#dameronscopilot 2k

[dameronscopilot]

clean

Steven Grant x f!reader

summary: And just like that, all rational thought swiftly goes out the window when Steven finds your underwear mixed in with his laundry.

rating: 18+ explicit

word count: 700+

content: NSFW, smut, masturbation, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral sex (m!receiving)

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Steven Grant + clean laundry + pink

The overturned laundry basket lies forgotten at the foot of the bed as Steven slowly collapses backward onto the pillows, eyes drifting shut for a moment as he inhales. The stark, clean scent of detergent dances up through his nostrils, crisply settling deep within his chest.

He carefully lifts his hand in the air above his head, looking up to see the pink flash of lacy material wrapped around his fingers, and his breath hitches in his throat again at the sight. Just as it did when he first spotted the article of clothing nestled between his sweatpants and a pile of socks. Logically, he’s fairly certain they must be yours, because you’d been doing your laundry beside him earlier.

And he knows you live three apartments down on the left. The one with a little wreath of sunflowers hanging in the center of the door. So he really should return them.

But should he wash them again first now that he’s touched them?

Should he gingerly place them in a shopping bag?

Should he fold them?

Is it more strange that his heart is pounding in his chest as he unconsciously rubs the material between his thumb and his forefinger, or that he knows they belong to you in the first place?

Should he just knock on your door and run or pathetically hope you’ll invite him in for tea after valiantly returning your skimpy little knickers instead of fondling them in his hands?

Too late for that last bit.

And just like that, his mind drifts, following the beckoning call of an intrusive thought.

Steven can’t help the image that forms in his head—you, spread out and naked across his sheets, save for the thong he’s holding. 

He sees you arch your back as he hooks a finger in the material, sliding the tip of another through your slick folds. You moan, grasping the mattress for purchase as he sinks a finger into your cunt. One becomes two, two becomes three, and the room is filled with the sounds of your breathy moans and the wet squelching between your thighs as Steven finger fucks you. Heels digging into the bed, a choked out whimper leaves your mouth, and his cock is so hard it’s fucking throbbing.

And then you’re on all fours, and Steven’s hands are massaging the globes of your ass, his eyes tracking the way the pink material disappears between your cheeks. 

He pulls the lacy strip aside, mouth going dry as he watches your arousal slide down your thighs, dripping onto the sheets below. 

When he begins to imagine the sound of your needy whine as he notches the head of his shaft at your entrance, Steven’s beyond the point of rational thought, and he hastily reaches into his pants, gasping in relief as own his fingers wrap around his aching cock.

The same fingers that are holding your thong.

The pleasant scrape of the lace against his dick brings him back to reality for a beat, but it feels so fucking good, he doesn’t care.

Because all he can think about is your pink panties hugging your hips as he fucks you into the mattress, the bedframe creaking in protest in time with each thrust. With each desperate, wanton sound that falls from your lips.

Your pretty lips.

He jerks upward hard into his fist as his mind flashes to an image of you turning around and wrapping those swollen, wet lips around his cock. Of you begging him to fuck your mouth. 

Steven’s cock is painfully hard and red and leaking as he strokes it so fast and rough he thinks he may pass out from the effort. 

He imagines you choking around his dick as he comes down your throat, drops of cum dripping down your lips afterward.

And then he’s gasping and panting and groaning as the heat coiling within him blazes white-hot. His jaw goes slack, muscles tightening as his orgasm punches through him.

When his limbs eventually stop shuddering, he loosens his grip on his cock, glancing down to find that both his hand and your panties are completely covered in cum.

Fucking hell.

Now he definitely needs to wash them.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, Marc snorts. Because he’s the one that fucked you in this very bed two nights ago, after all. 

–

» MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST » OSCAR ISAAC MASTERLIST

[nana-talks]

starved

pairing: rhett abbott x fem!reader word count: 2k warnings: slight angst

notes: inspired by starved, by zach bryan. gif by @dameronscopilot. i wrote this at work and haven't revised it much, sorry for any mistakes.

now we’re laying on the roof of my car / feeling young, feeling numb, feeling starved

they both had sneaked out from church together, meeting in the parking lot and driving rhett’s truck to the outskirts of the ranch. parked on the green grass, the horizon far far away, sat on the roof with two stale lukewarm beers, laughing and kicking rocks

they met in math class. she was hungry and bright-eyed; he was numb, hurt and closed-off. but just close enough for her to reach him.

it started with her asking to sit next to him on the cafeteria. he looked up, trying to hide how startled her voice made him feel, and shrugged. and so there she sat, every single day, in silence, for 2 weeks. until he finally cracked. he asked if she wanted another slice of pizza before getting up to get himself another round. she tried to hide how startled his voice made her feel, and nodded.

ever since then, a lot of her rubbed off on him - he started to pay more attention in class, do his homework and even get some above average grades.

the kindest parts of my mind are you and me

but he was far from becoming someone he was proud of (even if she were proud enough for the both of them).

he knew she had a bright future ahead. always talking about moving to boulder or even down to salt lake, going to community college, perhaps opening her own store or even becoming a news anchor! he knew there was no place for him in her future.

as much as he pretended and went along with her, saying he’d follow her to the ends of the earth, he knew he would never get the courage to face his mother, much less his father. he resented perry for staying, but he was doing the same. he just wouldn’t forgive himself if he made her stay too - like perry did with rebecca.

there ain’t no world in which i am good for you

as she crushed her beer under the heel of her boot, the small amount of alcohol in her system helped her finally ask: “did you… did you get the application packet? for western?”

he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. he didn’t notice her flinch. “never mind.” she said. “forget i said anything.”

feeling numb

she knew future-talk made rhett shut down. she didn’t even know why she asked in the first place. she was buzzing with the possibilities opening up right in front of her, she just wanted him to see he could walk through those doors too.

she didn’t notice him looking down at her, the way his eyes softened at her invisible pout.

he knew she was excited about what was to come after graduation. he knew she wanted him to share that excitement, but all he felt was fear.

“i did, actually.” he finally responded, making her eyes shoot up to find his.

“and?” she tried to contain her feelings, but her voice trembled.

he shrugged, his voice giving out. “i ‘on’t know”, he whispered. he tried to swallow the fear bubbling in his stomach, but couldn’t.

she stood next to his legs, her body automatically being drawn to him, like a gravitational pull. she didn’t want him to close off again, but she needed to touch him. her fingers twitched, but she grabbed his hand, their fingers intertwining automatically. she sighed, knowing he wouldn’t run away if she was holding him tight.

“i know you don’t wanna talk ‘bout this.” she said, and she could physically feel him roll his eyes. “but i think if i say it enough, maybe it’ll get through that thick skull of yours. you’re good, rhett. you could have it if you wanted.”

stop askin’ things you know the answers to

“what even is it?” he asked, pulling away from you and jumping off the back of the car. “y/n, i get it, you have it all figured out. but not everyone’s like you, okay?” she shivered once again, the late summer morning light not enough to warm her after the cold shoulder he just gave her. “no matter how much better i’ve gotten the past year, my grades are still shit. the best chance i have of getting out of this town is winning the regional division. and even then, what the fuck am i supposed to do in boulder?!”

“i don’t know, rhett… but we could figure it out! me and you. i- i thought you wanted this too.”

he wanted to see her happy. that’s all he ever wanted. which was why he never wanted to talk about the future, because he knew she was working towards something he’d never get to see. he kept shrugging the topic off, postponing whatever it is they were doing right now, hoping if they never acknowledged the end was coming, then it wouldn’t arrive.

so take one last good look / let’s share one last cigarette / i’ll be gone by the time you’re ashin’ it

he wanted to swallow back everything he ever said. he wanted to go back to the moment right before the storm. where he poked his index finger against the back of her hand, laid over top of the holy book, that sunday morning, before tracing the letters G-O followed by a question mark. where a sneaky smirk brightened her lips. where she excused herself to go to the toilet during gospel reading. where he followed suit quietly not long after, pretending not to feel his mother’s eyes on the back of his head. where he found her, leaning against the white wood siding of the church, her baby pink dress slightly flowing in the summer breeze, looking like the very sin he was about to commit.

feeling starved

he ran his hands over his face, taking a deep breath before walking back to where she stood. his frame towered hers. his fingers hovered above her cheeks, wanting so bad to touch her, but so scared of ruining her.

there ain’t no world in which i am good for you

he thought she didn’t notice, but she knew. she knew because that was exactly what everybody around her thought - her parents, her siblings, her friends. but she knew that would never happen.

she knew because a lot of him had also rubbed off on her. she used to be such a goody-two-shoes, he helped her release some tension. she was so strict about her studies and the bible, he helped her broaden out. she was very mellow, he gave her fire.

the kindest parts of my mind are you and me

she took a deep breath as well, tucking her fingers in between his before laying his palms against her cheeks and he closed his eyes.

“i know you think you’ll ruin me.” she whispered, and his bright blues found her. “and i don’t get it because, god, rhett, you saved me. i could have had all the good grades, and the all teacher’s eating from my hands, but you made me want to live. and i didn’t have that before.” he shuddered against her, leaning his forehead against hers and inhaling her in. “i know you think i have it all figured out, but the thing you don’t see is that you’re the only thing i want to figure out. don’t you see that? fine, you hate talking about the future. but i want to know why, rhett. why don’t you have the same fire for life that you gave me?”

he sighed and his body was caving into her, his lips brushing against hers before he hid against her neck. he took a deep breath in, forcing his tears back inside his eyes, the lump on his throat back down his stomach. but just the mere feeling of her nails against the back of his neck was enough to make the dam break.

this life took you in, babe / the same life that reminds me i could never love me like you do

“i’m just so scared…” he whispered, the summer breze almost carrying the sound. she kept running her fingers against the curls on the nape of his neck, rocking them slightly from side to side. “this ranch is all i’ve ever known. i was made for this, it’s all my parents have ever wanted from me. i’m a fuck-up already, i can’t disappoint them even more.”

“but what do you want?” she whispered, worried of breaking the tension and he’d go back to hiding behind the bad boy his family loved to hate.

“i want you” he whispered back, allowing his lips to crash against her neck in sweet repeated kisses.

“no, rhett, what do you really want?” she asked, stepping back so she could stare at his bright blue eyes, slightly pink and watery. he’d always do that - say he just wanted to see her happy, to see her achieve her dreams, that it would be enough. but she knew it wouldn’t. because just wanting to see her happy would never get him out of that ranch.

and he knew, deep down, what she meant. he actually had a straight answer, the same one he’s had since he was 7. but it felt like such a cop-out. no one would take an answer like that seriously. he was supposed to want to go to college, to earn a degree, to get a real job somewhere. he was never supposed to want to go pro - his father would have never let him ride in the first place if that’s what he truly wanted.

he couldn’t even look at her as he answered. “i want to ride.” he kicked the red dirt with the point of his boot, taking a deep breath. “i want to ride, professionally.” he completed.

she sighed. of course that’s what he wanted.

he was ready to hear her say anything along the lines of “that’s not a real job, rhett” or even try to comfort him by saying that was “sweet” (as he had heard before). but he was not ready to hear her say: “okay. let’s do it then.”

“what?” he finally looked up and he couldn’t stop the heat from rushing to his cheeks at the look in her face. she looked… proud. “what do you mean, let’s do it?”

“we still have, what, 2 months until the regional division arrives in wyoming? let’s do this then.” she said, picking her phone up from the back of the truck. “do you want to do the cody stampede? or join a pbr team? i mean, i guess we should start local with the mountain states circuit. you’ve tried out for that once, right?”

she could have gone on for a while, he noticed. she was scrolling her phone quickly, leaning back against the tailgate, kicking her boot slightly. she didn’t sound condescending, or annoyed at his small dream. she just sounded… determined. if that’s what he wanted, that’s exactly what she was going to give him.

“hey”, he stopped her mid-sentence with a mere whisper. she looked up, freezing in place, slightly annoyed at herself for going on and on. his eyes were even more watery now. he walked over to her and in one fast swoop, he pulled her off the ground and against his chest. she yelped and her arms flew to grab his neck, trying to hold herself steady. “i-” he had no words.

“i know. and i love you too.” she whispered back against his ear, and he just squeezed his hands against her waist tighter. he finally put her back in the ground, stepping back just to run his fingers against her cheeks. make sure she was actually there, real. “what the fuck?” he wanted to ask. he probably did.

“i meant it, rhett. you’re good. you can have it, anything. the ranch, western university, the entire texas circuit, whatever it is you want. you just have to want it.” she pushed his hair off his face slightly, before he kissed her.

the purest parts of my heart are you and me

[joels6string]

I cannot believe guys. This is wild. I’m so happy to have everyone here chatting and reading. It brings me great joy and you guys are all so supportive.

I have an inbox of requests pending, and they’re not abandoned, but I wanted to do something fun and easy and interesting for this milestone!

short, bite-sized, sweet, & relatively plotless drabbles with the sole purpose of evoking emotion through sensory details. These will range from angst to fluff to smut, depending on the prompt combination and my own inspiration at the time of writing.

To request please use the following format:

*Not all requests will be fulfilled

My love @dameronscopilot has also hit 2k and is running the same event with a ton of different characters. Go celebrate with her!

Requested:

Joel: Rain+Teal and/or Green, Soap+Brown, Perfume+Lavender, Leather+my choice, Coffee+my choice , Flowers+Pink, Sweat+Blue

Frankie: Clean Laundry+Yellow and/or White, Fire/Smoke+Blue

Dieter: Books+Purple, Ocean+Blue, Baked Goods+Pink

Din: Sweat+Scarlet

[dameronscopilot]

selfish

Rhett Abbott x f!reader

summary: In which you return to Wyoming, and Rhett finally lets himself be selfish with you for once.

word count: 2k+

rating: 18+ explicit

content: NSFW, smut, fingering, oral sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, best friends to lovers

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Rhett Abbott + cologne + forest green

“I’m no fuckin’ good for you.”

His voice is rough and pained—he bites the words out like each one burns as it hits his tongue. But there’s an edge of desperation to them as well, one that you can feel in the way his warm palms slide up under your shirt, callused fingers pressing into the smooth skin of your back. He holds you there, anchored in his lap, breath heaving in his chest as he looks up at you. You run your thumb over the cut on his bottom lip, and his eyes fall shut, a nearly imperceptible shudder coursing through his body. 

“You’re wrong, Rhett,” you murmur, hand trailing over the frayed collar of his t-shirt.

It’s a deep shade of forest green, and as you take the soft material between your fingers, you’re seventeen again.

You’re seventeen and you’re lying in the bed of Rhett’s pick up truck, parked in the middle of the woods and staring up at a thick, lush, dark green canopy of trees blocking out the bright blue sky above. Sunlight lazily filters in through the cracks as the leaves rustle and sway with the occasional breeze. 

Rhett’s beside you, eyes narrowed in concentration as he fiddles with a knotted piece of rope. He’s trying to act like he doesn’t care that Maria’s got a new boyfriend, and you’re pretending like you’re not at all bothered by the fact that you broke up with your own mere hours ago. 

Which is why you nudge your best friend with the toe of your boot, laughing as you say, “We both have shit luck, Abbott. Might as well just marry each other some day.”

Despite the humor in your voice, a part of you doesn’t want it to be a joke. 

And it’s why your heart sinks when Rhett finally glances over at you with the same sentiment he offers you now—”Me? Hell, I’m no good for you. We both know that. You’ll be off writing your books in some big city while I’m still here chasing cattle.”

You let it go back then.

You let Rhett go. 

You graduated high school and packed your bags, trading in Wyoming’s lush, rolling landscape for crowded streets and skyscrapers. 

But now you’re back in Wabang. You’re back, and Rhett’s still here, just like he promised. 

And your heart still fucking aches with longing every goddamn time you look at him.

You’ve been dancing around something since you strolled back into town, something that makes Rhett stare at you like he still can’t quite believe that you’re here. The weight of his gaze throws you off-kilter, because now, he’s too tired to hide it—the longing he’s always acted like he’s not allowed to feel. 

But even so, he’s still digging his heels into the dirt, his self-deprecating mouth contradicting the way his fingers are idly tracing the curve of your spine. 

“You deserve better than me. This town.” He can’t look at you as he says it, gaze focused on the room beyond, over your shoulder.

“The city’s too loud,” you quietly reply. 

Rhett’s breath hitches in his throat as you let your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck; it’s longer now than when you saw him last, watching his figure fade through a rearview mirror, dust kicking up from the truck’s tires in the wake of your departure. Something flashes across the blue of his eyes when you tug at the dark strands.

His voice is strained. “Keep lookin’ at me like that ‘n I won’t let you leave again this time. You make me wanna be so goddamn selfish.”

You lean your forehead against his, your noses brushing, and you inhale the rich, earthy notes of his cologne. Of course he’d still be wearing the same one, even after all these years. It’s a scent that lingers starkly in your memories, one that clung to his sweatshirts when you borrowed them and greeted you every morning as you sat in the passenger seat of his pickup truck on the way to school. 

“Make me stay,” you whisper, feeling the warmth of his breath curling against your lips.

He cups the side of your face, thumb stroking your cheek. “I ruin just about everything I touch, sweetheart.”

“I’ve been ruined for anyone else since the day I met you, Rhett Abbott.”

Silence hangs in the space between you for a beat, and then the buzzing current of desperation in the air seems to ignite as his lips finally come crashing into yours. 

You’ve imagined this far too many times, kissing Rhett. 

But your hazy, teenage fantasies are a far cry from this, from reality—the tangible, searing touch of his mouth against your own. The body heat radiating off of him. The rapid beating of your heart as he grasps your hip with one hand, cradling the back of your head with the other. The press of his tongue against the seam of your lips, and the heady rush to your head as he deepens the kiss. The groan that rumbles in his throat as you press your body into his while he nips at your lower lip. 

You break for air, but Rhett doesn’t stop. His lips trail across your jaw, leaving a searing trail as he makes his way down your throat, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your pulse point.

And if this were any other guy that you were kissing for the first time, you might think about climbing out of his lap right about now. You’d wink, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before grabbing your purse and heading for the door—something to be continued. 

But this is Rhett.

Rhett, who you’ve been more than a little bit in love with for over half of your life. 

Rhett, who’s made it damn near fucking impossible for you to care about anyone else. 

Rhett, who’s kissing you like he might feel the same, like—

“I love you.” He sounds wrecked as he says it, holding your face in both of his hands, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

It feels natural, the way the words echo on your own lips, the final knot in your chest loosening as they finally clear your throat. 

This is Rhett. And it’s why, when you shift out of his lap, your feet don’t hit the carpeted floor in pursuit of the exit. Rather, you lay horizontally across the vacant couch cushions instead, pulling him down on top of you for another heated kiss.

His hair brushes across your face as he slots his lips against yours, and when you wrap your legs around him, Rhett doesn’t hesitate to press down into you, hard and straining in his jeans. Fingers grasping the hem of his shirt, you tug it over his head, lifting yourself up to press a kiss to his chest.

Your shirt follows suit, and Rhett makes quick work of your bra. His eyes meet yours as he leans down, tracing a circle with his tongue around one of your pert nipples before taking it into his mouth. A needy, wanton sound escapes you as he sucks at your breast, your fingers scrambling for purchase against the cool metal of his belt buckle. His mouth is at your throat again, a warning tone in his voice as he gasps your name. 

Ignoring him, you tug off his belt, tossing it aside and unbuttoning his jeans, prompting Rhett to bite at the junction between your neck and shoulder as you grasp his hard cock through the fabric of his boxers, already damp with precum. “Yeah, Rhett?”

“Fuck,” he rasps as you slip your fingers past his waistband, the soft skin of your palm wrapping around the throbbing heat of his shaft.

You’ve only just begun to stroke his length before he’s hastily tugging your pants and underwear off. Rhett spreads your thighs apart, and all notions of embarrassment at the wet trail of arousal already dripping between your legs quickly fade when he runs a finger through your folds and moans appreciatively. 

Fingers tightly gripping the couch cushions, you can’t help but gasp when he slips a digit inside of you, his other hand grasping the top of your thigh as he meets your gaze. And then he’s stretching you open with another, his fingers wetly pumping in and out of your slick channel. You’re nearly disappointed when he pulls both of them out, only to cry out as he buries his head between your thighs, back arching off of the couch in pleasure as he laps firm, broad strokes against your weeping cunt.

“God you fuckin’ taste like heaven,” he rasps, tongue probing into your tight channel.

And you could come like this, whimpering and crying out Rhett’s name as he tongue fucks your pussy like his life depends on it. Because Jesus fucking Christ, he’s good at it. Part of you wants to shift positions, taking his heavy cock between your kiss-swollen lips as he eats you out, bobbing on his shaft until his cum hits the back of your throat in thick spurts.

But right now—

Fingers tightly threading into his hair, you tug as you whine, “Need you inside of me, Rhett.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice as he kicks off his pants. But rather than lining himself with your slick, waiting entrance, he sits and pulls you back toward his lap instead, staring up at you intently as you slowly sink down onto his cock.

And it’s so fucking intimate, the way his arms wrap tightly around you as he bottoms out inside of you, face buried into the crook of your neck. Rhett rocks up into you as you begin to ride him, lips slotting against yours, fingers skating across your naked skin.

“Don’t leave me again,” he gasps out between kisses.

You won’t.

You can’t.

“Be selfish with me, Rhett.”

The rhythm of his thrusts falters as he begins to slam up into you, electricity pulsing through your veins at each push and drag of his thick cock through your slick inner walls. 

Rhett can take his time with you later. 

He can take you apart again and again with the press of his fingers, the touch of his tongue, the stretch of his cock as it disappears inside of you. 

He can have his way with you any way he wants, till you’re both too sated and fucked out to do anything but lie tangled in the sheets, boneless in the aftermath.

But right now, you can’t wait. You can’t hold back the roiling wave of pleasure curling in your gut, burning white-hot through your nerve endings each and every time his shaft plunges back inside of you. Rhett’s struggling, too, rutting into you sloppily as he palms at your breasts and licks his way into your mouth. 

When he brings a hand between your bodies to stroke at your swollen clit, the dam inside of you bursts, your body trembling as you reach your climax. Rhett fucks you through each echoing pulse of pleasure, your cunt greedily quivering as he continues to ravage your sensitive hole. 

You can feel it when he’s about to come, and you gasp, “Inside,” as he reaches down to pull his shaft out of you. 

The moan that leaves Rhett is feral as he grasps your hips, slamming back into your cunt to the hilt just as ropes of cum begin spurt from his cock, filling you with his hot seed. 

Even when you’ve milked every last drop from him, neither of you move, content to feel the warmth of his softening shaft nestled inside of the wet heat between your thighs.

You run a hand through Rhett’s sweaty hair, pushing it back out of his face, and the unabashed affection in his eyes has your heart racing all over again. 

He tentatively runs his fingers along your jaw. Careful, slow. Like you’re not completely naked in his lap. Like he didn’t just fuck you so hard you saw goddamn stars. Like his cum isn’t leaking out of you right now.

Like he’s still worried you’re going to leave.

His lips hover over yours, eyes falling shut. “Stay with me.”

And you thread your fingers with his, holding his hand against your heart as you whisper, “I’m home now. I’m not leaving again.”

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» RHETT ABBOTT MASTERLIST

[dameronscopilot]

quiet

Marc Spector x reader

summary: You and Marc both needed this—a break from the city, the quiet stillness of the woods, the warmth of this cabin.

word count: 500+

content: fluff, suggestive themes

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Marc Spector + smoke & wood + brown

The first thing you notice when you rouse from sleep is the quiet.

It’s nearly silent in the cabin, save for Marc’s slow, steady breathing beside you and the birds tittering on the roof. You’ve grown so used to the city’s endless onslaught of sound, the ceaseless cacophony traversing the sidewalks and streets outside your windows from dawn till dusk and long into the hours beyond, that you’ve nearly forgotten what silence sounds like.

The flannel sheets are soft against your skin as you stretch your limbs, the bed frame letting out a creak of protest at the movement. You’re almost surprised Marc hasn’t stirred yet; normally he’s up long before you, nursing a cup of coffee in the kitchen and picking at a slice of toast covered in a thin layer of strawberry jam.

Glancing around, you take in the cabin’s rustic interior in the gentle glow of the morning light pouring in through the windows—it was dark when you and Marc pulled up the long, winding dirt path late yesterday. The distinct smell of wood fills the room, encompassing the space in an earthy warmth despite the fall chill ruthlessly permeating the last remaining dredges of summer hanging in the air outside.

Maybe you’ll try and convince Marc to stay a few more days.

The way he slept like the dead last night says enough—you both needed this.

While you don’t want to disturb him, you can’t help but scoot closer, pressing your chest to his solid back and wrapping your arms around him. The rich scent of smoke from last night’s campfire still clings heavily to his hair. You nose at his dark curls, inhaling deeply and picking up the faint, lingering notes of soap buried beneath.

When you first started dating, you’d teased Marc incessantly about his particular affinity for the green bar of soap always nestled on the shelf in his bathroom—it was the most generic, no frills brand, and he refused to buy anything else.

And yet all these years later, you’ve come to crave the familiar, clean scent of that soap that always lingers across his skin. In his hair. On his clothes.

Because now that scent is home to you.

You can feel yourself traipsing back along the tempting precipice of slumber when the sound of Marc’s sleep-rough voice pulls you back.

“Why am I the little spoon right now?”

You laugh, hugging him tighter, and he groans fondly as you counter, “Steven insists on being the little spoon, you know.”

Between one moment and the next, you suddenly find yourself pinned beneath Marc as he hovers over top of you, the sheets pooled at his waist, one of his hands holding down your wrist as the other skirts the side of your face. And for a moment, as his face moves into the ray of light stretching lazily across the bed, you find yourself completely and entirely distracted by the way the sun fills his deep brown eyes, the illuminated shade akin to the effect of milk seeping into coffee.

Marc leans in, nose brushing against yours as he strokes the curve of your jaw with his thumb and whispers conspiratorially, “Well, Steven’s not here right now.”

“I guess you can be the big spoon then,” you concede with a smile.

You lift your head, stealing a chaste kiss. But as you let yourself fall back against the pillow, Marc follows you down, his lips insistently pressing into yours for another kiss, one far headier.

One that leaves you dizzy and breathless as his tongue skirts along the seam of your mouth, his body heat washing over you.

Nipping at your bottom lip, Marc's fingertips skate across the waistband of your shorts as he murmurs, "I have a better idea."

[dameronscopilot]

restless

Rhett Abbott x f!reader

summary: Rhett's far too anxious before tonight's rodeo, but you know just how to calm him down.

word count: 900+

rating: 18+ explicit

content: NSFW, smut, oral sex, face fucking, praise kink

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Rhett Abbott + leather + orange

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, baby.”

Rhett’s voice is muffled as he presses a fist to his mouth, dirt sliding beneath his boots as he slumps against the side of the trailer. With one hand curled around his thigh and the other hooked in one of his belt loops, you continue to mouth at the front of his jeans, tracing the thick lines of his straining erection, the denim rough against your tongue. 

His cowboy hat grazes your shoulder as it falls from his head and lands on the ground, and you glance up to find him bathed in the dull orange glow of the parking lot lights above, eyes closed and lips slightly parted as he drags a hand through his tousled hair. You have half a mind to tell him how pretty he looks like this—putty in your hands, the veins along his forearm bulging as he grasps the neck of his vest, neck muscles straining, the edges of his curls tinged in gold. 

The dichotomy between the needy, panting man above you and the determined, ruthless one he’ll soon become when he climbs atop tonight’s bull is enough to take your breath away. 

It’s risky, kneeling on the ground and palming Rhett’s cock through his pants in the narrow gap between two trailers while the lively chatter of the rodeo is just a stone’s throw away. But he’s been thrumming with an uncharacteristic edge of anxiety since he stepped out of the truck—there’s too much riding on tonight’s standings. And without much time to spare, this is the one surefire way you could think of to get him to relax. 

Fingers grasping the cool metal of the large buckle blocking your path, the scent of leather mingles with the warm, musky notes of Rhett’s cologne as you undo his belt and unzip his pants. A low groan rumbles in his throat when you reach into his boxers, pulling out his cock. The thick shaft is slightly curved and flushed red in your hands, hot and pulsing with need, and you can feel him shiver beneath your touch as you swipe the pad of your thumb through the precum dripping from the tip.

If you were at home, sprawled out across your rumpled sheets, you’d take your time with him, cupping his balls and massaging his inner thighs as you slowly ease his length into the back of your throat. He’ll never outright admit it, but it’s what he craves—when you edge him till he’s at your mercy and shaking with need, muscles tense and voice hoarse as he begs you for reprieve. 

Despite the firm set of his shoulders and serrated edge of his attitude by day under Wyoming’s vast blue skies, the Rhett Abbott that most people see, there’s a weariness when he hangs up his hat by the doorway some nights, a stumble to his step as he kicks off his boots.

And it’s those nights that he needs you most—needs this most—even if he doesn’t know how to say it. How to ask for it.

But there’s no time for finesse, not with the announcer droning on in the background, the time for Rhett to saddle up drawing near. So you drop all pretense of teasing, eliciting a choked out sound from him as you part your lips and immediately take his cock deep into the wet heat of your mouth.

“Oh fuckin’ hell…” Rhett drawls, gently bucking his hips into your touch.

He’s holding back—you can feel it in the way his thigh muscles are straining from the effort. 

“Fuck my mouth, Rhett.”

The hitch in his breath is audible, and one of his palms slaps against the trailer.

“I wanna fuck you,” he groans, slowly driving his cock further down your throat. 

You back off his shaft, glancing up at him with a wink. “Later.”

Rhett nods, slightly dazed as he stares down at you transfixed while you run your tongue along the head and mouth your way down his length with your spit-soaked lips.

“C’mon, Rhett. Use me,” you urge him, gripping the backs of his thighs.

And it’s then that his barely-leashed restraint snaps, his hips snapping forward as he thrusts his cock past your parted, waiting lips. You stare up at him as he fucks your mouth, because you know it drives him crazy—watching a sloppy trail of spit slide down your chin, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he holds your head while he slams into the back of your throat. 

“That’s my fuckin’ good girl,” he rasps, sounding more than a little wrecked already.

Rhett’s too keyed up to last long tonight, so you’re not surprised when he moans as his cock begins to pulse, filling your mouth with a hot load of his seed. You swallow his salty spend just as he pulls you to your feet, all traces of restlessness and unease gone from his blue eyes when he bites his lower lip and smiles, swiping a drop of cum from your lower lip with his thumb before leaning in to kiss you softly. 

As your lips slide against his, you card your hands through his hair, only to pull away and bend down once you realize what’s missing. You swipe his hat off of the ground, and Rhett raises an eyebrow when you swiftly bypass his bowed head, placing it atop your own.

“Honey…” he drawls.

You grin, tipping the brim of the hat at him before waltzing away and calling back over your shoulder, “Yeah, yeah. I know the rules. You better win tonight, Abbott.”

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» RHETT ABBOTT MASTERLIST

[dameronscopilot]

savor

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x reader

summary: Watching Rooster eat an orange really shouldn't be this attractive. And yet—

word count: 700+

content: fluff, kissing

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw + citrus + sage

“Did you bring an orange to a barbeque?”

The tart, fragrant scent of the citrus fruit hangs in the air as you turn to Rooster, watching with interest as he tears away the skin, leaving a mess on the surface of the picnic table.

“Yep,” he replies, not bothering to look up as he fights with a particularly stubborn piece of the peel.

He brings the orange to his lips, and a trickle of heat spreads in your chest at the sight of him using his teeth to rip it off. You look away, pointedly staring off in the direction of the setting sun, watching as its golden orange rays filter lazily through the leaves of the tall trees bordering the edges of the backyard.

You can hear the sound of Hangman’s laughter over by the grill, heckling Bob as he stands guard over the small army of burgers sizzling atop the grates. Phoenix punches him in the arm, dragging him over to where Fanboy and Coyote are waiting to get a game of horseshoes going. 

A warm breeze licks its way through the yard, and you’re a moment too late in reaching out to rescue your paper plate from taking flight. But Rooster saves it, momentarily pausing in his orange-peeling endeavor to place his half-empty can of soda on top of it to hold it down. 

You make the mistake of glancing at him again, transfixed as he finally frees a slice of the citrus and bites into it. His eyes fall shut for a moment, and you try to avert your gaze, only to sweep back over his form as he has the goddamn audacity to moan.

He catches you looking this time, and you’re almost certain that he’s being purposefully messy, biting into two thick slices at once. Orange juice drips from his lips and onto his shirt, dotting the soft, heathered, sage green material in an array of wet spots.

When he’d strolled in earlier, you were embarrassed to find that you couldn’t help but notice how well the color looked against his sun-kissed skin. And yet now, as Rooster grins at you, wiping the remaining juice off of his lips with the back of his hand, all you can think about is getting him out of that goddamn shirt.

“Want some?” he asks, winking as he proffers you a slice.

You nod slowly, and he scoots closer across the bench you’re both seated on, eyes locked on yours as he places it in your mouth. His hand lightly lingers along the side of your jaw as you chew, the tangy flavor dancing like a livewire across your heightened senses. 

His gaze drifts lower, to the small dribble of juice left beaded on your lower lip, and he slowly swipes it away with the pad of his thumb. Your breath hitches in your throat.

Reaching over to where the rest of the orange is sitting on the picnic table, you take another slice, but instead of biting down, you leave it resting between your lips. A huff leaves Rooster’s mouth, and he doesn’t hesitate to lean in, steadying himself with a hand pressed against the top of your left thigh as he uses his teeth to take the slice from you, lips briefly brushing over yours.

His mouth is there and gone between one breath and the next, but the contact is enough to leave your heart thundering in your chest, fingers flexing almost painfully against the splintering wood of the bench. 

Rooster looks like he’s about to say something, but then Hangman shouts both of your names, waving a horseshoe in the air and beckoning you both to join.

—

Later, when stars have begun to dot the sky and everyone’s gathered around the glow of the crackling campfire, Rooster finds you alone in the quiet darkness of the kitchen, startling you as you’re reaching up to grab marshmallows off of the shelf.

His body is warm when it presses against your back, his fingers drifting over yours to tug the bag from your grip. You turn, only to find yourself caged in against the counter.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey.”

And then Rooster’s cupping your face in both hands.

His nose is brushing against yours.

His mustache is tickling your skin.

And he's kissing you.

He's kissing you.

—and you can still taste the orange on his lips.

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» BRADLEY BRADSHAW MASTERLIST

[dameronscopilot]

anchor

Bucky Barnes x reader

summary: Bucky always leaves, and you always let him. Until he realizes what he's been missing this whole time.

word count: 1k

rating: 18+

content: hurt/comfort, PTSD, undefined relationship, brief & light smut

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Bucky Barnes + clean laundry + lavender

Pain.

All he can feel is pain.

His vision hazy and his chest burns and his eyes sting and his body aches and—

There’s blood. 

It’s bright and it’s red and it’s blooming across the floor. There’s too much of it.

He can smell it, the acrid, pungent notes draped heavily across the air in the room.

He can taste it, the metallic tang makes his teeth ache.

And then suddenly it becomes hard to breathe, and he’s gasping for air.

And he’s falling.

Falling.

Falling.

The first thing that registers in Bucky’s mind when he wakes up is the stale taste of bile in his throat. That, and the fact that he can’t stop shivering. 

“Bucky?”

He hears a voice beside him, your voice, but his mind is still spinning and his heart is still racing. So it doesn’t quite register. Not yet.

Slowly, he opens his eyes. Bucky blinks a few times, taking in the room’s pale lavender walls, the way they’re illuminated with bars of light, the golden glow of the early morning sun peeking in through the blinds. The dust motes lazily floating in the air. Somewhere off in the distance, he hears the faint sound of a car horn. 

He can feel your fingers wrap around his right wrist. Carefully, tentatively.

His heartbeat begins to slow.

Bucky inhales, and he can smell your detergent clinging to the soft, gray sheets. The familiar crisp, fresh scent, paired with the floral notes of your shampoo brushed across the surface of the pillowcases. 

The tightness in his chest starts to loosen a fraction.

–

This isn’t the first night Bucky’s spent in your bed, and it’s not the first time his nightmares have chased him there between the warmth of your sheets and your tangled legs. He comes and goes from your life like the tides, forever adamant that he’s far too fucked up and broken to stay. Always certain that you deserve better.

And yet just when your heart begins to drift, when you stop leaving the porch light on in hopes that he’ll come knocking, when your finger hovers over the button to delete his name from your phone contacts—he’ll turn up again.

It’s always after bad missions—ones that leave him frayed at the edges, torn at the seams. Ones that find the two of you in bed for what feels like days until you can fuck every last bit of anxious adrenaline out of his system. 

By the time the calm sets in, though, he’s usually gone, leaving nothing behind but the distinct scent of motor oil that restlessly lingers in your apartment as his motorcycle rumbles away down the street. 

But for the first time, he didn’t touch you after he showed up last night, not like that. 

He’d hardly said a word when you opened the door for him just past midnight, your eyes still heavy from the deep sleep he’d roused you from. You knew he noticed you were wearing one of his shirts, one he’d left behind months ago. But neither of you acknowledged it, and you were too tired to be embarrassed.

He’d simply pulled you into his arms when the two of you climbed back into your bed, and you’d fallen asleep pretending—for his sake—that you couldn’t feel the shuddering of his chest and his shallow, gasping breaths as he held you close. You didn’t ask, because you knew he wouldn’t talk about it. 

He never does.

–

As you sit up and lean over Bucky, glancing down at him with concern brimming in your eyes, his throat constricts as he feels a tug from deep within. Something tattered and dusty shakes itself loose, sending him reeling as it unfurls. 

It hits him square in the chest—the realization. 

The fact that somewhere along the line, no matter how hard he’s tried to deny it, this has become home to him. Your small little Brooklyn apartment with its kitschy décor and the broken skylight in the bathroom. The chipped porcelain container with cow spots sitting beside your kitchen window and the collection of plants haphazardly claiming every open piece of real estate in your living room. The dog across the street that barks incessantly every morning. The one empty spot on the coat hook beside your front door that he’s fairly certain is for him. 

You’ve become home to him.

–

You brace yourself, waiting for Bucky to slide out from underneath you, when he’ll inevitably slip his jeans back on, fasten his belt, and disappear for another few days. Weeks. Months, even. 

Maybe you’ll finally learn to stop holding your breath this time.

But he doesn’t.

He just stares back up at you instead, and you try to ignore the silent whine of longing you feel at the sight of his tousled brown hair against your pillows. You’d made an offhand comment that perhaps he should grow his hair out months ago, and for whatever reason, he’d listened.

You’re not quite sure what’s going on in his head as his blue eyes rake over your face, but you don’t miss the way his breath suddenly hitches in his throat.

And then he’s kissing you.

His lips are tracing yours like he’s discovering the shape of them for the very first time. Like he wants to find the perfect angle to slot them together. 

He’s kissing you so fucking softly, you begin to tremble slightly at the reverence of his touch.

Bucky pulls you on top of him—you’ve never been on top. Normally, he can’t handle the loss of control. 

But not today.

Today, you’re straddling him, and he’s tugging aside the thin cotton fabric of your underwear, pumping two fingers in and out of you until your channel is slick and wet. 

And when his eyes fall shut as he tosses his head back against the pillow and moans when you finally sink down onto his cock, the weight of his vulnerability in the moment is heavy in your chest. 

—but it’s not a burden this time.

Not a warning sign of his pending departure. 

Not anymore

It’s an anchor.

[dameronscopilot]

downpour

Kayce Dutton x reader

summary: You've always loved rainy days, and now, Kayce might just find a reason to as well.

word count: 800+

content: fluff, kissing in the rain

SENSORY DRABBLES SERIES -> prompt: Kayce Dutton + rain + dark green

When you step out of the bunkhouse late in the afternoon, you pause, inhaling the rich, pleasant scent of petrichor hanging heavily in the humid air. The sun is nowhere to be found in the overcast sky, the gray shade of which paints the sprawling landscape of the ranch in a muted, surreal tone. 

Ryan nudges your shoulder as he swerves around where you’ve planted your boots in the gravel just outside the doorway, playfully grousing, “This your first time seeing rain clouds?”

You roll your eyes, digging the toe of your boot into the ground, the dusty pebbles scraping against one another as you shake them loose. 

“It’s been dry as a desert out here for weeks. It just feels…” you trail off, looking for the right words.

“Like everything is just holding its breath waiting for the rain to finally fall?”

Your heart stutters in your chest at the sound of Kayce’s voice, the feeling compounding tenfold as you turn to see him approaching, mouth upturned in a grin. 

“Yeah,” you respond, suddenly a bit breathless. “That.”

And as the sky begins to scatter a tentative drizzle across the hungry terrain, you exhale. 

–

Later, when the clouds have opened up into a yawning chasm, you find yourself caught in the barn, standing just out of reach of the relentless downpour as you gaze out the open doors. The horses knicker restlessly in their stalls, and you silently promise them that they’ll be glad for the rain when they’re back out in the pasture grazing the lush, verdant blades of hydrated grass.

The fields are thoroughly soaked through at this point, water pooling in some areas as the previously parched, cracked ground is now struggling to absorb it all fast enough. The looming trees skirting the edges of the property sway and dance under the weight of the water drenching their leaves.

You’ve always loved the rain—the luscious, earthy scent the oncoming precipitation brings forth, the way it effortlessly paints each piece of vegetation it touches in deep, rich shades of dark green.

The way the whole world seems to go quiet.

“You need an umbrella?”

You jump slightly as Kayce startles you for the second time in one day.

“Why, did you bring me one?” you ask, your casual tone warring with the way your face is already heating up as you glance over at him.

Kayce shakes his head, smiling as he shrugs off the jacket you hardly ever seen him without. “Nah, but you can use this. I’ll walk you back to the bunkhouse.”

You want to protest, because you can’t see a point in Kayce getting soaking wet on your behalf when you could just settle down in an empty stall and wait out the rest of storm⁠—a bale of hay can be comfortable enough in a pinch. But there’s something about the imploring look in his brown eyes, the way he wiggles his fingers a bit as he holds out the jacket.

His noble idea quickly becomes a fruitless effort as the wind decides to pick up when the two of you begin to embark on your walk, rendering the cover he’s holding over your head utterly useless while you’re pelted with an onslaught of wet droplets now falling sideways. 

You can’t help but laugh as you nudge Kayce’s hands away, urging him to give up on the makeshift umbrella. In moments, your shirt and jeans begin to cling to your body as you’re soaked to the bone. 

But you don’t mind. 

Not really.

Especially not when Kayce’s standing there looking at you like that.

“What?” you ask him as you spread your arms wide, tilting your head backward and closing your eyes as you opt to embrace the feeling of the rain on your skin.

“Just thinking.”

���About?”

“I never really cared for rainy days.”

You look over at him, willing yourself to ignore the way his damp, black t-shirt is now stuck to his chest. 

He steps closer to you, continuing before you can respond, “But I think I might like them now.”

Hands dropping to your sides, you meet his steady gaze. “And why’s that?”

He reaches out with one hand, letting his fingers hover over your cheek. You can feel the way he’s waiting for you to pull away, the question that lingers in the space between his skin and yours. 

The question that’s been lingering in the air between the two of you for months, since you started working at the ranch.

Lingering between too-long glances, the weighted pause between words.

But this time, you lean into his touch. 

“Because of the way this damn miserable weather seems to make you smile somehow anyway.”

Your lips curve upward in response, and his thumb carefully brushes across your jaw.

“It just always feels like the start of something new," you say softly.

Kayce's smile matches your own.

And then the cool feeling of rain droplets on your face is replaced by the warm caress of Kayce’s lips as he kisses you, your mouth responding to his in kind, eager as the parched foliage welcoming the storm.

[dameronscopilot]

Sensory Drabbles Masterlist

To celebrate hitting 2,000 followers, I'm writing a series of sensory drabbles based on requests with prompts for a character, scent, & colour.

[* = 18+]

i. clean* (steven grant + clean laundry + pink) ii. savor (bradley “rooster” bradshaw + citrus + sage) iii. downpour (kayce dutton + rain + dark green) iv. anchor* (bucky barnes + clean laundry + lavender) v. quiet (marc spector + smoke & wood + brown) vi. selfish* (rhett abbott + cologne + forest green) vii. restless* (rhett abbott + leather + orange)

[dameronscopilot]

I have no idea how 2,000 of you somehow ended up here (?!), but I'm very thankful to each and every last one of you for sticking around. Writing, making gifs, thirsting on main, and interacting with ya'll through DMs, asks, reblogs, and comments has been so fulfilling and lovely and fun.

I have so many great pending requests in my inbox that I want to get to, as well as my current WIPs, but I still wanted to do a little event to celebrate this milestone. So without further ado—

—short, bite-sized, sweet, & relatively plotless drabbles with the sole purpose of evoking emotion through sensory details. These will range from fluff to smut, depending on the prompt combination and my own inspiration at the time of writing.

To send in a request to my ask box, please use the following format:

*Not all requests may be completed

SENSORY DRABBLES MASTERLIST

As fate would have it, my beloved @joels6string and I hit 2k on the same day. She'll be doing a celebration event as well with the same theme, so keep an eye out for her prompt post soon!

[joels6string]

What is this?! Dang. Thank you everyone.

As with all things in our life, @dameronscopilot and I have coincidentally hit 2k on the same day, and we’ll be doing concurrent celebrations with the same theme! She’s far more prepared then me and hers is ready while I haven’t even started so…you can see a preview on her page in a few 😂

Thank you all so much for being here!! 💜💜