#casual cowboy friday

[keldabekush]

He tries to make the weekly debrief fun

#kushdraws #commander fox #casual cowboy friday #the clone wars

[spicysucculentz]

I can’t stop drawing cowboy din djarin so, happy casual cowboy friday! @keldabekush ‘s art inspired me

This is just a quick sketch of din in Clint Eastwood’s outfit from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly because I think it’s a good look for him.

(Disclaimer: I can’t draw hands or guns I’m begging do not look too closely at them💀)

Taglist (dm or comment to join):

@sexy-rex

#spicy draws #din djarin #cowboy din djarin #cowboy au #western au #the mandalorian fanart #the mandalorian #the mandalorian au #the mandalorian western au #star wars #star wars au #star wars fanart #din djarin fanart #din djarin au #din djarin art #digital art #small artist #casual cowboy Friday

[ddeck]

continuing with whatever happened here. just two cowboys who are definitely not hiding from the law

#idk casual cowboy friday got me #unrelated but i really need to find a way to draw without ruining my wrist because ouch #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #commander cody #captain rex #deckdraws

[off22theraces]

aperture casual fridays btw

#rick wears that ‘this hat stays on during sex’ hat (harley knows what im talking abt) + jeans w a ridiculous cowboy belt + one of those t - #-shirts with weird slogans on them #grady also wears a weird slogan t-shirt + just what he usually wears cuz he doesn’t dress up for work #aaron does not believe in casual fridays. #wheatley wears what he usually wears with just a zip up hoodie over it #solar goes crazy with the space attire im talkin planet pattern pants nasa hat nasa shirt nasa hoodie- #and throwing bianca in here too she just wears her pajamas + a really long fancy fur coat (i saw a woman at costco wearing that and thought- #-of her)

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Pressing

Jack Daniels x F!Reader, dude ranch AU

A Palomino oneshot, but can be read on its own

{ Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

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

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

Word count: 1.4k

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

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

Cutest dividers by @firefly-graphics.

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

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

But you endure it all - for days like this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Did you touch yourself, darlin’?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he thrusts home inside you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Where, darlin’?’

‘Inside me.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘What’s that?’ you ask, puzzled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#palomino series #jack daniels fanfiction #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x f!reader #jack daniels x fem!reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x f!reader #agent whiskey x fem!reader #x reader #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels smut #agent whiskey smut

[greatooglymooglyyy]

The Last Ride Chapter Six (AU Cowboy!C.Sturniolo)

summary: when spoiled and sheltered city girl Y/N finds herself in running in the wrong crowd, her dad gives her an ultimatum. it's either spend the summer of her gap year on her uncle's ranch or face being cut off and finding a job. just when she thinks it can't get any worse, she meets Chris, the brooding farmhand who thinks he knows her type. but as the summer goes on, they both realize there may be more to the other than meets the eye.

requested and advised by @rootbeerworshiper

series masterlist

contains: angst, mentions of parental death, parental abandonment, fluff, cussing, 2.8k words

“Fuck!”

I yank my fingers out from where they’ve been caught in the wooden gate, wrapping my other hand around them to try to alleviate the throbbing sensation that overtakes my every thought.

Chris tuts, running back to the truck to grab something while I blink back tears. I do not want to cry in front of him over a jammed finger, even if it hurts like a bitch. He jogs back quickly with the ice pack from our lunches that he’s wrapped in a bandana. “Let me see.”

I reluctantly place my hand in his and let him apply pressure to my fingers with the cold damp cloth, hissing when he makes contact.

We lock eyes for a second but I look away, taking the ice pack from him and pulling away. The last thing I want to do right now is give him another chance to create a meaningless moment between us.

Chris takes the hint, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. “It looks like it’s gonna swell up on you. Maybe you should go find your uncle and take the day.”

I nod, examining my fingers and cautiously moving them. It strings but I doubt they’re broken. Still, any excuse to get a day off this ranch is one I’m willing to take. I start to head back towards the chickens, where I saw my uncle last when I hear Chris softly call my name.

Turning back, I give him a hard look of disdain. I can only assume the worst is to come out of his mouth. “What?”

His face drops and he shakes his head, muttering a low “never mind” before he heads back to the pickup truck. He’s actually given me a rare amount of space today after the weekend’s events, only speaking to me to give out tasks and then making himself scarce.

I watch him for a second, taking in his seemingly hurt expression. Something like sadness settles in my chest before I force myself to look away and shrug it off. I won’t allow myself to feel guilt over something that isn’t my fault.

Hopefully, he’s feeling regret after giving me yet another tragic date story to add to the books. That is if he’d even call it a date. Not that it matters. I’m here to pay off a debt, not worry about whether or not some small-town playboy is hot or cold.

*********************************************************

I wake up still a bit woozy from the pain medication that Aunt Birdie gave me when I got home. Not wanting to force myself back to sleep, I head into the living room to watch TV. I expected both of them to be sleeping by now, but Uncle Buck sits rocking gently in his chair when I enter the living room.

He looks up at me and gives me a gentle smile. “How ya feeling, darling? How’s the hand?”

I flex my fingers for him, only the slightest bit of tenderness still lingering. “I think I’ll keep it.” I joke, walking over to take the seat nearest him.

Buck laughs softly, bringing his beer can to his lips and taking a sip. He clears his throat before he speaks, trying to sound casual. “And Chris? You keepin’ him?”

I raise an eyebrow, leaning forward in surprise. “Not you too, Uncle Buck.” Birdie had tried for hours to convince me of Chris’ merits after Friday’s shit show but my uncle had kept silent. Until now.

He puts the beer down and runs a hand over his face as if he’s already exhausted of the conversation. “I don’t wanna get into young folks' business or nothin’. But I heard through the grapevine what went down.”

Rolling my eyes at the small-town rumor mill, I sit back with a sigh. “Uncle-”

“I just wanna make sure you’ve got the whole story, Y/N. That’s all. Y’all are more similar than I think y’know.”

He breathes out heavily as he starts, shaking his head like the story pains him.

“Chris’ mama and daddy were one of those old classic love stories. I mean real lovey-dovey shit, high school sweethearts, prom king and queen, write a song about it, whole nine yards. Never seen two people be in love quite like that.

They got hitched fresh out of school and had him not long after. We all thought they were seven fools for getting settled so young. But they didn’t care. They were happy as a tick on a fat dog. You’d catch ‘em round town, hand in hand with this little boy, lookin’ straight off a Hallmark card. Picture perfect for years.

But then she got sick. Somethin’ wrong with her heart. Docs say she needs this big scary surgery or she won’t see another year. But right before it’s scheduled… they find out she’s pregnant. All those years after Chris. A little girl. So she refuses the surgery. The whole town tried to talk sense to that woman but nothing worked. And his daddy… man it was like he was this shell of a person. Like he was already gone before she had a chance to get better.

So when she died giving birth and he took off a few months later, it wasn’t even a surprise to much of anybody. Something snapped inside of him and I’d bet my last dollar that wherever he is, he’s still broken.”

My heart feels like it’s straining against my chest as I listen to his story, the air seeming so thick I can’t breathe. “And Chris?”

Uncle Buck closes his eyes for a moment before he answers. “He grew up. He grew up way too fast. They moved them into their grandma’s house. Lord bless her. She was already well into her aging by then. Imagine that. Man of the house at fifteen years old. Raising a baby damn-near by yourself. I still remember the day he came knocking at my door, hat in hand, beggin’ for a job. He was just a twig of a thing then. But anybody could see he had the world on his shoulders and he was terrified of dropping it. He still is.

Now I ain’t tell you this so you’ll take him back. Or whatever it is you kids are gettin’ up to. I’m just saying… if you’re gonna put him down, do me a favor and set him down easy, he’s been dropped enough.”

*********************************************************

The next night, I wake up to a sharp knock on my window and sit up straight, a tinge of confusion setting in until I fully wake up. I rush over to the window and throw it open, knowing there’s only one person it could be. I passed him a note before I left work, asking him to visit me tonight. But I’d fallen asleep waiting on him when the night dragged on.

Chris leans awkwardly into the window, the energy so different from the last time we knelt here. He bites his lip, his eyes bouncing between my room and my face before he finally speaks. “Y/N. I am so fucking sorry. I didn’t think you wanted to hear it from me but it’s no excuse. I shoulda said it as soon as I saw you-”

Reaching out softly and lacing our hands together, I cut into his rambling, eager for him to know that it’s all okay now. “My uncle told me everything. I’m sorry too. It’s not fair of me to assume I’m the only one with a fucked up life.”

He grimaces, breathing out heavily through his nose. I can feel him fight the urge to shut down, relief engulfing me when he doesn’t pull away. “We should start a charity, huh? The deadbeat parents society. We’d make a fuckin’ killing.”

I smile weakly, knowing what it is to cover my pain with self-deprecating jokes. Knowing how it never once stopped me from hurting. Instead acting as a bandaid, simply covering the problem but not solving it.

Chris laughs out a bitter half-chuckle with a shake of his head. “It’s just ironic, you know? All those lessons, he’d drill into me. All that big talk about what it means to be a man. Just for him to turn around and walk out on his family. The one he had left. Some man he was.”

He clears his throat, trying to suppress the emotion in his voice, so I squeeze his hand in encouragement. He gives me a sad smile before he continues. “You know I used to think it was me. Like I wasn’t enough to make him want to stick around. But now? I look at Evie and it just don’t make sense. Ain’t a thing in the world could make me walk away from that face.”

His earnestness cracks me open and I bring my open hand up to cup the side of his face. “Take it from someone who’s got years of top dollar therapy behind them. None of it was your fault.”

Giving me a nod like he wants to believe me, Chris blinks at me slowly. “Maybe not.” He sighs and pulls away, drumming his fingers on the windowsill. “But last weekend was. What do you say, you let me try to make it up to you?”

“Depends on what you have in mind.” I lie for the second time in a row. But this time, the smile he gives me tells me he’s calling my bluff.

*********************************************************

“What if I told you I’ve never fished before in my life?” I say anxiously as I watch Chris set up my rod, trying my hardest to keep my disgust at the bait out of my tone.

I’ve never been on such a small boat either, it’s more fun to feel all the waves this way, but I definitely will not be telling him that.

He gives me a lopsided smile, looking up from his hands. “Was that supposed to be hard to believe or somethin’?”

“Well I don’t know, people usually have a dad there to take them out fishing, even some of my city friends, but my dad was too preoccupied with everything work-related.” I sigh, not expecting the innocent conversation to take such a sad turn. “But I’m a country girl now I gotta learn the ropes.” I mock a Southern accent, trying to bring light to the clouded atmosphere.

Chris just laughs, shaking his head as he hands me the fishing rod, bait now attached and swaying slightly. “That’s okay. No time like the present.”

I look between him and the rod a couple of times before I give him my best puppy dog eyes. “Can’t you just cast it for me?”

He scrunches up his nose and shakes his head back at me. “No can do, Scotch. If I do, you’ll never learn and then you’ll tell the next country boy you pull, I never taught you right. And that I cannot have.” He jokes, leaning over and adjusting my hold on the pole.

“Oh, I promise you, you’re the only boy who will ever get me on a fishing boat.”

He’s silent for a beat before he locks eyes with me, a glint I can’t place in his eyes. “Careful with those promises, darlin’. Round here we make you keep ‘em.”

Chris doesn’t let the moment hold long enough for me to reply, standing and moving to sit beside me on my bench. He moves my hand from where it had been lying on my leg to join the other one on the pole. “Take your index finger and hold the line. Not like that. Perfect.”

It’s so funny how easily he slips into a bossy voice but I kind of love it. I’m starting to realize how much I like every version of him. He whistles low for my attention and I glare at him. Okay, maybe not every version.

“Watch me, okay.” He says as he picks up his own rod, narrating his movements as I study him. “Pull back to about right here and then swing forward. Make sure you’re watching the water where you want to land. When you’re about here, let go of the line. Simple.”

Chris smiles at me but I just stare back blankly. If he thinks I got any of that he’s an idiot. But, I’m way too stubborn to ask him to show me again so I take a deep breath and try to imitate him.

To my surprise, my cast actually lands somewhat near where I was aiming for and I laugh in shock. “I did it.”

“You did!” Chris says, matching my excitement while he reaches over to close the bail for me. He takes the pole from my hand and places it into his holder. “Watch it now. If you see a tug, you gotta grab it fast.”

“Got it, captain.” I bring my fingers to my forehead, saluting the boy who’s shaking his head and avoiding eye contact with me.

In between laughs, he speaks. “You have got to be the corniest motherfucker alive.”

Before I can even muster a reply, I get distracted by the sight in front of me. Well, I get distracted by the boy in front of me, taking off his baseball hat and ruffling his hair before placing it back on his head.

For whatever reason the sight of him puts me in a trance, and it’s incredibly embarrassing. “Whatcha looking at sweetheart?” He asks, taking full advantage of my flusteredness.

I scoff, turning away to hide the blush that threatens to taint my smiley cheeks, keeping a firm grasp on the rod in front of me. “Don’t get cocky now, Christopher, it's a bad look even for you.”

“Somehow I get the feeling you don’t think I have many bad looks.” He taunts, only earning a punch to the shoulder. “Okay, Scotch. I’m kidding, I'm kidding, really, I’m flattered.” He places his hands on his heart, only furthering my annoyance.

“We’ll just forget all that talking you’ve been doing about me around town then yeah? People here seem to have an understanding that you speak highly of me.” I argue, proving my point when his eyes roll to the back of his head in annoyance.

“Is that why-” He starts, but from the corner of my eye, I notice my pole begin to bend towards the water and gasp.

“Oh! It’s moving!” I say, jumping up from my seat and cutting him off. I grab the rod, fumbling a bit and almost dropping it but Chris saves it before the fish can pull it under.

I flinch a bit, expecting him to yell about almost losing his rod but he just hands it to me with an encouraging smile. “Okay, babe. Pull it up to ‘bout 45 degrees. Okay reel down and then pull up. Keep doing it just like that.”

I do exactly what he says, watching the fish skip across the waves until he is squirming the air in front of us. I let out an excited yelp as Chris unhooks it and holds it up. “Damn, Scotch. This is a big sumofabitch for your first catch. You wanna take a picture?"

My excitement dwells a bit as I stare down at its beady little eyes and Chris laughs before he tosses it back. I lean over the boat, unsure why the tiny accomplishment is making me feel so emotional.

Giving him a huge grin, I turn to wrap my arms around Chris, still bouncing slightly with excitement. “I really caught one all by myself.” Any other time, I’d be embarrassed at how young I sound but right now I don’t care at all.

Chris returns my hug, laughing into my hair as we sway back and forth with the waves. I pull away slightly, staring up at him and admiring his icy blue eyes in the low moonlight. And before I can talk myself out of it, I lean up, pressing my lips to his in a fraction of a kiss. He looks stunned but leans back in, chasing my lips but letting me lead. I keep it chaste, wanting to know he wants this as much as me before I go any further.

He pulls back first, eyes scanning my face for any sense of discomfort, only finding my begging eyes. “I really like hanging around you, you know that right?”

I smile, relief washing over me when I come to the conclusion I didn’t make a complete fool of myself. “Yeah? Do I make the job of scooping up horse shit that much better?”

His hands lift to the sides of my face, practically covering my whole cheek with his palms. “So much better.” He leans back in, this time guiding the kiss, leaving me in a butterfly-filled puddle in his grasp.

Everything besides the two of us seems to dissipate around me, nothing but the warm rough feeling of his fingers on my cheek keeping me grounded.

When we finally pull away, Chris resting his forehead against mine as the lightening bugs flutter near the bay, I realize how insane I've been for ever once comparing him to Jace.

Jace couldn’t kiss like this if his entire life depended on it.

#maggie b writes #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo oneshot #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fic #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo angst #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fandom #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo angst #maggie b talks too much #matt sturniolo x reader

[kedsandtubesocks]

you, my golden hour

Rancher!Javier Peña x Cowgirl!Reader

summary: 1997. as a fallen rodeo star, you can handle anything - except maybe your city’s hometown hero

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, Post Season 3 Javi works on his family’s ranch AU, unspecified age gap (only age mention is reader can drink and Javi is older), major pining & yearning, emotional hurt & comfort, light angst with tender fluff, reader has a backstory and family, no physical description of reader but gendered language is used and reader can ride a horse, use of pet/nicknames, mention/description of rodeo accident, themes of dealing with burnout, small texas town toxicity, light Spanish use, reader & javi having insecurities they bond/heal over, bar scene with alcohol consumption, spicy moments with allusions to smut, intense makeout where Javi gets handsy, soft!Javi, dreamy & protective!Javi

word count: 10.2k (I’m sorry)

a/n: the second installment of ‘let’s rodeo’ and my love letter to Javi & Texas, the heart of this series - this fic is near & dear to me and I just appreciate getting the chance to write this, so to @lowlights @ahauntedcowboy & @perotovar for giving me the courage to post this know I’m so grateful… and to you reading this thank you, so dearly appreciate you too ♡

You haven’t thought of Javier Peña in years.

Older than you, he was handsome and had a smile that rivaled the Texas Friday night lights. He eventually hooked up with the number one town sweetheart who was even rumored to have won a local state beauty contest.

By the time you heard of their engagement, you already had started your plans for the circuits, for the road. You didn’t mourn or even feel heartbroken over the news.

Even after that, the rodeo consumed you. It kept you in a tornado like whirl for years until that fateful day it spat you out.

When that ride stopped, Javier Peña came back into your mind with a strange fog-like entrance.

While still on bed rest, the news on the TV had been showing a small special on the War on Drugs and the lull of it filled the room.

Your grandmother was the one who brought him up.

“That’s what Chucho’s son is involved in.”

“Wait, Javier Peña’s into drugs?” You asked a bit confused even without the pain killers.

“No. He’s going after the people who sell drugs.” She clarified.

Oh.

“He also didn’t get married either. Do you remember?” She had added.

You did. You heard he left the little Miss Homecoming Queen at the altar. Quite a scandal that made him the talk of the town for a while.

Then he became a big shot drug enforcer who took down one of the largest drug cartels in history and he again became the talk of the town.

It’s been a few years since your accident and now Javier Peña is back home.

Now driving into the Peña ranch you feel both so young, yet so aged at the same time, like you’re stuck between two realities.

Your sister bounces out of the truck with uncontainable glee and you’re grateful she’s excited.

Chucho Peña comes to greet everyone. His classic cream cowboy hat and gentle smile are all a beautiful welcome. It’s also adorable seeing your grandpa reunite with his old friend.

Señor Peña’s kind eyes eventually land on you with a sweet twinkle.

“It’s good to see you, mija.”

You’ve always adored Chucho Peña.

His son on the other hand…

You never knew Javier enough to fully know him. Even with his dad and your grandpa being pals, the years between you and Javier didn’t help. He existed outside your obit, a figure almost out of reach.

“And that son of yours!?” Your grandpa of course perks up asking about him.

“Ah sí Javi’s here, just out in the stables.” Chucho explains casually.

The last time you physically saw Javier Peña he was walking out of the bank. You’d been waiting in your family truck when he stepped out. By that point, a small bit of shadow was forming against his jaw and upper lip as his facial hair began to grow thick. He was a young man on the verge of stepping into the threshold of being grown.

Now before you he’s a fully grown man.

For a minute you think the man in the barn is someone else because it doesn’t seem like Javier.

Yet when he turns, you see his eyes.

Rich soil of the earth stunning eyes and you know it’s him.

His body has filled out and his shoulders even look broader. He sports a similar mustache like his father’s and it adds to his older appearance. There’s a weathered weariness on his face evident in the wrinkles carved out by his eyes and on his forehead.

The button up shirt he’s wearing allows a peek at his chest and his skin shines with sweat from the Texas sun already shining its warmth.

He’s breathtakingly stunning and you can’t take your eyes off him.

He warmly greets your grandpa with a wide smile that touches his eyes and brightens his face. He’s still that charming young man you saw, a brilliant comet out of your galaxy.

But then his gaze lands on you and his eyes narrow. A conflicting recognition and confusion swirl in his eyes. He knows you, seems to remember you, but not fully.

His dad clarifies your name and you deflate a bit. Then Javier’s eyes go wide and his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

So, he does remember you.

“Oh, yeah. Good to see you.” He nods fully realizing who you are.

“Guess the horse must be for you then?” Javier adds and your heart sinks a bit.

A grimace tugs on your face but you try recovering quickly.

“No mijo,” Chucho thankfully answers quick and gentle. “I told you, it’s for her hermanita.”

You grin small and tight in agreement.

“Oh…yeah of course.” He nods.

Your little sister immediately jumps in bright and eager to share her excitement. Thankfully the focus effortlessly shifts to her and the reason why you’re all here.

The horse is beautiful, playful and eager for attention. This first meeting already feels good. Of course, everyone holds their breaths when your sister goes for the ride.

And it couldn’t have gone more smoothly.

You even exhale relieved.

“You seemed nervous.” A smooth warm voice comes out besides you.

As you lean against the ring’s fence you discover Javier Peña moving to rest beside you.

“Just like the first day of school kinda nerves. Want to make sure everything goes smoothly.” You answer as your sister effortlessly trots around the ring with ease.

“Yeah, I bet. They already seem to be clicking.” Javier notes genuine and you’re grateful too.

Your grandfather now calls out to you.

Both you and Javier turn towards where the older men stand close to each other like conspiring headaches.

“To celebrate, we’re having dinner here!” Your grandpa cheers happily and a dread drop kicks your heart.

Immediately you stammer out panicked about how you all can’t impose.

“No pasa nada, mija.” Senor Peña gently reassures you saying not to worry. “Besides, you’re all more than welcome here. It’s been a while since Javi and I had guests.”

You don’t miss the unashamed hum Javier makes.

“And grandma?” You reply, trying to reach for more excuses not to stay.

“She can walk.” Your sister teases suddenly and you give her a sharp look.

“Will you go pick her up, please?” Your grandpa gives you his best pleading face before simply throwing the truck keys to you

Stubborn old man.

“Hijo,” Señor Peña calls out again, but this time to his son. “You should go too.”

Shit.

“No Pop, it’s okay!” Javi politely declines and you want to second that.

“Aye,” His dad chides and then he pointedly gives Javier a look that screams - Don’t be rude, go with her.

Damn.

The walk to the truck is quiet, awkward as hell, feels like two parents shoving their kids together to play nice.

Heading into the main part of town, silence fills most of the drive. You're also mentally kicking yourself for not getting the radio fixed last week like you should’ve.

“So uh, your grandma…still volunteering at the women’s shelter?” Until Javier offers a small branch of conversation.

“Yup.” You nod.

“Oh good, that’s good.” He replies.

But silence returns.

“So, you taking a break from the rodeo then? Pop used to tell me about you all the time.” Javier comments light, casual.

You feel like a cat with its hairs standing up. But even with that sensation, knowing Señor Peña spoke so fondly of you does simmer the sting.

“Sort of.” You decide to rip this off like a bandaid, get it over with now. “Had a bad accident a while back. Still haven’t decided if I wanna return.”

It’s been two years since you’ve been home.

“Oh…” Javier’s voice drops, the same way everyone does when you tell them.

“I’m sorry.” Except you’re surprise at how sincerely soft his voice is. “I thought I heard something about it. I should’ve fucking remembered… Sorry.”

He apologizes again, surprising you once more as genuine repentance floats off his voice.

You thank him understandingly. After all, it's one of the better responses you’ve been given. But you don’t want to dig into this, especially with him, so you quickly change the conversation.

“So how long are you here for? I’m sure there must be other drug cartels waiting for you to take them down.” You offer casual.

Not only had he taken down Pablo Escobar a while back, you briefly heard of his very recent grand move against the other cartel in Columbia.

He’s impressive, the town’s hero and golden boy.

“Uh actually, I’m retired. Gonna take a step back for a bit.” Javier answers just as polite and calm as you had answered him.

Oh. You hadn’t heard that. Or maybe you did and forgot.

You now feel like the foolish one and genuinely congratulate him.

“It takes a lot to decide when to step away. Besides, you deserve a break after all you did.” You mean those words.

After all, they were the same comforting words his father told you when you came back home.

A pause fills the truck and you worry you’ve maybe overstepped.

“I…yeah.” Javier breathes out. “Thanks. Appreciate that.”

Your heart flutters at how small and genuine he sounds.

“So…how about them Dallas Cowboys, huh?” Javier offers light and for some reason you laugh.

It’s not much, but it feels like a lifeline.

When you arrive to pick up your grandmother she gasps so giddy when she sees the surprise guest with you. Her excitement lights up the drive while she talks about her day taking full advantage of having Javier listening to her.

“Oh I’m so glad you’re back home safe Javi!” She gushes and then says your name.

You’re already panicking.

“With so many of your friends living out of town, maybe you’ll get to spend more time back in the city with Javier!?” She offers to you brightly and absolute horror seizes your heart.

Shooting a petrified face at her you silently plead for this discussion to die.

Javier in the back seat weakly laughs. Because of course Javier, ever the gentleman, had your grams sitting up front.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” Your grandma playfully teases back at you. “At least go rent a movie with him.”

The thought crosses your mind about turning around and dropping her back off.

“Did you know,” Javier innocently jumps in. “The first ever blockbuster was opened in Dallas?”

Your grandma coos in awe as if he’s just explained a miracle.

“See! Now you have to go with him to one!” She urges.

A horrified indignant noise escapes you. While behind you, Javier snickers even more and you’re tempted to drop him off on the side of the road to let the coyotes feast on him.

The minute you arrive at the Peña’s home you can’t get out of the truck fast enough.

Dinner fortunately goes smooth and you’re surprised at how eased the rest of the time unfolds. You do hate how many times your eyes flicker towards Javier like if you’re still trying to soak him in.

Then, from across the table, Javier’s gaze flickers to you fast catching you staring red handed. Your heart transforms into a jackrabbit, petrified and thumping fast, almost making you flee right then and there.

Until your grandpa addresses you. His warm eyes dance with a surprise in his gaze.

“We’ve decided to have some of your sister's training here.”

Your heart now skips over itself.

Your gramps and sister both explain the plan hatched while you were on the road. In order to get used to competing in different spaces, your sister decided to train here at the Peña’s.

You’re hesitant, but understand the logic. You’re even impressed. But you can’t pinpoint why you’re so nervous about this.

Señor Peña now calls to you, sensing your hesitation, and tenderly grins.

“Don’t worry mija,” his kind eyes crinkle with understanding. “It’s no trouble at all.”

His reassurance is grace and you smile back relieved while thanking him deeply.

“Seems like you’re the boss here.” Javier suddenly joins in with a casual tone and you freeze.

“Well yeah, that’s my coach you’re talking to.” Your sister proudly declares.

“Coach?” Javier’s voice perks up curious.

“Yeah.” You answer with a small smile. “That’s me.”

“Been barking orders at me all these years so why not put her in charge.” Your sister innocently adds and in pure sobbing annoyance you want to shove her face into her plate.

Thankfully everyone laughs, illuminating the room.

But you’re faced with a new reality. You’re going to be here more, seeing Javier Peña more.

And you don’t know how you feel about that yet.

-

The Peña ranch in the morning sits tranquil and the peace gives you the focus on training.

You’re surprised at how good your sister and the mare already bond. You explain a few drills and have your sister run a few repetitions of them.

“You sound like a tough one.” Javier’s voice surprises you and you almost jump over the fence.

Glancing back, he approaches you with two thermoses.

“Pop and I thought you might need an extra pick me up.” He offers and you can’t help but greedily grab at it.

“Tell your dad thanks and that he’s a saint.”

Javier snorts at your reply.

Now your focus returns to your sister. You recommend a type of turning drill vividly remember doing yourself. Your sister playfully salutes you and begins.

“How she looking, coach?” Him calling you ‘coach’ draws a dangerous electricity that snaps up your spine.

“Don’t call me coach.” You dryly tell him trying to keep yourself composed.

“Well isn’t that what you are?” He teases casually.

Your face scrunches up annoyed while his eyes crinkle amused.

“Don’t you have things to do, Javier Peña?” You sigh, already exhausted of this man.

“Javi…you can just call me Javi, coach.”

You’re tempted to childishly scoot away from him. Younger you would have never imagined he was this annoying.

“Don’t call me coach.” You dully repeat.

“Okay, coach.”

Now you contemplate just shoving him away.

But all the annoyance washes away when commotion hits. The horse makes a disgruntled whinny and immediately both you and Javier whip your attention towards the ring. Your sister calmly stays on the saddle, gently soothing down her companion.

After asking if she’s good, her eased thumbs up reassures you. She does a few trots to calm everyone down. You even exhale relieved.

“You lost in thought?” Javier comments.

“Yeah.” You answer him with a mutter. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You almost don’t tell him. But you surprise yourself and do.

You explain the type of pace that comes with training in barrel racing. There’s a pattern and method to it all. You don’t realize you’ve rambled until you blink and realize Javier stares so directly at you. His eyebrows furrow slightly as if he’s focused hard listening to your words.

Embarrassed, you’re about to stammer out an apology when Javier whistles low.

“You know your fucking shit.” He nods appreciatively and hearing his pride ignites something dangerous in your chest.

Another surprise sharp whistle comes. Out from the barn, a further ways away, Chucho stands staring out. He even waves at you and you wave back.

“You gonna work today, hijo?” He calls out.

Javier curses under his breath.

“Busted.” You joke and now he’s the one side eying you.

“Please you’re the one slacking off here!” Your baby sister suddenly complains loud and cheeky “You’re not getting paid by the hour, coach!”

“Guess we’re both in trouble.” Javier snickers.

You roll your eyes but quickly sneer at your smiling sister.

“Alright then. See ya later…bandita.” Javier already walks away by the time you hear his goodbye.

But it hits you.

He thankfully stopped calling you coach. But now, what replaced it…

Little Bandit.

The nickname rips through you with a barbed fierceness you’re not prepared for.

The rest of the month follows this same routine.

On training days Javier shows up with something for you to drink. Once he even came with a few goods from the bakery across town.

No matter what, he watches practice with you for as long as he can before getting called back to the ranch.

During these moments together, he asks about how the turns are made or why you correct your sister when you do. It’s friendly. You actually start enjoying his company especially when your grandfather so eagerly leaves to hang out with Chucho instead.

The greetings and thanks are always the same.

“Thanks, Peña.”

“Javi,” he patiently corrects you everytime.

You can’t bring yourself to call him that just yet.

At the start of the new month everyone sleeps in and arrives later to the Peña’s ranch.

This time you’ve brought more barrels. Thankfully you can move them with the help of your sister. Suddenly besides you, boots clamor onto the truck and rapidly you snap your attention to the source of the sound.

Javier Peña smoothly climbs up to help you with the rest of the barrels.

He’s in a striking soft purple button up shirt. Sweat already shines against his bare arms. Thick worn in working gloves cover his hands. His hair seems a bit curlier today and he wears aviator sunglasses that suit his face.

Effortlessly Javier grabs onto one and lifts it by himself.

You’re stunned. Even your sister stops and stares just as surprised.

Javier is strong. Doesn’t seem like the muscular type but he’s built and radiates a type of seasoned strength of a well grown man, a rancher man.

His arms firmly hold the barrel, sturdy and toned, and you can’t look away.

“Where d’ya want me to put it?” Javier yells and you trip out of your thoughts to dumbly point where the barrel needs to be placed.

Your grandfather whistles proudly seeing Javier.

“If this rancher thing doesn’t work out for you Jav, you got the makings of a fine rodeo man.” Your grandpa teases.

Javier chuckles, with his eyes averted a bit bashful.

“Could add him to the team.” Your grandpa notes with a twinkling gleam of something mischievous.

You reply a dry no as you move to get off the truck.

In a flash, Javier jogs over and immediately reaches his hand out to help you get down. Placing your hand in his, Javier helps you down and you thank him.

He’s wearing gloves. This shouldn’t feel so significant. Yet the way he firmly holds your hand makes your heart sprout wings.

Even back on the solid dirt ground your legs don’t feel as if they’re under you.

Javier doesn’t stick around after that and you’re allowed to focus.

It’s later in the day, later than the usual practice times, and the Texas sun beats down with a fierceness. You call for more water breaks to keep everyone hydrated.

During a break, a rustling catches your attention. There towards the barn, Javi moves in and around the place.

You just catch the smallest glimpse of him with a hammer in his hand as he heads into the smaller enclosure. Curiosity gets the best of you.

Grabbing another water bottle you justify it as wanting to be polite, but curiosity gnaws at you.

The clang of hammering approaches louder and louder until you spot him in a goat pen. He hammers in a reinforced slab, probably fixing a hole. His back to you allows a glorious full sight of his broad shoulders at work.

He even switches to a drill and watching him casually use power tools, you never thought you’d find this so attractive.

One of the goats nearby makes a blep of a noise at your appearance and you almost want to shush them.

Javier glances over his shoulders spotting you.

“Hey there, bandita. Qué pasó?” he nods at you as the nickname flares up your heart.

“Just…knew how hot it was getting and gramps told me just to check up on you.” You lie waving the water bottle.

Javier turns to face you and you’re greeted with the sight of his full sweaty glory. You should be turned off seeing how bad his shirt sticks to him, how he smells of hay and dirt, but it’s incredibly hot.

The hard work of his day evident on every inch of him brews a dark cloud of desire in you.

“Oh well, tell your gramps thanks.” He replies snagging the water bottle from you.

His plus lips, the glorious sight of his thick slick neck, and the movement of the sweat just covering him as he drinks from the water bottle…

Getting this weak over the sight of him just drinking a water bottler you now think is the lowest you can go. You wonder about walking down by the river nearby and just jumping in to cool down.

From a distance, your sister yells out for you.

“Duty calls.” Javier smirks. With a sheepish smile you shrug then wave a quick goodbye.

You practically run out of that barn like a fleeing field mouse.

Later that night, alone in your room, your fingers slip under your sheets to slide under your sleep shorts. You imagine licking the sweat off Javier’s neck, picture his thick strong fingers, that fix up barns, hoist up barrels, and wonder how thick they would feel inside you.

You fall into desire’s blissful sticky release.

When you shower the next morning, you rationalize that those thoughts of Javier simply come from needing to scratch an itch.

Besides, you couldn’t get tangled with Javier. He’s older. He’s Laredo’s golden boy. He doesn’t go after broken cowgirls like you.

In the shower you turn the heat up more. A part of you hopes it will scorch off the building desire in your heart.

-

The morning is muggy, a soupy cloudy early day begging you to curl back into bed. Soft chirping echoes of the mockingbirds fill the air. You opted for earlier practices this week so your sister could prepare for a trip with her friends coming up. You agreed, wanting her to still enjoy moments outside of this.

“You out here all alone, bandita?” Javier.

He breaks the morning’s stillness. Holding his routine two drinks, he approaches you bundled up in a nice jacket that flatters him.

Thanking him, you greedily grab the drink and savor its warmth.

You explain that your sister is free roaming around the ranch this morning and it’s why you’re all alone. You stare at the empty riding area where the dirt sits holy and untouched.

“Do you miss it?” Javier asks. His voice is quietly probing, gentle as the morning mist.

That question holds a million answers all tied up in a messy knot.

“Sometimes.” You answer truthfully because you did. You missed the adrenaline, the wind blowing past you, speeding around a barrel so fast it was like you were out running the wind.

“Can I ask…” Javier and his soft, kind voice presses on. “What happened?”

Might as well. You’re now sort of friends with Javier even though the word feels sticky in your heart.

“You know that saying about how you just gotta get back on the horse? Well it's easier said than done.” You mutter.

It happened during a ride in Arizona. You’ve fallen and wrecked before. But this one just felt different. You took a barrel close and then everything slipped away. You remember being on the saddle, remember feeling your body float. Then the world went dark.

You woke up to a nasty concussion, a broken arm, and a couple of rowdy scrapes. You don’t remember your foot getting caught in the stirrup, but that’s what had happened.

“Holy fuck...” Javier breathes out, the weight of your words hang in his. “Shit I’m sorry.”

You thank him earnestly and reassure him it’s fine, just unfortunate shit like that happens. Everyone knew how dangerous the sport could get. The rodeo was a rough ride and every cowboy knew that.

But for you, you just couldn’t shake it off.

“I’m glad you made it out.” Sincerity blooms in his voice and your lips tug grateful at how considerate he is as you thank him again.

“You haven’t gone back?” Now he dances on a tight line.

“Nope. I tried after getting the clearance from the doctors but… it just didn’t go well.” You truthfully tell him.

You didn’t want to ride anymore, didn’t want to face everyone or the pressure of the race or the terror swallowing you whole. It felt as if you were burnt dry and exhausted from the inside out.

Your grandma gently embraced you and held you for what felt like hours.

“Then don’t go. You don’t have to do anything that makes you this worried and sick. Nothing is worth you being this scared, not even the damn rodeo.” She told you tenderly and with the most profoundly kind smile. You cried out of relief.

“It’s brave,” Javier says so firmly understanding. “Making a decision like that is really fucking brave, hard as fuck too.”

You gently grin and thank him again while blinking away a few tears.

“Same goes for you too.” You tell him.

From your gramps, who had gotten the full story from Chucho, you learned more about what happened with Javier and his final days in Columbia.

“I don’t know much but, what you did was brave too.” Your voice comes out softer than you expected.

He barks a laugh now. It’s dry, bitter, and can catch fire.

“Doesn't feel like it.”

You understand maybe more than he even knows. So you think about maybe what you would’ve told yourself.

“You did what was right.” You begin. “Everyone else might judge you or say shit but it doesn't matter. You’re not meant to please everyone or do what everyone expects you to do. And if that’s seen as a bad thing then…I don’t know, fuck them and fuck that.”

You say it so simply Javier busts out laughing. It’s a true blue laugh, so sweet it crinkles his beautiful dirt road eyes.

You’ve never seen him laugh like this before. And he’s beautiful.

You join in snickering as well but try to ignore the butterflies suddenly nesting in your stomach.

He’s really such a dream. A carved out Texas man so seasoned from the world, yet he still stays so kind and devoted to his family.

You get why many in the town, especially the girls during your time in high school, are all over him. Now you’re afraid you might’ve fallen into the same pit traps they did.

You’re falling under the spell of Javier Peña.

“So you’re really not going back to catching drug dealers and what not?” You ask when the laughter settles.

“I could’ve.” Javi answers. “Damn DEA would’ve taken me back. But…I just couldn’t see a future with it anymore.”

“And now here I am.” He says with a boyish soft grin.

“Now here you are”. You repeat with a nod.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” You truthfully tell him. You knew his dad worried about him. But the quiet truth is that you’re grateful for this time getting to know him now.

His eyes soften and your heat bursts.

“Thanks, glad I’m here. Glad you’re here too, bandita.” Then he softly nudges you. It’s playfully, friendly but it’s his words that almost take you out by the knees.

“Anyway, the government’s dumb. They don't deserve you.” You nod and Javier snorts amused.

“Guess I should listen to a cowgirl like you.” He teases.

You shrug. “Some people say I’m not one anymore.”

Especially because you didn’t ride anymore.

“Fuck them and fuck that.” He repeats your words and your lips twitch with a bubbling giggle.

Right now, it feels like you and him are two lonely birds sitting on a wire. Yet there’s something comforting about it, knowing it’s with him.

Then it dawns on you. You enjoy spending time with him. You know there’s desire already trickling in for him. But now he’s becoming someone precious to you.

You can’t even deny that anymore.

“Thanks, Javi.”

You don’t miss the way his eyebrows shoot up high.

Thunder roars suddenly clashing into the air interrupting the moment.

The dark clouds now loom on the horizon and coat the morning in an impending murkiness.

“Guess a storm’s coming in.” Javi mumbles.

Thankfully your sister rides back in quick and Javi decides to do some final things around the ranch before the storm rolls in. Before the rain comes, you and your sister pack up quickly. But it’s too late.

The rain pours down in a blink, almost like a hole in the sky popped to let a faucet drain out. The wind even picks up dangerously quick. It’s chaotic trying to wrangle the hose back to the stables but you and your sister manage.

“Come inside!” Gramps yells from the Peña’s porch and you and your sister scurry to the shaded sanctuary.

“You coming in?” Your sister asks while drying herself off with a towel. You don’t move from your spot by the steps.

“I’ll be in a bit.” You reassure her. She glares suspiciously and you shoo her away.

Javi hasn’t come back yet.

Noises clang out from the barn. A poisonous worry erupts through you and immediately you rush back out into the rain.

Inside the barn Javi tries yanking up a barn ladder that’s fallen over. It’s sturdy, wooden, and stuck in a hard position.

You move to help. Without any words or having to explain anything you both, as a team, work to yank the ladder out. Patiently and slowly the ladder gets moved to a spot the wind won’t knock it over.

The rush of it all has you breathing heavy.

“Thanks bandita.”

You breathlessly laugh and turn to maybe make a joke about now becoming a ranch hand and stealing his job. But all words, all thoughts, die instantly.

Having to work together to push the ladder, you now notice how close you are to him.

The sight of Javi soaked to the bone from the rain is corruptible. His clothes stick to him showing off his thick frame and shoulders. His drenched hair now seems darker with the curls more pounced.

He’s also heavily breathing too.

Now his lips, how soft and wet they look, have you hypnotized.

The pattering rain pours down hard on the roof, the only noise in the barn. You notice a shift in Javier. His eyes ever so slightly soften, almost hazing over. You might just be imaging it, but his face gradually seems to lean closer. Or maybe, you’re the one leaning towards him.

You’re possessed with an ache to kiss him, to see how the rain tastes on his lips.

It’s just you and him, soaked to the bone. You probably look like a drenched mess of a creature, but you’ve never wanted someone this much.

“Aye!”

Chucho suddenly shouts out from outside the barn and your heart stops.

Like a skittish roadrunner, you scramble away fast from Javier and just in time. His dad walks in from the other side of the barn holding an umbrella with an extra in his hand.

“You kids okay?” He calls out.

Both you and Javi yell back, quickly moving towards the elder Peña.

“You two look like a couple of soaked barn cats.” Chucho teases.

You weakly laugh and thank him for the umbrella.

Javi grumbles at his dad while he grabs the umbrella to open it up. Ever chivalrous, Javier holds it above you and him. Yet the entire walk to the house is quiet.

Fuck. Did you ruin this tentative whatever was forming between you and him? Or were you just imagining things?

You stay quiet the rest of the time waiting out the storm.

“You okay?” Your sister, keen as always, notices.

You lie with a smile saying the weather’s getting to you. When in reality, it’s a man that has.

Because you can’t stop thinking about Javier Peña now.

-

The rain stays for the rest of the week and everyone takes the schedule changes with stride. Your sister even heads out earlier on her trip earlier during a lighter drizzle.

By Saturday night the storm settles down.

Your closest friend from high school, now back in town for the month, even calls your home phone begging you to take advantage of the better weather.

“Look, before I go back to Florida let’s enjoy a nice night out, yeah? Maybe play some pool?” She pleads.

It’s how you now find yourself at the bar. You haven’t gotten dressed up in a while and you’re reminded of how nice it feels.

As much as you jokingly fussed about going out, being with your best friend laughing at the bar is lovely.

Ricky, one of the bartenders, actually was in the same grade as you two and it’s nice reminiscing, snickering over a nice drink.

“So how’s it been hanging out with Mr. Hero of the town himself?” Your friend smirks.

You make an unamused face at her while Ricky perks up.

“Wait, who are you hanging out with?” He whispers excitedly.

“Javier Peña.” Excitedly, she spills and you roll your eyes when Ricky gasps.

“You’ve fallen for the guy half the county is in love with!?” He hisses. You hate it, but it’s true and tastes soberly cold.

“Okay but practically all of our class was and maybe still is in love with him.” Your best friend adds.

“Well y’all do remember, he left Lorraine Wilson at the altar right?” Ricky reminds everyone and your mouth turns acidic.

“Oh fuck you’re right.” Your friend whispers.

“Might be bad news.” Ricky tensely tells you.

You want to hiss that he’s not like that. He’s kind, a bit annoying, but with a good heart.

“Shit, speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Ricky says in a low awed tone.

Worried you whip around to see what caught his attention. Absolute horror drowns you.

Javi and another man step into the bar and you want to run.

Your best friend squeals excited beside you, but you can’t comprehend what she says. Javier has stolen your attention.

Ricky called him the devil and he does seem like an angel dipped in temptation.

The sleek blazer he wears is dressed down by his nice button up shirt and jeans. His hair is styled nice, seeming so soft and begging for someone’s fingers to run through it. A buzz swarms in your head seeing him outside the ranch looking this gorgeous.

That’s when he spots you. For a split moment you two see each other. His eyes widen and before anyone can react you whip back towards the bar.

“Looks like you’re about to fall outta your seat.” Ricky snickers and you death glare at him.

“Okay,” your friend nudges you. “The guy he’s with, I think that’s David Martinez. He was in Peña’s class right? He’s so hot now, what the fuck?” She breathes out.

You almost toast to that because you felt the same about Javier.

So you keep your head down, enjoy your drink and maybe wonder about suggesting that game of pool your best friend advertised.

“Would you two beauties be alright with a bit of company?” A sweet male voice comes out and immediately draws the attention to him.

Behind you stands Javier Peña and his friend.

David has always been kind to your family and his mom even worked with your grandma at the shelter. You appreciate that Javi still hangs out with him.

“Yes of course. We’d love some company, right?” Your friend brightly asks you and you smile polite.

Your heart however rages like it’s a wild bucking bronco trying to break free.

The guys buy a round of drinks. Everyone laughs reminiscing about that one famous senior prank where the class managed to get two cows into the school.

The atmosphere is friendly, light. But your eyes constantly flicker nervously to Javi. You can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop thinking about him. Now here he is a Texas dream, or maybe your nightmare.

You turn back to take another sip and in that shift, your best friend turns to direct all her attention to David who moves to sit beside her.

But now Javier smoothly slides into the barstool next to you.

“Nice to see you outside the ranch.” His voice comes out smooth and rich.

You agree. But the air turns awkward, as if neither of you know how to tackle this new situation.

Suddenly heels clicking fast arrive. Standing to the side is a girl you recognize from your sister’s class that just graduated high school.

“Hi,” she smiles, staring at Javi with obvious hearts in her eyes.

He politely but cautiously greets her back.

“I was, um, wondering if you wanted to maybe dance with me?” She’s bold. You can at least appreciate that.

“My friends all dared me to ask you since it’s, ya know, you.” She gushes and giggles.

“Uh, appreciate the thought but I’ll have to pass, sorry.” He turns her down gently.

As if she finally realizes you even existed her eyes blink to you.

“Oh hey!” She recognizes you as an older sister to one of her classmates. And then for something else.

“Yeah didn’t you like, used to be a rodeo cowgirl or something and then something happened so now you’re not doing anything anymore?”

She’s being underlyingly mean. Her misleading chipper tone, vapid smile, are all soaked in venom meant to shake you or even scare Javi away from you.

But you’re used to it by now. You’re about to comment how she shouldn’t even be here.

Javier however speaks first and fast.

“Hey,” Javier’s voice jumps shockingly sharply, almost reprimanding. Your eyes go wide at how fast he reacts. He even glares at the girl.

Besides you, your best friend immediately turns around.

“Oh hey!” She greets the young newcomer. “Weren’t you that girl caught buying weed only for the cops to figure out you were actually buying oregano?”

Her cheerful tone makes you bust out a snort because yeah, she’s right.

The girl’s face falls absolutely mortified.

“Now get the fuck out of here.” Your dear friend finishes sweet but the undercurrent of her voice looms threatening. The disgraced girl rushes away before she can even reply.

You wheeze into your hand and fondly lean against your dearest sweet friend.

“If she or any of her little punk ass friends try anything again, I’ll shove my heel so far up their asses.” She reassures.

“Don’t worry,” Ricky now jumps in. “I’m definitely telling our bouncer those little shits managed to sneak in.”

Gratitude carves out an ocean in you and you’re thankful for those who understand.

David whistles appreciatively and your friend, with a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, returns to her discussion with him.

You feel Javier’s eyes burning on you.

“Does shit like that happen often?” His concerned and low voice floats out among the music.

You shrug.

“Back when I first came back it did, but it's dying down.”

You were supposed to be a big rodeo star. You even had an official big name brand sponsorship lined up. But, after the accident, not returning to the rodeo painted you a failure in the eyes of the town.

Especially compared to its bright shining star you sit beside.

Suddenly a warmth slides over your hand resting on the bar. Javier squeezes your hand gently, a reassuring comfort.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters deeply sad. “S’fucking awful.”

You thank him, even make a dry joke about small town bullshit which earns you a small dry chuckle.

“The shit I got after Lorraine…” he sighs and now you find his hand doesn’t leave yours. You don’t want it to.

“I get it. Shit’s brutal.” He finishes, a steeled hardness lingering in his tone.

Now your hand squeezes his.

His eyes, gleaming tiger’s eyes gemstones, flicker up to you and you smile softly.

Javi’s hand feels so lovely. It's rough, a bit callous but cozy. Just like him.

“Hey!” Your best friend suddenly cheers. “Let’s dance!”

She interrupts the moment but you can’t blame her. A hesitant scrunched up reaction tugs at your face though.

“It’s a slow dance.” You waver.

“That’s the best kind! Come on!” She urges and you spot her hand already intertwining with the guy’s.

“You go,” you urge with a beaming grin. “I wanna finish my drink.”

“Aw, come on now bandita,” now Javi slides off his seat.

Standing up straight, he extends his hand out to you.

“You gotta at least get one dance in.” He smirks.

It’s just one dance and you don’t know if you’ll ever get another chance to dance with him. That thought alone outweighs the hesitation. Placing your hand in his, Javier leads you out to the dance floor.

Javi maintains a polite distance from you. Yet the faintest scent of his cologne floats off him, a siren’s song pure of temptation. His hand keeps yours in its protective hold while he gently guides you to the beat of the music.

Being this close to him clouds your focus in a tantalizing haze begging you to get lost in. But you can’t. You can’t even stare into his eyes. So your focus flickers out to the rest of the bar.

David and your best friend dance close, already getting cozy with each other. Then your eyes move to the door.

The bar’s bouncer sternly starts throwing the three girls out and the one you recognize stares at you with disgusted hatred.

You snort.

“What?” Javi mutters, his voice silky against the low music.

You nudge your head towards the bar’s entrance and Javi follows your gaze.

“Oh hey.” He comments, noticing the scene.

“Good riddance. Poor girl must be pissed seeing you dance with someone me though.” You mutter a bit gleeful at the thought.

“Wait, what?” Javi sounds insulted.

“Uh yeah,” you reply, confused. “I mean, it’s kinda funny. You’re Mr. hometown hero here with the town’s nobody.”

“No.” Javier snaps fast. “Anyone who says or believes that’s a pinché cabrón.”

They’re a fucking asshole and the way he speaks with a conviction refuses to allow any doubt to refute him.

“And besides…I’m not a hero.” That’s when Javi’s voice drops, transforming into a whisper tangled among the slow country ballad playing.

“I’m not that golden bullshit guy everyone thinks I am.” His voice contains a stinging rawness you recognize.

Now you’re the one snapping back at him.

“Yeah you are. You’re good, Javi.” You begin firm.

“You’re noble and kind. Brave.” The words flow from your heart and you don’t even stop them. “You’ve worked hard to help people. I’m sure there’s shit you regret and you might not think you’re good because of it, but you are.”

He stays silent. Only the tune of the slow jam settles between you and him. You’re worried you’ve maybe said something to upset him.

Then Javier exhales your name and it has never sounded so tender.

Your throat tightens and when you finally look at him, you’re greeted by a galaxy.

The lights of the bar dance in his dark road eyes that stare directly at you as if the rest of the bar has melted away. Javi’s hand gingerly against your back now slides down gently. In that same motion, he slowly begins drawing you to him.

You don’t resist and catch his eyes flickering to your lips.

A sudden clamoring collision erupts and startled, you clutch onto Javi.

The cause of the commotion is a man who tripped into some chairs. He effortlessly laughs it off. The group he’s with helps him up and you’re thankful it’s not a bar fight.

You sigh relaxed.

That’s when you notice Javier shifted to draw you closer to him. In an almost protective hold, he has you now close against his broad chest. His cologne smells divine, makes your mouth water.

Like a bolt of electricity striking you, you’re galvanized and scramble immediately out of his hold.

“Wait, bandita, what’s wrong? You okay?” He’s so concerned and you dare not look at him.

“Just need some air.” You reply moving away from Javi towards the door leading to the small patio outside.

Your best friend swiftly rushes to you.

“Hey, you okay?!”

You rapidly reassure her that you’re fine and just need air. You even joke about not being able to handle your drinks anymore.

“That fucker didn’t try anything, right?” She asks low and deadly.

You shake your head and squeeze her hand. It’s enough for her to let you leave. Your body operates on autopilot until you stumble into the night air.

It feels like you’re resurfacing. You move to lean against the railing and simply gather yourself.

You feel possessed again needing to kiss him.

And it’s not just that. You want all of him all the time now and it’s infesting you. You’re barely keeping your head above water or maybe you’re this far gone under the waves.

For a moment you think it might be drizzling again. Until you blink and realize the water against your eyes are tears threatening to spill.

You’re so afraid of how badly you want Javier, and how badly it might shatter right before your eyes.

Someone says your name cautiously.

Embarrassed, you turn towards the door.

Javi stands a few steps away from you. His handsome face crumbles instantly seeing you. Quickly he rushes to your side, as if on instinct wanting to help, until he stops.

“Bandita, are you okay!? Fuck… did I do this?” He stammers out worried.

“Did I overstep?” His voice is wrecked. He’s so apologetic already.

You shake your head trying to pathetically dab away the tears. Unable to look at Javier, your attention stays on the dark stretch of parking lot.

“I promise it’s not you. It’s me.” Maybe it will always just be you.

“Querida…”

Darling…he’s never called you that.

“Whatever it is, please let me help.” His voice pleads unbearably tender and you want to cry even more.

He really is so good, too good.

“I just…I just can’t take it...” you begin with a watery cough.

You finally look at him. The furrowed brows, his worried soaked eyes, concern paints him so young. You’re reminded of the young man you saw walking out of a bank all those years ago and how a piece of him stands before you now.

“I like you so much Javi.” Through the heartache, you finally admit it out loud. “Maybe even more than I wanna admit and I don't know if I can’t keep fighting it.”

His face scrunches up and his eyes rapidly scan over you.

“Fight it?” He mutters out. “Why fight it?”

Now you stare at him a bit confused. You have nothing to lose now. So you hold your heart out to him. You reveal it all…the fears and worries sprouting in your heart like uncomfortably cacti about how he deserves someone just as refined and established as him, that he'll eventually get bored of someone like you.

All your words come out hollow, especially thinking about how he can have anyone he wants.

Javier, suddenly in the middle of your ramble, interrupts, upset, snapping your name fiercely that any other words you want to say vanish.

“You’re the only one in this town who actually understands, who maybe even really fucking sees me.” He growls.

Your heart even jumps hearing how determined and raised his voice got.

“You…” Javi now chokes out and suddenly runs a hand over his face. Then his hands go to his hips. His eyes fall to the floor as if he’s taking a moment to gather himself.

“Fuck… you don’t even know what you do to me, how much you fucking mean to me.” Javier breathes and the words get caught in your ribs.

“Whenever you’re not around I can’t stand it. I just wanna be with you….all the damn time.” He coughs out as if he can’t even believe his words.

Those earth pool eyes of his flicker to you.

Under the watch of the clouded Texas deep night sky, it’s just you and him.

You don't know who moves first. Instead it feels like two magnets finally flinging together so fast the collision knocks you awake.

Because in a blink Javi’s hand holds face while his other yanks at your hips. Then he kisses you.

It’s all encompassing.

Immediately your hands scramble to claw at him, begging to get him as close as possible.

His mustache scrapes beautifully against your lips. You taste the beer lingering on his tongue and he’s divine. The wall of the bar suddenly hits your back.

Now you’re flush against him, fully pinned under all of Javier, and you moan. His tongue with hungered finesse licks into your mouth. One hand stays firmly holding your face while his other runs across your body trying to map you out.

His hips rut against yours and you go dizzy with aching raw need.

“Mi pretty bebita, so good to me.” He whispers out thick and heavy. You whine wanting him more, wanting him inside you every way possible. Everything feels molten.

Javi playfully bites your bottom lip and your knees almost buckle. Your mind simply chants for him.

A clash of teeth, a burning heat devours you while you chase every taste of Javier that he gives. It’s an unleashing of something raw and aching, as if finally you can breathe against him while something inside you whispers yes, yes you and I are here and you don’t want to ever leave.

A sudden droplet plops onto your head. You ignore it especially when your tongue swipes against Javi’s and he groans out the most heavenly noise.

A few more large obvious water drops come.

You and Javi freeze, halting mid make out like a paused VHS tape.

Then the rain arrives.

“Shit!” Javi coughs out immediately pulling away. He quickly shrugs off his blazer and drapes it over you, a makeshift umbrella.

Filled by the most buoyant bliss, you laugh.

Javier snorts, shaking his head but he must sense it too, all of it amongst the rain.

And it’s beautiful.

-

“I’m surprised you don’t wear this as much.” Javier comments as he picks up your Stetson cowboy hat.

He’s shirtless, only wearing his jeans. You’re treated to his bare broad shoulders and wonderfully sweet ass in his jeans. It’s an utterly devastating combo.

Sitting on your bed waiting to settle in for the night with him, you shrug.

You didn’t expect him to be so curious and constantly snooping around anytime he’s in your bedroom. Then again, you still can’t believe he’s even in your bedroom.

Sneaking away that the first weekend after the bar didn’t last long though.

Your grandma caught him a few Sunday mornings later trying to sneak out and she ran to you screaming excitedly when she could start planning the wedding. You still haven’t recovered from that.

Even with the blessings from both sides, including Chucho and your gramps, you still wanted to just enjoy being with Javi in these intimate carved out spaces.

His presence already is crystallizing here. His wallet and packs of nicotine gum clutter the night stand. His extra pair of sunglasses sit beside yours on the dresser. His faded worn Texas A&M University t-shirt is tossed by the bed and his boots are by the door. You treasure it all.

Javi, now standing in front of you, places the cowboy hat on top of your head.

The familiar presence of wearing it is like greeting an old friend. You bashfully grin at your handsome rancher. Javier’s eyes gloss over you, taking in the sight. His hand moves to tenderly hold your face.

“You look good, like a true damn cowgirl.” He mutters and your heart flutters against its cage.

“Know you can ride like one now too,” his voice dips with a magnetic undertone as his words hold the heavily sexual double meaning.

You playfully smack his shoulder and he smirks.

“I’m still surprised you don’t call me cowgirl instead of bandita.” You note gently.

“Do you mind that I call you that?” One of his eyebrows lifts up curiously.

No, you didn’t mind at all. You were just curious and you even tell him that.

Javi snorts and his thumb now strokes your cheek.

“The way Pop used to talk about you and how you’d race made you sound like some wild bandit trying to outrun outlaws or something.”

You snort now and your fondness for Chucho Peña triples.

“And then,” Javier continues. “When I met you, I knew I was fucked.”

Now your face scrunches up confused and you ask why. A small charming grin tugs his lips.

“Cause the minute I saw you glaring at me in the barn you stole every fucking inch of me.”

Javi’s thumb now moves to run over your lip and desire bubbles in you. You kiss his thumb, delicate and reverent.

“My pretty little bandit.” His voice is low, a fond rumble in his chest that you want to drown in as much as you can.

You think of all the awards you’ve won, the tournaments you’ve faced. Yet they all seem to fall so short to those words, to this man you so endlessly adore.

In your cowboy hat, you yank Javi close and kiss him. Quickly you and him both tumble into your bed sheets, melting against each other in pure bliss.

In the afterglow, you snatch up the cowboy hat again and now place it on Javi’s head. Your gruff rancher's face twists into a grumpy frown and you grin giddy.

“You look good, a classic Texas man.” You compliment him, almost mirroring the words he told you.

His face scrunches up more.

“Always thought I looked stupid wearing these.” He huffs taking off the Stetson.

“Everybody looks good in a cowboy hat.” You reply truthfully and place the hat back on him.

“Especially you.” You add letting your hand slide across his bare chest. The sight of him in the cowboy hat, your cowboy hat, flickers to life the simmering heat from earlier. He’s already so beautiful and now a cowboy hat on, shirtless, with the dimming post sex glow radiating from him, he’s personified sin.

“Cowboy hat doing it for ya, huh?” Javi’s little cocky smirk has you glaring playfully at him.

“Shut up.” You huff but then swiftly kiss him. Soon enough you become one again with the man taking root in your heart.

Early the next morning, when he thinks you’re asleep, Javier’s fingertips trace over your face with butterfly wing delicateness.

“So fuckin’ crazy about you, baby.” He whispers to your unknowing sleeping form. You feel your heart blossom, a morning bloom wanting to keep him tangled in your soul for as long as he’ll stay.

You think again of two lonely birds on the wire, maybe not so lonely anymore.

With a soft kiss goodbye against your forehead Javi heads out and you soak molten in his words.

You end up not seeing him for a few days. Over the phone he explains, annoyed, of having to run around trying to find a specific fence wire and how it’s kept him away.

Even with how much you miss him, it does allow you space.

Earlier this month, you decided on a new training schedule. Each week would alternate between practice at the Peña’s ranch and yours.

Currently practice is at your family’s ranch.

“Next time you talk to that boyfriend of yours, tell him to get tacos from that place he got us lunch from last time.” Your sister yells as she finishes up a few drills around the ring.

You roll your eyes. “He isn’t a food delivery service.”

She simply shrugs.

The day is winding down. Early evening approaches and the Texas sun starts to bathe everything in a golden glaze straight out of a George Strait song.

“You know…I’m happy for you.” As you and her start putting everything away for the day, your sister casually drops that line.

“About what?” You smirk.

“You and Javi.” She clarifies. Her face is messy with sweat but she beams bright. “You deserve someone like him.”

Your sister, always so kind, maybe too kind for a world this harsh sometimes.

“What? Someone who always manages to steal the last biscuit or flirts with grandma more and more everyday?” You tease and your little sister snickers.

“Well yeah. But what I mean is…you deserve someone who sees how great you are.”

Her words crash into you with a tidal wave of emotions. Her attention rests with her horse, getting in a few final brushes before she turns in for the day.

“I know you… think you’re some sort of failure or that you’re not good. But you are. You’re actually the fucking best.” She says so simply. “And I’m happy Javi sees it too.”

Tears clog your eyes and dry out your throat.

“You sound like a bad hallmark card.” You laugh watery but the gratitude flows out.

Your sister glares then throws the grooming brush at you. You laugh harder when she misses and once she’s out of the stable you playfully shove her.

“You heading back?” She notices your slow pace that hangs back.

You reassure her you’ll be home in a minute and just need a few minutes to yourself. With an understanding nod she walks back to the house.

Now alone you head to the very last stable and head to your ace. You miss your old companion and seeing this sweet creature nudge his muzzle against your hand conjures a sad nostalgic tug in your heart.

Grabbing the saddle, and untangling the reign, you head out to the ring.

You’ve been talking about your old rodeo days with Javi a lot recently. You ask him about Columbia as well. In the sacred soft space of pillow talk. you and him gently unravel more memories, more secrets to each other. It’s made you nostalgic, even a bit wistful.

Plus, you haven’t done this in a while. You frequently rode at a leisurely place along the trails by the river from time to time. But getting into the ring is still so sacred.

With your horse all set, you hoist yourself up and onto the saddle.

Just a few laps is all you do. You focus on the sound of the dirt under the hooves, the light breeze on your face, the feel of riding again.

Then, after gaining more confidence, you speed up.

It’s not even close to the speeds you used to hit, but it’s quick. You even make a lap around the ring going this speed.

One rotation, one good lap and you’re soaring.

It’s nothing. It’s not even an attempt to get back into the rhythm of racing. But it’s a ride and home in its own way.

You slow down, let the horse trot out of his groove to calm down. The entire time, your chest feels so light.

Your eyes glance out and then your heart drops.

Javi, with his flat out jaw dropped, stares at you as if you’ve spouted wings. You didn’t even hear him approach.

He breathes out your name.

Scrambling, a bit embarrassed, you quickly dismount, and after guiding the horse to the side you rush towards him.

You’re about to apologize for not noticing him when Javier ends up speaking first.

“You’re incredible.” He exhales in awe and it knocks the wind from you.

He must see whatever emotion colors your face because he repeats himself again firmer.

“You’re amazing, bandita.”

You weakly laugh thanking him.

“Does that mean-”

“Nah,” you gently cut him off and explain how you just enjoy a ride like that from time to time.

“It’s like just taking a casual drive type thing.” You shrug.

Suddenly Javi’s hand moves to rest on your arm leaning against the fence. He rubs so soft and comfortingly.

“Thank you,” he says gently. “For letting me know you.”

You want him to know every inch of you. The same way you want to know Javier in every way that you can. You want to carve out a home in your heart for him.

The hand that was on your arm moves to your cheek tilting your face towards his. He wears his classic aviator sunglasses you’ve grown fond of stealing from him.

He’s so gorgeous. It’s like the Texas sun was made to bask Javi in its glow. He’s a modern Helios, beautifully crafted with his deep earthy eyes and golden face.

“Proud of you, mi bandita.” He mutters with words soaked in adoration.

You swallow hard and let the truth sink into you.

“Thank you Javi… I’m proud of you too.” You earnestly tell him.

He snorts bashfully and you think you might be doomed to think about this man forever now, but it’s alright.

There’s something foreign in your chest growing so bright you feel as if you’ve swallowed a sun and maybe you have. Because Javier is bright, so unexpectedly warm.

A man crafted right out of the Texas golden magic hour.

And as Javi leans forward to kiss you so tenderly, you step forward into the sun, into his kaleidoscopic glow and it’s beautiful.

#hi hello howdy I’m so sorry this got so long but know Javi and I are baking you cowboy cookies as we speak #if you read thank you so much and know it really means the world to me #let’s rodeo fic series #rancher!javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier pena fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #Javi P 🤎

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—01. all american girl —word count: 6.4k —warnings: none :) —a/n: this is queued so I'm sound asleep right now but trust when I wake... I will be throwing up about having posted this

It’s nine in the morning on Friday, and the kindergarteners at Robinson Elementary are getting picked up from the gymnasium and taken to their classroom to start their day. It’s nine in the morning on Friday, and their teacher, Chris Elliott, is running four minutes late to the first day of the U.S Grand Prix. Her fingers flatten down stray flyaways, working in tandem with the extra strength hairspray she found in the back of the Walgreens beauty aisle last night. Her makeup is strewn about in chaos atop the stark white marble countertops, a single folded piece of toilet paper in the trash can, remnants of her lipstick kissed onto the fibers. 

She played it safe on the outfit today, still hasn’t been able to pinpoint exactly what the dress code for this race is supposed to be. Her Dad has been no help–he can get away with wearing jeans and a short-sleeve button-up just about anywhere he goes. More is expected from her, though. Three days, three outfits, always walking the line between casual streetwear and Kentucky Derby without a fascinator. She settled for something painfully classic and American, figured a European sport would be eating up the concept of everything being bigger in Texas. Levi’s, a white tank top, and a beat up pair of cowboy boots should do a good enough job at letting anyone curious know she’s authentically American, without screaming out for attention. That’s the goal for the weekend; blend in and keep Dad company. 

Dad, who is not-so patiently tapping his foot against the floor, watching pre-race coverage of the Dixie Vodka 400 on his iPhone 7,  is a guest of honor for Ferrari this weekend. It was a classic Bill Elliott commitment, one he makes and then forgets about until he’s getting sent an email a month ago to remind him. One he makes when he forgets his son is racing the same weekend. That’s how Chris ended up here with him, instead of her Mom or instead of Chase or Chandler. They’re all in Florida for the Cup Series. Well–Chandler isn’t. Chandler’s at her hot-shot job in the big city living her life blissfully away from racing. 

She can count on a single hand the amount of times her dad has missed a Cup Series race in the years since his retirement. Even if he’s moved on from driving the track, racing is in Elliott blood. It comes easier to them than breathing does. Chris won’t be the first to admit it, but she's the NASCAR nepotism equivalent of a Baldwin baby. She’s no Kennedy, the first-families of NASCAR are closer to the Petty’s and the Earnhardt’s, but, you ask a NASCAR fan about the Elliott Clan and you’re sure to get an earful. Champion, Hall-of-Fame inductee father, supergenius transmission and engine mechanic uncles, and a superstar fan-favorite older brother, the Elliott family racing history spans generations of fans.

Never the Danica Patrick-type, Chris has always preferred to watch the races rather than compete in them, but she still grew up at the track and was always up for a trip to visit her dad at the auto-shop. 

“Mums,” her dad says, peeking his head around the corner into the hotel bathroom. It’s a stupid nickname, Mums, Chrysanthemum. She’d roll her eyes if it was anyone but Bill still calling her by it. “We gotta go, darlin’.” Chris nods at him in the mirror, flattens her hands along her thigh and tucks one final strand of her bang behind her ear, and then they’re finally leaving the hotel for the track. 

It’s a strange kind of first for Chris, in that it’s not really a first at all. She’s been to COTA before, multiple times. Hell, she watched in the garage when Chase won the inaugural Cup Series race here in May last season. She’s even been to the U.S Grand Prix before, back when it was still in Indianapolis, when Chris was too young to remember if it was big or if she was just little. She’s used to the crowds, spends almost every weekend with upwards of fifty-thousand people, but this? This is the kind of crowd she can’t fathom being among, and it’s only Friday. If it takes them an hour and a half to get through traffic on a practice day, she can only imagine what the next two mornings have in store for her. 

“No antics today,” Bill tells her in the car. “They’re not like us. Trust me, I know.”

Last time you went to one of these races, you were still a driver, she wants to tell him, but doesn’t. He doesn’t take well to the implication he’s an old man. Walking into the paddock with a yellow pass hung around her neck, FERRARI-GUEST-17 and a picture of the team logo popping up on the screens at the turnstiles, she’s beyond taken back by the pomp and circumstance of it all. She’s barely through the entrance and she’s already spotted half a dozen people who could buy her without it making a dent in their pockets. It’s nothing like walking around a NASCAR track. There isn’t a single Bud Light knight or backs sunburnt into American flags or t-shirts turned muscle tanks. It’s just… rich people. Lots and lots of rich people. 

In the Paddock Club tent, Bill manages to find a couple of his old buddies. Guys he raced with back in the day who’ve turned up for whatever with whoever this weekend. It’s unsurprising, stock car racing is nowhere near as exclusive a club as Formula One. They aren’t any of the guys Chris remembers being a part of her childhood, none of them pseudo-uncles in the way some other drivers were. You’re all grown up, they tell her, note her height and her features and one of them even asks if she’s in college yet. She plays along, pretends she remembers them fondly and that they haven’t been on the recipient list for the annual Elliott family Christmas newsletter for the past thirty or so years. His buddies are much more comfortable talking about Chase, anyways, about his racing and his fiancee and his little boy than they’ve ever been talking about Chris or Chandler. The concept of a quote-en-quote girl dad wasn’t such a thing in the nineties.

Chris makes small talk with one of the wives. They can’t be that far apart in age, she’s definitely of a different generation than her husband. Gross. Chris lets the woman lead the conversation; she talks about the polka dots on her skirt and Chris’ cowboy boots that are, apparently, perfectly authentic. 

They separate from the group of former NASCAR drivers and their child brides within the hour. Bill has to be in Ferrari hospitality by one o’clock for a special meeting. He’s still not sure what he did to get selected for this specific group of people who get to do a hot lap with one of the Ferrari drivers, but he isn’t about to ask any questions that might get him out of it. He sets off to hospitality and Chris sneaks out of the paddock and into the rest of the track. 

There’s only so much to see inside the paddock. Hospitality after hospitality after hospitality, just in different colors with different modern structures with pictures of different cars. She wants to experience the event, not just the rich people who can pay their way into the upper echelon of the pinnacle of motorsport. If she’s going to be on her own for an hour and a half, she might as well be fully and truly on her own. 

She ends up in the beer garden. More specifically, the bar tent. You can’t separate a NASCAR fan from the Natty Light. The pass around her neck gets her into the VIP area of the tent, which… feels like an antithesis of itself.  Her phone buzzes in her back pocket when she’s waiting on her bottle from the bartender. It’s her dad. 

Brad Pitt is here. Crazy. 

She makes quick acquaintances with a couple who looks about her age. She compliments the girl’s denim jacket and then she’s in. The DJ is playing country music with a techno backtrack at the other side of the tent and they all three spend a good fifteen minutes trying to decide if they love or hate the set. “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” the guy says. 

“It’s definitely not the best, though,” Chris winces, spots a Ferrari pass hanging with the VIP one around the girlfriend’s neck. “Are you guys here with Ferrari?” She asks. 

“Oh, “ she says, looks down at the pass and fiddles with it for a moment. “Yeah, Will’s a golfer and they invited him for a tour and to do this golf event with ESPN.”

“Oh, that’s sick!” Chris nods. “Have you guys ever been here, or is this your first time?”

“We’ve come every year for…” Will starts, looks to his girlfriend for the rest of his sentence. 

“Four years,” she nods. “What about you?”

“This is my first time,” Chris explains, leaves out the technicalities because she barely cares about them, doesn’t expect a stranger to even half-care. “My dad’s here with Ferrari, and I’m here to babysit my dad.” She laughs. 

The woman nods, makes a quiet ah sound. Will asks for clarification. “You guys lose each other, or something?”

Chris nods. “Or something.”

Charles sees her before he hears her. She appears in his peripheral on the top floor of Ferrari Hospitality, moving swiftly through the groups of strangers with a confidence that makes you think she owns the place. He half-prepares to excuse himself from his current conversation–not that he’s understanding more than forty-percent of the words coming out of this guy’s mouth–to take a photo with the short brunette bee-lining it over to him. 

“Excu–”

“I think I saw Brad Pitt on my way here,” she says, and the man he’s been talking to for fifteen minutes laughs. Oh, he thinks, that’s mortifying. She’s not here to intrude on his conversation and ask for a picture. She’s here with this guy. 

“This is my Chris,” Bill says. 

“Hi,” Chris says. Chris. Chris. Chris is a woman. A woman extending her hand, thin and well manicured with a single ruby ring, for him to shake. “Chris.”

“Charles,” he says, hesitates. “You are not what I was expecting.” 

There wasn’t much he understood from Bill Elliott during their hot lap, not that Bill didn’t talk. Charles just didn’t have the focusing capabilities to drive the car in an entertaining way while also deciphering the thick southern drawl of the man sat in the passenger seat. It was thick, heavy, and sounded like maybe he’d smoked a pack a day for a few years. That, or he was straight-up making up words in a bit that only he was in on. One thing he did understand, though, was the kids’ names. I have three, he’d said, Chandler, Chase, and Chris. He’d assumed all boys. Chandler, Chase, and Christopher. Christian. Cristiano. The last thing he was expecting was a beautiful girl with a firm handshake. 

“You were expecting me?” She asks, and her voice is a million times easier to understand than her father’s. 

“No, no. He just,” He gestures absently to Bill. Chris doesn’t break eye contact. She has wonderful eyes. “I thought Chandler, Chase, and Chris are three brothers.”

“Oh,” She laughs like it’s not even close to the first time she’s had to follow behind her dad and correct the miscommunication, and a piece of her bangs falls loose from its tucked position behind her ear. She fixes it without thought. “Well, you’re one for three.” 

She asks Bill about the hot lap, asks if he had fun and he laughs. They’re very laugh-oriented people, he’s noticed. Laughy and almost intimidatingly good at holding eye contact. He’d always heard Americans had an issue with eye contact, and if that really is the case, these two practice their active-listening skills enough for the rest of the country. Their kindness is in their expressions, soft eyes and small smiles that keep you from feeling like an intrusion on the conversation. He notes all of his findings internally, categorizes them together as if he’s spent the last ten minutes looking at anyone but her. 

She’s horrendously his type. It’s painfully apparent with every passing moment. The hair and the face and the build and the smile. Just, God.

“Why didn’t you do one?” He asks, “A lap?”

“The need-for-speed bug skipped the women in my family, unfortunately.” She tucks her hair again. He wonders if she’s growing it out or if she always keeps it at such a length that it’s just too short to stay where she wants it to. 

“We could go slow,” he offers and she chuckles, closing her eyes long enough to roll them without him actually seeing them roll. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise.” He’s never been good at flirting, always found it off-putting in the beginning, trying to walk the line between what one person finds fun and another person finds horribly uncomfortable. Once the dust settles, he can manage, but making those first few moves? He might as well be a deer in headlights. Semi-truck headlights. 

“I don’t know,” she says, drags out the vowel sounds and he’s oblivious to whether or not she can tell he’s only making this offer as a chance to spend more time with her. He’ll get an earful for it, no doubt, but if she agrees it’ll be worth it. Bill chimes in, eggs her on with a guilt trip. You should do it, don’t be a party-pooper. Charles wonders if Bill can tell he’s flirting with his daughter. Probably not, he’d bet. “Okay,” she says, and his stomach does a celebratory flip. Before he can say anything more, Mia is pulling him off somewhere. He hadn’t even seen her coming, but he fills her in on the walk.

“Domani c'è un'aggiunta al programma dei giri veloci.” There’s an addition to the hot laps schedule tomorrow, he says. Mia glares at him and he pretends not to notice, flashes her a toothy-grin as an unapologetic apology. 

When she’d agreed to do a hot lap with the gorgeous racing driver standing a foot away from her, she assumed it would be forgotten the moment he stepped away from the conversation. She never would have agreed to it if she actually thought it was going to happen. Chris was sorely mistaken though, when later that afternoon, a man dressed head-to-toe in Ferrari red finds her to gather her information. 1:10, he tells her through a thick Italian accent, be in hospitality at 1:10. 

It was wonderful, really. Perfect, fantastic, great, legendary. This is an amazing opportunity. She isn’t going to regret agreeing to this, no chance. Even for the queen of optimism, this one is hard to put a positive spin on. 

There is no underestimating just how much Chris hates going fast. She’s never liked it, spent the majority of her childhood getting carsick in a vehicle maxing out at forty miles an hour. Her sister and brother used to think she was faking it just so she could always ride shotgun. She’s not even allowed to drive the car if she’s with her dad or her brother because they can’t bear it. To her, a speed limit is just that, a limit. To everyone else, it’s a minimum. 

Her only hope is that she doesn’t vomit all over an expensive supercar at 1:10 tomorrow afternoon, or worse–the cute guy driving the car. 

In the meantime, she can distract herself with the Green Day performance and remind herself that only so much can happen in five minutes. Anyone can survive five minutes. 

– – –

They eat the continental breakfast at the hotel the next morning. Bill has pancakes and Chris has cereal because, as she’ll tell anyone, there’s just something about cereal from a plastic container. She’s also three coffees ahead of where she was this time the day before, all of her nerves personifying themselves as desperation for caffeine. She’s responding to a work email on her phone while Bill has a call with Chase. 

Somewhere on a race track in Florida, Chase is calling between practice and qualifying sessions. They talk every day during a race weekend–Bill and Chase–and it’s almost never about racing. Her dad might drop an occasional that’s not what I would’ve done or a well, that looked like fun, but that’s usually the end of race-talk. They used to fight like cats and dogs about driving when Chase was younger, so much so that Chris’ mom banned them from talking about racing inside the house for three straight years. The who of them are better now, now that Bill’s been able to let Chase find his own way and go through his own racing journey. 

“Your sister is doing a Hot Lap today,” Bill says, and Chris can hear Chase’s laughter from the muffled speaker. 

Bill and Chris are driven to the track on Saturday because traffic is so bad. It’s hot and windy and Chris has her window rolled down the entire drive, her fingers dancing through the dry air. She’s always loved the heat, the sun shining down on her skin, kissing her in a million different places all at the same time. She loves the heat, and the heat loves her. 

The morning flies by. They start the day with a tour of the Ferrari garage, where they’re introduced, or re-introduced, to their drivers. They end up with a couple other very important people hunched over Charles’ car while he explains how much pressure needs to be applied to the brake pedal for the car to actually brake. Bill eats the semantics up, cars and their mechanics run thick in his blood, braided deeply into his DNA. Chris, however, has always enjoyed the more delicate things in life; the pink hair bows and the dollar store makeup kits and spinning herself dizzy in a flowy summer dress. She never spent exorbitant amounts of time at Dad’s engine shop or Grandpa’s Ford Dealership, it just wasn’t in her lane of interests. She sips another coffee–her fifth of the day–and listens attentively to Charles talk, bites her smile at his wild gesticulations. He’d make a good kindergarten teacher, she thinks, with his huge personality. 

When the whole tour group is being shuffled out of the garage to be replaced by a new set of prying eyes, Charles makes a passing comment. See you later for the world’s slowest hot lap, he remarked, put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze as he moved past her. 

She doesn’t know why, but she’d convinced herself that it wouldn’t actually be him she would be doing the lap with. It was qualifying day, after all. Surely, he had about a million and one better things to be doing than driving a random girl around a track a few times. She figured it would be a driver, but not one of the drivers. 

After lunch, she makes her way back to Ferrari hospitality, to where she was told to be waiting at 1:10. She’s the only person who looks like they’re here on instruction. Nobody else is nervously picking at their cuticles or vibrating in place as a reaction to their seven coffees that morning.

She spent the night before grilling her dad about his experience, forcing him to give her a moment-by-moment breakdown of everything he remembered happening, from the safety briefing to the conversation afterwards. But, when it came time for Chris to actually do hers, there was no safety briefing warning her about the million different ways she could die. Instead, the same man who’d tracked her down the day before escorted her from the top floor of hospitality to the bottom, out the back into what she can best compare to an alleyway, and then to a red supercharged Ferrari. 

Charles is there, talking to what appears to be a personal photographer and another man dressed in Ferrari garb. She re-introduces herself for a third time in twenty four hours. “I know your name, Chris,” Charles says, smiles and shakes her hand anyway. She doesn’t like the way her brain reacts to him saying her name like it belongs on his lips. 

“Duh,” she laughs, “sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Right,” she nods. “Yeah, sorry.” Charles laughs out a sigh, cocks his head and smiles. Chris bites her tongue not to apologize again. It’s a reflex. She puffs out her laugh and shrugs. 

If she manages to make it out of these couple laps with her life and the contents of her stomach still intact, she’s sure to still look like a clown–a fact she realizes as she pulls the tight helmet over her head. She’s worn racing helmets a handful of times, but it’s not muscle memory to her in the way it is to him. It takes her a minute to tighten the chin strap just right and despite his genuine offer to help her, Chris turns him down and blindly works her fingers under her neck until it’s just right. 

“Why don’t you get a fun Hot Laps helmet?” She asks while she fights with the strap. 

Charles knocks on the side of his helmet with his knuckle. “Custom fit. Safety reasons.”

Chris knows, she was just messing with him. She nods like she never could’ve guessed that was the reason. “My safety doesn’t matter?” She comments, pulls the strap tight for the final time. 

“You think I’m going to crash?”

She shrugs. “Maybe.”

“I would never crash with Chris Elliott in the car.” There he goes again, saying her name all annoyingly French and nice and easy. 

“Whatever,” she says, turns away so he can’t see her squished cheeks flush pink against the polyester. He opens the passenger side door for her, knocks his knuckle on her helmet this time, and horribly mocks both her words and accent before shutting the door behind her. 

Chris has her seatbelt buckled before he can get around the front of the car and into his seat. Her leg bounces anxiously against the floor mat. Charles starts the car and moves to shift into drive, but stops short. “Are you scared?” he asks, and in a moment of vulnerable honesty, she nods. She’s more than scared. She’s terrified, and despite his brief attempt to reassure her that it’s going to be fun, her leg is still bouncing when they peel off from the group already awaiting his return. 

A hot lap, she’d come to learn in the last day or so, would be more accurately referred to as hot laps–plural, multiple, several. Three, to be exact. One out lap, one push lap, and one cool down lap. Three laps. Hot laps. They should really start referring to it as a plural. 

The best thing she can compare it to is a roller coaster. The turns share the feeling you get at the tipping point, right before your body thinks you’re free falling. Her stomach is left behind three turns back and it never really catches up to the car once they start. The straights are like that first hill, fast and crazy in a way that pulls from her lips screams she hears before she consciously chooses to release. It’s like a roller coaster, if the person sitting next to you is completely unaffected by the ride and spends the entire time trying to carry out a conversation with you between your screams and their giggles. It’s like a roller coaster, if the cart never leaves the ground. 

On the cool down lap, when they’re going at a speed that allows Chris to pick up her soul when they drive through turn four, he asks her if she’s single. It comes at her from left field. 

“Are you flirting with me?”

He laughs, takes a hand off the wheel and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes!”

“Oh,” she says softly. If he notices the surprise in her tone, he doesn’t mention it. “I am.” 

“Can I get your number?” She swears that his fingers are shakier than before as they hover over the paddle shift. They were sure-footed just minutes earlier, she’s sure of it. She’s sure of it, but there’s no way it’s a genuine observation. There’s no way she’s making him nervous. 

She laughs, because what on God’s green Earth is a European Formula One driver going to do with a small town American girl’s phone number? 

“I’m not abandoning my dad for a hookup,” she says, and he rolls his eyes, repeats the question. “Why do you want it?”

“Because, Chris Elliott,” she wants to scrape the way he says her name out of his voice box and pin it in a scrapbook. It’s like a tick, the way it burrows into her skin. Nobody should be allowed to make her name sound like that. “You are a very beautiful girl, and when a guy sees a beautiful girl, they act like an idiot and ask for her number.” 

“Oh, my God,” she giggles, shakes her head and looks out the window like it might ground her, or like it might reveal that she really is in some fever dream state and none of this is real. She’s not even in Texas, maybe. That’s how insane this whole conversation is to her. 

“Too cheesy?” He asks, grimaces. She shakes her head, holds her hand out for his phone. 

“Just cheesy enough.”

When they get back to where they started, someone asks Chris if she’d had a good time. She nods, flattens down the static-electricity charged flyaways on her head and tells them yes, even if she’ll be just a little bit nauseous for the rest of the day. It’s not a lie, either, she did have fun. She was scared out of her mind, but in a way that makes her happy she did it. 

They pose for a photo together in front of the car, the picture snapped by the only guy with a camera around his neck, the only one besides Chris not covered head to toe in Ferrari branding. When they pose, Charles’ arm wraps around her lower back and, almost like he remembers himself in the middle of the action, his hand doesn’t close around her side. Instead, it hovers just beyond her body, open and stiff and flat. How gentlemanly. “Good luck tomorrow,” she says.

He nods his thanks, “I hope I see you around this weekend,” he adds, and then they go their separate ways. Good thing, too, because she’s still blushing over it when she gets back to her dad in the Champion’s club. Bill is too distracted by the live feed on Chase’s qualifying laps on his tiny phone screen to notice Chris’ presence, much less the coloring of her cheeks. He qualifies third and they celebrate quietly with drinks from the bar and FP3 on the big screens. 

They stumble into more NASCAR old-timers while in the Champion’s Club and Chris spends the time fifth-wheeling their conversations about Chase and watching the second half of qualifying on one of the TVs. 

She doesn’t really understand the format of the weekend. In theory, she understands the basics, didn’t have to read Formula One for Dummies on the plane ride over, but the intricacies of it are beyond her. In NASCAR, drivers are split into two groups and then are only given, at max, two laps to set their qualifying times. It varies depending on the track that weekend, but it always hits some of the same points. From what she can gather from the low-volume televisions mounted on every surface around her, F1 is definitely different. 

They head back to the hotel directly after qualifying to ‘beat the traffic’ which is code for Chris is still nauseous and they’re both feeling a little too heat exhausted. They stop for dinner on the way back, at a barbeque place right by their hotel. Bill orders the chopped brisket with potato salad and Chris gets the pulled pork sandwich with a tomato zucchini salad. 

Chris has been really busy with work, with settling into the new routine with her new group of students, and Bill wants to hear all about it. She always struggles in September and October, feels inadequate every time the other teachers find their footing with their new class weeks before she does. It’s the first time alotta ‘em have been in a school, Bill reminds her and she shrugs it off, tries to find something more upbeat to talk about. 

Chris and Bill have really gotten close over the past couple years. Growing up, she and her sister Chandler were massive daddy’s girls, had him wrapped around their little fingers from the moment they came into the world. But, when Chase started to really take racing seriously, the girls lost a lot of their dad to their brother and spent the majority, if not all, of their time with their Mom. As a teenager, Chris did what all sixteen year old girls do and rebelled against any and every rule in the book. While Chandler was touring colleges and getting 1550s on her SAT and singing in the church choir, Chris had other plans. Whether it was stubbornly refusing to clean her half of the shared room with her big sister, ratting Chase out for coming home at 2am drunk, or sneaking out of the second-story window to go out with her all-too-old boyfriend, she tested all of the waters. It wasn’t until college, until she moved away to Athens and was out of the house for the first time in her life that she realized just how important family was to her. She’s been attempting to make up for lost time since. 

That night when she plugs her phone into the charger and shuts it off for the night, she realizes she’d been half expecting a late night text from Charles. It didn’t come, and disappointed isn’t the right word for the tiny little pit in her stomach because she wasn’t really expecting anything to come from typing her number into his contacts.  It’s not disappointment, it’s something closer to acceptance or rejection, maybe. It’s not like he would’ve been searching out anything but a hookup, anyways, and Chris made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t into that idea. 

She would never hear from him again, and that’s how it should be. The whole interaction turning into anything but a story she can tell in a couple months when she’s drunk would be entirely too complicated of an outcome. 

She doesn’t let herself think about it any longer, leaves her phone face down on the side table and tucks herself into bed. 

– – –

Traffic on race day is true-crime inducing. They’re driven, again, escorted and still spend an hour and a half in the backseat of an SUV. Bill and Chris watch from the VIP stands and Chris has never seen anything like this, especially not at COTA. Even Talladega and Daytona barely hold a candle to this spectacle. 

If she has one critique, it’s that F1 should really hire some B-List at best celebrity to scream drivers, start your engines! At the start of the race like they do in NASCAR. It would really add some flare, she thinks. 

She and Bill share Chris’ airpods, one in each of their ears listening to the NASCAR broadcast. Charles starts twelfth, for whatever reason. She can’t be bothered to look into it, knows it’ll probably be a penalty she doesn’t understand and she’ll be tumbling down a rabbit hole before she knows what’s happened to her. 

While it’s not Chase’s best race–he finishes fourteenth with a single sigh from Bill–Charles puts on a show, fights his tires all the way up into third. 

They watch the podium celebrations on the TV screens and nobody looks happy to be up there. They look miserable, almost, and she understands it to an extent. It’s hard to have energy after a race, she’s witnessed it first hand more times than she can count. It’s hard, especially at the end of the season. Burn-out is real, but still. They look bored. She didn’t know spraying champagne could look so tired. 

Bill grumpily flies them home to Georgia late Sunday night. He’d wanted to wait until Monday morning, after all the billionaires and their super-jets take off right after the race, but Chris refused to miss another day of work this early in the school year, not when she was already going to be missing time in December for her brother’s wedding. 

Bill’s been flying planes since before any of his kids were born. His most recent purchase is a Cessna Conquest II that he uses to fly the family around for short distances. In another gene that skipped the females in the family, Chandler, Chris, and their mom all prefer to be passengers. Chase, however, followed in Dad’s footsteps once more in becoming an avid aviation fan. 

By the time they take off, any thought Chris had of getting a text from Charles has faded far into obscurity. He’d probably gotten dozens of numbers from girls this weekend. He was probably at a club somewhere right now still pulling women. Women more his type, probably. He seems like he’d be more into the refined type, the girls without the ‘cheap’ accents who were all worldly and spoke seventeen languages fluently and had long legs that carried them down runways across Europe every other weekend. 

Little southern girls get texts from little southern boys, that’s how it goes. That's how it’s always gone, and Chris is beyond naive to think anything different for even a moment. 

She grades papers on the flight home. Purple pen, because she thinks that color is fun and red is too cruel to grade with. Puffy stickers for everyone, even the kids who aren’t anywhere near the right track because she doesn’t want anyone to feel less than just because they struggle a bit more. Chris has always been a firm believer that the student is never the problem. If someone isn’t learning what she’s teaching, she needs to adjust the way she teaches it to cater to their learning style. 

It’s her job to teach them, not their job to learn. 

Joris has been laughing at Charles from the hotel room armchair for fifteen minutes now, beyond entertained by his best friend’s restless pacing, providing absolutely zero aid to his current predicament. This act has been going on for some time now. Charles, pacing for five minutes before pulling out his phone and typing up an opening message to Chris. Each time, he starts to read it out to Joris and then stops himself short, deletes it, and paces for five more minutes. 

Hey, Chris. This is Ch–no, that’s stupid. 

Sorry it took me a minute to text–absolutely not. 

What’s up? It’s Charles, how–someone should just stop him from speaking to women all together. 

There’s half a dozen renditions before Joris breaks. “Mate? What is your problem?” He finally asks. “It’s just a girl.”

“I know,” Charles sighs, “I know.”

“Then why can’t you send her a text?”

“Because.” He doesn’t really know why he can’t land on a message, why everything he types sounds entirely too casual or formal or nothing at all like what he would say to another human being. This isn’t a problem that he’s used to having. It’s the in-person flirting that fucks him up, not the texts and DMs and comments. She was just… he doesn’t know what she was. She was just. End of sentence. 

It’s no help that he doesn’t know American texting culture, unfamiliar with how long he’s supposed to wait to send a message or what he’s supposed to say in the opening text. 

“Here,” Joris says, holds his hand out for the phone. “I’ve got the perfect text.”

“Don’t send it,” Charles warns, but passes the phone to his friend. 

“I… won’t,” Joris says slowly, struggling to multi-task. He doesn’t type for more than a few seconds and then hands the phone back to Charles, with the message already sent. Charles’ look of sheer panic is met with a smile and a chef’s kiss from Joris. 

She turns her phone off while Bill is shutting the plane engine down in the hangar. Because of his love of aviation, Bill had bought some land out in the woods a couple decades ago and turned it into the family’s private airstrip for their planes.  Elliott Field, they coined it, stored all their extra vehicles out on the property. She slips it into her back pocket as her and Bill disembark and lock up the place, and the entire time she can feel it vibrating, the notifications from the hour and a half flight catching up now that she’s on the ground again. 

It’s not until she’s in her car that she checks them, pulls her phone out to plug it into the aux and play some music for the drive back to her house. Right at the top of the dozens of notifications is a message from an unknown number with an unfamiliar area code. 

[one unread message] the notification reads. She unlocks her phone to check the message. 

She closes the messages app on her phone and opens up Spotify, shuffles her favorite playlist. She doesn’t reply to his text, doesn’t know if she wants to or even what she might say back. She’s sleepy, more than ready for bed after a long weekend in the sun, excited to be back with her students bright and early tomorrow morning. 

The text from the cute race car driver can wait for another day. An issue for tomorrow, maybe. 

masterlist next chapter>

#ma&thbp #AHH FUCKKK #BOO #im scared #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #formula one #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fic #f1 fanfic #f1 blurb #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 #f1 fandom #f1 2023 #jumpscare #I hope I forget this is in the queue #so when it flops I dont have to bare the suffering of it

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

judging you. every single one of you.

(Unfinished Friday? Casual Cowboy Friday? I don’t know. Here’s a sketch of Din and his womp-rat that mostly happened while I was watching Shrek 3)

#do you know how unsymmetrical this guy’s outfit is? very. very unsymmetrical. I love it. #din djarin #grogu djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanart #clan of two #din & grogu #star wars #star wars fanart #WiP #work in progress #fanart #digital sketch #digital illustration #autumnwoodsdreamer art #my art #lift a sail

[staytinyville]

OUTLAW (7)

ATEEZ ot8 X Reader

Cowboy AU / Wild West

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N Double update for the day because I didn't get to it yesterday. Chapter 8 will be posted later today (for me). I didn't get to writing a chapter and it bothers me when I don't have one ready on time. I like to have a few chapters written for just in case.

It was rather quick that your parents seemed to have hired the boys. They didn’t really question much of where they came from or why they were looking for work in your establishment. The only person they did question was you. 

Why didn’t you say anything? How did you meet them? How long have you known them? Do they have someone waiting for them at home? That was from your mother. 

You worked with Soenghwa for the most part. Yeosang was too busy in the backroom going over inventory and the money the hotel makes during the day. He also kept tabs of the guests list and their payments. Seonghwa worked at the bar in the saloon, occasionally making food the guests ordered. However with it being Friday, the bar was packed with people laughing and de-stressing from the week. 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” Seonghwa’s fingers grazed your hand as you handed him some empty glasses that needed to be washed. 

“You're welcome, Seonghwa.” You smiled. “Table three wants more whiskey.”

“Coming right up.” His dazzling grin made you blush, if only for the fact that he was a good looking man. He would make any woman flustered. 

“You've been such a great help, boy!” Your father patted him on the back. “Weekends are usually packed with travelers or the townsfolk who claim we have the best drinks. You're really making us stand out!”

“You got yourself one hell of a looker!” A man at the bar praised Seonghwa. “All the women would be lining up to take a glimpse at your new hire, (F/N)!”

“Thank you.” Seonghwa bashfully told him. 

The room went quiet for just a moment, some of the patrons had stopped talking to look towards the entrance of the bar. Yunho and Jongho both walked in, casually making their way over to the seats open at the bar. 

“Officers.” The man who was complimenting Seonghwa greeted, tipping his glass. 

The two men greeted the other back, moving to look over the available drinks. It was the first time they had ever gone down to the bar to sit and have a drink. You would assume it was because it was Seonghwa’s first day working there. Maybe they felt a bit more at ease with someone they knew. 

“Say, do you guys know how long you're going to be here?” The man continued. “All the people are wondering why officers from the big city are snooping in our area.”

You paused your washing of cups, but quickly went back so as to not seem like you were eavesdropping. However, looking around the bar it seemed you weren’t the only one who was interested in the conversation. 

Jongho and Yunho took a moment to look at each other before moving to take the glasses that Seonghwa had put in front of them. You realized that they didn’t even vocalize their preference of alcohol but no one else did. Seonghwa probably didn’t even realize he had given them something to drink subconsciously. 

“There have been sightings of outlaws nearby.” You took a glance at Seonghwa. “We've been sent to investigate.”

Yunho answered the man. “With that being said, should you come across any wanted man. Please be sure to tell us. We have orders from the higher ups to catch them ourselves.” He turned to the rest of the bar, calling out to those who were watching him. 

“What if we want the reward!?” Someone slurred from the crowd. 

“You can have a try but just know you will be considered a criminal as well for obstructing the law.” Jongho shrugged, looking over the area.

No one dared to make another statement after that. However there was a lot of talk about the outlaws. People would whisper about how they needed to buy more ammunition for their weapons just in case these outlaws were to come into town. How they needed to keep their wives and daughters from going out so late in the night to prevent something terrible. 

As the night progressed, the bar slowly grew to be less packed. However you would conclude that it was rather late at night when the bar dwindled down to cleaning up. The men were sure worried about their wives and daughters but they didn’t seem to mind if they left drunk at 3 in the morning. You would work around the two men who had passed out on their tables, knowing that your father would be the one to deal with them in the end. 

Yeosang had come in earlier in the night to tell Seonghwa that he was leaving. You wanted to question where it was they were staying but you knew better. Curiosity kills the cat, you know the saying. In your case, you knew it would most definitely kill you. 

The only people left in the bar, aside from the two men passed out drunk, were Seonghwa, Jongho, Yunho and you. Your father had gone to take the empty bottles out back, leaving you alone with the three men. 

“You keep staring at the piano.” You told Seonghwa as you placed the last of the glasses where they went. “Do you play?”

“Not since I was a teen. It's been a while.” The man told you.

You moved things to the side, looking over at Seonghwa for a moment. “Could you play something?” You asked him, giving him a small smile. “I'd like to hear.”

You heard a snort come from Yunho and when you glanced at the two officers, you could see the large grins they were sporting. They looked at Seonghwa expectantly, just the tad bit tipsy from nursing their drinks for so long. 

“Sure.” Seonghwa moved around the bar, making his way to the upright piano.

You and the boys moved to stand behind the man, watching as he seemed to look over the keys for a moment before touching the instrument. You had been so used to listening to your grandfather play such uptempo songs that it felt like something had been lifted off your shoulders the moment Seonghwa started playing. 

It was some classical song, one that didn’t fit the theme of the bar. It soothed others to sleep and brought a light headed feeling. It made you smile, taking a seat to listen more carefully to the man playing. You felt the song wasn’t long enough when Seonghwa played the last of the notes. 

“It's been a while since I've heard you play.” Yunho told his friend.

“It's been a while since we've heard any kind of music.” Jongho explained, taking the last sip of the beer he was holding. 

“Wish the others were here.” Seonghwa smiled sadly.

It had been a while since you had seen the others all together, but it seemed to you like they were starting to let their guards down. At least, enough to relax and enjoy where they are. Yunho and Jongho didn’t seem to be as stiff as when they came in. The example of them coming down to the bar for the first time came to mind. While Yeosang and Seonghwa were already the calm two of the group, they too looked like they weren’t struggling as much as when you met them a week ago. 

“Do you all enjoy music?” You asked, scooting in closer to the piano.

“It’s what brought us together.” Soenghwa answered. “Captain was the one who started everything.”

“We weren’t always a group of criminals.” Seonghwa sighed, fingers drifting over the keys.

Your eyes drifted over the three, watching as Yunho and Jongho seemed to be laughing to themselves, the alcohol getting to them. Well to Yunho because it seemed as though Jongho had a great handle on himself. If you didn’t know about their occupation you would assume they were like all the other men your age who came and went through the hotel. 

They looked like they were stress free as though they weren’t going around causing trouble for a lot of people. You didn’t know their stories, but hearing from Seonghwa that they weren’t who everyone claimed to be, you wanted to know all about them. 

“I couldn’t imagine.” You calmly told him.

“Us not being criminals?” Yunho called out.

“Being criminals. None of you look like you want to be.” You confessed.

 “Because we aren’t. Not when we help the less fortunate.” Jongho crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair.

Your mind began to wander around his words. You remembered the story about the robbery that took place in the town over with Harthorne. Everyone knew he wasn’t the kindest of people and was really stingy with his money. He hoarded it, not daring to spend more than he needed to. Everyone knew he was a spoiled man who didn’t lift a finger to help those who needed it. 

You figured it was them who had taken the money from Harthorne. The men at the bar didn’t tell you more about what the gang did with the money but if they claim to not be criminals you wouldn’t be off put to know where it must have gone. There was a story about a man who knew how to use a bow and arrow. He would take from the rich and give to the poor. You wondered if they had read it as well.

“You take from the rich-”

“And give to the poor.” Seonghwa ended.

“That changes things, doesn’t it?” You grinned.

“You scared?” Seonghwa teased.

He gave you a grin, which made you flush again. Yunho had leaned closer to you while Jongho waited for you to speak. There was a time when you would glare back at men who made you so flustered. You would often retort with something stupid that would cause them offense for how unladylike you spoke. However you weren’t there to make them like you. They weren’t people you needed to impress.

“Of the Park Seonghwa?” You chuckled. “Not anymore. Not after that beautiful display you just put on.”

“You should hear Yeosang play the violin. He is a master.” Seonghwa praised his friend.

They cared deeply for each other, that much was noticeable. Maybe looking at them from afar they did look like hoodlums who would shiv you because you looked at them wrong. Or in most of their cases would seduce you into their beds and leave you the next day. 

But within themselves they held each other in high regards. You saw it in the way they spoke about their captain. How they cared about each other when two of them were injured. You knew they were all they had, with being in a gang. Not many people would open their arms for them. They were a family. And it brought a smile to your face to know they weren’t the criminals people claimed they were. 

You smiled brightly. “I’ll hold him to that.”

Series Masterlist

@thefrog3223 , @iarayara , @0rangemilk , @explorewithd , @loveforred , @bangtanxberm , @a1i33a ,

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez hongjoong #ateez imagines #ateez san #ateez x reader #atiny #choi san #hongjoong #jongho #ateez yunho #atz #yeosang #wooyoung #seonghwa x reader #ateez mingi #mingi #kpop fanfic #fandom #outlaw #cowboy au

[attapullman]

Morgan, what can you tell me about miss ma’am’s first official date with Bob from Stats? 💁🏼‍♀️ It’s been on my mind and I desperately need to know!

Alexa!! I'm so glad you asked because it also has been on my mind I am so helplessly obsessed with them and his hobby horse so don't mind me getting very carried away.

First off, it's very important to note that since the homecoming barbecue that Bob has talked non-stop about the girl in the green dress. All his brothers have been ribbing him ever since, making the joke on every night out that "maybe she's into cowboys".

So when green dress girl becomes Stats Cutie, the frat house is practically up in arms about him making a move. Beyond lending a pencil.

Once all his roommates confirm that the girl who hasn't left his bedroom in three days is indeed Stats Cutie, the house is abuzz. Especially when he arrives at Monday chapter with his sweatshirt hood at a funny angle to hide the blossoming hickey on his collarbone 👀

After that first Stats class - where you sit side-by-side with indeed another borrowed pencil - he realizes he actually can't wait until Friday to take Stats Cutie out, so he casually asks if you're free tonight. Despite the fact you're way behind on studying, of course you clear your entire schedule.

You meet up at the fountain by the edge of campus at 6, after you've both had a chance to head home and shower. He can't handle how you look even prettier in this sundress, he's actually weak in the knees. And seeing him in a button-up has you drooling - how can he look even better than those beloved crewnecks? As he guides you to your destination, there's a comfortable silence as you subtly check the other out.

Starting off the night is bowling! You rent shoes and talk about how absurdly expensive bowling has become. He's blindsided by how good you are at bowling, already smoking him within the first few frames. Here he is trying to impress you, and you're blowing him away! If he wasn't appreciating how cute your ass looks wiggling in that little dress when you go up for your turn, he'd probably have already dragged you back to his apartment.

After you've absolutely smoked him in two rounds of bowling - a sweet yet passionate kiss by the return shoe counter - he promises loser buys pizza. The greasy pie joint near campus is pretty quiet for a Tuesday night, and he snags a table in the corner. Hours are lost as you talk about classes and potential future careers and how his sister reacted when she realized her hobby horse was missing.

Bob can't quite get over how when you laugh your eyes sparkle before disappearing because your smile is so wide.

You have class in the morning, so he's a gentleman and has you home before midnight. Kissing you against the brick column by the front door of your dorm, telling you what a great night he had. Blushing when you thank him for one of the best dates you've been on. Pizza and bowling was perfect. He's perfect.

It's only when your Resident Advisor knocks on the glass door that he releases you. Reluctantly. Bright red as he kisses your cheek one last time, giving your RA a polite nod and wave before making his way to his apartment.

As he walks home, he's already trying to come up with excuses to see you before Stats on Thursday.

#always gonna be unwell about college boyfriend bob #letters to mo #sometimesanalice 🪩 #stats!bob #bob from stats

[keldabekush]

A little casual cowboy Dogma as a treat

#kushdraws #casual cowboy friday #clone trooper dogma

[eldritch-thrumming]

you're a cowboy like me.

you're a cowboy like me, perched in the dark, telling all the rich folks anything they wanna hear like it could be love, i could be the way forward, only if they pay for it.

Steve is good at reading people. He always has been. He can spot an easy mark a mile away. He knows what to look for, knows that it’s always the older, lonely women, the ones who wear their pearls and their diamonds to lunch on a Tuesday afternoon, draped in black velvet and satin, ancient fur coats hanging off their shoulders, that will eat up his words and his casual touches like peppermint candies. 

Steve’s been working his way through Westchester and the Hamptons for three summers now, which generally means he knows practically everyone there is to know. Everyone worth knowing. So when a stranger in black leather and pressed trousers crashes a Friday night at the country club, everyone takes notice.

Steve’s in the formal dining room, surrounded by Marie—his date—and her girlfriends and their husbands, when Bill Weatherstone stands from his spot next to his wife to greet the stranger who’d just been led to their table by the club’s hostess. Conversation at the table comes to a stop so abruptly Steve would find it funny, if he wasn’t so suspicious of this new stranger. The newcomer has long, curly dark hair pinned out of his face in a ponytail at the back of his neck and big, innocent-looking eyes. When he smiles and clasps Bill’s hand in both of his in greeting, Steve makes note of the dimples on his cheeks. 

The stranger isn’t wearing a sports coat, which means he’s technically not supposed to be allowed to sit at their table, but Bill is the president of the club’s board and Steve knows he can generally do whatever the hell he wants. Money will do that.

“Ladies, gentlemen, this is the new associate at the firm,” Bill’s booming voice rings out, so loud that the chatter from the surrounding tables dies out a little as other diners turn to look at them. Steve notices that several other club members eye the stranger suspiciously as well. “Just started up with us last week. Eddie Munson, here’s the gang.” He makes a sweeping gesture around the table. “Gang, Eddie Munson.” He claps Munson on the shoulder before returning to his seat.

Munson turns his blinding smile on the rest of the table while he pulls out the empty chair next to Bill and drops down into it. He’s not graceful about it, but there is a certain charm in the rough-around-the-edges, wrong-side-of-the-tracks vibe he’s got going on. If you like that sort of thing. Steve doesn’t, but he knows that there’s several women sitting in this room who would eat Eddie Munson up like creme brûlée. Steve can't help but scowl down at his plate. 

~*~

After that first night, Steve starts seeing Munson everywhere. He’s at all the club events, in the club’s dining room every Friday night, and he’s somehow gotten himself invited to all the best parties. He’s always close to Bill or sometimes Jasper Jenkins, the club’s treasury director. 

Steve is still suspicious of Munson, but he hasn’t caused any problems with Steve’s particular favorites this season, so Steve just continues to give the outsider a wide berth and mind his own business. He’s done this long enough to see others come and go. Sometimes he can feel Munson’s eyes trail after him as he leads one of his ladies to a darkened corner or out onto the terrace for a closer look at the stars and some privacy. 

About three week’s after Munson first enters the country club, Steve is invited to a poker game in the club’s basement. He doesn’t usually get invited to these kinds of things; he tends to stay close to the women, accompanying them on their days out shopping and listening to them complain about their husbands or how their children never call at their private teas and lunches. Cozying up to the married men isn’t really his idea of a good time and it’s certainly not what he’s here for, but occasionally, he has to put in an appearance or two.

Steve’s shit at poker. He loses three hands before he has to tap out of the game altogether. The room is full of club members and younger women, the air smokey from cigars. The club’s pianist plays in the corner, but no one pays him any mind beyond stuffing a few bills into the glass he’s got sitting on the piano when they pass him by. The women are half naked and giggling, skin smooth and pink as they sit in the laps of old men. The poker room has several doors leading off of it and Steve shudders to think what’s happening behind each one. Steve may sleep with married women, but at least those women have class; they’re hurting and neglected, cast aside by their greedy husbands. They’re looking for companionship, closeness, more than sex; all the things Steve’s more than happy to give them if their husbands won’t. These men are just pigs. 

Steve’s been down here only a few times before. He vaguely remembers the way to the restroom and he tries to follow the winding, wood-paneled hallways using muscle memory. He pushes open a dark wooden door down in a quiet corner, a little further from the poker room than he remembers. The room is dark when he enters, a single table lamp lighting up the space. Steve’s mouth drops open, shock paralyzing him in the doorway. In the corner, Munson is pushed up against the wall, head thrown back with Bill Weatherstone’s lips attached to his neck. Munson’s hand is gripping at Bill’s thinning hair and his eyes meet Steve’s. A slow smile spreads across Munson’s face as he meets Steve’s gaze and he shoots Steve a wink before making a shooing motion with his free hand. Steve backs out of the room quietly, pulling the door closed behind him, his face burning red. His hand pulls at the knot in his tie, mouth suddenly dry as he makes his way back to the card game. Steve doesn’t even need to make his excuses to anyone back at the game, just grabs his jacket and flees the club.

Later that night, after he’s taken Marie out to the opera and delivered her safely home to her Manhattan townhouse, Steve lays in his bed and remembers the look on Munson’s face, the way he’d smiled at Steve with heavy lids, vision cloudy through the dark. 

Steve was good at reading people. He always had been, until he’d met Eddie Munson.

~*~

shoutout to @richhietozier for leaving some beautiful tags on one of my rotten brain au posts.

#steddie fanfic #steddie #steddie fanfiction #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #steveddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie blurb #inspired by Taylor Swift cowboy like me lolololo #I worked in a country club in my early twenties and I always got in trouble for letting people sit in the formal dining room #without sports coats or wearing jeans #that was a horrible job lol the men were GROSS!!!!

[ddeck]

cowboy!codywan are near and dear to me

#apparently #its casual cowboy friday somewhere out there #gonna go add fox to the au as well #star wars #the clone wars #tcw #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #codywan #deckdraws

[hippolotamus]

Fuck It Friday

Tagged by @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela @daffi-990 @steadfastsaturnsrings ... in true Fuck It spirit this is neither on Friday or very PG. I was very inspired by my wife @disasterbuckdiaz's snippet and this kinda spilled out.

No pressure tagging @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @giddyupbuck @stereopticons @monsterrae1 @spotsandsocks @honestlydarkprincess @eddiediaztho @thewolvesof1998 @forthewolves @chaosandwolves @wildlife4life @spaceprincessem @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @heartshapedvows @loserdiaz @watchyourbuck @your-catfish-friend @ladydorian05 @statueinthestone @buddierights @911onabc @jesuisici33 @pirrusstuff @cowboy-buddie if you wanna 😘

“You’re overthinking again. If you want to – and I’m pretty sure you do,” Eddie whispers, tracing his thumb along Buck’s lower lip, “I can help with that.” 

Eddie’s fingers trace along Buck’s jawline until they settle on his shoulder where they fit perfectly, his thumb nestled into the divot of Buck’s collarbone. A space that may as well have been marked Property of Eddie Diaz when Buck was born. 

“Y-you can?” Buck’s eyelids flutter closed, but he quickly forces them open again, not wanting to miss anything Eddie’s doing. 

Eddie presses a featherlight kiss to the corner of Buck’s mouth, first one side then the other, another to his cheekbone, until finally he’s right next to Buck’s ear, his voice low and sweet like the symphony of chirping grasshoppers and glowing fireflies in summer. “You know I can, sweetheart. Because I know you, and what you need right now. How your beautiful brain is so jumbled with thoughts you don’t know which one to turn to next. How you’re wishing they would all disappear. How badly you want someone else to take control. Because you could distract yourself, but you and I both know it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying.” 

Eddie kisses the hinge of Buck’s jaw, sending a shower of sparks racing down his spine, chasing after the offer Eddie’s delivering on a silver platter. “But I need you to tell me. Do you think you can do that, baby?” 

“F-fuck, Eddie. Yeah. Yes.”

“Yes?” Eddie purrs. “Yes, what? Yes, you can tell me what you need? Yes, you want me to take you apart and put you back together? Or yes, you want me to fuck you so thoroughly you don’t remember your own name?”

Jesus Christ. “All of that, Eds. God, everything. Want everything with you,” Buck babbles. 

Eddie pulls him in for a devastating, earth shattering kiss that would make Buck weak in the knees if he wasn’t already. His lips part when Eddie’s tongue teases at the seam, letting their tongues slide together. But then Eddie tears himself away and Buck whines, trying to chase after him. 

“Shhh, shh, shh. Just wait, it’s okay.” Eddie strokes Buck’s cheek, soothing his impatience. “Can you be a good boy for me?”

The words hit Buck with a force heavier than a tsunami wave, more intense than a bolt of lightning. He can’t help the way he immediately feels gooey and pliant, ready to obey. 

“Yes, sir. S’good. Can be so good.” Buck preens at the way Eddie’s breath hitches on the word sir. He feels like he’s been infused with sunshine and starlight, so happy he’s done something to please Eddie.

“Stand still. Right here. No matter what, okay? Not a muscle unless I tell you.” 

Buck nods eagerly.

“Words, darlin’.” Eddie’s drawl coats every syllable, unexpected but reassuring, and Buck wants to fucking live in it. Wants to wrap the honeyed intonation around himself like a second skin and never leave. “I need words.”

“Yes, sir. Won’t move. Promise.” 

Eddie hums in delight, taking a step back, just enough to create a pocket of space. He gathers the hem of Buck’s polo and lifts, silently commanding Buck to follow. Buck does, willingly, raising his arms for Eddie to complete his task. Eddie tosses it to the side then bites the tip of his thumb, walking in a slow circle, surveying. 

Buck casually wonders if this is how sculptures feel. Pieces put out in the world for public consumption. He would gladly stand here as long as Eddie wants him to, would allow Eddie to caress and carve and smooth him into an ideal shape.  

The sound of Eddie’s footsteps stop somewhere behind him, replaced by fingers fidgeting with buttons that make a quiet clack when the shirt hits the floor. Then there is only a maddening, heavy silence, leaving no indication of how close Eddie might be. Buck can’t detect his breathing, but knows Eddie – his partner – is still there. 

Sweet relief washes over him as Eddie wraps himself around Buck, hands sliding over his pecs and down the ridge of his abs, a blazing line of heat where Eddie’s chest presses against his back. Buck imagines, if he were to look, their bare skin would glow everywhere it touches. Two celestial beings burning bright and hot like stars in the night sky. 

Silent signals traverse between them like radio waves. Communications in the form of every one of Eddie’s touches and breaths fanning across the line of his neck, the shell of his ear, the point where the two meet. It’s something Buck supposes was inevitable. Eddie knows him in every other way. It’s not impossible to believe he knows this too. That Eddie would already be attuned to the ways Buck’s body reacts, the precise frequency of how he craves Eddie. Maybe it’s more obvious than Buck suspects. An aura of overwhelm and too much and too in his head that manifests as a primal, visceral need to submit. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn it radiates off of him in shades of sage, twilight, silver and violet. 

Eddie’s fingers skim outward, along the vee of Buck’s torso, over his wrists, trailing through coarse arm hair, up to the bend of Buck’s elbows. Buck wants to turn around, wants to capture Eddie’s mouth in a filthy kiss, wants to see the molten desire turning chocolate brown irises to nearly pure black. But that’s not what Eddie told him to do. Eddie had very specific instructions. And Buck is rather inclined to listen. He told Eddie he would be good for him. And he will. He wants to, more than anything. 

“Mmhmm,” Eddie hums, planting kisses like tiny flowers along the line of Buck’s shoulders. As if Buck is a wild, abandoned patch of earth that Eddie believes can grow something beautiful and transformative. Because, to Buck, Eddie couldn’t do anything less. He would never be capable of making something unsightly or unpleasant, even with Buck as a starting point. 

#remember kids #do as i say not as these two do with their vastly under negotiated (read: not all negotiated or discussed) kinks #and consent is *always* important #fuck it friday #unfortunately i have no idea when i'll do more with this #my brain is not super accommodating to sexy thoughts atm #i'm just lucky my gorgeous wife helps things along #fic: i light the match to taste the heat #idek how this many words came out tbh #hippo writes #buddie wip

[spotsandsocks]

Fuck it Friday

Another throw back for Fuck it Friday tagged by the wonderfully lovely @disasterbuckdiaz @wikiangela cover art for this fic from the talented @ronordmann

Tagging the creative and marvellous talents of @monsterrae1 @hippolotamus @honestlydarkprincess @loserdiaz @cowboy-buddie @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @elvensorceress @thewolvesof1998 @the-likesofus @like-the-rest-of-la @rogerzsteven @bekkachaos @jobairdxx @thekristen999 @stagefoureddiediaz @heartshapedvows @fiona-fififi @giddyupbuck @alyxmastershipper @spaceprincessem @canonicallyobserving911 @wildlife4life @princessfbi @housewifebuck @shortsighted-owl @buddierights @megsvstheworld if there is any art fics or edits to share

Like Lovers Do

Chim shrugs an apology as he makes a quick exit from the table and the situation he just created with a casual comment. Buck consoles himself with the fact that at least he looks a little sorry this time, not like the last time he dropped Buck in it over this particular mistake. 

The atmosphere around the table had taken a sharp left turn into awkward when Chimney had  jokingly referenced Buck’s brief and unfortunate liaison with the blonde currently laughing with Hen on the other side of the room. 

Buck silently curses as Eddie stares him down from the opposite side of the table.

Chim’s long gone, he abandoned the situation the second he realised Eddie hadn’t known about the kiss, so now Buck’s all alone with his best friend; usually he likes being alone with Eddie but this is definitely not his idea of a good time. 

Eddie’s looking at him with his lips pursed and eyebrows raised. It’s obvious he has questions about this new piece of information. Buck squirms under the scrutiny. He’d rather be anywhere else right now. 

In a cool voice the questioning starts; “You kissed Lucy? You never told me that.”

That’s true he hadn’t told him. Buck had kind of been hoping Eddie would never have to find out because he’s not proud of that particular moment. 

It was a mistake, such a huge mistake, one he preferred not to think about. He’d never cheated before, had always hated the concept and he knows he never would again. Buck had spent weeks trying to work out why he’d let it happen, why he’d kissed back, then kissed again. Even now he hates thinking about it although at least now he understands the why a bit more than he had then. 

Being back in therapy will do that. Over the last year, longer really  things had gotten pretty mixed up and dark in his head.  He’d hardly noticed the spiral downwards, it had been so slow and steady, it had just become normal for him to feel that way. He hadn’t noticed but Eddie had. 

He’d laugh if it was funny; as Eddie had worked through his issues and found his balance Buck had lost his, but Eddie had seen him, noticed what was happening and been there to steady him when he tripped and stumbled.

When things got really bad, the cumulative effects of so many parts of his life, Eddie had gently suggested Buck start talking to a therapist again. Eddie’s apparently a big fan of therapy these days. 

So he had and now he’s spent a fair number of hours talking about all the things that pull at his heart and twist his thoughts and some of those things definitely contributed to the moment that Eddie’s only just found out about. 

His best friend knows a lot about him but he doesn't know everything, god no, not everything. The kiss is only one of the things he’s been keeping to himself. 

Eddie’s still waiting for details and he doesn’t look very impressed with the delay. Unable to see an escape Buck plunges in with the truth.

“It, it was just a stupid thing I did.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, Buck knows what he’s doing and falls for it anyway, he fills the gap with more words, desperate to avoid the silence.

“I was just embarrassed to tell you, you know, because of all the stupid. It wasn’t like I was deliberately not, not telling you.”

It totally was.

“it just didn’t come up.” 

Eddie frowns “Why’d you do it?”

That’s a big question and the answer is more complicated than he wants to get into with the man opposite him. He goes with half an answer, half the truth, the parts that can safely be shared.

Avoiding Eddie’s eyes he explains the best he can “I was unhappy with Taylor.” 

He doesn’t add the rest - because I wasn’t in love with her, I was just clinging to an illusion. Taylor had been another mistake he made. He knows more about that choice as well now.

“and I was drunk” 

Eddie pulls a face, eyebrows shooting up even higher.

“Neither one is an excuse” he adds quickly “I know that.”

“When?”

He fudges that with “a while ago,” and a quieter,  “when you were at dispatch”.

That’s all he’s going to say because the rest of the answer he needs to keep to himself. Eddie can’t know about all of it. They can’t talk about that. 

Weeks of therapy have let Buck see what else played a part in his monumentally stupid decision that evening and he can hardly tell Eddie what he’s worked out. 

No - he can’t imagine a universe where he drops that particular bombshell on his friend.  As if he could just sit down next to Eddie and casually say, ‘hey, did you know I kissed Lucy once and guess what… I’ve worked out that I did it because I was miserable with Taylor and without you. I did it because you told me to move on and didn’t show up that night, because you left me behind and I didn’t know what to do with that feeling.

And the real kicker; his biggest secret, the root of the problem, the thing that they don’t (can’t?) talk about, the thing that laid the first stone in the path to his poor choices.

Well, how is he supposed to explain that, can he say ‘oh yeah and one more thing; you got shot in front of me and it changed me. I had your blood on my face, on my lips and I can still taste it. 

continue on AO3

#buddie #911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie fic #911 on fox #911fic #911 fic