hoarse

²¹⁹⁾ chocolates

²²⁰⁾ trembling

²²¹⁾ buttercream

²²²⁾ rings

²²³⁾ holster

²²⁴⁾ briefcase

²²⁵⁾ wrist

²²⁶⁾ piercings

²²⁷⁾ cowboy

²²⁸⁾ ashes

²²⁹⁾ ankle

²³⁰⁾ neroli

²³¹⁾ orchard

²³²⁾ tires

²³³⁾ salmon

²³⁴⁾ peaches

²³⁵⁾ rooftop

²³⁶⁾ toast

²³⁷⁾ gala

²³⁸⁾ sage

²³⁹⁾ graduation

²⁴⁰⁾ reporter

²⁴¹⁾ belt

²⁴²⁾ antidote

²⁴³⁾ ship

²⁴⁴⁾ officer

²⁴⁵⁾ wine

²⁴⁶⁾ corridor

²⁴⁷⁾ cold

²⁴⁸⁾ hangover

²⁴⁹⁾ fingertip

²⁵⁰⁾ vintage

²⁵¹⁾ cupcake

²⁵²⁾ saviour

²⁵³⁾ gentleman

²⁵⁴⁾ loan

²⁵⁵⁾ hostage

²⁵⁶⁾ evergreen

²⁵⁷⁾ denial

²⁵⁸⁾ housewife

²⁵⁹⁾ riverbank

²⁶⁰⁾ marshmallows

²⁶¹⁾ books

²⁶²⁾ hockey

²⁶³⁾ lizard

²⁶⁴⁾ silver

²⁶⁵⁾ dinner

²⁶⁶⁾ pear

²⁶⁷⁾ bound

²⁶⁸⁾ waiter

²⁶⁹⁾ tender

²⁷⁰⁾ fallen

²⁷¹⁾ banquet

²⁷²⁾ announcement

²⁷³⁾ roast

²⁷⁴⁾ sneer

²⁷⁵⁾ exes

²⁷⁶⁾ stovetop

²⁷⁷⁾ brass

²⁷⁸⁾ clay

²⁷⁹⁾ valet

²⁸⁰⁾ schoolbus

²⁸¹⁾ exhausted

²⁸²⁾ field

²⁸³⁾ hoodie

²⁸⁴⁾ sugar

²⁸⁵⁾ palmtree

²⁸⁶⁾ burnt

²⁸⁷⁾ diner

²⁸⁸⁾ snake

²⁸⁹⁾ fever

²⁹⁰⁾ domestic

²⁹¹⁾ plaid

²⁹²⁾ wreck

²⁹³⁾ courtyard

²⁹⁴⁾ dozen

²⁹⁵⁾ earphones

²⁹⁶⁾ blueberry

²⁹⁷⁾ anklet

²⁹⁸⁾ shower

²⁹⁹⁾ venom

³⁰⁰⁾ lover

[ghouljams]

Cowboy Ghost

Retirement Plan (no ship) part 2 (no ship) First Post Meet Cute On your knees Save a Horse The Official First Chapter Morning After Off Limits Lowkey Stalker Ghost Sun in Your Eyes The Coyote Kiss Me Like You Miss Me Sandbagging Pop Tabs A Small Quiet Moment Not Boyfriend Material Migraine Hands pt. 1 Hands pt. 2 In the Barn Dad's Best Friend So he's a Comedian Rummy A Hard Cry Almost Caught Caught Give that man a Baby Momma's Boy 4th of July Taking care like Lovers Do Shower Trouble Star Gazing Backstrap Butcher Bonfire Season Drunken Confessions Price's Blessing Branded Sick Ghost's Birthday Mr. Goose Good Dog Sketching Pillow Princess Build Me a Castle of Memories Good Boy Well Fed Morning Darts Loud and Begging (MDNI) New Hat Locked Up (MDNI) Tornado Season New Jeans Hold me tight (MDNI) Saddle Scratcher Just like Mum

Baby Fics

The First of Many Naptime Frog Baby's first ride Number two Daddy's Girls Doctors Visits

1870s AU

Gunslinger Pretty Boy First Kiss Rushed Proposal Missing Missing (pt2)

Head Canons

Ghost and the Dog Farm Boy Murder Ballads Christmas on the Farm Hunting Antics

Futuristic AU

Happy Hunting

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Pressing

Jack Daniels x F!Reader, dude ranch AU

A Palomino oneshot, but can be read on its own

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: Jack marks you as his in an unexpected way.

Warnings: PWP, Jack's belt leaves an impression on reader's skin, unintentional branding, unprotected sex, long-distance relationship, desperate and feral cowboy, no physical descriptions of Reader, very lightly edited, written as part of the Palomino universe, set after the end of the series, but can be read as a oneshot on its own

Word count: 1.4k

Notes: This little story came from an ask sent in by 🐴 anon in December 2022, which I have long lost, about a song that mentions a guy’s belt buckle leaving marks on his girlfriend's inner thigh while fucking. Naturally, they thought of Jack’s belt. 🐴 anon, if you’re still here, thank you for the inspo and for your patience ❤️

Also thank you to @lola-lola-lola for getting me horn knee about our cowboy again 😘 Writing Palomino smut first thing in the year was not on my 2024 bingo card, and I’m not mad about it!

Cutest dividers by @firefly-graphics.

It’s been two and a half months. Week after wretched week of phone calls on stolen time. Day after day of aching to reach through the phone screen and the distance between you to touch him.

It’s hard being hundreds and hundreds of miles apart. It’s even harder on weeks when he’s in the mountains with no reception. Harder to find time to call when you have to work late and he has to get up at dawn.

But you endure it all - for days like this. 

It’s a rare weekend off in the high season, with Teak pulling back-to-back pack trips to cover for him, joking that he can’t take all his sighing and pining for his Darlin’ anymore.

Jack takes the last flight out on Friday night, arriving first thing on Saturday morning, before the city - or you - wake up. You’re half-buried under the duvet when the jingle of the key in the door jolts you from shallow slumber.

On unsteady feet, you wobble out into the hallway, crashing into the walls as you go, balance off-kilter from sleep.

But it’s ok - he catches you, all white t-shirt and tight blue jeans. Incognito, if you will, in casual sneakers, but the cowboy hat is on as always. You knock it off post-haste, burying your face in the side of his neck in a desperate need for contact, his warmth seeping into your skin and wrapping you up in the deepest of comforts.

His hair is longer than he usually keeps it, and your fingers twist into his tousled curls when you pull back, taking in the stubble on his sharp jawline, and his tired eyes. But before you can say anything, he leans in and slants his lips over yours.

The taste of airplane coffee is sharp and bitter on his tongue as he kisses you deep and messy. You startle when he suddenly slams the door shut behind him, not realising it was still open, and his beat-up weekend bag is tossed carelessly behind him somewhere in the doorway. 

The legs of the kitchen table scrape jarringly against the floor as he crowds you onto it, big hands cupping your ass and pulling you against his straining erection through his jeans.

‘Fuck, it’s been too long, darlin’.’ His voice is gravelly from an apparently sleepless overnight flight, and hearing his voice finally on the shell of your ear has you whimpering needily.

‘Can’t wait any more,’ he growls, desperation thick in his voice.

With a flick of his wrists, he shucks off your ratty sleep shirt, eyes hooded as he gazes down at your tits, like he can’t believe he’s actually touching you. Cupping them, soft and heavy, with reverent, rope-worn palms, he sucks one nipple after the other between his lips, making you squirm against him and leak wet and sticky between your thighs.

Strong hands hold you in place easily as you buck, the scrape of his moustache almost painful on your over-sensitive skin, nerve endings on fire after being deprived for long weeks. 

Too impatient to wait, you tug your pyjamas shorts down your hips and kick them off clumsily, panties tangled in your damp folds as you writhe under him. 

You feel the breath catch in his broad chest at the peek of your pussy, a rapidly growing damp spot darkening your cotton underwear. Hooking his thumb under the fabric, he tugs it unceremoniously to the side, baring you to him. 

‘Look at all this,’ he marvels, tracing the fleshy pad of his thumb through your folds, making you arch clean off the table. ‘So wet for me and you’ve barely woken up.’

‘Been thinking about you the while night,’ you admit, hips twitching as you chase his touch. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘Did you touch yourself, darlin’?’

You shake your head vehemently. ‘No. Wanted your fingers. Your cock.’

His nostrils flare at your answer, unabashedly possessive in the way he looms over you. 

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs into your throat, nosing the side of your neck while thick fingers thrum against your clit. ‘I was so hard for you the whole fuckin’ flight.’ 

As if to prove it to you - not that you need it - he rolls his hips into your inner thigh, the hard bulge undeniable.

You mewl, hooking your ankles around his waist. ‘Fuck me now, Jack - please.’

There’s a wordless fumble for the solid sterling flask bottle of his belt buckle, his usual level-headed composure nowhere to be found as he pushes down his jeans with shaking hands, just enough to pull his cock out of its denim confines - 

And then he thrusts home inside you.

After months of only your fingers, it’s a stretch. But what a delicious stretch it is.

You feel him throb deep inside you, feel the thunder of a pained groan in his chest, pressed up against yours. Your cunt is all slick and give to his determined strokes as he begins to move. 

There’s no finesse, hardly any awareness, when he fucks frantically into you. His solid weight pins you to the table, and it rattles precariously under your back.

Your legs are splayed obscenely wide and bent at the knees while Jack pounds into your wet heat, eyes wild and mouth hanging open, watching your tits bounce as you take him, your nails digging into the cotton of his white t-shirt. He never did take off your panties, and the fabric rubs your clit just so with every one of his thrusts, rapidly sending you to the edge.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware of the coarse scrape of his jeans against your inner thighs, and something digs hard into the tender skin, the repeated motion dulling the sensation to an almost numb pressure. 

When you cum, you’re crying out before your head catches up, your body convulsing with blind bliss as your pussy clenches around him in a hot rush. The blood pounding in your ears is drowned out by your chants of his name, and then his hips start to stutter and his whole body tenses, frantic eyes on yours as he teeters on the edge. 

‘Where, darlin’?’

‘Inside me.’

The words have barely left you and he’s coming, broken pants against your lips as he comes and comes and comes - spilling inside you, filling you to the brim until he’s empty, turned inside out.

Slumped, boneless on top of you, humid pants pressed into your shoulder, his fingers tangle with yours, squeezing as if to let you know that he’s here.

You almost doze off, the gradually slowing rise and fall of the cowboy’s broad chest a comforting anchor, when he rouses you with gentle lips along your jaw. You giggle, feeling him softening and sliding out of you, making a mess of your kitchen table. 

‘Mornin’ darlin’,’ he says somewhat belatedly, warm eyes crinkling as he smiles at you.

‘Morning,’ you grin back, and when he shifts, you wince at the ache in your joints from being pinned to one spot for this very vigorous wake up call. His hands smooth over your legs in apology, and you jump when his fingertips brush over somewhere at the juncture of your upper thigh that is surprisingly sore.

‘What’s that?’ you ask, puzzled.

Jack doesn’t answer, curiously quiet. You look down to where he’s bracketed between your legs, watching him trace his index finger over the unmistakable imprint of his distinct belt buckle on the inside of your thigh, where it’s been digging into your skin the whole time. 

He glances at you. ‘I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?’

‘No, you didn’t,’ you give him a knowing grin. ‘And are you really sorry, cowboy?’

He doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. Gently pinching your swollen folds together, he groans when a milky bead of his cum dribbles out of you, running down the inside of your leg and smearing onto the flask-shaped impression.

‘Ain’t sorry about somethin’ that looks this good on you, darlin’.’

‘Could’ve asked me before you branded me, you know,’ you half-joke, running your own finger along the deep lines carved into your skin, for now.

‘Beggin’ your pardon, I tend to forget my manners when I’m balls deep in a pussy as sweet as yours,’ he retorts, one eyebrow arching when he feels you shiver at his words.

You huff in jest, ‘Doesn’t sound like much of an apology if you asked me.’

‘Whatcha want, darlin’? Me on my hands and knees for you?’

Heat flashes under your skin, from your cheeks down to your toes, and Jack’s eyes darken as his tongue wets his bottom lip. ‘Alright. I hear you loud and clear, ma’am.’

Slowly, he sinks onto his knees in front of you, his joints creaking endearingly as he goes, and you can’t help but tease, ‘Easy there, cowboy.’

The wicked tip of his tongue peeks out, and you bite your lip in a moan when it cleverly traces the outline of the belt buckle on your skin, ending in a playful nip that pulls a gasp from you.

With an unapologetically smug grin, Jack winks. ‘I’m only just gettin’ started, darlin’.’

Note: Thank you for reading ❤️ I’ve missed these two, and if you’re new to Palomino, I hope you’ll give the series a chance!

[bullet-prooflove]

Romantic Shit: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @hatersaremymotivators justsimplyme93 knick3rbock3r anticxrrupt 

Prequel to Summer (NSFW)

Every morning that Ryan wakes up with you is a gift. He’s thought that ever since you decided to take this cowboy to bed. This morning though, this morning is bitter sweet because he’s leaving in a couple of days for Texas and the two of you still haven’t discussed what that means for the relationship.

When he finds you, you’re standing on the porch of your house, watching the sunrise in the distance, a mug of coffee clasped to your chest. You’re clad in nothing but his plaid shirt and cowboy boots. The tattoo of his name stands stark against your upper thigh, a symbol of your love for him, your commitment.

This thing between the two of you was never meant to have a future.

In the beginning he didn’t see how it could work, you were a deputy in the sheriff’s department and he was a land enforcement agent/cowboy who did some goddamn shady shit. The secrets you kept from one another should have strangled the life out of this thing but instead it had flourished, because there has always been a mutual understanding. He’s got shit he can’t tell you and you’ve got shit you can’t tell him.

“We should talk about it.” He says quietly as he comes to lean against the wooden strut that supports the gable.

You set your coffee cup down on the railing before you turn your attention towards him. His jeans are slung low on his hips, the orange light from the sunrise plays over his bare chest, highlighting the brand that’s seared into his skin.

“I guess I just wasn’t ready for this to end just yet.” You say as you lean against the pillar opposite him.

Ryan wants to tell you it doesn’t have to, that he’ll be true to you out there in Texas but he can’t ask you to wait a year for him, no matter how much he may want it. His fingertips trace over your name, the italic scrawl inked into his inner forearm.

Katalina…

The love of his life.

The woman whose about to become Sheriff of this county.

You can’t go with him and he can’t stay…

“I love you.” He says quietly as he looks out across the landscape. “I will always love you, the distance doesn’t change that.”

“I know.” You say softly as you come to stand beside him. “I keep asking myself what’s one year in the space of a lifetime?” 

“And what’s the answer?” He asks you, the back of his hand brushing lightly against yours.

Your fingers capture his, entwining them and for the first time since this conversation started he allows himself to hope.

“Marry you.” You say, squeezing his hand a little. “So you’ll know you’ll always be mine, wherever you go.”

If that isn’t the most romantic shit he doesn’t know what is.

“Are you asking me that honey?” He murmurs, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he backs you up against the strut. He can feel the heat of your body through the shirt, he wants to unbutton it, take it off, fuck you right here on the porch. “Are you asking me to marry you before I head off to Texas?”

Your fingers lace at the base of his neck, fingertips brushing over the light curls. His hair has gotten a little long this season. He’s been meaning to cut it but he likes the way your fingers feel when you tug it just right.

“I guess I am cowboy.” You whisper against his lips. “So is that a yes or a no?”

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[littleslaywrites]

head over boots | spencer reid x farmer’s daughter!reader

summary: you bring spencer home to meet your parents and show him around the farm you grew up on

word count: 1.9k

cw: pure fluff, farm shenanigans, city boy spencer

Spencer was neat. He kept his home tidy, banishing germs before they could appear. He was indoorsy, preferring books of the wilderness over the actual thing.

So, naturally, you were nervous to bring him home. You grew up wearing dusty boots in the hot sun to shovel hay into your horses’ troughs. It seemed like your parents called every other week asking when they’d get to meet your boyfriend. You wanted Spencer to meet them, but you worried that he’d hate the farm you had grown up on. 

“I want to see it,” Spencer said one night after you got off the phone with your parents.

“I just don’t want you to hate it. It’s not really your kind of place.”

“If it’s for you, I’ll do it.”

Spencer eventually persuaded you when he had three weeks off of work. While packing, you had to convince him to leave his nice sweaters behind.

“I want to look good when I meet your parents,” he protests when you pull out his oldest pair of jeans from the bottom of the drawers. 

“Even if you do wear something nice, the wind will pick up and cover you in dust before you make it inside.”

You compromise by letting him pack a few nice outfits “just in case”. The two of you also go shopping for a pair of boots, so he won’t get his converse dirty. He even convinces you to let him buy a cowboy hat. You couldn’t resist when you saw how cute he looked when he put it on.

When you finally pull up to your house, your parents are standing on the porch. Spencer is clearly nervous, looking slightly out of place in his button up, old jeans, and brand-new boots. 

“They’ll love you,” you reassure him as you approach the house. You’re briefly stopped by a goat that trots in front of you, causing Spencer to tentatively step around it. His avoidance is futile, as it walks up and begins to chew on his pantleg anyway. You call for him to keep walking, and he hops away until the goat leaves him alone. 

“I see you’ve already met one of the livestock,” your dad calls out as you walk up the steps to the porch. 

Your parents introduce themselves, and Spencer's nervousness slowly dissipates as they invite him inside and offer him something to drink. You can tell he’s growing on them with every word he speaks.

His trial isn’t over, though. “Would you mind feeding the chickens and cleaning their coop?” your mom asks the two of you as she starts to prepare dinner.

“I love cleaning,” Spencer says a little too enthusiastically. You giggle at this, knowing the type of cleaning you’re about to do is nothing like Spencer has done before. 

You make your way to the back of the house, Spencer trailing behind you. When you pick up the bag of feed, he insists on carrying it for you. “It’s heavy,” he remarks once it’s up on his shoulder. You only give him a hum as a reply. 

Opening the coop releases a deluge of chickens that weave in and out of your legs. Spencer squeals, trying to get up on his toes to avoid their small feet.

“Are you afraid of the chickens?”

“No,” he indignantly replies. “They were coming straight for me.”

“Will you go get us some gloves and masks from that shed over there?” 

You throw some feed around as he digs through the shed. Retrieving a new bag of bedding, you watch him pull the gloves over his hands, still keeping a good distance from the chickens. 

When you meet him back at the coop with the bag and a broom in hand, he’s looking even more awkward than usual, hands held away from his sides.

“You don’t have to help if you don’t want to,” you say, noticing his discomfort.

“I can do it,” he says, taking a minuscule step toward the flock.

“Then bring over that hose.”

You make work of the coop, using the broom to sweep out all the bedding. After about a minute, you call out to Spencer. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Nothing,” he mutters.

Turning around, you met with the sight of him hobbling towards you, dragging the hose between his legs.

“What on earth are you doing?”

He drops it, arms raised in a shrug to show his exasperation. 

“I’ll do it,” you say, approaching him. “Finish sweeping the bedding out.”

He reluctantly picks up the broom, just slightly less awkward than he was with the hose. 

When everything is out of the coop, you turn on the hose, spraying the insides with water. Spencer jogs backwards to avoid the splash, but trips on the now discarded broom and falls right into a group of chickens. They go running every which way, bawking at the intruder.

“Spencer–” You turn back, forgetting you have the hose and dampening his shirt. 

“Ah!” 

You drop the hose and walk towards where he’s splayed in the dirt. “Are you alright?”

“You sprayed me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t move to get up. “Are you gonna lay there all day?”

“Maybe.”

You reach a hand out, and he grabs it to stand up. He turns around and you brush as much dirt off his back as you can. 

You go back to hosing down the coop, Spencer keeping a good distance from you. Letting it air dry, the two of you sit on the swing on your back porch.

“This is interesting,” Spencer remarks, foot planted on the ground to rock you back and forth.

“I warned you.” 

“I didn’t say it was bad.” He takes hold of your hand, gloves now laying beside him.

“You don’t have to say it for me to know.” You look at his shirt, slowly drying in the sun. You’re sure he’s dying inside, feeling damp and dusty.

“I can put up with it,” he squeezes your hand, “if it’s for you.”

You smile. He always knows what to say to make you blush. Reluctantly rising, you pull him back to the coop. “We just have to put the new bedding in, then we're done.”

Putting your gloves back on, he tears open the bag as you dump it in. You spread it around, and step back to show Spencer your work. 

“Looks good,” he says, clearly not knowing whether it’s good or bad.

“I had a terrific farmhand.”

Your mom is soon calling you in for dinner. Spencer discusses recipes with your mom and the history of the valley with your dad. You smile to yourself as you see how perfectly he fits into your home.

After dinner, you lay on the dock of the lake at the edge of the property. The stars are clear, more visible than they ever are from your apartment in the city. The wind blows the water around, a subtle sound mixing with the words Spencer whispers in your ear. 

“See that one?” He’s pointing up to a star above you. “You can tell it’s hotter because of the blue color.”

You’re listening, as you always want to hear his ramblings, but only minimally. You’re distracted by the way his hair tousled by the wind, the reflection of the moon in his eyes.

“Do you want to ride the horses tomorrow?” you ask quietly. Nobody can hear you out here. You learned that during your teenage years. Yet, you still whisper. Your words are for Spencer’s ears only. Not even the fish get to know what you exchange. 

“As long as I can stay dry.” 

You sigh, knowing you’ll never live down the incident with the hose. “We have to get those boots dirty so people don’t think you’re a city boy.”

“I like your parents,” he interjects.

“I’m glad. I’m really glad.”

“But next time they should come visit us.”

“Farm life not for you?”

“Only for the week. Then I’ll be ready to get back to the city.”

He really looks beautiful in the moonlight. You’re grateful for him, as you’re more than aware of how far out of his comfort zone he is. He’s never judged you for your upbringing, even if it was vastly different than the daughters of diplomats that populated D.C. and were available for him to pick from. Instead, he was always interested in your past life.

Even if he didn’t enjoy the whole farm thing, Spencer liked seeing your home. He got to see the setting of all the memories you’d told him about. He could put up with the animals if it meant understanding you deeper. He has to admit that he enjoys the peace of the farm. In the middle of nowhere, there are no honking cars or noisy neighbors to cut into the tranquility.

The night settles around you two, and Spencer rubs his thumb along the curves of your fingers. The night is pleasant, and the warmth of your bodies beside each other keeps the cool breeze from chilling you.

“You know,” Spencer interrupts the silence, “I think I could get used to this. Not the chickens or the goats, but... being here with you. I could get used to that.”

“It means a lot. That you’re sharing it with me for a while.” 

“I think your parents would enjoy seeing our apartment in the city. But I’d still come. Anytime you want me here, you know I’ll come.”

“I don’t think you’ll ever be a true country boy, but that’s okay.” You pause to turn your head toward him. “I love that you try.”

Quiet overtakes you again. A shooting star falls from the sky, the bright light slowly fading as it plummets. You wish for more of these moments. Moments where Spencer is with you, exploring each other's lives. 

Spencer wasn’t perfect for this place, and he probably never would be. However, that’s not what mattered. What mattered was that he was trying, coming here just for you. He wanted to understand you, and maybe, in doing that, he might be finding something of himself in the place you grew up.

He could use the peace, you decide. He’s always in the midst of action, mind racing as he works against the clock to save lives. Here, he could take some time to do nothing, to lay by the lake under the blanket of stars.

Spencer feels the same way, but to him, it’s not about the quiet of the farm, but rather the company. He could be anywhere in the world, and would feel the same serenity as he did here, as long as you were with him. And, with all the chickens locked in their coop and the other animals asleep in their pens, he began to enjoy the scenery. Looking at you on the dock, he could almost see a younger version of you fantasizing about the life you had now.

The farm is a place of your past. At 18, you were desperate to get out, dreaming of something beyond the isolated farmhouse at the edge of a dull town. With the addition of Spencer, though, it feels like the future. Not necessarily here, but somewhere that the two of you can lay side by side, getting to know the deepest parts of your souls. 

You were still dreaming on your dock, just this time, you’re not thinking of escaping. Instead, you’re picturing more moments just like this, filled with the peace of the stars above you and the comfort of Spencer’s hand in yours.

author's note: hey everyone! i have no ideas so lmk if any of you might be interested in a second part of this and pls send requests (open for any cm characters). also life update the semester started wednesday and we have a snow day tomorrow yippee!

[mediumgayitalian]

Nico is pretty sure, at this point, that something has gone wrong. A chasm has opened up, a trap went haywire, an explosion went off and blew up half the camp. Something drastic has to have happened to make everyone go quiet.

But the rocks of Zeus’ fist are sun-warmed. A sweet-smelling breeze ruffles brand new leaves, musses his hair, although it’s hot enough that he’s rolled up the cuffs of his jeans and forgone a sweater. Will is on guard duty next to him, and no one has come to bother them in hours, and he cannot bring himself to care.

“Found one!”

“No way,” Nico protests, leaning over to see. “It’s been ten minutes!”

In the palm of the cupped hand Will holds out between them, held loose so as not to crush it, is a four-leaf clover. One of the more picturesque ones, too; emerald green, heart-shaped leaves, delicately crimped, and a thin curling stem tapered perfectly down the middle.

Will shrugs, smiling. There’s enough bitten-back teasing in his expression that it looks more like a smirk. “I guess I’m just lucky.”

“Lucky I don’t smite you, maybe,” Nico grumbles. “Go away. Your bad vibes are hindering my success.”

Snorting, Will does, shuffling back over to let Nico comb through the clover thatch in peace. He stretches out on the grass — he ditched his shoes and helmet and armour the literal second the rest of the team ran off, the dork — and shifts ‘til he’s comfortable, ankles crossed, hands behind his head, eyes closed. Nico pictures him with a piece of straw sticking out of his mouth and a cowboy hat resting over his eyes and giggles to himself. The image is so clear he’s half-certain it was a vision.

“Though you were tryin’ to focus,” Will mutters, cracking one eye open.

Nico sticks his tongue out. “I’m trying, derpface. All your shifting around is distracting.”

“I’ve moved maybe three times.”

“Yeah, in as many minutes.”

Will, without looking, plucks a blade of grass and flicks it at him. “Stay focused, Death Breath.” He stretches his arms above his head, sighing. “I’m gonna nap.”

He doesn’t move when Nico flings a handful of (regular) clovers at him, infuriatingly serene. He’s trained himself to fall asleep anywhere, anything to catch up on the sleep debt he’s been wracking up for years, and the sunny patch of clearing in the first they’re in is one of the nicer places Nico has found him passed out. At least here he can stretch out, sit in the sun — Nico found him tucked in between the camp washer and dryer, once, curled under a stack of laundry baskets. He’d made a valiant effort to hide himself from accident-prone younger siblings and best friends who invite mortal wrath, but his snoring had given him away. Nico’d heard him outside the building.

Here, though, no one is bothering them. Chiron’s playing field medic, the infirmary has been stocked, the Ares kids were cursed by Clovis and co. last week and have been asleep since. There haven’t been any echoing screams of agony. No desperate IMs. Nico, even, makes sure to keep his sword within reach, armour still firmly strapped, quietly on guard so Will doesn’t have to be. For once, he can take up as much space as he likes, bare skin absorbing the sun that has outshined the clouds perhaps for the express purpose of keeping him toasty even without a blanket.

Nico drags his eyes back towards the clovers, smiling. He’s cute when he sleeps. Sometimes he mumbles, nonsensical ramblings of the half-conscious, too slurred for Nico to make much sense of it. He catches bits and pieces of words and phrases as he picks through the soft leaves; lemme try, twice, as he watches a ladybug hop her way over a stone; careful with that, as he tosses a handful of regular, three-leaf clovers into the air; and notably diphenhydramine as he digs his hand through the soft dirt to yank out a worm.

Nico turns to face him. “You’re a nerd,” he says solemnly.

Will snores in response.

“Sleep quieter, why don’t you.”

The thing about Will is that he is like a tapeworm.

Nico means this in the best possible way. They start out invisible — sure, you might feel the irritation of something new burrowing its way into your person, but it’s not your most pressing concern. You’ve maybe got other things on your mind. You’re not focused, intensely, on how tiny changes are happening to you; you’re eating more, moving more, sleeping weird. Sometimes this happens. It’s nothing notable.

Slowly, though, you start to change. There’s this…cavern, inside of you, that you’re suddenly aware of. Maybe it was always there. You’re struck, more and more each day, with the need to fill yourself. To consume. You are aware, for the first time in years, that you have not had enough. There has been an emptiness inside you. And now there’s this driving force making home inside you instead, pushing you to take enough to not just survive but to thrive. You’re capable, now, in a way you weren’t before, to feel your needs, your wants. To listen to them. There is something that has worked it’s way inside you and grown and grown and grown and forced you, alongside it, to care about yourself enough to maintain its life inside you.

Will would probably not appreciate being compared to a parasite. It might be funny to tell him anyway, though. Watch his eye twitch as he tries to find a diplomatic way to ask Nico what the fuck his deal is. He’ll have to tell him when he wakes up.

A quiet groaning noise has him looking up again; the sound of rustling clothes and twisting grass.

“Y’r smirkin’.”

Speak of the devil. Or parasite.

Nico picks at a tangled stem. “What are your thoughts on tapeworms?”

“Generally bad,” Will says, yawning. He doesn’t seem fazed at all by the random question — he usually isn’t. People ask him a lot of strange things, generally. Like, how many consecutive concussions are medically unsound? (any, dude, please), or what is the recommended liquid amount of iron to swallow to fortify your blood? (none, please don’t fucking swallow liquid iron), or perhaps most notable are you up for learning how to un-do cerebral paralysis within the next ten seconds? (no, Jesus Christ, get off the fucking roof and set down the wax wings, do you people learn nothing ever).

“What about tapeworms as a metaphor for friendship?”

“…That’s a new one, I’ll give you that.”

Hell yes. Point to Nico.

“D’you find one, yet?”

Nico’s face drops into a scowl. “No.”

He doesn’t understand how Will found a four-leaf so quickly. Nico’s been looking for much longer, and the clover patch is huge — statistically, he should have found one by now, right? It just makes sense.

Will hums, dragging himself to his knees and then somersaulting over. He lands legs sprawled over a smattering of pebbles, head by Nico’s knees. Nico reaches out and flicks his temples, just to watch him wrinkle his nose in protest.

“Whattaya so bent on getting one for, anyway?”

Nico shrugs, looking away. “Luck.”

“Duh.” Will pokes his thigh. “What for?”

“None of your business, nosy.”

“Well, that just made me a thousand times more interested. I was going to let it go, before, but now —”

“You’re so full of shit,” Nico huffs, grinning. Will matches his look with a shameless smile, placing his hands under his chin in a caricature of cherubic innocence.

“Why, whatever do you mean.”

“I mean —” he punctuates every word with a pinch — “that you have to know every detail —”

“Ack! Stop!”

“— of everybody else’s lives —”

“Hey! Derek Hale! Put the claws away!”

“— at any given time —”

“I am going to scream!”

“— or you’ll die.”

He acquires, finally, to Will’s screeching and writhing, pushing him away with one last poke. He pouts, looking at Nico with round, wounded eyes.

“You’re so mean to me.”

“You invite it, honestly.”

“By caring about you, you butthead.”

Nico rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile. “Yeah, yeah.”

Looking for the four-leaf is different with Will watching him. Different, somehow, even though he’s quiet, chin resting on his knees, eyes following Nico’s searching hands. Every shift has Nico’s breath catching, fingers twitching at his minute hums, his tapping fingers. He’s distracting. If Nico was struggling to find the lucky clover before, it’s hopeless now. Will drags his attention like the core of the Earth drags everything towards it.

“Hey,” Will murmurs, poking Nico with his toe. “Take mine.”

Nico glances up to find his hand, again, outstretched between them, four-leaf clover centred in the palm of his wide hands. His eyes watch every minute shift of Nico’s form, his stuttered breath, sweating palms. Bitten lip, shifting eyes.

“…You don’t know what I need it for.”

“I don’t need to.” Blue, blue, blue eyes. Ridiculously so, really. An exact match for the sky no matter what time of day; olympic blue, now, an perfect reflection of the late afternoon. “Take it.”

He thrusts his hand out farther. Heart pounding, Nico does, lightly pinching the stem between his thumb and forefinger, keeping his hand curled on Will’s.

He promised himself. One to ten thousand chance — if he found one, he’d do it.

It counts.

“Hey, Will.”

Blue widely above him, encroached by the canopy. Blue flapping in the wind behind him, perched on Zeus’ fist. Blue on the plumes of his helmet. Blue in the lavender, in the grape hyacinth, in the cornflowers.

Blue, blue, blue eyes, meeting his, flicking down. Flicking hastily back up again.

Nico tugs, gently, on his wrist. He moves where Nico directs him. Easily.

Up. Down. Up again. Perfect rings, thinning against a growing expanse of black.

Nico darts forward and kisses him. He sighs into it, immediately, hand going limp in Nico’s hold. The clover flutters to the ground between them, disappearing once again in a sea of green.

“You didn’t need luck for this,” Will mumbles.

Nico tilts their heads to rest closer together and kisses him ‘til he’s quiet.

[silverskyeline]

.・✭ FANFIC MASTERLIST 13/10/24 ✭・.

ੈ♡˳ Wolverine

✩ worst wolverine ✦ 'messy' (nsfw) - worst!logan x f!reader // logan learns that you can squirt, he indulges in that information (1.8k words) ✦ 'hunger' (nsfw) - worst!logan x f!reader // logan can't tear his mind away from the new barmaid at his usual haunt. he tries to resist you, he really does. but when you're both alone in the bathroom, he finds he's not the only one plagued with filthy thoughts. (3.9k words)

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

✩ old man logan ✦ 'look at me' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x gn!reader // logan can't fuck like he used to, but you don't care. you get on top, gladly taking care of him in return (2k words) ✦ 'forever in blue jeans' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x f!reader // riding old man logans thigh while he wears jeans (500 words) ✦ 'my man' (nsfw) - oldman!logan x gn!reader // he's irresistible in that work suit of his, so much so that you decide to treat him with it on. (1.3k) ✦ 'the man in the mirror' - oldman!logan x gn!reader // comforting logan as he questions his identity (600 words) ✦ 'always' - oldman!logan x gn!reader // logan is struggling to look after himself, you trim his beard while he sleeps. (800 words)

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

✩ general logan / aus / other ✦ 'nsfw alphabet headcanons' (nsfw) - logan x gn!reader // the word 'logan' for the nsfw alphabet (800 words) ✦ 'branded' (nsfw) - logan x gn!reader // wearing logans dog tags as you ride him (300 words) ✦ 'joyride' - (nsfw) logan x f!reader // logan fucks you on his (scotts) motorbike in the middle of the forest because you can't keep it down inside the mansion. (1.7k words) ✦ 'heavy metal lover' (nsfw) - logan x f!reader // imagine logan is in a metal band and he uses you before every gig in his dressing room (300 words) ✦ 'save a horse, ride a cowboy' (nsfw) - cowboy!logan x gn!reader // riding cowboy logan (370 words) ✦ 'bad idea, right?' (nsfw) - dofp!logan x f!reader // your father hired him to protect you, not to fuck you. but logan never really liked playing by the rules. (1.7k) ✦ 'number one fan' - rockstar!logan x popstar!wade // rockstar logan meets popstar wade backstage. what could go wrong? (1.1k words)