#cowboy lovin

[mutliwankenobi]

Girls don’t want boys, girls want Colt Seavers emerging dramatically from the water in a bloodied white wife beater after faking his death while I Was Made for Lovin’ You blasts in background.

[theres-a-man-in-the-archives]

Should I write random TSSM Montana hcs? Like both random ones I’ve accumulated while writing my oc x canon stuff abt him? And also what it’s like being with him? Should I…

Should I? Should I—Shoulddddd I?

[redgearsmovin]

Oh Smitty is ROCKIN' to that hahaha

[elwar-arts]

Micha Bell! Art of Micha Bell from rdr2! Always loved how cartoonishly evil he can be, meanwhile Dutch is just like "yeah, he's a silly little guy xoxo"

[syrupmap]

Another song for the cowgays

You've heard this song a thousand times

But this time it's 'bout two guys

[bohemian-rhapsody-in-blue]

Bebop Crew July Challenge, Day 2: Summer Nights

Thanks to the @bebopcrew community for the prompt list! This one is, of course, inspired by the song “Summer Nights” from Grease. Takes place post-finale.

Summer lovin’, had me a blast…

Summer lovin’, happened so fast…

Faye swore she usually had more sophisticated tastes than the almost-a-century-old film about teenage greasers in the 1950s, peppily singing and dancing their way through high school friendships and romances. Grease, she admitted, was a bit of a guilty pleasure for her, and she knew she’d probably be subject to merciless teasing if any other members of the crew caught her watching it unironically. But she stood by her love of the movie, embarrassing as it may have been.

She knew, of course—she knew very well from experience—that the real world wasn’t like the one portrayed in Grease; it didn’t have musical numbers and dance-offs and perfect happy endings where people’s cars inexplicably took off flying into the sky. (Although she supposed maybe her Red Tail counted…) The real world was filled with hard times, bad luck, scammers and con artists you couldn’t trust. The real world, put simply, sucked. But sometimes it was nice to pretend.

And at the end of a long, crappy day like today—when her bounty heads had all gotten away, her horses had all lost, and to top it all off, there was nothing good to eat anywhere on the ship—it was nice to watch something calming, familiar, silly, that would let her relax and turn off her brain. Particularly when she was in the optimal viewing position: alone, curled up on her bed, with headphones connected to the TV and jammed firmly over her ears. It especially helped if she had a drink or two to go with it, too. (Because of course the ship had that.)

“Damn, Faye,” came a voice, “didn’t realize you were actually twelve years old.” Faye turned in surprise to see Spike standing in the doorway, a sideways grin on his face.

She was going to destroy these headphones.

“Oh, are you talking about this absolute cinematic masterpiece I’m watching?” she said lightly, taking off her headphones so they hung around her neck, but letting the movie continue to play in the background. She knew this whole song by heart anyway, not that she’d readily admit that to Spike. Now that her headphones were off, she could tell they didn’t block out noise very well—stupid cheap things—and the movie’s sounds were quite easily audible through their tinny speakers even when they were plugged in. The T-Birds and the Pink Ladies crooned faintly underneath her words. Tell me more, tell me more….

“This music is giving me diabetes just from listening to it,” Spike complained.

Faye grinned. “Your tastes just aren’t sophisticated enough to appreciate it.” She may have dreaded her crewmates’ teasing, but she could give as good as she got.

Spike made his way to Faye’s bed and leaned over her shoulder to look at the movie. A few minutes passed quietly this way, with Spike furrowing his brow, a vaguely confused expression on his face as he took in the action. Finally, he broke the silence. “There’s no way these actors are high schoolers,” he said, jabbing his finger at Rizzo on the screen. “I mean, how old’s that one? 30?”

“I notice you haven’t stopped watching.”

“I just wanna see how stupid it is,” Spike protested. But, just as Faye said, he didn’t stop watching. He kept looking over Faye’s shoulder, leaning against her bedpost in that casual way of his. He was mostly silent except for the occasional, “Who’s that?” and “What’s with that ridiculous getup?” and “Oh, god dammit, they’re singing again?”

Faye found it strange to watch her designated Movie For Bad Days with Spike in the room, judging it all. But she duly fended off his comments: “That’s Frenchy, she’s one of the Pink Ladies”; “You mean that beautiful getup, and it’s from like 120 years ago anyway”; “It’s a musical, Spike, not a snooze-ical. Now shut up, I wanna hear this.”

At one point, Spike pointed to Danny Zuko and asked, with a sly, joking smile, “You think I could pull off that look?”

“As if there was enough grease in the world to tame your hair like that.”

“Find me a pair of leather pants,” he said, “and I’ll get back to you.”

“The real question is, could you dance like that,” said Faye.

“Could I? Sure,” Spike answered. “Would I? With all those weird-ass pelvic thrusts? You couldn’t pay me.”

Faye smiled; she couldn’t help herself. “That’s kinda what you look like when you’re fighting.”

“Please.” Spike shook his head and turned away. “Zucchini or whatever his name is wishes he could do it like me.”

At another point, he blurted out incredulously, “You have this shit memorized?” and Faye realized she’d been unconsciously mouthing the lyrics to one of the songs, matching it word-for-word. She hadn’t even noticed she was doing it.

“You know the exact order of all those tracks on Jet’s favorite Charlie Parker album,” she rejoined.

“I’d better,” Spike grumbled, “after he’s subjected me to it all those times.” Then he looked at her, his brow furrowed again. “How many times have you watched this?”

“Maybe I’m just a genius,” she said, “with a photographic memory. And I can learn things by heart after only seeing them once.”

Spike snorted. “And that’s why you’re so great at blackjack.”

“Screw you, Spike,” she said, taking another swig of alcohol and turning her attention back to the screen.

A few minutes of silence passed before she spoke again.

“I watched this as a kid,” she said, her voice quieter as she reminisced. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Spike leaning in a tiny bit closer to listen. “My friends and I did a cheerleading routine to Greased Lightning one year, and we performed it at our school’s end-of-year exhibition.” Her face split into a surprisingly soft grin at the memory. “One of my friend’s moms showed us the actual movie, and after that we watched it so many times that we memorized all the songs, not just Greased Lightning, and we’d act them out when we were bored. God, we made up whole dance routines to them.” She gave a small laugh. “We must have looked so ridiculous. There weren’t enough of us for all the roles, so usually one of us was all of the T-Birds at once, and one of us was all the Pink Ladies. It’s one of the memories that came back.”

She wasn’t usually this unguarded, especially not when she talked about herself, and especially not when she recalled another snatch of memory about her past life. It usually just brought back what had been taken from her, what would never be again. It felt like physical pain, like jabbing at a bruise or a gunshot wound that hadn’t fully healed.

She wasn’t sure what had changed today. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was as if the wound was finally starting to scar over. Her past memories no longer always came with the sharp pang of the reminder of what she didn’t have. Now, she could recall the happiness of back then, too, and just appreciate it for what it was.

Or maybe it was because she wasn’t entirely friendless anymore. Although she’d never consider doing a choreographed dance routine to Greased Lightning with the friends she had now. (Then again, it did make her laugh to imagine Spike forced into what he’d called “that ridiculous getup,” a deep scowl on his face as he halfheartedly performed the movements.)

What mattered was that her friends were there. In a way, they’d always been there, there on the Bebop—the place she’d flitted into and out of at will, the place she’d refused to ever truly consider a home, the only place left for her after every place she remembered from her childhood was destroyed. After spending so long on the ship with Spike and Jet and Ed and Ein—these people who didn’t abandon her, even if they left for a while—she was just beginning to appreciate that.

Spike appeared to consider her words for a while, looking surprisingly thoughtful, pensive. Faye wondered if he was imagining what she must have looked like as a kid, twirling and dancing around with her friends. She’d only been a year or two younger than when she’d recorded the VHS for her future self, after all.

Then, abruptly, his face snapped back into its usual cool, lazy expression. “So…you’re not a genius with a photographic memory.”

“Maybe I just had to watch it once back then to memorize it,” she said, her light tone returning as well. “And how do you know I’m not a genius? Sixty years is a long time to keep something in your head, you know.”

That was another sign she was recovering from having lost her memories and then gotten them back. She could joke about it. The wound didn’t feel too fresh, too raw. The realization made her heart feel light.

“Now shut up,” she said, a faint smile on her face. “I wanna watch.”

Spike rolled his eyes, but obligingly shut up. But he did elbow Faye, prompting her to scooch over, and then clambered onto her bed next to her, leaning over to see the screen without touching her. Faye didn’t kick him off.

And together—Spike with his knees drawn up to his chest, Faye mouthing and sometimes softly singing all the lyrics she could remember, both of them taking alternating swigs from the bottle between them—they watched.

Summer dreams ripped at the seams,

But oh, those summer nights….

[enderianidiot]

It's spooky month time

[lovesbiggerthanpride]

Several of these songs give me Javi / Joel vibes and I love it.

The

[mercyprevaild]

not gonna lie, i am aching for some shippy stuff so i may reblog a meme for that

[catalisst]

Me ... literally ALL day (morning And afternoon). That damn Halloween surgery has really kicked my ass. Shit!

[littlemissrbf]

Summer Lovin’ (pt. 2)

Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!Reader

(No use of y/n, reader is a SoCal native & Bob is from Montana, language, reader has an annoying but loving uncle, Jake "Hangman" Seresin is a jackass, & Natasha "Phoenix" Trace is amazing and I love her, the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department of shits and giggles is my new favorite thing)

Part 1, Part 2, Next Chapter [Word Count: 2.6k]

Until now, you’d only seen Lt. Robert Floyd from across the room, sitting or standing to the side with his shoulders pulled inwards like he was worried about taking up too much space. The distance between the two of you only made him look smaller, more like a “little nerd” according to your uncle.

But now that you have him all up close and personal, you realize just how big this man actually is. He's at least six feet tall with broad shoulders which only seem to add to his height. He practically towers over you, and when he stands too close you have to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

You realize you fucked up as he began to set up the pool balls into a diamond shape. You had asked him to play 9-ball but you've only ever played 8-ball, where the balls are set up in a triangle and you have to pocket all the stripes or solids before you go for the 8-ball. You couldn't even last 5 minutes without making a complete fool of yourself.

"You wanna break?" he asked, holding out the cue ball.

You laid your cue stick to rest against the table before making your way over to him, you took the ball from him and laughed at yourself before he could,

"I'm sorry I meant to say 8-ball instead of 9, but I got them mixed up in my head. I actually have no idea how to play 9-ball."

But he didn't laugh at you. He just smiled, grabbed the rack from another table, and started pulling six more balls from the pockets to rearrange them into a triangle.

"I'm really sorry about that, I should've said something before you'd finished setting up." you looked down and began to roll the cue ball in your hands.

He paused from lining up the rack with the foot of the table to look up at you, "It's okay, I don't mind."

When you still didn't look at him he made his way over to you, leaning down to get you to meet his eyes,

"Hey, it's alright. I figured I could show you how to play 9-ball after our bet." then he added "As long as you're okay with that."

You couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, that sounds good. But only after you've bought me a drink 'cause I'm about to destroy you."

"Oh someone's feeling confident all of a sudden." he smirked at you.

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at him.

"I'm still breaking," you said as you grabbed your cue stick and placed the ball on the table.

The two of you probably spent more time chatting than actually playing pool. The initial trash talk quickly blended into full-blown conversations that ended up with both of you forgetting whose turn it was (you ended up using rock-paper-scissors to decide who would go). At one point, you got so distracted that you forgot you were solids, accidentally sinking one of Bob's stripes into a pocket.

"You from around here?" he asked before taking a shot, the cue ball hitting a red one with a satisfying click, it rolled towards a corner pocket but bounced off the rails.

"No, I'm actually from OC," you said looking for an easy shot.

"OC?" he tilted his head.

"Orange County," you lined up for a pocket shot, "I live in Anaheim, it's about a two-hour drive from here." You hit the cue ball and watched as it rolled straight past your target and into the pocket. You sighed and lightly slapped your forehead, this was probably the fifth time you'd scratched. "What about you?" you asked as he reached into the pocket and pulled out the cue ball.

"I'm born and raised in Montana, my family owns a cattle ranch in Whitehall." he placed the ball on the table and leaned over to take a shot.

"Robbie, are you telling me that you're a cowboy?"

"No ma'am," he chuckled and shook his head, "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm just a Weapons System Officer."

"Yeah I have no idea what that means, you mind explaining?"

It's like you just triggered a sleeper agent, Bob immediately stood up, completely forgetting about his shot, and started to explain every last detail about what he did as a WSO. He talked with his hands and the pitch of his voice raised when he got excited.

"So, the pilot flies and you shoot, but you're also like the pilot's second set of eyes and ears?" you asked.

"Yep that's pretty much it," he nodded.

"That sounds... intense." You couldn't imagine being in charge of all of that, not to mention being responsible for someone else's life. "Have you always wanted to do something like this?"

"Well, my mom says I always really liked planes and jets." He made his way back to the table and lined up for one of the side pockets, "When I was a kid I told her 'One day, I'm gonna fly one of those things' and I figured the Navy was the best way to do that." He took the shot and the target ball rolled straight into the side pocket.

"It's really impressive." You started, he just shrugged and smiled to himself, he's too humble. "So is this your first time in Cali?"

"Actually, I was stationed in Lemoore for a bit before I got transferred here."

"San Joaquin Valley area?" That area is mostly farmland, so you can't help but ask, "Is it true that it smells like shit all the time?"

He smiled, "You get used to it."

He took another shot and sunk the ball into a corner pocket.

"You're pretty good at this," you said looking down at the table. He only had one ball left and you had five, at this rate you should just go buy his drink already.

A quiet "Thank you" slipped out as he leaned down over the table and lined up to knock his last ball into a corner pocket. He paused for a second, then hit the cue. He scratched.

He just looked at you and shrugged, trying to hide a small grin.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Lt. Robert Floyd, are you letting me win to make me like you more?" You asked, hand on your hip.

You expected him to look down or maybe blush, instead, he held your gaze and tilted his head. That stupid grin showing up again,

"Is it working?"

Now you were the one blushing.

"Maybe." You said, brushing past him to grab the cue ball from the pocket.

This went on for a bit, you miss your shot and then Bob misses his (but on purpose), the cycle continued until some of his fellow pilots made their way back towards the pool tables, putting a pause on your game. It was a woman you recognized from earlier, two men who always seemed to trail behind her, and Mr. Mustache aka Rooster. Bob introduced you, and you shake their hands and learn that Natasha, Reuben, and Rooster are all F/A-18 pilots and Mickey is Reuben's WSO. You ask Natasha if Bob is a good back-seater and she laughs,

"I sure hope so, I haven't gotten the chance to fly with him yet. Most of us just got in today."

"Ooo something important about to happen?" You asked

"Well, I'd tell you if I knew." She smiled, and holy shit she's pretty, actually forget pretty, Natasha Trace is drop-dead gorgeous. Maybe the Navy is only taking hot pilots or something?

As if to prove your point, Rooster, who is tall and ridiculously good-looking, decided to make his way into the conversation,

"Nah you wouldn't, 'c'mon we all know you're a goody two shoes." Rooster pipes up and without missing a beat, she reaches up and slaps him up the back of his head.

"Don't mind him, he's an idiot," she says, "So what brings you around here? Family? Maybe a boyfriend?"

"No, no boyfriend," you say, trying not to look at Bob, but you can see Mickey out of the corner of your eye nudging him with his elbow. "I'm here with my uncle, he just retired from the Navy, today actually."

"Oh good for him, you guys here to celebrate?"

"Well he's definitely here to celebrate, I'm sure he just brought me along to be his designated drive-home." It was a good cover story, there is no fucking way you are about to tell these people that you were brought here to find yourself a husband.

"That's sweet," she starts "I love your dress, by the way, does it have pockets?"

You reach down and fluff out the skirt a little, "Thank you so much! I wish it had pockets, then it would be perfect."

You got to know the group better after just minutes of chatting apparently Natasha and Rooster go way back, Mickey is a chatterbox once he starts talking and won't shut up unless he's either eating or asleep, and Reuben's had his (albeit less dramatic than Rooster's) mustache since high school.

While listening to Rooster, Reuben, and Mickey get into it about whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. You subconsciously start drifting towards Bob, who is standing off to the side and silently observing the heated debate. Once you were side to side you gently bumped him with your shoulder, and he smiled before leaning over to whisper,

"I think it's your turn."

He was so close now and you could feel his breath against your neck, your heart decided to skip a beat and you figured if you didn't move soon this man was gonna give you a heart attack. So you quickly shuffled closer to the table and you locked eyes with Natasha, who saw the whole interaction, she gave you a knowing smirk and you felt the flush spreading further up your cheeks. You look down and try to focus on your next shot, but before you can pick which ball to go for you hear a new voice coming from the bar.

"Would you look at that, 'Baby on Board' actually has some game."

The man standing across from you is tall and blonde, he's got a set of perfect teeth that he flashes with a shit-eating grin, you notice the way Natasha looks at him as if she's fantasizing about punching him in the face or setting him on fire, or maybe both.

"Excuse me?" You tried to sound as polite as possible.

"You know B-O-B, 'Baby on Board'. I'm starting to think that's what his callsign actually stands for"

"Bob is just his nickname," you started, "It's short for Robert."

"No sweetheart, see 'callsigns' are what we fighter pilots use for communication and identification." he explained.

"So like a nickname." you replied with a flat tone.

You can hear Rooster and Mickey snickering, Natasha is still standing with her arms crossed but at least now she's smirking.

You decided to press your luck, thinking maybe if you annoyed him enough, Mr. Pearly Whites would just go away.

"What's your nickname?" you quickly corrected yourself "I mean, what's your callsign?"

More laughter came from the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department but Mr. Pearly Whites just stood there and grinned.

"I'm Hangman, this here is Coyote." he nodded to the man next to him.

"Hangman?" You asked, you saw a slight crack in his smile and decided to go in for the kill.

"Do you just really like kid's word puzzles or something?"

At this, the Mickey-Rooster-Reuben department fucking lost it, cackling as they leaned on each other for support, Natasha was laughing too but at least she was still standing up on her own.

To your disappointment, Hangman just kept on smiling.

"At least someone's got a sense of humor, isn't that right Bob."

When you turned to glance at Bob, his mouth was pressed in a thin line, he nodded politely but his shoulders were hunched inwards again.

"Listen, it was great to meet you Hangman, and you too Coyote, but if you don't mind I'm gonna go back to playing 8-ball." you said turning back towards the table.

Before you could register it, you felt the pool cue being snatched from your hands and suddenly Hangman was in your place, shooting the cue ball perfectly to sink a ball into a corner pocket.

"I'm really good at this kind of stuff so let me give you some pointers," He started.

"No thank you." You reply immediately, but still polite.

"Aww c'mon I'm just trying to be nice, besides, it looks like you could use the help." He pressed on.

Before you can repeat yourself, Bob made his way around the table and he stood right next to Hangman, bringing his hand down onto his shoulder with a bit more force than necessary.

"You having some trouble with your hearing, Hangman?" He asks.

"Pardon?"

"I guess you are because I just heard her say 'No thank you' loud and clear. Maybe you oughta get your ears checked." He said, smiling sweetly, feigning concern.

Oh shit, he's hot.

Now Rooster got in on the action, "Nah, with that level of hearing loss I say we just let him get discharged."

"It's a shame, I was really looking forward to working with you, Bagman." Natasha chimed in.

And Hangman, the smooth son of a bitch just chuckled and patted Bob on the back, "Looks like we're all a bunch of comedians now." And he turned to you.

He held out the pool cue but when you took it in your hand, he held on, looking straight into your eyes.

"I apologize," he said with his other hand on his chest, it almost sounded genuine. "You have a good night, sweetheart." He flashed his pearly whites again, still holding on.

"Thank you." You replied, not breaking his gaze, not backing down.

He nodded and finally let go, making his way towards the dartboard on the other side of the bar. Before following him, Coyote nodded to you saying "Take care." You nodded back and said, "Thank you, you too."

The second the two men were out of earshot you whipped around to the group, "Oh my god, how do you guys put up with that?!"

Natasha lets out a groan, "He's the worst."

"Tell me about it." Rooster said leaning against a wall.

"You guys deserve a fucking medal of honor or something, I mean he is just such a..." You trailed off while trying to fish out the ball that he sunk.

"Jackass?"

"Dipshit?"

"Asshole?"

You placed the ball down on the table with a thud, "Yes, yes, and yes."

You made your way to Bob and placed your hand on his arm,

"Thank you for sticking up for me, I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome." Is all he gets out, looking down to where your palm rests on his arm, smiling softly.

When you pull your hand away, you barely see the way he leans towards it, as if his body is trying to chase your touch.

Natasha grabs the boys and makes a half-assed excuse about going for another round of drinks, winking at you as she gives you and Bob some privacy. No surprise, Natasha Trace is a solid wingman.

You let out a small laugh, "So, where were we?"

"I think you're about to win."

"Ha ha very funny," you said, aiming for one of your remaining balls. You took the shot and missed with flying colors. "Alright, Robbie go ahead." You said with a defeated sigh.

He sunk his last striped ball then picked a corner pocket for the 8-ball. He lined up his shot, looked at you, and hit the cue ball. It knocked the 8-ball into its pocket before rolling straight across the table and into the other pocket. Scratch on the 8-ball, he lost.

He turned to you and grinned.

"Oops."

Divider by @bernardsbendystraws

(Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Part 3 is in the works. This is still my first ever fic so let me know if you have any writing tips or suggestions!)

[cozymoko]

Wild, Wild West 𐚁

Introduction fic for my cowboy OC idea. I hope you guys like this. This was in my drafts for at least half a year, haha.

Pairing: Yandere Cowboy x City Girl! Reader

Format: Short fic; 1.4k words

WARNING(S): Yandere themes, possessive, minor insecurity from reader.

Synopsis: Jealousy, Jealousy, read all about it! When in a new environment, insecurities are bound to surface. Why don't you go get you a drink to simmer down a bit?

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

The old Texas sun was relentless, harsher than usual, beating down on the skin of those poor townspeople just going about their day. Its temper reminded you of your late grandmother, always nagging and pestering like there's no tomorrow.

You found refuge near the large clumps of hay by the stables. The smell was mundane, simple as though it were straight from a story book—unpleasant, sure, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

Why the hell were you out here anyways? Damn you for wanting to tag along to keep that big oaf company. He couldn’t stop poking fun at you, pushing you past your limits. It was like he knew you inside and out, from the surface of your pampered skin to the depths of your fluttering heart. For a man who wasn’t too fond of school, he sure seemed to study you quite a ton.

And speak of the devil. There he is.

He wiped dirt and grime off the worn denim that hung low at his waist. “What’s the matter, darlin’?” he called out, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eyes. “You don’t look too hot.”

Hell, that was an understatement.

He sauntered over, slipping his hat off his head. His long strides had him at your side in moments, staring down at your seated position. Pushing his deep auburn hair from his damp skin, he squatted next to you. “What’s the matter?” he asked, placing the hat back on his head with a lazy grin.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, torn between telling him and keeping your indignation to yourself. You weren’t even doing any of the heavy lifting, just spectating, but somehow, that made the heat even worse.

“It’s hot,” you mumbled, swallowing your pride.

“Then take ya' shirt off.” He grinned, raising a brow. “It’s just you ‘n me today, and it’s not like I haven’t seen you without it anyhow—”

“Stop!” you shouted, hugging your knees to your chest. If not for the heat, you were sure you'dve flushed even redder.

“Alright, suit yourself.” Jamie smirked, planting a quick kiss on your temple before rising to his feet in one swift motion. He turned back to his polished truck, the one he treated like gold. Sometimes, you swore he loved that hunk of metal more than anything, but you’d soon learn that his world revolved around you.

Your eyes followed his back, tracing the way his muscles moved with each twist of the wrench. Jamie was a tease, but damn if he wasn’t easy on the eyes. Your gaze drifted to the tattoos scattered across his tanned skin, lingering on the intricate, slightly faded markings near his jugular—your name, carved right there. The sight of it made you hot all over, and you even found yourself popping open a few buttons.

You had told that stubborn fool not to get it, warning him that tattoos were permanent and took hours of pain to remove.

“Why’re you sayin’ something like that?” he’d chuckled back then. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I get this baby removed, sugarplum. Dont worry about me nun’.”

The memory made you want to laugh. Jamie was as stubborn as a bull—and as big as one too. Too bad all that stubbornness would be the death of him. Not literally, of course.

“You wanna help me with the cattle? Think they need some lovin’, too.”

You tilted your head, a spark of hope flaring up. Maybe he was serious about wanting your help, about spending time together—maybe he was letting you be part of this place, tending to your shared home. But then he shrugged.

“Or I could get Mary Anne to come by. She’s always good with ’em—knows her way around horses like she was born with ’em.”

Mary Anne. Just the mention of her name made your blood boil. You’d seen her—all soft curls and sweet smiles, the kind of girl who fit right in here. Unlike you.

Your lips thinned, the jealousy rising like a rattlesnake. “Oh, is that so?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even despite the bitterness creeping in. “Mary Anne this, Mary Anne that—why don’t you just go on and ask her, then, since she’s not a ‘city girl’?”

Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Hey now, what’s got you so riled up, sugar?”

“What’s got me riled up?” you snapped, rising to your feet. “You know damn well, Jamie. You think I don’t notice how you bring her up every time it’s my turn to help?”

You took a deep breath. “I know I’m not as capable as the others, but this is my home too. I’ve been here for over a year, and you still don’t ask me to help.”

He rolled his eyes, sighing as he straightened up, towering over you. “Aw, hell, [Name]. You actin’ like this ’cause you’re on the rag or somethin’? Ain’t no need to get all hot ’n bothered over nothin’.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, disbelief turning into a wave of fury. “You think that’s what this is about?” you hissed, your voice sharp as a knife. “You think that just because I’m upset, it’s gotta be because of that?”

Jamie shrugged, unfazed, and that was the last straw. You spun on your heel, the dusty ground kicking up beneath your boots as you stormed off. “Go on and call her, then!” you shouted over your shoulder. “I’m sure she’s just itching to help you!”

You didn’t wait for his response. You marched across the sunbaked field, fists clenched tight. You needed to get away—somewhere he wasn’t. The barn blurred into blobs of red as tears stung at the corners of your eyes. But you weren’t about to let him see you cry. Not now, not ever.

This is not where you wanted to end up. An old, run-of-the-mill saloon on a Friday night, surrounded by drunkards and divorcees, the air thick with the stench of stale tobacco. Voices murmur, glasses clink, and the laughter around you is harsh and grating. To hell with it all. To hell with them.

The whiskey settles in your veins, warm and familiar as you lean against the sticky bar. Neon lights flicker, casting a red glow across your half-empty glass, and you blink to clear your vision. You know you’ve had too much, but the night’s long, and the noise makes it easy to drown out everything.

"Fuck," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

You’ve never been much of a drinker. After moving to the countryside to be with Jamie, life on the ranch demanded your focus. Jamie hated liquor, practically despised it.

Dammit, [Name], forget about him. You shake the thought away.

“Now, darlin’, looks like your glass is ‘bout empty,” a smooth, slow drawl cuts through your thoughts. The man tilts the brim of his hat back just enough for you to catch a glint in his eyes—cold, calculating, like a snake. “Why don’t you let me get you another?”

Oh, right. You weren’t exactly alone.

“Sound good?” he asks again, his voice dripping with intentions you’re too drunk to untangle, coaxing you with the rough pad of his thumb tracing over your knuckles.

You hum. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you try to recall his name—Michael? Richard? Ashton? Danny? None of them sound right. Nothing about him feels familiar. Just another face in the blur. You decide he’s irrelevant.

"You don’t want it to get cold now, do ya?"

A voice in your head tells you to stop, to head home before you cross a line. Something about him makes your stomach churn, but you blame it on the alcohol. It doesn’t take much persuasion before you reach for the glass.

The liquor is bitter but good. But once it slips down your throat, the room spins. You blink hard, trying to steady yourself.

The barstool creaks as you sway, gripping the counter for balance. The stranger’s grin stretches wider, eyes watching you like a hawk. You know you shouldn’t have taken that drink, but it’s too late. The world starts tilting.

You turn, ready to brush off the man beside you, when you hear the heavy boots. They echo on the old floorboards, slow and deliberate, each step sending a chill down your spine. Then, a hand rests on your shoulder, the grip firm, possessive.

“Takin’ drinks from strangers now, sugar?” His voice is low, a whisper against your ear. “Why’d you go and do that for? You know better.”

Jamie.

His breath is warm, almost too close, as his fingers dig into your shoulder just enough to keep you anchored. The stranger’s hand pulls back, and you catch the flicker of fear in his eyes.

Jamie’s fingers tighten, not enough to hurt, but enough to warn. “Ain’t polite to drink without me, darlin’.” His tone is calm, but there’s a tension in it, like a leash pulled too tight.

You look up at him, the soft light catching the curve of his grin. The cowboy hat sits low, loose curls brushing the nape of his neck, his button-up shirt hugging the broad stretch of his shoulders. His forearms, tanned and strong, are exposed as his sleeves are rolled up. His eyes, though—dark and unreadable—pin you in place. There’s a hunger in them, one that makes your skin prickle.

He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, wiping off the smudge of your lipstick. His grin widens, revealing sharp canines that peek between his lips. It’s friendly enough—too friendly. Like the way foxes smile when they’re circling prey.

“Mm, you’re drunk.” He says it like it’s a fact he’s already known for hours. “How much you had tonight, sugarplum?”

You stare at your glass, pretending you don’t know. You don’t want to admit to your carelessness.

Jamie chuckles, a low, knowing sound. “So, quite a bit, huh?”

His laugh is loud, and it feels like a warning. He leans in, his hand settling on your hip, fingers curling possessively. “And flirtin’ with some nobody at the bar. That’s new.” His eyes narrow. “So, you gonna tell me who he is?”

The stranger shifts uneasily, glancing between you and Jamie. His bravado fades, and he mumbles, “Look, I didn’t mean no harm. Just thought she could use some company.”

Jamie doesn’t even look at him. His eyes are locked on yours, sharp and unyielding. “Ain’t that sweet?” he says, his voice soft, but his grip on your hip tightens, like he’s claiming a prize. “But I think she’s got all the company she needs.”

The man hesitates, looks like he’s weighing his options, then backs off with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

The world tilts again, and you’re struggling to stay upright. The bar fades around you, the noise drowning in the back of your mind. The room swims, and your vision blurs, the faces blending into nothing but shadows.

Jamie’s presence feels suffocating. His eyes linger on you, dark and intent, like he’s waiting for something. Like he’s testing you. And you know, deep down, that he doesn’t just hate you drinking—he hates you here, surrounded by people who aren’t him.

“Let’s get you home, darlin’.” His tone is almost gentle, but there’s an edge beneath it, something nasty and foreign brewing beneath the surface.

Before you can protest—before the room spins again—he’s there, pulling you into him, lifting you off your feet like you weigh nothing. His arms wrap around your waist, and the world blurs as you’re hoisted over his shoulder, carried out the bar like a mere sack of potatoes.

The night air bites at your cheeks as he strides through the darkness, the cold wind cutting through the haze in your mind. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath you, and his fingers grip your thigh, possessive and unyielding. He’s not letting you go.

Everything in you says to fight back, to push away, but he smells like home—like honey and oak. The world narrows down to him, the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his touch.

“Man, you’re gettin’ heavy. Eating too much pumpkin pie, huh, sugarplum?”

“Fuck you,” you manage, but it’s weak, and the smile he gives you is sharp and satisfied.

You close your eyes, the world tilting again, and for a moment, you let yourself sink into it. Maybe this isn’t so bad.

Maybe this is just how it’s meant to be.

⠀⠀𐚁

⠀. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

©CozyMoko, all rights reserved. Don't repost my work on other platforms.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

It's Never Too Late Masterlist

Summary: You are an elementary school teacher who just moved to Texas for a fresh start when you meet a very handsome man from the Laredo Sheriff's Department coming to give your class a presentation.

After your co-workers pull some strings for you to meet again, you and Javier Peña find yourselves falling head over heels for each other.

Story takes place post Narcos Season 3 in Laredo, Texas, starting May 1997.

Paring: Javier Peña x OFC (Reader is an elementary school teacher whose nickname is Osita, no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+ chapters containing marked with * and each chapter will also have its own warnings), language, fluff, romantic comedy, reader has physical descriptions, Javi being so soft and getting all the love and affection he deserves, you two being the biggest weirdos so in love

Status: Ongoing

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list for new chapters as they come out! :)

Main Story:

Chapter 1: I D.A.R.E. You

Chapter 2: What's Cookin', Good Lookin'?

Chapter 3: I Wanna Be With You Everywhere*

Chapter 4: Add You To My List*

Chapter 5: You're The One That I Want*

Chapter 6: Dinosaurs, Dates and Diners, Oh My!*

Chapter 7: School's Out for Summer*

Chapter 8: My Favorite Cowboy*

Chapter 8.5: 007- Peña, Agent Peña*

Chapter 9: I Promise*

Chapter 10: Happy Birthday, Javi*

Pt. 1*

Pt. 2*

Chapter 11: Abe Froman, Sausage King of Chicago *

Chapter 12: I Love You. I Know. *

Chapter 13: There's No Place Like Home*

Chapter 14: Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas*

Chapter 15: She Shoots, She Scores*

Chapter 16: The Lone Star State*

Chapter 17: No Ifs, Ands, Or Butts*

Chapter 18: Hole in None*

Chapter 19: Good Luck, and Goodnight*

Chapter 20: I Do

Pt. 1*

Pt. 2*

Chapter 21: Paradise*

Chapter 22: Plus One (New!)

Pt. 1*

Spin-Off Series:

Forever and Always*: Slices of life following the Peña family after their first child

One Shots (In chronological order of the main storyline):

Movie Night*

Ride*

Dirty Laundry*

Again*

You're My Home*

Not Yet*

Happy Valentine's Day, Javier Peña*

The Mouse and the Motorcycle

You Make Life Worth It

Take Me Home

Jealousy, Jealousy*

Plaid Pajama Morning

Agent Peña*

Every Inch*

Soup for Breakfast

Whatever My Wife Wants*

Fever*

His*

Oh, Baby

Insatiable*

Peanut Butter and Pickles

Sail Away

You Make Lovin' Fun*

Everybody Knows That I'm a Good Girl, Officer*

Asks/Headcannons:

Javi and Osita before work

Javi's DEA Jacket

Javi's Tac Vest

Javi and Osita when they argue

Javi being distractingly cute

Javi when he's sick

Javi helping with Osita's pregnancy cravings

Osita when she's pregnant

Osita after a bad day at work

Javi coming home after work to his kids

Javi and Osita deciding how many kids they want

Javi and his daughters at the Eras Tour

Extras:

NSFW Alphabet- Javi and Osita*

1K Followers Celebration Asks and Answers

Never Too Late Playlist

Mood board

Timeline of NTL

[the-shedevil-writes]

I Was Made For Lovin' You (Tyler Owens x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: You're a reporter desperately needing a story good enough to save the magazine. That's how you end up in the middle of Oklahoma interviewing the charming tornado wrangler, Tyler Owens. You end up getting a lot more than you bargained for when you end up in the passenger side of his storm-chasing truck. WORD COUNT: 5.6k WARNINGS: Cussing? Sensual jokes? Just a good old journalist x Tyler romance. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3!

Y/n sat at her office cubicle, gnawing at her pencil. There had to be something. Scrolling through articles and hours of social media, trying to find something decent enough for a good story, had her clawing her hair out. It didn’t look that stressful in her mundane, fluorescent office with the succulents and cat posters, but inside, she was scrounging everything she could. Post-it notes and lists littered her whiteboard. The whole thing practically looked like a crime scene.

Then her coworker Stella came by, sipping flavored water and holding her phone. Stella was the producer for the video side of the magazine and her closest friend. But even she didn’t know what her boss and CEO of The Culture Edition had privately said during a meeting. 

Y/n, you’re our star journalist. That’s why I want you to know. We’re filing for bankruptcy. And there’s a very good chance we’re shutting down our doors come fall. 

But she didn’t want to work anywhere else. She had heard about other magazines and online companies. The unethical means and money-hushed journalists. That wasn’t why she became a journalist. She wanted to explore and put out work about culture and people making a difference. 

That’s why when Stella went. “You heard of this Tornado Wrangler guy on YouTube?”

She let out a loud scoff, pinching the bridge of her nose. It already sounded like a tragic addition to her list of ideas just by name alone. “No. Do I want to?”

“He���s like this guy out in Tornado Alley, and he’s chasing tornadoes in his truck and well… wrangling them.” 

She furrowed her brows. “Like stopping them?”

She nodded. Huh… There might be something there. Whether this Tornado Wrangler knew it or not. 

“Like look-” Stella said, holding out her phone so that the both of them could watch. 

They watched the livestream footage of a blonde man in the front seat of a pick-up truck. He definitely looked attractive enough to be internet famous, that’s for sure. She squinted her eyes suspiciously until another camera angle was shown from some sort of drone, showing the truck driving near the tornado. That was an interesting play. 

Then it switched back to him and his other passengers hooting and hollering annoyingly at the camera, and she was turned off.

“Could be a good story.” Stella said, wiggling her eyebrows, “And I mean- the chance to talk to a real-life cowboy.” She teased.

The two of them had been talking of a ‘cowgirl summer’. Watching westerns with a dreamy protagonist. Listening to Shania Twain and Carrie Underwood next to the pool. But let’s face it, the two of them were city girls. California was their home. If she were ever flown out for a story, it was usually to New York or Atlanta for arthouse openings and charity fundraisers. She didn’t exactly enjoy the mud and dirt. 

“I don’t know. It’s intriguing, but how big even is this guy?” She said, unsure. Would it be worth it for the company to fly her out to the middle of nowhere?

“He got a million subscribers.”

She blew her off and waved her hand. “Who doesn’t?”

“No, no. A million subscribers last night. He’s at four million today.”

That’s how she ended up in Oklahoma, a week later. Walking up to the motel that this Tyler Owens guy said they would be at. The sun was slowly setting behind her as she stepped out of the rental car. Her decisions had been poor already, with a car that could barely handle the dirt roads and the formal block heels that sank just slightly into the dust. Her beautiful hair was already frizzy from the weather. But she needed to look professional. 

She looked around the surprisingly busy parking lot. It had people sitting around in lawn chairs, lighting campfires, drinking, and talking. It looked like a tailgating party. She walked stiffly in her pencil skirt and blouse as she looked around, trying to find the recognizable Tyler. She was used to people looking at her when she had a press badge around her neck, but right then, she felt people eying her strangely. The most probable reason being that she looked completely out of place. Compared to the lighthearted and casual atmosphere, she was an alien with a camera bag bouncing on her hip.

“Ms. Y/n!” A voice called, and her head whipped around to find the man she was looking for sitting on the roof of his famous truck. He waved with a screwdriver in his hand and climbed down. 

She walked over. Her heels crossing over from dirt onto the bumpy asphalt made her balance worse, and when he noticed, he rushed over with his hands out. She quickly took purchase of his large, calloused hands out of necessity. 

“We gotta get some boots on ya, city girl.” He said helping her find her balance. 

She stared down at her feet, steadying herself. “Thank you.” She replied, and when she turned up to see his face, she couldn’t help but swallow. Wow, this guy was handsome. He looked like a movie star, not exactly a tornado wrangler. With chiseled features and sea green eyes. He had his hair swept over and his stubble taken care of. Rugged and clean at the same time.

She quickly shook herself out of it, though she could’ve sworn that he was looking at her with the same look of admiration in his eyes. She reached her hand out stiffly. “I’m Y/n. Thank you for having me.”

“Tyler. Thanks for coming.” His accent was strong, and his voice was deep, making her remember her and Stella’s ‘Cowgirl Summer’ jokes and ideas. The brown corduroy button-up shirt that stuck to his sweaty body didn’t help. MUST STAY FOCUSED.

“What were you just working on?” She asked, gesturing to the top of his truck, which had some sort of satellite sticking out of the top. It was unlike any pickup truck she had seen before, with gadgets, spikes, and equipment poking out of it. 

He smirked. “Right to business, huh?” 

She nodded a little shyly. She had interviewed hundreds of people, yet she was so out of the loop here that she didn’t even know where to start with him. 

He nodded his head for her to follow him, and she trailed him to the truck. 

“Do you mind if I record this?” She asked, rushing to open her camera bag.

A friendly smile grew on his face. “Sweetheart, I’m on camera every day. Go right ahead.” 

God, the word sweetheart coming from his mouth sent a blush across her face that she fought to get rid of. She took out her video camera and started recording. 

“It is June 5th, 2024, and I am with Tyler Owens.” She stated for future purposes.

He chuckled and waved. “Hi guys. I’m Tyler Owens, and I was just about to explain to the lovely Y/n here what I have been working on.” He pointed to the satellite on the roof of his truck, “You see, that is a Mobile Doppler Radar. Or a DOW. A doppler on wheels. Mine is kinda crappy compared to those of other meteorologists, but we use it to track supercells and scan tornadoes in real time. That way me and my crew know when to go in and when to go out. I was just adjusting it cause some screws got knocked loose.”

“You say ‘other meteorologists’. Are you a meteorologist?” The question just naturally came out of her.

He seemed kinda stunned by that question off the bat, and he was about to say something until a shorter, tan man with wild black hair appeared from the side.

“Damn right he is. Don’t let him tell you he isn’t.” 

She quickly zoomed out the camera to incorporate the new character. He slapped Tyler’s back. “This guy right here’s got a degree in meteorology. Genius. He’s taught me everything I know.” 

“Boone, okay, okay,” Tyler said, chuckling and shaking his head. 

“Woah! Sick equipment.” Boone said, pointing to her camera. 

She smiled. The guy was welcoming, and he was now speaking her language. “It’s for work. Wish it was mine.” 

Then she realized the opportunity that had just come up. 

“Could you introduce yourself for me?” She asked, now she was diving deeper, and she developed this feeling in her gut that this story was gonna be good. With only meeting only two people, she had never met anybody else like them. 

Boone nodded and looked at the camera. “I’m Boone. I’m the videographer for this awesome guy right here.” He and Tyler wrapped their arms around each other proudly. 

“And would you consider yourself a meteorologist?” 

He shook his head with pursed lips. “Me? No. I’m just the camera and rocket guy. But I sure do learn a lot every day from Tyler.”

Tyler nodded and clicked his tongue. “You see, there’s a common misconception that you need a degree to do this sorta thing. But my crew doesn’t need PhDs or fancy gadgets. I can guarantee you that Boone and my crew have seen more tornadoes than your average weatherman.” 

Boom. Quote. She couldn’t help the grin that grew on her face. An underdog story? Are you kidding me?!

“You get real pretty when you hear something you like,” Tyler said, and she quickly pressed stop on the camera. 

“Oh! Well-” She stammered nervously and looked at her heels on the asphalt.

Boone laughed at her off-guard reaction. Was it appropriate? No. Was it unwanted? … Well. 

“Thank you for that. Both of you.” She said, looking up and facing the two of them. “Tyler, I’d love to interview you one-on-one at some point tonight after I check in. Then the same with the rest of your crew.”

He smiled again. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Getting into her motel room, she felt the need to splash cold water on her face. The only reason she didn’t was to sustain her makeup, but she did dab her sweaty face with a rag. How anybody survived this dry heat was unbelievable. She looked into the mirror, and her makeup was practically melting off her face. Shit. 

That’s why when she walked out an hour later, she had redone her face and washed her sweaty hair by leaning over awkwardly in the motel sink. Instead of heels, she put on a pair of loafers. They were still definitely unsuitable for the environment, but they were less so than the previous heels. 

She found Tyler and his crew sitting around a campfire. They had a pack of beers open, and their laughter could be heard from the second-floor balcony strip of the motel. 

As she approached, Tyler waved, looking her up and down. “City girl’s back. And in much more comfortable shoes.” He turned to the circle, “Everybody, this is Y/n. She’s the reporter doing the piece on us.” 

They all waved and said their hellos. She smiled and waved. The group seemed welcoming, but she still felt a little out of place. 

“Tyler, if you could spare a few minutes, I’ll try and keep it brief.” She said, not wanting to be a bother, but also needing to do her job.

“You have me as long as you want.” He said, slapping his thighs, and standing up. As they walked away from the group, he looked at her, “Do we need somewhere private? We can sit in the trailer.” 

Her eyes lit up at that prospect. Perfect. Now the audio wouldn’t be completely destroyed by the crowd noise and cicada screaming. “Yes! That’d be perfect.”

He led her to the trailer, and as she stepped in, she whipped out her camera to start recording the space. It wasn’t exactly spacious, but it was filled with audio and video equipment. Screens and switches of different weather instruments were packed alongside.  A string of Christmas lights hung across the top, making it homier. Along with pictures of the crew hung up next to the small window. It all felt cozy rather than cramped.

Tyler stood by the door. “Door open or closed?” He asked, and she immediately felt better about the situation. If he were leading her into an enclosed space to murder her, he wouldn’t have asked. 

“Closed works. Cleaner audio.” She said, and he nodded. 

After closing the door, the noise level went down infinitely. Now it was just an awkward silence inside this tight trailer. But she was used to awkward silence. It came with the territory of interviewing people. People often didn’t know how to conduct themselves on camera or audio recording, and their answers were often rehearsed. Yet she had a feeling she wouldn’t have to worry about this with the Tornado Wrangler.

He sat down in a small booth across from her. She set up the camera on the counter of the windowsill. The angle didn’t matter as much, it was just for her to look back at later and be able to write accurately. 

“You ready?” She asked, looking at the camera monitor, making sure his face was in focus. It felt like she could stare at the screen all day…. Shit, that must be one of the reasons why people were so obsessed with this guy. The warm lights of the RV trailer cast nicely on his skin, and he gave her a small, shy smile. He looked different from how he did on the livestreams. More subdued. He looked a lot more thoughtful when he wasn’t screaming. She was sure that even if she ended up posting this footage, it was bound to go viral just by the oxymoronic nature of it. 

He nodded. “Whenever you are, city girl.” 

The interview went perfectly. She got to ask about why he specifically focused on tornadoes, and she received answers that showed the heart and soul he had for weather. She listened to the story about seeing his first tornado, and she wrote down notes in her pen pad. 

“I was just mesmerized. But I looked over at my aunt’s face, and I knew that I was supposed to be scared.”

Her head tilted. “Is the Tornado Wrangler scared of tornadoes?” 

He chuckled and shook his head. “Not exactly.”

She learned about his bull-riding past and his college degree. The start of his YouTube channel. For an interview that she promised would be a few minutes, she ended up so invested in the conversation that they were there talking for almost an hour. It got to a point where he was asking her questions now, and it wasn’t just an interview. 

“How long have you been doing this for, then?” He asked, curiosity in his eyes.

She shrugged, “Hard answer. Did the newspaper in high school and college. Studied journalism. Got my job at The Culture Edition straight out of school and never looked back.”

“The Culture Edition… Why that one?” 

She smiled. “I’m supposed to be the one interviewing you here, Tyler.” Just then, her camera beeped, and she looked over. “Shit- I mean- Shoot, my battery died.” She said. That was a rare occurrence for her. A slip-up in professionalism? But she had been so comfortable talking to Tyler that she must’ve gotten too cozy.

He laughed at her fluke as she tinkered with the camera.

“Well, that’s alright. The last fifteen minutes are us talking about nonsense anyway. Thank you for talking to me.” She said genuinely.

She started packing it all up, and she didn’t even notice his gaze stuck to her like glue.

“It’s no problem. You’re the one who flew out here just for little old me.” He said, standing up now, so his staring wasn’t obvious.

They walked to the door, and she was about to reach for the handle, but he got to it before her. He opened the door for her, and they stared at each other for a moment. A lingering look that said ‘I don’t want you to go’. 

“Hey, you should come join us on the road tomorrow. Could be good for your story, and I can guarantee it’ll be a lot of fun.” He offered.

She was taken off guard. Her eyes widened, and her mouth dropped slightly. What should she say? She had seen the video clips of how violently that truck moved, and how dangerous it was near those tornadoes. The thought of her in the back seat made her stomach twist. But she also knew it’d be so good for the story. Potentially company saving.

She took in a deep breath. “I’ll meet you in the morning then.” 

He patted the hinge of the door excitedly, and she gave a polite smile before walking down the steps of the R.V.

After a long night of interviewing the rest of his crew, she was completely exhausted, but also so satisfied. The story was coming along perfectly. A group of diverse misfits chasing tornadoes and providing relief aid to towns hit by them. All led by a man who was bound to make star headlines. 

The day had been so long. With the travel time and the late-night interviews, she crashed as soon as she hit the pillow. 

It was only a few hours later when her heart leaped into her throat as a BOOM of thunder awoke her, jolting her right up. She put her hand to her heart even though she could hear it race in her ears. In her mind was her mom’s advice. Go outside. It’s only scary when you’re inside because your brain does all the talking. 

Wide awake now, she got out of bed and strolled out the door in her silk yellow nightgown. Surely, there wouldn’t be anybody awake at three in the morning during a storm this bad-

As she shut the door, she made eye contact with Tyler, who leaned against the railing and looked back at the sound. Her eyes widened. 

“Oh! Uh- Sorry. I’ll just-” She went to turn back around.

“Wait- What are you doing out here?” He asked gently, and it seemed like he was suppressing a smirk at the sight of her in a little nightie like that. Her hair was a wild storm in of itself. Meanwhile, he was dressed in a white T-shirt and sweatpants. Certainly a lot more covered up.

“It’s stupid. I just-” 

CRACK. The thunder boomed again, and it was close. The flash of light was visible from a near distance. She jumped and covered her ears with her eyes closed. It’s just thunder. It’s just thunder.

A dawn of realization cast on Tyler’s face. He cracked a smile. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re afraid of the storm now.” 

She brought her hands down from her ears and walked over to the railing. Her arms shook as she held onto it, and she avoided looking at him and his condescending smirk. Instead, she tried to look at the rain and how rivers of water slid off the roof above them and onto the ground. It reminded her that it was all just clouds and water.

“My mom always told me to go out and look at the storm when I was scared. Helps me feel better.” She explained.

He nodded and clicked his teeth. “Now tell me this, why is a woman who is shaking like a leaf at a little thunder doing a story on storm chasers in Tornado Alley?”

She sighed, debating on whether to tell him or not. After some deliberation and looking over at his kind expression, she decided there was no harm in telling him. 

“The Culture Edition is going bankrupt. And… I think this is a good enough story to get us back on our feet.” She said 

He let out a soft whistle. “You really care about your work.” “You really care about the weather.”

He pointed to her as if to say ‘touche’. “But you can write anywhere for any company, can’t you?”

“Technically, yes. But…” She shook her head, “It’s a long story.” “I’ve got time.”

She looked over at him and couldn’t help but notice that he was looking directly at her face. Not her exposed chest or her shivering thighs. But her face. And with genuine interest.

“The Culture Edition was, of course, the first job that took me. But I also just… I feel like it’s a side of journalism that’s dying out. I mean- our political climate’s a mess, and reporters are siding with one or the other. They’re often being paid for or sponsored by somebody. Even if it’s not political, journalists are writing opinion pieces and reviews on products that they’re being paid to endorse. It’s becoming so… so soulless.” She shook her head sadly, “Not The Culture Edition. We focus on exploring human stories and connection. And I love learning so much about different people with every job. So the fact that I might not have it come August… I’ll do anything to keep it.” Tyler looked at her, nodding. 

“You really think that this story’s gonna help you guys bounce back?” He asked. 

She nodded. “You and your team have given me some of the best quotes I’ve gotten in months. You’re genuine people, and the public will recognize that.”

He chuckled and looked at her with an admiring smile. He took his hand and gently traced her bare arm with the side of his index finger, sending a trail of electricity up with it. “You’re still shaking.” 

Looking up at him, she realized he was watching her arms now as they involuntarily shivered. She nodded again.

“You sure you wanna do this tomorrow?” He asked. 

No. But looking up at his face, he had a sense of determination across his eyes.

“I don’t have a choice.” She whispered.

“Then let’s get you a goddamn good story.”

The next morning, she was texting Stella as she sent many cowboy gifs and the song lyrics to ‘Save a Horse’. 

S: Can’t believe you’re ‘going for a ride’ with Tyler Owens.

Y: IN HIS PICKUP TRUCK!

S: Sure… Sureeeee. Go save some horses for me. 

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t resist sending some GIFs back.

A knock at her door startled her, and she turned off her phone at record speed. She opened it and found Tyler standing there in the whole shebang. A brown flannel over top a white wifebeater that was tucked into his jeans. She looked down at his belt with the biggest buckle that she had ever seen, but couldn’t resist looking up at the cream-colored cowboy hat that crowned his head. 

“Morning!” She said with a smile, taking him all in.

He looked at what she was wearing. “Oh no, city girl. This isn’t gonna work.” He laughed.

She looked down at herself, confused. She was wearing a tight white button-up blouse tucked into some black slacks. If she was gonna be on camera, she should probably look the part of a reporter, no?

“What?” She asked, looking back up at him.

“You’re gonna get all dirty today.” He said with a smirk, “You pack any jeans in that little suitcase of yours?” He pointed over her shoulder.

She looked over and saw that he was looking at her small capsule wardrobe. She nodded.

“Good. Cause I can get you a new shirt.” He said.

A little while later, she sat in the passenger side of Tyler’s truck wearing a baseball tee that had the graphic ‘Not My First Tornadeo’. Jesus, it was kind of hideous, and she couldn’t believe that she was gonna be introduced as a journalist wearing this. But Tyler was right, even as they simply drove with the windows down, the dust from the dirt road was getting everywhere. 

She kept her notepad open, but didn’t film because there was no point in using her fragile camera when they were already capturing this at every angle possible. 

The storm clouds started to appear in the distance, greying the sky. Her chest tightened just slightly, and her shoulders clenched. 

“We ready to start the stream, Ty?” Boone asked from the back. 

“Yeah, let’s just-” Tyler said, looking over at the anxious Y/n, who was sitting stiffly and chewing on the end of her pencil. “Boone, put on your mixing headphones.”

“What? Why? I wouldn’t be able to hear any-” 

Tyler looked back at him and tilted his head with raised brows. 

“Ohhhhh… Yeah. Got it.” Boone put his headphones on, and she let out an anxious laugh at that.

“How we feeling, city girl?” Tyler asked

She looked over at him as he drove forward. “Like I’m gonna puke. But I really don’t wanna do that on camera.” 

“You’re not just facing your fear today. You’re riding it. And I think that’s incredible.” He encouraged.

She stayed silent, taking in deep, shaky breaths as raindrops started pittering against the windshield. Looking back down at her legal pad and chewed-up pencil, she felt a sense of dread shake through her.

“You’re gonna be just fine.” He said, reaching over and squeezing her shoulder. He soothed her with a gentle brush of his thumb afterward. “I’m so sure, in fact, that I wanted to ask you something.” He took his hand back and put it on the steering wheel.

That caught her attention. She looked over at him, but he kept his eyes on the road, as if he were nervous to look at her. 

“After today’s stream, can I take you to dinner?” He blurted out with a small smile poking the corners of his mouth, “We can celebrate. Facing your fears.” 

Her jaw dropped slightly, and she blinked in surprise. She looked back at Boone, who was jamming out to music in his own world, then back at Tyler, who was anxiously waiting for an answer. This couldn’t be real. He was asking her out. 

“I think you mean riding them.” She finally replied confidently, “Yes. I’d love to.”

His grin somehow grew larger. “Let’s do this, city girl.”

She looked back at Boone and waved to get his attention. She motioned for him to take off his headphones.

“Is it go-time?” Boone asked

“It’s go-time,” She said, surprising Tyler.

The start of the stream was certainly interesting. She watched as Tyler and Boone communicated with Lily, Dexter, and Dani in the R.V. using a radio. She feverishly scribbled notes and was in the middle of writing them when Tyler said into the propped-up camera:

“Today, we are being joined by the lovely Y/n, from The Culture Edition!”

She looked up in surprise and gave a smile and a wave to the camera.

“She is a very talented reporter, making sure the crew and I are on our best behavior for her story coming out. And you guys should all go check out The Culture Edition online.” He expressed to the camera.

Her head turned to him as she couldn’t help her astonished reaction. He didn’t have to do that. She didn’t even ask. That wasn’t his job, and this wasn’t a partnership yet- he did that just for her.

When he looked over and saw her face, he sent her a smirk and a wink before checking the sensors on his dashboard. And for some reason that felt more dangerous than the goddamn tornado they were about to see. If she somehow managed to survive this, was she even gonna survive dinner?

“Dexter, you seeing the same thing I’m seeing?” Tyler radioed in.

“Looking good up ahead. Low-level cape. Good enough shear. Good moisture.” Dexter’s voice came through.

“WOOOOOOOOOOO!” Boone suddenly cheered from the back, startling her, but she let out a laugh. “You ready?!”

She nodded with a nervous smile. Even though the rain was pouring onto them now, it was hard to be scared with Boone and Tyler’s optimism. 

That’s when she saw it. This giant mass of whirlwind is in the distance. It looked like something out of a religious painting. A god damn hole in the sky that tunneled and touched down onto the grass. The already uneven road rumbled, and the truck shook like Hell had just opened up beneath them.

Tyler let out an excited scream. “ALRIGHT. HARNESSES ON.”

She quickly glanced back at the black straps on the seat and swiftly put her arms through. She buckled herself in. She couldn’t believe this was real. If this saved the magazine, then she was very much deserving of a promotion. 

“Someone’s awful quiet over here!” Tyler said excitedly, looking over at her. But it also seemed to be his way of checking in on her while the cameras were rolling.

She smiled at him and rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

“Give us a yell!”

“A yell?!” She looked over at him, laughing, and he seemed relieved to see her do so as they neared the center. 

“A yell! Like this!” Boone said before demonstrating a shrill woohoo.

She blushed with a bashful smile before finally letting out a “WOOOOOOHOOOOOOOO!”

Boone grabbed her shoulders from the backseat and shook her, making her laugh. “THAT’S what we’re talking about!”

“Folks, we got here a natural Tornado Wrangler.” Tyler looked over at her, and if the circumstances were different, he’d take his time watching her. Admiring how, even though she was shaking hard, she still had a gorgeous smile on her face. Her hair whipping every which way as they drove on the bumpy terrain.

She sucked in a breath as they got so close to the tornado, she could see the chunks of dirt and assortment of nature it had picked up. Spinning and flying like the Wizard of Oz. But over the harsh sound of the rain and wind slamming into the windows of the truck, there was Tyler’s laughter. For some reason, his nonchalant attitude and genuine glee grounded her. 

Tyler grabbed what looked like a joystick in the middle of the console and pressed the red button. 

“Anchors deployed.” He announced.

“What do those do?” She yelled over the rumbling. 

“Those keep us on the ground, honey.” He said back. 

She nodded and wrote down in her notepad to ask him more about that later. Of course, she felt his grin on her and the shake of his head as he watched her somehow write with a full-blown tornado in front of her. 

Looking back up, it was right in front of her very eyes. Leaves and grey dust spun violently, erupting a loud whistle in the air like she had never heard before. It was roaring fast and straight into them. 

“Oh god. Oh god. Oh god!” She squealed, closing her eyes and gripping the grab handle with one hand. She felt Tyler reach over and grab her other. He squeezed it, and she exhaled her scared breath. Opening her eyes, she watched him as he continued yelling and hollering for the livestream. Just under the camera, he held onto her hand, letting her squeeze it as tightly as she needed. 

He looked over and nodded as he saw her open eyes now. “Wanna do the honors? Press that switch!” He pointed to a small silver switch between them.

“NOW?!”

“YES NOW! WE’RE IN THE TORNADO.” He cackled.

She quickly flipped it and screamed, startled as the shriek of fireworks sent off into the air ignited. Watching above, she observed as the rockets disappeared into the clouds, then BOOM. They didn’t explode like they normally would. The flares of color went in the direction of the winds. Green, blues, and reds swirled around them. She had never seen anything like this in her life. She couldn’t help but lean forward, amazed to watch it all. And Tyler, who had seen this dozens of times, was instead watching the reflections of color dance in the pupils of her eyes. 

Then the roar of the winds started to lessen, and the area started to clear. She could see the path in front of her again. Boone and Tyler were going crazy, excited to say another tornado was wrangled. And she was left sitting awestruck and shaking. But now it wasn’t out of fear, but out of pure adrenaline and excitement.

Once they got back to the motel, Tyler walked over to her side of the door and opened it for her. She sat frozen, considering she was about to open it herself, but then she took Tyler’s hand and climbed down from the truck. She dusted her hands off.

“Did you have fun?” He asked.

“How could I not? That was… incredible.” She smiled breathlessly.

“Told you we’d survive.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, do I get to pick the place we eat at tonight?” 

He nodded. “Whatever you want. It’s your day.”

She looked down at her loafers, which were absolutely covered in a coat of dust. Unable to stop her bashful smile, “Thanks. For what you said about The Culture Edition in there. You really didn’t have to.”

“And you really didn’t have to face a tornado for your job, yet you did.” He said, looking down at her. “Wanted to make it worth it.”

“Oh, it was more than worth it.” She said with a newfound confidence, looking up at him. She was breathing heavily, and he reached out to brush away some wild strands of her hair out of her face. 

He smirked. “Was it now?” He moved closer and cupped the side of her cheek now. 

Hesitantly, she started bringing up her opposite hand, and he calmly took it mid-air and put it on his shoulder. More than permission. Asking for it. She spread her hand across his back before reaching up with her other to tap the brim of his cowboy hat.

“You always wear this?” She asked teasingly

“What can I say? The ladies love it.” 

“That they do.” She smirked before leaning in to press her lips against his.

[pearlzier]

────⠀ BULL RIDIN' w/ COWBOY!MATT.

NOTES ,, idk this is kind of pwp but with a little plot ??? LMFAO cowboy!matt my dearest.... uhhh minors dont interact !!! this. is smutty n stuff 😞 ive seen so much negativity n its makin me so ☹️ like. please be nice to eachother idk bro its not hard.. ANYWAY ENOUGH YAP FROM ME let me know if u wanna be on the taglist <3

matt's obsessed with how you look perched up atop that mechanical bull, straddling it so prettily. his eyes rake over you as he leans against the railing surrounding where the bull is. it feels oddly intimate to him, seeing the way your thighs squeeze against the sides of the machine, how you have to hold on tight to stop yourself from being thrown up—inadvertently causing your tits to bounce beneath the soft cotton of your shirt. which in turn, has his eyes locked to the area for a moment before he snaps out of it.

he's sure every other guy in the roadhouse is staring at you, getting the same ideas that he is. you look perfect up there—having the absolute time of your life. even the guys beside him as he looks up at you are getting their fill, as much as it makes him wanna throttle them, he keeps himself at bay so that you can simply enjoy yourself tonight. and besides, he's the only one your eyes are on in the first place. with every buck of the bull beneath you, you're glancing up at matt as if to say 'look at me!'

it has a smile settling on his face, practically plastered on as he looks up at you, his arms folded against the railing with his chin resting against them. when he can, he gives you the occasional wave, just wishing to see that beaming smile adorn your own face like it is for him. as much as he's lovin' seeing you ride, he glances over at the worker controlling the bull to see when it's time for you to hop off, and well, time for him to get his hands on you.

quite honestly, he zones out just looking at you, in thought—he's only snapped out of it when he hears the patrons all erupt in applause, your turn on the bull coming to an end. before he even knows it, you're practically running at him and throwing yourself into his arms. "woah, hey there," a breathless laugh escapes him at the sight of you all giddy, and he easily wraps his arms around your middle.

"it was so good, i felt so tall—" you're beaming, clinging to him as if he's your lifeline. with your arms thrown around his neck, your body presses up against his. he groans at the close contact, having to loosen you a little to adjust his jeans so you don't feel the gradual tenting against you. "it was so fun, i wanna go again, 'n' again, m'tellin' you," it felt almost empowering in a way, all those people looking up at you ane clapping, cheering, whistling for you.

most important part was him, though. this has easily been the most fun you've had in weeks, months, maybe even years. the ranch couldn't compare to this, not at all. "yeah, had fun, baby?" he smiles softly, drawing you in closer with his hands running up and down your back. occasionally they dip lower and cup at the curve of your ass, thumbs stroking over the denim material idly.

"so much fun," you agreed, practically burying yourself into him. you're so damn pretty, he's weak. you looked so nice like this, but you'd look so much nicer riding something else, huh? he's reeling at the thought, eyes fluttering over your figure silently for a moment before he looks up at you again, not wanting to get caught with his thoughts. "that's good, darlin'," matt agrees quietly, a little distracted by the sight of you.

"you're so pretty, y'know that?" he can't help himself, his hand on your ass squeezing gently before he slides it up to your jean clad thigh, squeezing as well as he holds onto it. whilst he feels up your thigh, his free hand that stayed on your waist slides up under your shirt. the warmth of your skin makes him groan under his breath, his eyes lifting to yours. "just a little doll, ain't you?"

matt does this a lot—get all touchy and loving on you, and even so, you never get used to it. it always has your skin growing warm, eyes even dilating a little. "you're jus' flatterin' me. you do this with every pretty girl?" matt scoffs at your words. being cooped up in that farmhouse of yours made you sassy, watchin' all that television. he loved it, though, how you fired back with him.

"no, ma'am," he smiled gently, drawing you closer. "jus' sayin'.. you looked real nice up on that there bull," leaning in, he let his nose brush against the crook of your neck for a moment. the feel of his warm breath against your skin has you shivering however instinctively leaning into his touch. matt hums quietly, the urge to find some quiet area of the roadhouse and really give you a ride growing more and more each moment. "you're good at ridin', hm?"

"mhm," you hum in return, your lips parting with a soft sound as he squeezes all over your body. you can practically feel him hardening against your thighs, and he draws you closer once more. although, his gaze flutters up and around the bar for a bit. he looks back at you, biting his tongue for a second. "how 'bout," he starts, "you test out those skills for me? gotta put 'em to good use so you don't get rusty, darlin'."

"we wouldn't want that, would we?" a warmth floods through you as you speak, your eyes darting up to his. a lazy smirk crawls its way over matt's lips and he easily hooks his arm around your waist again. his hand slides into the back pocket of your jeans, curling over your ass as he draws you close and over to a quiet, partioned part of the bar. "mm, no, we wouldn't," he coos.

glancing around for a minute, he checks to see whether the coast is clear before he sits himself down. leaning back against booth, he glances up at you, watching how you stand there with your hands on your hips. "baby, you gonna stand there or come get to work?" matt muses, patting his thighs for a minute before he starts undoing the buttons and zip of his jeans.

"don't tell me what to do," you watch for a moment as he undoes his jeans, the way he easily rolls them down his thighs. he notices, his smirk widening a little. "but baby," matt croons, his head tilting to the side a little bit. "you like when i tell you what to do," and he's right, yeah. you really do. you're already unzipping your own jeans, pushing them down your thighs, and then off your body completely to give you room to move around.

"that's it," matt mumbles, eyes raking over you. the sight of you in just your panties and that pretty top has him groaning m, his hand sliding down to palm himself over his boxers for a moment. his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, jerking his chin in his direction with his free hand held out for you to come sit yourself down. "c'mere," his voice holds an almost whiny quality to it, his blue eyes lifting up to yours instinctively.

"m'comin'," you murmur quickly, glancing up at him. those blue eyes of his quite honestly make you weak. making your way over, you stand between his spread legs for a moment. this gives him room to shimmy off his boxers a little, freeing his aching, throbbing cock with precum oozing from the tip. he quickly moves his hand to stroke himself, getting himself ready to line up against your entrance and push inside you. he'd been waiting for this for a good hour or so now, honestly.

matt's hand stays lazily pumping his cock, but his other hand slides over to your hips and squeezes for a moment, before he draws you closer. it moves over the curve of your thigh, grasping at the meat of it and easing one leg over his hip, then he moves the other one to do the same. "you alright? still want this?"

"just—" you roll your eyes at his words, reaching a hand down to push your panties to the side a little. a little gasp escapes you at the feel of the different air against your wet folds, and matt scoffs in amusement at your reaction. if you could make such a pretty sound because of that, he knew your sounds would be even prettier when he had you riding him to high heaven.

you stare at matt for a minute, seeing the scoff, and you shake your head before you scoot so you're lined up with his tip. matt watches you intently, his eyes locked on the sight of you so pliant yet headstrong above him. he leans back against the booth, hands grasping at your soft thighs, grip tightening instantly when you ease yourself down on him. "fuck," it takes everything he has to not start bucking up into you already, but he knows he has to take his time and let you adjust.

"so tight around me already, sweetheart," being atop of that mechnical bull had already given you some real good friction if you were being completely honest, so you were wet enough for him to just ease inside without much resistance. your hands instinctively lift up to his shoulders, steadying yourself as you sink down. he's so warm, so close, his hands squeezing at your thighs tightly. "there we go.." when you're finally settled, he shuts his eyes for a minute, the feeling of being buried deep inside you making his heart race.

"open your eyes, please?" you love looking at his face when you lift your hips up and down, bringing yourself off him just to the tip before you slam back down on him again. he can't say no to you, not at all, so when you ask him to, his eyes open again. they're a little hazy, dilated from the intoxication of being beneath you. "mmh," you hum, taking the look of his eyes and just the way he's holding onto you as a sign to go ahead and start moving.

slowly but surely, you lift your hips up with the help of your thighs, and his hands, till your almost off him before you drop back down again. a throaty sound slips from past his lips, almost a whine. "look so good on top of me like this," he pants, drawing you even closer as you start to gain a pace that both of you like. you just let out the prettiest sounds as his cock drags against your walls, your thighs trembling a little with every bounce that you make.

feeling as though you don't need much of his help to gain rhythm, he lets go of your thighs and lifts his hands to your chest, palming your tits through the soft fabric of your top. "can't forget these, huh?" he muses, words shaky as his hips slowly start to thrust up to meet your motions. all of it has you whining above him, pretty little sounds escaping you with every one of his and your own movements. "ca—can't forget about those," you agree breathily, lifting a hand to move over top his as he runs his fingers over your nipples idly. "matt, oh my—"

it's a lot—the difference in how full you feel when he's buried in you to the hilt, and how you feel when you're lifted off him, god, it's stark, and yeah, every downward thrust has you crying out in soft moans whereas every upwards movement has you whining for more. "so greedy for me, aren't you," matt tuts, smiling gently at the sight of you looking so pretty and breathless, so needy. his hands find their way back to your hips again and he squeezes, taking that opportunity to start thrusting his hips upwards a little harder. his page picks up, your thighs shaking at the building pressure.

"that's all you needed, hm?" one of his hands slips down between your legs, beneath your panties, and his thumb starts working at your clit to get you over the edge. he draws firm circles around the bundle of nerves, his eyes lifting up to yours once more whilst he simultaneously pounds his hips up against yours. "making me feel so good, baby." but he'd get you there first, he'd make sure of it. you're practically soaking him, especially when that knot of pleasure bursts and you feel that familiar bliss wash over you.

it was a combination of his hips snapping up against yours and his thumb circling your clit, plus just the proximity of his body against yours and his eyes meeting yours on occasion that had you coming undone. "that's it, makin' a right mess on my cock," he coos, easing his thumb off your clit as to not overstimulate you and slowly sliding his hands back to your thighs to draw you a little closer. "just a little bit more, darlin'. you can take it, can't you? just a bit more for me?"

"just a little," you mumble in agreement, arms slowly wrapping around his neck as that fuzzy, warm feeling takes over a little. this is familiar in the best way, the rhythmic movement of his hips, his cock pushing in and out of you at a firm but easy pace. the wet sounds of skin against skin, it has you whining against him and practically holding onto his flannel for dear life.

he grunts low under his breath, "ain't gonna last long with you squeezin' the life outta' me like that," you can feel his thighs tense beneath you, his grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts start to stutter a little. his head tilts back and he lets out a guttural growl, eyes squeezing shut the moment he starts painting your insides white with his cum, his grip on you tightening impossibly so as he rides the waves of pleasure. "fuck," he wraps his arms around your waist, drawing you closer.

it's so warm, everything's so warm, the feeling of his release oozing down the insides of your thighs as he holds you there. a soft moan escapes you, your head nuzzling into his neck. his eyes flutter open after a minute, gaze meeting yours in an instant. had you made a mess? yeah, definitely, but was this completely worth it? a hundred percent. "swear you're turnin' into my very own cowgirl with skills like that," his words come out breathy, and an airy laugh of your own slips past your lips.

"might have to go ridin' again, actually," one of the things he loved most about you: your insatiability. you never really do get enough of him, huh?

ִ ֹ ★ @mattybsgroupie, @dayzeandhaze, @mattslolita, @stellasturns, @stevelacylovebot, @55sturn, @jetaimevous, @phone4pills, @aesthetixhoe, @venusiers, @chrissdollie, @stvrnmc, @sarosfilms, @beetlejenna, @funkycoloured , @v3nusasagrl, @imwetforyourmom, @deansbite, @beridollie, @https--roman, @sincerebabydoll, @pillwebb, @cayleeuhithinknot, @j2ss7 ִ ꒱

[legendofmorons]

Home (where you belong)

Pairing: pre lu Twilight x reader

Rating: G

Summary: When someone wakes you up from outside, you find your lover back from saving the world. Laundry and bath time can wait, but cuddles can not.

Warnings: like one curse?

Other: Welcome back to my "lovin on Twi" agenda.** Reader has a southern accent because in this fic they grew up in Ordon too.

Extra note: Hiya! Based on the poll, I'm tagging everyone on the taglist, BUT if you want to ONLY be tagged for the main story and not extras, please let me know, and I'll make sure to keep that straight.

There's someone outside your house. The sound of stumbling footsteps by the ladder wakes you as someone gives a quiet shout of a curse. The voice sounds familiar, but you aren't quite awake enough to name it just yet.

You know it's just you here tonight, like it has been for weeks now. Link is still off saving the world. You just hope he comes home to you soon. You don't think you can handle losing the man you grew up with and fell head over heels for.

Your home is closest to the road that leads to other towns, so you take the hunting knife in your bedside table and make your way down from the loft and to your front door.

In all probability, it is likely one of the many people from your home town. Lately a few of the kids have taken to sneaking out to try to practice fighting eachother and a lot if times they end up in your front yard.

The doorknob turns and you stifle a yawn.

"Who's there?" You call out.

The door swings open and a figure leans heavy against the door frame. They look and smell rough.

Sweat, blood, and muck waft off the figure.

You know the figure, though. Your mind is sluggish with leftover sleep, but you still know who that is.

Link!

He's home!

You don't care about the ways he's likely changed due to an adventure you didn't get to follow him on. You know, just by looking at him that he's still Link under whatever changes are there.

"Darlin'," Link slurs as he looks up at you with those eyes that always seem to sparkle for you.

You give a breathless laugh, knife falling from your grasp, before you run at him.

He catches you, stumbling back two or three steps, but his arms snake around you just the way you remember as he gives a weak chuckle.

"Yer back!" You manage with a shaking voice.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him close.

He's okay!

He's here.

"Now how many times did I tell ya I'll always come back t' ya?" Link asks you fondly in that deep, rumbling baritone that only ever means he is near.

You make a soft noise of acknowledgment as you take a deep breath. He still smells rough, but that does matter nearly as much as the fact that he's back.

"Ya need a bath, cowboy," you inform him as you stifle a yawn into your shoulder. "Firs' thing in th' mornin' we're takin' a bath. Yeah?"

"I can- I can take one now if ya want? I don't wanna stink up th' bed..."

"I don't give a good goddess damn, I'll wash th' sheets tomorrow. Ya need sleep n' so do I," you say as you step out of his arms to both of your dismay.

There's a low rumble that comes from hos chest as you step back, something between a whine and a growl...

You can't find the energy to care. He isn't a danger.

Not to you.

Never to you.

You give him a tired smile, noting he still has those strange face markings. You take one of his large, calloused hands in both of your own hands and tug him gently inside.

Link follows you as easily as he ever does, eyes achingly soft as they drink you in.

"I eva' tell ya that yer perfect?" Link asks as he closes the front door behind him with a push of his heel.

"Once or twice," you laugh softly. "C'mon, cowboy, no boots or swords in th' bed."

He snorts at that, but starts taking off his gear.

The sword comes off, then his tunic and chain mail.

His bag comes off and his shield settles against the wall.

Layer by layer Link strips until he wears only his pants. He has new scars, plenty of bruising, and a deeper tan - but he is here and he is real.

"Missed ya so much," Link tells you as he steps into your space.

You hum, pressing into him so you can soak in his body heat. He's always just so warm, more so now. "I missed ya too."

"I woke ya up, didn't I?" He asks as he sets a hand on you back over your heartbeat.

"Ya did, but I'm glad," you say as you give him your best slow blink to mimic a cat.

He cracks a tired smile, "I'm sorry, darlin'. Ya sure ya don't want me t' wash off 'fore bed?"

"If ya don't get in bed and let me hold ya 'til mornin' right now I'm not makin' pumpkin anythin' for a month," you threaten.

There's no real heat, a fact he knows as well as you do.

Link plays along anyway. "Well now, ya don't gotta get drastic, darlin'. If ya wanna go t' bed, let's go t' bed."

You let out a sigh of relief, pulling together the will to seperate enough to get to the bed.

You step back, and begin your trek back up to the loft with the bed.

In the morning, you will have to clean up a mess. Between the gear, the sheets, the knife still on your floor, and the dust, you have your work cut out for you.

But that's for in the morning, after you've spent the night with Link in your arms.

Link follows after you quickly.

Dragging the blankets back, you get into the bed before turning and immediately making grabby hands at him.

Link gives that silly little grin he has, "I'm comin', hold yer horses."

"Don' wanna hold th' horses, I wanna hold ya," you inform him with your best pout.

Link chuckles as he climbs into bed and pulls the blankets up over both of you.

He settles on his back, one arm out towards you and the other folding behind his head.

You fall into place with the ease that practice gives you.

Settling on your stomach with your head next to his you throw an arm around his torso lazily.

His arm wraps around you.

"Hey," Link whispers.

"Hey ya'self."

He states at you, soft and adoring as he presses a kiss to your forehead. "G'night, darlin'. I love ya."

"I love ya too, Link. I'm glad yer back," you tell him.

Sleep comes for you both. The comfort of being beside your lover for the first time in weeks does more to lull you to sleep than anything else can ever hope to.

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