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midnightarcheress · 1 month

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cowgirl

a little bar challenge characters: simon 'ghost' riley, john 'soap' mactavish, kyle 'gaz' garrick, john price cw: nsfw, fem!reader, tf141 lusting for their teammate, idk there's nothing much

"i'm not going on that!" you exclaimed, crossing your arms at the man in front of you.

the buzzing of a bar after a successful mission was a familiar sound for the task force. the glasses clinking, the chatter of old and new friends, the horrible background music, and the abhorrent pick-up lines would, weirdly enough, calm your nerves after days covered in heavy gear and harboring pent-up stress. or maybe the source of your mind's serenity was just the alcohol already flowing on your bloodstream, courtesy of the three tequila shots you were - willingly - forced into drinking.

"come on, bonnie, it will be fun!" Soap said, pointing at the sign propped above the mechanical bull, "besides, ye can win the hat for us."

you scoffed, glancing at the direction the scot referred, right after seeing another contender fall to the bouncy mat under the bull, followed by a string of boo's from the watchful horde. bold red lettering stated 'break the bar's record and win a cowboy hat!', tempting drunk custumers into fooling themselves for a measly prize.

"i bet she's scared," Gaz prompted, adding fuel to Johnny's pleas, "don't wanna be mocked by the crowd."

you rolled your eyes in response, "i'm not scared, Gaz, i just don't see what all the fuss is about. why don't you do it?"

"nuh-uh, don't turn this on me, missy. you're the one being challenged here," he retorted, earning a soundful hum from Soap, "tell you this, if you manage to stay there for a full minute, i'll pay you a twenty. don't even have to stand the whole three minutes of the record."

Ghost and Price stayed quiet during the whole exchange, unimpressed by the trio's shenanigans. they had endured too many drinking competitions, bets, dares, arguments and blatantly stupid ideas coming from the youngsters of the squad over the years, so nothing fazed the two superiors. underneath their apathy, however, lied a real sense of entertainment, illustrated by discreet smirks after particularly dumb comments - usually dropped by Soap's mouth.

"make it a fifty and we have a deal." you smirked, sipping from your beer pint. if you were gonna humiliate yourself in public, it better be for real cash.

"fifty if you break the record, how does that sound?"

after a second of pondering and a few too many glances at the machine's movements, studying it meticulously to engrave how to properly react when the controller jolts the apparatus from side to side, you uttered a hesitant yes, winning a cheerful chant from your friends and some whistles from the audience.

you stepped on the mat and quickly hopped on the mechanical bull, adjusting your legs around the fake saddle. it shouldn't be that hard, right? the initial movements were easy - just holding on the chord and letting the laws of motion do the work. you didn't want to admit, but it was actually pretty fun.

eventually, the controller decided he was being too gentle and started picking up the pace, making your body rock back and forth on bull, decision that knocked the air out of your lungs for a split second, before you composed yourself and tightened your grip on the handles like your life depended on it. the crowd shouted gleefully, encouraging you to push through, despite a few snarky comments preying on your fall, just the expected.

what you didn't expect - and neither realized - was the way your teammates were reacting.

Gaz stood there with his jaw almost reaching the floor, being impressed not only by your sturdy grip, but mostly by the way your back arched when the machine tilted forward, defining your muscles through the skin-tight fabric of your shirt. even if you didn't endure the whole minute from the initial bet, he was willing to give you his entire wallet, just to watch you ride it again, and definitely not to imagine you bouncing on his lap for a little longer.

Soap, who has always been aware of your beauty, suddenly had to sit down after feeling his pants tighten at the sight of your plump ass jiggling due the repeated impacts on the bull's back, in desperate attempts to grind yourself. in addition, the tiniest bit of your lacy underwear peeking out of the dark jeans that hugged your hips flawlessly wasn't helping with his situation.

the daring smile that painted your lips, juxtaposing the concentrated frown of your eyes as you tried your best to not fall during an exceptionally wild movement, only supplied Ghost's cock with an overflow of blood, twitching at the view of your plush thighs clenching around the bucking machine whenever it defied your determination by leaning too much on the sides, shaking to make you collapse on the mat.

Price, however, acted as gentleman the whole time, just admiring your ability and strength to stay clutched to the unpredictable machinery. that, of course, was only until he got a view of your perfectly round tits, taunting the edges of your low-cut top and threatening to spill out at any given minute, ready to give him a real show. the adrenaline-filled flush that gave your cheeks an innocent pink hue, felt very similar to the sudden rush on his shaft that made your captain almost choke on his scotch.

three minutes and forty-seven seconds.

"that was so much fun!" your giggly shout and stumbling figure getting closer to the group was enough to snap the men out of their trance. they quickly took notice of your wide grin and the brown cowboy hat placed on your head, followed by the loud screaming of the public that just witnessed the bar's record being broken.

"come on, pay up, Gaz." you said, sticking your palm to receive your well deserved money in a contained victory dance.

the four men glanced at each other, gathering the courage to speak up after your little performance that had them weak on the knees for a colleague.

"didn't think you had it in ye, bonnie." Soap stated as Gaz reached for the wallet in his back pocket, almost considering giving you a fat tip for the spectacle. the sergeants were certainly doing a poor job in hiding the blush on their cheeks and small beads of sweat on their foreheads, consequence of trying to ignore the tent formed on their trousers.

your superiors, on the contrary, remained quiet and seemingly undisturbed by the previous scene, silently sipping from their glasses but still watching the chatting trio. only now, they wouldn't dare to get up and risk the others - specifically you - noticing their throbbing cocks marking their pants, yearning for the touch of your silky flesh.

after collecting your gains, you rapidly swayed to the bar counter, ordering a new drink with your sweet, sweet money, while the task force members ultimately etched the sight of you riding the mechanical bull in the deepest corner of their brains - saving the images for the great release when you all get back to base.

okay this is my first official thingy i feel so silly. also english is not my first language so...

#cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #tf141 #tf141 x reader #ghost cod #soap cod #gaz cod #fem!reader #cod mw #cod mw2 #oneshot #nyx writes ☾#midnightarcheress

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 1 year

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Jake Seresin And The Unfortunate Hat Situation

jake seresin x fem!reader 3k words

summary: You’re visiting Jake’s family in Texas for the first time and so far, it’s been going well. Just that Jake may have forgotten to mention the hat rule.

another cowboy fic because i fucking can

disclaimer: strong allusions to smut. im not kidding. this is basically straight up dirty talk all the way through

a/n: i’m warning you once about all the inaccuracies in here and thats it. read at your own risk. i have literally no clue whatsoever about texas and/or cowboys and did not have it in me to research cowboy history for hours on end, like- i tried, okay? i really did try. i know facts about cowboy hats now that i never felt the need to know (though “dont sleep with your cowboy hat on”, um... yeah? thanks? i totally would have done that otherwise) but i still do not have the information to back this shit up lmao

top gun masterlist

(yes i did have to use an everybody wants some gif. during the past week ive rewatched this film more times than i can count and i will take every opportunity i get to talk about it)

“Enlighten me”, you chuckled, spreading your arms, a bottle of beer in your right hand. “Why are none of the cowboys wearing cowboy hats? Isn’t that kind of their thing?”

You were visiting Texas for the first time - a week off of work, away from the Navy and the Dagger Squad for a bit, to meet Jake’s friends and family back home. You’d talked to most every one of them over the phone whenever he had found the time to call, but you’d never actually met them in person before this. So it had been an adventure from the start: getting on a plane in San Diego to take you to Texas where Jake had grown up, being picked up at the airport by his mother, driving two hours to the farm they owned (”You grew up on a farm?”, you’d asked when he’d told you, wheezing at the mental image of teenage Jake herding sheep), meeting his dad, being surprised by both his sisters, getting to see his childhood bedroom.

And then, to top it off: the sound of his alarm at the crack of dawn this morning to go teach you how to ride a horse.

Needless to say that you’d been buzzing with nervous energy for the past few days. Not that you weren’t happy - it was just all a bit much at once.

After lunch he’d taken you into the city and you’d gone shopping for some real cowboy boots. He’d planned to take you to a bar in the evening, to introduce you to some friends. After all you only had a week here and neither of you felt like missing out on something.

When you’d wanted to try cowboy hats in the store too, Jake had snatched them from you and grabbed your hands, pulling you close to him, telling you that you’d get one when you’d become a real cowgirl. Since you doubted that would ever happen, you’d pouted and tried to convince him with kisses and, when that hadn’t worked, half-hearted threats, but he wouldn’t be persuaded even the slightest. He’d only looked down at you with raised eyebrows until you’d caved and satisfied yourself with cursing under your breath.

So here you were: Cowboy boots, jeans shorts and a button-up and no cowboy hat in sight.

Actually, there was one in sight. Jake was wearing his, in all his Texan glory, laughing with some of his friends at the bar. The thing was, he was the only guy wearing his hat. There were some cowboys strutting about with them on their heads, but most of them didn’t have one - hat hair, yes, but no hat. Hence your initial question: “Why are none of the cowboys wearing cowboy hats?”

“Shit, Jake didn’t tell you?”, Kendra - one of Jake’s only female friends here, who’d immediately decided she liked you and pulled you to one of the tables for some girl talk - let out a laugh. “No wonder it’s still on his head. We were getting worried already.”

It was pretty clear to everyone that you weren’t from around here, so you saw no reason to hide your confusion.

“Now you’ve lost me entirely. What?”, you asked, masking your frown with a laugh. You’d been here for hardly two days and you didn’t think you’d felt as embarrassed ever before. You knew about literally nothing. At least you’d done somewhat well at horseback riding, which could’ve been because of Jake’s arms around you and his hands over yours as you - he - held the reins, but either way you were proud of yourself for not falling off and landing on your ass.

“It’s like this: Ladies didn’t wear hats for a really long time. Cowboys wore the hats. So when you saw a lady with a cowboy hat on - that was her man’s. A sign that she belonged to him. Property shit and all.” She waved it off as if dismissing the concept. “Changed over the past few decades, of course. Better that way too. Ladies can wear whatever they want now. But the thought kind of stuck. You see a guy without a hat, he’s probably taken. You see a girl with a hat, that’s probably her man’s. And before you ever steal a hat, you should know the hat rule.”

You raised your eyebrows. Your stomach did weird little flips as she talked. Jake hadn’t explained any of this to you.

“The hat rule?”, you asked. Kendra grinned and leaned in, pretending to let out some big secret.

“You wear the hat”, she said and paused for a second for dramatic effect, “You wear the cowboy.”

You breathed out.

“Oh.”

Oh my ass, you thought.

Jake hadn’t let you buy your own hat for a reason. And then he’d gone ahead and not given you that reason. What the actual fuck.

You would’ve loved to wear his hat. You would’ve loved the thought of him claiming you like that, letting you wear his hat, showing everyone that yeah, you were Jake Seresin’s girl. But no. He’d left you completely in the dark, hadn’t let a single word slip. And he was still wearing that goddamn hat himself.

Like a single fucking guy, not a man in a loving relationship.

Somehow, now that you knew, you were more annoyed by the fact that he was wearing it than that he just hadn’t told you at all. God, he could’ve left it at home. He could’ve taken it off. He could’ve just put it on your head without telling you why if he didn’t want to.

And right there, that was the part you just didn’t understand. Why hadn’t he told you? He should have known you well enough by now to realise that you would absolutely adore wearing that hat. Not only because you wanted to wear a hat (which you did) but also because you wanted to wear his hat (which you did even more). After all, it wasn’t only him claiming you - it was you claiming him as well. And as horrible as the history of that hat rule was, in this present day you felt like it would only have been fair of him to tell you. You wanted to have that chance of showing him off. Of him showing you off, which he did so happily back in San Diego.

“Hey”, Kendra said, her expression a bit more serious as she put a hand to your arm and pulled you from your thoughts. “I’m sure Jake didn’t mean to hurt you. He may seem like a bastard, but he’s actually a real sweetheart.”

You snorted at her, nodding along.

“He is”, you agreed. “Which is kind of why it hurts even more. I don’t get why he wouldn’t just tell me. It’s not like he’s ever been scared I’d say no to him or something.”

Kendra smiled and squeezed your arm reassuringly.

“Try not to worry about it too much. Just ask him when you get home later, yeah? Communication is key.” Her smile turned into a grin. She winked at you. “And hey, you can always wear my hat if you’d like.”

You forced yourself to smile as well as you took a sip of your beer. “If I actually were single, I’d definitely take you up on that offer, but I’m not, and I don’t think Jake would like it much.”

Her grin only deepened. She had dimples, you realised, and the hat on her head matched her eye colour. You were glad to have her here with you. She was someone you were sure you could become good friends with over time.

“That makes it even better”, she said conspicuously. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her ankles over the edge of the table as she tipped her hat back. “He never told you about the hats. You don’t know anything in his eyes, honey. Use it against him.”

There was a twinkle in her gaze that told you she was looking for nothing short of mischief and you had the distinct feeling that she’d been the ‘bad influence’ on Jake in high school that he’d talked about so often. She seemed like a troublemaker. But she also seemed genuine. And she was right - in Jake’s eyes, you were getting to know one of his friends, talking about some girly stuff (which he probably assumed was himself), having a nice night. Not learning about cowboy customs that he’d just so forgotten to mention.

Jake usually didn’t get jealous. He trusted you the same way you trusted him. But he got possessive nonetheless - always with a hand on your back when you were talking to someone he thought was flirting with you, kissing you at the most inappropriate times, making sure that everyone knew you were his. Now he’d had the goddamn chance and hadn’t taken it. And you didn’t fucking know why.

But you were damn determined to find out.

Kendra slid the hat off her head and offered it to you. You took one deep breath before you reached for it.

You let your fingertips skip over the rim for a moment. Were you really about to do this? Then you put it on your head.

Alright. If Jake wasn’t going to tell you about the way this worked on his own accord, you’d make him tell you.

Kendra emptied her beer and you followed suit before the both of you got up. She grabbed both bottles in one hand, turning to you to send you another of those winks.

“I’ll bring these back to the bar and get us new ones. The dancefloor’s all yours.”

With a nervous smile, you adjusted your newly aqcuired hat and made your way onto the dancefloor. There was soft music playing in the background - country, of course, loud but not loud enough to disturb conversation. It wasn’t late enough for that just yet. Which was honestly a relief, since you had zero clue whatsoever about line dancing or whatever it was they did down here. This way there were only a few couples twirling each other back and forth and some people moving to the beat all on their own. You let out a breath and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to really feel the music: the guitar, the steady drums, the vocals.

Slowly, you started swaying - from one side to the other, turning, twirling, one step, then the next, heels here, toes there. A grin was making its way onto your face. The music grew, not as much in volume as in pace, and you didn’t know just when you had started to forget about everything except your movements (like the people watching, for example), but then the song changed and you gasped as you realised you knew it. Eyes fluttering open, hands coming together to clap, lips twisting into an actual laugh as you sang along, catching Kendra’s gaze and waving her over.

She joined you with a laugh, grabbed your hand to twirl you around, and god, her voice was heavenly. For just a split second you wondered how Jake hadn’t ended up falling for her. You certainly would have.

And speaking - more like thinking, but whatever - of the devil, you felt an all too familiar hand on your shoulder. You turned at the same time that Kendra let go of you, allowing you to admire your boyfriend in all his furious glory.

Not that he actually looked furious. Not to anyone but you, not with that facade he wore whenever anyone got under his skin. But you, well... You’d been with him long enough to understand that twitch of his jaw, that tension in his shoulders, that flicker in his eyes. And yet - the cowboy hat still sat on his head.

“I got it from here, Kendra”, he said, eyes fixed on yours, as you held your breath. She snorted, but still made to move away, muttering something under her breath that you didn’t catch. Then Jake spoke again. “Take your hat, Kendra.”

He grabbed it from where it rested on your head and threw it at her without looking away from you. She sucked in a breath.

“If you throw my hat again, I’ll kick your ass, Seresin”, she said and you could tell that even though they were friends, she wasn’t kidding. Shit, the people here were really fucking serious about their hats. Another reason why you were mad at Jake for not telling you about any of it.

“Next time, don’t set it on my girl’s head”, he growled - growled, really, you didn’t know what else to call it. She scoffed and walked off.

“How could she know I was your girl?”, you whispered, challenging him even though he already looked like you’d crossed some line that he’d drawn without telling you. “How could anyone?”

For a few moments, he kept quiet. You defiantly stared up at him. Should he think whatever he fucking wanted to, this was entirely his fault.

Then something changed in his expression.

“You found out about the hat rule”, he said, “And the first thing you did was go and put on somebody else’s.”

“Well if my boyfriend doesn’t want to have me wear his hat-”

You couldn’t react as quickly as Jake had gripped you by the waist and pulled you close to him, forcing you to tip your head back to keep looking at him. He was, in fact, so close now that you could just kiss him and honestly, you were tempted. Just as tempted as you’d been when he’d come out of the bathroom looking like that, just as tempted as you’d been when you’d left the house, just as tempted as you’d been in his truck. But you were also stubborn. And you had good reasons not to kiss him right now (even though they were getting harder and harder to remember by the second).

“Darling, I’d go wild for you with my hat on.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“So why am I not wearing it?”, you asked through gritted teeth. You couldn’t quite believe just how easily this whole situation was getting under your skin. But it seriously hurt your ego - and not just that. The fact that Jake hadn’t told you about something so important in his hometown, some, as ridiculous as it may be, piece of culture, something that would so clearly show everyone that you were dating him, really, actually, seriously dating him, stung more than you wanted to admit. It was like someone had asked him outright if he was taken and he’d said no.

“‘Cause I told you to wait”, he drawled, “Didn’t I? Wait ‘til you’re a real cowgirl.”

Curiosity and frustration were mixing in your stomach, a weird, dangerous combo. You grabbed for his collar, pulling on it just a bit too hard - nothing he couldn’t stand his ground against. You were feeling insulted by all this and you found that you should let him know.

“What’s a girl like me gotta do to become one in your eyes, hm, Hangman?”

Hangman. You only called him that when you meant business. It was like a mother using her child’s full name whenever it got in serious trouble. Jake stiffened, fingers digging into your hips so firmly that you were sure you’d be able to see the marks in the mirror later on. You’d hit a nerve. Always did when you called him by his callsign. No more Jake, no more baby, none of that.

“Behave”, he said, eyes fixed on yours, that one word carrying so much more meaning. You didn’t care. For once, you really didn’t fucking care. You wanted him riled up, wanted him furious, wanted him right at this breaking point. So you smiled.

“Like a dog?”

He’d smashed his lips on yours before you could react.

All teeth and tongue, decisive, possessive, angry. You didn’t want to give in as quickly as you did. But he hardly left you a choice - he was everywhere, arms wrapped so tightly around you, chest pressed so firmly against yours, not giving you the option to escape, to duck away, to tease him any further. So instead of doing that, instead of making him run after you more, you let him have the control. All of it. Instead of turning, instead of making him chase you, you pulled him close to you by his collar with all the force you could manage, pulled him into you, pulled him with you as you stumbled backwards from the sudden change of weight, put your entire trust in him to keep you upright. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t want to if that meant letting go.

Not with how much emotion you were putting into this fucking kiss.

Jake was the one to break away first. Pupils blown, cheeks reddened (you were sure you looked even worse), panting. You loosened your grip on his collar and ran a hand through your hair instead.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you remembered that you were still in a bar, still in the middle of the dancefloor, still under the watchful eyes of his friends. A different part was screaming at you to fuck it and fuck him right here, right now.

“Shit”, he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. His hat let a shadow fall over both your faces. “You’re gon’ be the death of me someday.”

“Hopefully not too soon”, you teased, a smile playing on your lips as he pulled back just a bit. “I still gotta find out how to become a cowgirl after all.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up as well. He raised his eyebrows, examining you for a second.

“You really wanna know, sweetheart?”

You let out a laugh. “Fuck yeah.”

He leaned in close, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, and you had to swallow. This felt intimate, somehow.

“You’re gon’ be a cowgirl once you rode your cowboy.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He pulled back with a grin. Smug, you realised. He was so fucking proud of himself for this - for having caught you off guard like that. You couldn’t let him win that easily. Not with that already inflated ego.

“All of this just to get me into your bed?”, you chuckled. “Damn, Seresin. Lotta work for no reason, hm? I’m in it at the end of every day anyway.”

He shrugged - as best as he could with his hands still on your waist.

“What can I say? I aim to please.”

You couldn’t help but grin too. The angry, sizzling tension had dissolved into something much more pleasant, much more dizzying. Something that set your skin ablaze and your mind on fire. You grabbed one of his hands from your waist and intertwined your fingers with his.

“Want to get out of here?”, you asked. He leaned in and kissed you with a smile - slow and steady and sensual, wholly different from before.

When he pulled back, you were breathless again.

“Always.”

#top gun #x reader #top gun x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #hangman #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #cowboy fics

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 25 days

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HII okay so ik this is a bit of a weird request (or maybe im js rlly anxious rn for some reason??) BUT i was wondering if u could do like little head canons of Leo and a female reader who has like, a really deep country accent IYKWIM?? PLS N THANK U dont rush or anything js a small request🫶🫶

✮⋆˙ howdys, yeehaws, and cowgirls; leo valdez x western! daughter of apollo! reader blurb

content: leo valdez x western! daughter of apollo! reader blurb warning: lanauage and stereotyping (?) of texans but it's okay yall will get over it author's note: as someone from rural california (yes ive been trying to gaslight you guys into thinking i live on the beach when really it's three hours away stfu) and literally just went to a school sanctioned line dance that is quite literally more anticipated than prom, i feel more than qualified to answer this prompt lmao. ive seen a pair of cowboys more than once everyday my whole life. for FUN kids i know raise pigs and cows and lambs and shit and then sell them off at fairs. also do not stress bby, this wasn't a weird request at all! in fact it was so good i made a whole blurb lmao. ALEXA play my childhood country playlist, thank you miss girl. 10 year old me knew good music when she heard it okay, stfu. OH AND PLAY COWBOY CARTER WHILE YOUR AT IT YALL COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE BEYOUNCE LEAVE MY GIRL ALONE FRFR you just dont wanna admit the albums good smh

to say leo missed texas, would be a lie. there was a deep ache in his chest to just go home. it was a strange feeling, considering he couldn't remember the last time he was in that state, as the foster system was eager to drag him all over the country. he missed the sticky and dry heat, he missed the longhorn cows that always seemed to be in the roads, and what he missed most of all was whattaburger. him and will mourned the loss of the beloved food chain weekly, if not daily. but, he only ever mentioned these feelings around will and simply in passing. he didn't think people would understand why he missed the state who's accent he tried his best to rid himself of.

which is why, when news spread of a new camper from texas, leo was buzzing to meet them. what was failed to be mentioned in the rumors, though, was the fact that you were a girl and also drop dead gorgeous. he was staring at you in a way that would have his mother smacking him upside the head, cursing him out in spanish. it took a bit for him to introduce himself, his nerves allowing his accent to slip through occationally.

"are ya from texas?" you asked, eagerly, your eyes brightening in a way that had leo's knees buckling. your voice, oh gods, your voice-

"yeah," he breathed out, bordering on a coo as you cheered.

"finally! and here i thought there were no cowboys left in new york," you teased, poking his chest with a finger before someone from the hermes cabin was calling you over. you flashed him a smile brigther than the sun on a hot texas day and scampered off, your cowgirl booties with bows clanking to the beat of leo's heart as you went.

from that day forwards, it was hard to see you without leo close by. finally, someone else to talk to about texas. sure, will was great, but he was a busy guy with all his medical stuff and boyfriend. and your voice left leo like a fly to honey. it was sexy and got him hot and heavy. but, it was also a comforting dialect that had him thinking of childhood, sweet tea, and sweltering heat.

and then you were claimed by apollo, only a few days after your arrival. i guess apollo has a thing for cowgirls, and leo couldn't relate to the god more if he tried. leo was slightly worried that you'd turn out just like will, locked up inside the infirmary, destined only to share passing comments of missing real texan barbeque. but, then you came up to leo during lunch, blushing as you admitted that you fainted when kayla pressed the scalpel into your hand. and leo laughed, and silently thanked his lucky lone star.

then the more musically talented apollo kids caught wind of the fact that you sang in your church's choir as a kid and nearly blew the whole camp up in excitement. something about wanting to do a country performance for camp but never having a lead singer with the accent as they'd rather jump into the sea of monsters in speedos then listen to will attempt to sing. naturally, you were more than happy to sing, excitedly telling leo about the country songs you were picking out, even letting him request a few of his childhood favorites.

and as you were prancing around on that slapdash stage with your siblings, singing proudly into a mic with your accent clear as day, leo fell a little bit more in love with you every note. and he fell back in love with texas, too, and everything it meant to him - everything he knew it meant to his mom. every twang of your voice and every playful tip of your cowboy hat had him thinking of how much his mother would have loved you or how he had wished the two of you could have met. nevertheless, he was laughing and singing along, front and center with will, there arms thrown around each other. they both wore barely thrown together western outfits, thought will had a hat, that despite leo's begging, he wouldn't give up.

at some point in the show, you were singing of coca cola and tight shirts, kneeling near the edge of the stage. leo was entranced as you locked eyes with him, just barely computing that you took your hat off and set it on his curls before jumping back up to your feet, singing about wanting to be wherever your boy was, throwing a wink to leo over your shoulder.

and gods, you were hotter than the blazing texas sun in the middle of summer, that much leo valdez was sure.

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #hoo #pjo #heroes of olympus x reader #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x oc

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catfern · 10 months

Text

cowboy!ellie headcanons

pairing: ellie williams x afab!reader

music: roses are falling - orville peck

word count: 1.2k

warnings: fingering (briefly), drunk sex-ish, guns??, yearning and just sappy shit mainly im in a vulnerable state

an: this is shit brainrot bc i've played too much rdr2 and i want ellie to let me ride her cowgirl style. this took me for-fucking-ever because i got acrylics and dropped my wpm from 108 to 67. also if i put out a poll asking what fic to post next would people vote

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✷ cowboy!ellie having the most pornographic, velvet-laced southern accent known to man. drawling out words in a whisper, that reassured wit sitting in her throat with a lopsided smirk. she’s such a tease, knowing how it gets to you, that ‘c’mon, sweetheart, you gonna make me wait f’you?’ after she trots ahead, glancing back at you under the wide brim of her hat. please, trying to make eye contact with ellie after a long day of riding (ifykyk), seeing just a glance of the veins in her neck, beads of sweat sitting in the little crevices as she leans down to her saddle bag. god, her hands!! and she looks at you, that knowing impatience and ‘okay there, darlin’?, and you can’t look at her, your head swimming and drowning in the molasses of her voice and too focused on the up, down, up, down, up trot of your horse.

✷ setting up camp for the night, bed mats a good distance away from each other, and you wake up, fire dying, moon high, and ellie is still awake, hands covered in dirt and ash and rust from her old revolver that she cleans too occasionally. the gentle scratch of charcoal on parchment, her body hunched over, protective like a creature, and when you call out to her, she TOSSES her journal into the dirt like it burned to touch. if the moon wasn’t so faint, you’d see the uncharacteristic blush fleeting across her cheeks, but too quickly, she tells you to go back to sleep, she’s just staying up to take care of the fire. you listen in a haze, and ellie tears out the five, maybe 6 pages?? of rough sketches, harsh lines etching out your body, your smile, your eyes, and stamps them into the cooling embers of the campfire.

✷ if we’re talking historically accurate cowboys, ellie is definitely the type to believe in dinosaurs!! it’s this new, fresh, science fad and everybody laughs at her for it, cause omg?? giant lizards?? nah!! but ellie is so adamant, reading every paper and pamphlet on the subject that she can get her hands on (assuming she can even read lets be so real), and she’ll tell you about it! small, reluctant meanders from more important topics, at first, but you’re kind and you listen to words either of you barely understand, and sure it’s a little bit boring, but she’s happy, and for some reason she makes it incredibly dynamic, crash coursing you on lizards that evolved (a buzz word in all her pamphlets) into BIGGER lizards.

✷ cowboy!ellie, the horse whisperer. she doesn’t teach you to ride, but you’ve never had a way with horses, cantankerous and rough, so you need a lil bit of assistance. ellie will take the lead, letting you rock behind her on your horse, your arms draped around her like common occurrence, and she’ll turn, ‘see? be gentle, she’ll listen. you’re a team, y’know?’

✷ ‘she just likes you more than me.’

✷ her laugh is boisterous, loud, it sounds like it belongs amongst the hills and caverns, like wind against rocks, ‘no one likes me more than you, flower.’

✷ one day, you’re just passing through a small town, nothing more than a few shops and scattered farm houses, and ellie spies an outlaw poster, poorly tacked to the community bulletin board. it’s her, badly sketched, sure. her chin is way too big, nose a bit askew, but it’s definitely her. and you laugh as she presses you frantically, ‘i don’t really look like this? do i?’ and it’s got some ridiculous nickname that definitely over-inflates her ego, ‘ellie 'longshot’ williams (no one has called her that ever) that she’ll parade it around like a medal

✷ ‘aw, love, do you need some help shootin’? don’t call me long shot for nothin’.’

✷ you’d get a bit vulgar, a bit defensive because, yeah, maybe ellie is actually good at shooting, and you could benefit from her teaching. but that fucking nickname, lording over your head with that lilt in her voice, and the childish, goading smile, you’d tell her to shove it somewhere the sun don’t shine and just pray luck guides your bullet.

✷ your now-so-serious scowl eats at her, so ellie has to swallow her boyish pride and shut up, simply falling behind you. gently tapping your shin with her boot to get you to adjust your stance, her hands stretching out over yours to feel out the barrel of the foreign pistol. they’re rough, calloused, unmade for this sort of gentle gesture, but you welcome the heat that they give. with a soft push and pull, like a tide she moves your fingers, your hands, to hold the gun well. her voice is a whisper as she instructs, ‘don’t hold it so loosely. stronger grip helps aim.’

✷ she’s shaking in her boots. a moment like this, tender, with you is scarcely shared. the closeness burns her chest as she feels you breathe against her, skittish but assured, ellie’s finger snaking around yours to settle on the trigger. you go to fire, and the recoil sends you backwards in a shock, ellie having to move her hands from the gun to your waist to keep you steady. you laugh something coarse, leaning back into her without a thought. adrenaline intimacy.

✷ ‘okay, maybe y’need a few more lessons before you get it right.’ it’s a selfish thought, but it cements ellie in that moment, with you just in her reach, and her revolver. she’d clean it for you.

✷ cowboy!ellie doing stupid shit, like taking longer detours to show you the scenery, the stretching fields and great mountain waterfalls, stopping to pick wildflowers (she’s a sap), or taking the extra care to saddle up your horse for you, securing the girth and not letting you touch it because ‘i don’t need you slippin’ on me.’ she takes care of you, out on the road, it’s not an official thing, but you’re off limits.

✷ ellie is kind, but sex with her isn’t. the first time, she’s terribly drunk, playing away her night in a saloon, at a poker table (she’s losing), and you’re sat at the bar, wearing that, and it’s violently throwing her off her game, so she decides to make it known that your presence is an interruption. dragging you upstairs, she’s unkind. ‘you’re not helping my luck, looking like that.’

✷ ‘how do you need me, then?’

✷ she tastes like cigarette smoke, and bourbon, and she smells like the sleek of rain on dry dirt, and feeling her all over you is intoxicating, rough. she’s quick, her lips aren’t soft but rather, a grating possession on your skin, a feeling that swallows you, melts you down in the heat of her hands. she swears, a lot, it sounds like disbelief but really, it’s a bribe. a prayer. ‘dear god, give me this, let me have this, and i will be devout.’ it’s primal, something uncontrollable. drunk, it’s worse. she loses herself in the haze, becomes complete disregard, her fingers inside you without hearing you, just feeling you. lost in you and she keeps pounding into you simply because she’s enraptured by the feeling of you clenching around her.

#ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams smut #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams headcanons #ellie the last of us #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie x reader

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lackadaisicallizard · 6 months

Text

Costumes

Yes, I know it's halloween and I tried to write angst but I couldn't do it.

So enjoy this bit of Halloween fluff instead.

“Don’t laugh.”

James is clearly trying very hard to keep a straight face. “I’m not laughing.”

Regulus scowls at his husband. “Why on Earth am I dressed as a discount Dolly Parton right now, James?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what costume it is. You know exactly what costume it is.” James’ resolve falters and his lips curl up in amusement.

Yes, Regulus does know what costume it is. He is currently wearing blue jeans with cow-print chaps, a white and yellow top, and a red cowgirl hat complete with a fake red plait that’s fetchingly draped over his left shoulder.

“Why do you get to be Woody and I’m stuck with the frilly yellow fabric?” Regulus walks over to the mirror next to the wardrobe and glares at his reflection as he tweaks the cuffs on his ridiculous sleeves.

James isn’t put off though it seems as he comes to stand behind him, his smile wide now. “If it helps, you look very cute in cow-print.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Are you telling me you have a thing for cowboys now, Potter?”

James laughs lightly as he wraps his arms around Regulus’ chest and his own hands subconsciously move to hold them. He can’t help himself. James Potter and his strong arms have always been his weakness. Well, one of them anyway.

“Nah I have a thing for you,” James bends down to kiss his cheek, his next words low in his ear, “although now that you mention it, the chaps…”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Keep it in your pants, Potter, we’ve got places to be.”

As if on cue, the bedroom door is flung open and the world’s most adorable Buzz Lightyear comes bounding in. “Daddy you said you’d be ten minutes and it’s definitely been way more than that!”

James lets go of Regulus’ chest, but keeps his right arm wrapped around his husband’s waist as he turns to face their son.

“Sorry Harry. I was ready in ten minutes but your papa was taking his time as usual.”

Regulus hits him lightly in the stomach. “Maybe if I didn’t have to figure out how to pin my hair up so it didn’t show under the wig, we’d be leaving on time.”

James nods. “It does look good, love. Don’t you think so Harry?”

Harry nods too, a mirror image of his father. “You look just like Jessie! She’s my favourite you know? Well, after Buzz.”

And how could Regulus do anything but melt at that comment? Because this is the reason he agreed to the ridiculous outfit- his son’s request for them to dress as his favourite characters from his favourite movie.

Harry is and always will be his biggest weakness.

Regulus finally smiles now, fully and properly, and moves to kneel down in front of the grinning six year old, adjusting the helmet that is slightly wonky on his head. “Buzz is my favourite too.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. How could he not be?”

“Exactly! Daddy says that his favourite is Rex.”

“Yes well Daddy is wrong as usual.”

“Hey!” Regulus turns to his husband’s mildly hurt facial expression.

“Two against one.”

“We win!” Harry exclaims and James’ face immediately shifts back to a smile. He scoops Harry up, careful not to damage his wing in the process.

“I guess we’ll have to watch it later to really decide a winner, won’t we?”

Harry looks at Regulus who is now standing next to them. “Can we, Papa?” His voice is brimming with excitement

“Let’s see how we feel after trick or treating, yeah?”

Harry thinks on this for a second before nodding. “Okay.”

“Speaking of which, we’d better get going before all the good sweets are taken,” James says as he puts Harry down. “Why don’t you go and grab your bucket and we’ll be out in a second?”

Harry furrows his brow and Regulus speaks, “I promise I won’t take forever this time.”

“Okay,” Harry says, easily convinced, and he rushes back out of the bedroom.

James turns to Regulus, his smile soft and his eyes glinting with the same joy that he just saw written across their son’s face. “Are you ready?”

And as Regulus takes one last look at himself in the mirror he no longer sees a stupid cowgirl costume that his husband made him wear. He sees a stupid cowgirl costume that belongs to his son’s second favourite Toy Story character. And while the former may not have been enough of a reason for him to pull on a pair of leather boots and go outside to be seen by the general public, the latter definitely is.

So he answers with a nod of his head and a tone more resolute than he ever thought it would be under the given circumstances. “Let’s do this.”

“To infinity and beyond?”

“Don’t push it, Potter.”

#marauders #james potter #jegulus #regulus black #jegulus raising harry #happy halloween #this fandom deserves happiness every now and then #to break up the angst

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v3nusxsky · 9 months

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hello, this is my first time asking here so im kinda shy... maybe can u do a emily prentiss x fem!reader where emily for some reason finds a cowboy hat and put it on to show reader and that turns reader on, then reader needs emily to deal with her... maybe smut if you into it ? thanks, also im following you for a little time and im loving your stories, bye angel

Reverse Cowgirl 18+

*Authors note~ I was unsure on which direction I wanted to take this due to writers block but I low key love it and the last word of the ask seemed to incorporate itself well here, I hope you love it*

Trigger Warnings~ roleplay?? dom em sub r daddy Emily cowboy hat reverse cowgirl position strap oral praise kink degrading kink

Prompt~ see ask^^^^^

It was so rare that you ever had time to spare from chasing serial killers all around the world, but thankfully today seemed to be a rare restful day. No phone buzzing at ungodly hours of the morning with the words "we got a case." No this morning you'd awoken to your favourite agent peacefully sleeping next to you. Your girlfriend, not that anyone else knew. These mornings were definitely your favourite. You often wonder how she gets away with looking so damn gorgeous but then again your too busy starring to care why, instead admiring her beauty.

A lazy morning with your love sounded absolutely perfect until your phone began buzzing on the nightstand. A silent pray for it to not be work, you answered the call to be greeted with an excited shriek form the one and only miss Penelope Garcia. "Pg!" You whined, "my ears Garcia, what do you need?" A little scoff made its way over the line, "you me JJ and Prentiss, shopping at noon. No excuses we need a girl day and I need to spoil my god sons. I'll text you the address, bye sweets!" And just like that she was gone. It wasn't a few seconds later, and your girlfriends phone buzzed too. Trying to contain your laughter as she attempted to wriggle out of the girls day, and her side glance at you while mouthing "traitor" before giving in and accepting that she needed to get up. After the phone call ended you promised if Emily got out of bed you could shower together, apparently that was all the motivation she needed.

After a shower that took twice as long as it normally would've due to Emily's wandering hands you finally secured breakfast and both left to meet the girls. Emily drove you both and honestly you'd be lying if you said her driving with a hand on your thigh didn't drive you insane, soon enough you were separating ways after a final kiss to avoid the suspicion. A part of you wished you could hold her hand in public or kiss her cheek but another part was too scared they'd try and reassign you to keep you both apart. You'd like to think Hotch wouldn't do that but you knew it was out of his control. Plus they didn't even know you were bisexual with a preference for women.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't have fun watching Garcia absolutely raid the toy stores and clothing shops while JJ insisted they didn't need anything since the absolute flood of gifts on six months ago. Garcia always won those arguments, finding some kind of loophole somewhere which made you giggle, Emily grabbed everything a coffee in order to slip a little I love you on your cup and every chance she got she discreetly joined your hands under tables. Small things like that made your heart yearn for her.

Now to end up in a sexy shop wasn't on your to do list but with JJ and Wills anniversary coming up it wasn't surprising she wanted to get him something or someone to unwrap. Garcia wondering off to another toy store left you and Emily waiting for JJ. Both of you pretending to look around separately while mentally compiling a list of outfits to get,

Emily even going as far to look at some of the strap ons. Seeing a cow boy hat in a sex shop was certainly something unexpected yet you still couldn't resist putting it on.

"Fetch me my horse daddy" you giggled adding a southern drawl into your accent causing Emily to spin around in confusion. There you stood with a cow boy hat on your head, going surprisingly well with your braided hair, and a riding crop in your right hand, "I believe I found my ride" you whispered before cheekily winking at the stunned woman. While you were putting it back where up I found the accessories you completely missed the raven haired woman buying a certain something and slipping away to hide it.

By the time JJ returned with her gift Emily was back looking at objects in the room as if she'd never left. The imagine of you being her perfect cowgirl never leaving her mind, all the ways she could fuck you in that outfit. On all fours her hand gripping and tugging on your braids as she absolutely rails you from behind. Oh and you'd be so good for her, you always were. Her sweet little cow girl. Unbeknownst to you a silly little dress up would result into an absolutely desperate Emily tonight.

The journey back to Emily's apartment was blissfully normal until you arrived. There she went to the boot of the car and grabbed a cow boy hat. The hat suited her so well and you found yourself to distract to try and find out where she got it from due to the sticky wetness now dripping down your thick thighs. "God daddy so big! I need you" you whined pitifully as she came to hug you from behind, purposefully rubbing her bulge into your ass. That was new. She definitely wasn't packing when you left this morning that was for sure. God she knew how to drive you absolutely wild.

Emily allowed you to practically drag her into the apartment and straight to the bedroom, secretly loving how desperate a simple had made you, before pushing you into the wall and claiming your lips with hers. It was lustful and needy as if neither of you needed oxygen to breathe. Emily's right hand crept up your body until it made its way to its rightful place, your throat. Now with the gentle squeeze of her hand you were begging her to take you already. The nerd becoming unbearable for you. And Emily wasn't handling the need any better than you.

Clothing was torn from eachothers body before Emily gently lifted you so you could wrap your legs around her waist all while never losing your lips. A squeak of surprise flooded the room when your back hit the mattress, "Emily! Oh my gosh" you gasped, "what's got into you?" Perhaps it was a rhetorical question but she answered you anyway with a nip to the base of your throat, "you and that damn hat." You couldn't help but smirk, a harmless silly thing had turned her this needy for you.

Any reply you may have had died on your tongue as you felt her mouth creeping lower and lower until she met your needy cunt. By now your wetness was seeping onto the sheets, "god I need more" you whined impatiently, moving your hands to her hat to hold her in place. Emily was always talented in ever aspect of life, but the way she would plunge her tongue into your tight little hole and curl it just right was enough to drive you insane, but then when she would add two fingers and move her mouth to your aching bundle of nerves you honestly saw the stars. If there was one thing Emily prides herself on is how well you scream her name as she fucks you with her tongue. In fact she swears that she would spend forever between your thighs and die a happy woman. Yet when your tugging her up for a break from the overwhelming sensations she still feels a little glee at what she planned to come next.

A few sweet kisses and some soft praises found you straddling her lap, the new strap on pressing against your soaking slit. "Please daddy" you whimpered only to be met with a shake of her head. "Nahuh angel, you're gonna ride my cock like a good cowgirl for me" she purred in your ear before helping swivel you around to face her legs. Then the hat was settled on your had before she finally slipped into your awaiting core. "Oh fuck yes so good, so big daddy fuck" you mewled as you slowly began to bounce on her cock. "God you're so fucking sexy, bend over cowgirl I wanna see how I spilt you in two."

The moment you finally bent so she could see how her faux cock moved in and out of your slippery hole she could've swore she almost lost her composure. But her patience was rewarded when soon all you were was a whiny mess hardly able to keep a rhythm. Hands gripped onto her thighs like a life line and yet you still couldn't do as you were asked to. "Such a pathetic whore for my angel, and you were being my sweet girl and yet now you can't even do what a common whore could. I'm disappointed Angel" she murmured placing her hands on your hips. A whine escaped you, "mm sorry daddy I be good girl mm sorry" you whimpered over and over until she finally took pity on you.

With a pace that was perfectly fast and rough Emily slipped out of your cunt, ignoring your whines of protest and flipped you on your hands and knees before slamming back into your needy pussy. From there on she kept a punishing pace. Her hands gripping your braids to steady herself as she attempted to burry her cock into your womb. And you came over and over for her that night until you were nothing but her little angel absolutely fucked dumb.

"Shhh sweetheart you did so good for me darling" she murmured in between kissing all over your face to distract you from her pulling out. "Such a pretty cowgirl for your daddy" was what caused you to blush like a mad woman. You knew the routine Emily would get up to get a cloth and clean the strap but you didn't want her to go. But you didn't have the brain function to do more than whine at her, trying to convey what you wanted. "Shh two seconds my love, we have to clean up then I'm all yours baby."

Two seconds was all it was, and then Emily was back in before allowing you to snuggle up on her chest as her hands threaded through your beautiful hair. "So proud of you sweet girl" she whispered not expecting you to whine and mumble "disappoint you" the clearest you could. "No angel, you're my good girl, I love you my little cowgirl, you did so well baby, now rest angel, I'm right here."

Word count 1880

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #anon requested #emily #emily prentiss smut #emily prentiss #ssa emily prentiss #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss x reader smut #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfiction #emily prentiss x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds

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lostinwildflowers · 1 year

Text

The Aviator's Cowgirl

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: You and Jake go way back to his roots in Texas, with things ending in a rough manner. Now, he comes home to the farmer's daughter whose heart he swore he would never ride, or fly, off with.

Word Count: 4.0K

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Harsh Language at times, Hangman was lowkey a dumb jerk, Cowboy!Hangman, probably inaccurate Navy timing and military jargon

A/N: I'm back with Part 2 of Cowboy Hangman!! He's not much of a cowboy in this, but I figured it shows you why he is the way he is. Let me know how you like it!-Birch<3

Part 1 - The Farmer's Daughter

*Ring* *Ring* *Ring*

"Hi! I'm not able to answer the phone right now or I don't have service. If you leave a message, I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can!"

Your voice sounds so cheerful, so happy in the message the blonde listened to, his phone pressed against his ear in a hope that you might pick up.

A harsh tone sounds out, and he opens his mouth to speak, but no words seem to come out. A sigh falls from his lips as he pulls the phone away from his head, clicking the "end call" button before pressing the screen to his forehead, his eyes fluttering closed.

Fuck. It was bad.

Jake knew things wouldn't be the same when he came home. He knew he would have been naive to think you'd be happy to see him after all this time.

But man, it hurt him more than he thought to see how you toughened after he left. To see that your eyes didn't hold the same soft, (colored) glow that they used to.

You looked worn, and Jake knew he was likely the reason behind the tired and cold look on your face. Oh, how he missed it when you shone like the sun, even on the iciest day, you were a beam of light.

Now? Now you had hardened your shell, shut the world out from your heart. The very one he had crushed and shattered when he left. And that's why he was back. To fix it.

"Another call from Jake?" your friend, Mary Anne, called out as she finished untacking her horse. You were standing in the doorway to the tack area, phone in hand.

You had watched Jake's name flash across your screen, the contact picture one you had taken up on Thraller's Ridge, your favorite place to watch the sunset. And rightfully so, it was a picture of Jake on Sandy, the sun casting his features in soft pinks and yellows.

You had just cracked a joke, and there was a laugh on his lips as he had turned to look at you, his Stetson just barely shadowing his face. It was such a genuine moment, it showed how domestic your relationship had been. How down-to-earth Jake had been.

A hiccup catches in your throat as you click your phone off, not wanting to see if he left a voicemail or not. You turn back to Mary Anne and shrug, "Nothing important."

Your friend swings past you, her saddle in tow as she sets it on a rack behind you. Then, Mary Anne turns on you, placing a hand on her hip and then she cocks her head.

"Y/n, just answer him. Hear him out. I know you still love him, he was your fiance for a reason," she tries, waving her hands at the end of her sentence.

You close your eyes and swallow thickly before stating, "Mary Anne, he left me. For 6 months. No warning. No reason. No calls or texts. It seemed pretty obvious he didn't want me anymore."

Your eyes flicker back open, but now Mary Anne is standing in front of you, a sad smile drawn across her lips. She places her hands on your shoulders and she replies, "So don't you think now is the chance to hear why?"

She leaves you with that, sliding back into the hallway to put her horse back out to pasture. You watch her go in silence, your heart aching at the thought of talking to Jake again.

Just as you take a step to check on your own horse, your phone buzzes.

Please, Y/n/n. I know I fucked up, and I have no right to ask this. But please hear me out, okay? You know where to find me. -J

Your eyes skim the text, tripping over themselves and having to go back and reread the message. Damn right you fucked up, you think to yourself as you pocket your phone.

But... maybe Mary Anne was right? You walk off and shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. As you glance at your friend walking her horse out of the barn aisle, you catch sight of Sandy out in the pasture, her yellow face hanging just above the gate, looking at you.

You sigh and walk up to her, your boots scraping the ground as you approach your mare. She sneezes as you stop in front of her, and you can't help the smile that creeps onto your face.

"I know, girl," you mumble as you brush her forehead with your hands, "It sounds like a trap to me. I don't want to be heartbroken again." Sandy leans into your hand, closing her eyes and scratching against your fingers.

A chuckle falls from your lips as you love on her, but you freeze as a memory overtakes you.

"Are you sure about this?" Jake asks as he grabs the reins of Sandy, looking the mare up and down before glancing at you, "You know, I easily could have loaded up Blue and brought him over."

You wave your hand at him dismissively as you grab Henry's reins for yourself, "It's alright, babe. I want to watch someone ride her anyway." You gave him a sweet smile as you started walking down the barn aisle, patting Henry's brown neck as you move.

Jake just chuckles at you as you turn around, and he's not one to fight you on the matter of horses. He knew your mare was special to you, and that no one rode her except for you. He honestly felt honored that you were comfortable enough to allow to him ride her.

"Alright girl," he starts as he turns back to Sandy, "Let's go whoop your momma's ass, alright?" Sandy just snorts as Jake leads her after you, grinning wide as he watches your figure freeze and whip around.

Your features are covered in mock anger, with your mouth dropped open as you exclaim, "Excuse me?! I'll have you know, Henry is our local rodeo heading hall of fame-r!"

At that, your hands land on your hips sassily, and you glare playfully at the blonde cowboy as he walks up next to you. You hold his green gaze as he leans down and over you, filling up your space.

Jake leans down and smirks at you before he swats his rein toward your butt with a, "C'mon, cowgirl. Show me what you're made of."

A tear was sliding down your cheek before you could stop it, and you look down, brushing the tear away while you stepped back from Sandy. You glance back up at her and let out a pathetic laugh, trying to will the overwhelming sadness away.

"Oh, Sandy. What do I do?" you whisper, watching your mare take a few steps back before turning to join the other mares by the hay hut. As you follow her figure walking away, you know what you need to do.

You sigh and clench your fists as you walk back toward the barn, where Mary Anne is waiting. You walk past her, trying to keep your chin up, but she knows you better than that.

"Good luck, Y/n/n," she calls after you, "Try to keep a level head, okay?" You just wave your hand in acknowledgment as you continue on your way to your '71 Chevy Cheyenne Fleetside, the tan and white of the truck aged with time.

You slide into the single cab, resting your hands on the wheel. You pause for a moment, trying to steel your nerves before you reach down and start the ignition.

Pulling out of your driveway was the hardest part of heading to where you knew you'd find Jake. Turning left out of your home, the red dirt road that led you to Jake's farm was quiet.

There was no one in sight as you cruised down the backroad, driving down the hollers and up the hills that you knew like the back of your hand. You couldn't bring yourself to turn any music on, instead choosing to stew in your thoughts and what you would say to the man you loved.

Loved? Still love?

It was an ongoing battle in your mind. There was never anyone else, even after all this time. No thought of accepting a guy's flirty comment for dinner, not even going out for drinks with your girls.

It had been a lonely and hard 6 months full of heartbreak and work, There was no time to cope with Jake leaving, and there sure as hell wasn't time to find someone else.

That was the last thought you were left with as you pulled into the driveway of a large ranch you had spent countless hours at. There wasn't anyone around that you could see, which made your heart skip a beat in your chest.

You turn the key in your truck, the engine settling down as you glanced out around the front yard. A few chickens pecked the ground just outside of one of the shops, but the door was closed.

You pause for a moment, questioning if you were really going to follow through. You aren't given much of a choice when a set of fluffy ears pops up in your window, and you are greeted by the happy face of Nyla, the German Shepard.

A smile falls to your lips as you call out, "Down girl, easy, easy!" A few giggles follow suit, and you open to door, crouching on the ground to rub on the belly of the old dog.

Her tail wags happily as you scratch her belly and her ears, her whole body trying its best to wriggle like she used to as a pup. You can't help the wide smile on your face as Nyla jumps up and starts trying to lick your face, seemingly having missed you.

You can't stop the laughter as the dog lovingly assaults you, but they soon become silent at the deep call of, "Nyla! Nyla, come here!"

You freeze at the voice. It was one you knew all too well, one that you knew like the back of your hand. The dog leaves you alone, her tail dropping slightly as she trotted off to the edge of the front porch.

Standing on the top step on the wrap-around porch was Jake. All six feet of glory, donning a leather jacket and a ball cap, he looked good. Boots and jeans were his go to, and you can't help the way your mouth goes dry at the sight of him.

He leans down to pet her on the head as she stops and sits next to him, and you clear your throat as you push yourself up off the ground. I bet he saw that whole thing. Shit, you think to yourself as you avert your gaze from him.

The next thing you know, Jake is walking down the steps, heading straight for you. His boots make the gravel under him crunch, and you can't help the step you take back to lean against your truck.

Even the way he walks is different, you think as he strides toward you, It's... more calculated than it used to be. He doesn't walk like a cowboy now.

Jake stops a few feet in front of you, giving you plenty of space. Jade-colored orbs flash over your body, noting the flannel that covered your upper body, and the grey-felt hat that covered your (colored) hair.

"You came," he says. It's simple and to the point. There was no trace of emotion in his voice, but it was written all over his face. A slight curve to his lips, just the hint of a smile. Not a frown, but the smallest glimmer of hope simmering in his eyes.

You nod, unsure of what to say. You shuffle on your feet as you glance down at your boots, kicking a small rock and watching it roll away.

"I did," you whisper, your eyes making their own decision to look back at the tall blonde. Jake takes a step forward, his hand coming up toward your face, but you flinch and flatten against the door of your truck, your head turning away, eyes snapping shut.

You gasp under your breath, not even realizing how your body moved instinctively away from him. When you turn back to Jake, you see hurt written all over his features, and pain in his eyes.

His hand drops back to his side and clenches into a fist. He swallows thickly and says, "I-I'm sorry, Y/n/n-" "You don't have the right to call me that anymore," you snarl out.

This catches his attention, and he blinks at you slowly, another wave of pain rushing over his features. Yet he nods once and restarts, "Sorry. Can we- can we go inside and talk about this?"

You feel a wave of heat overtake you at the harshness of your words, and you remember what Mary Anne told you before you left, Try to keep a level head.

You clear your throat and shake your head, "I'd prefer if we stayed outside." Jake nods again and motions toward the small pond that was on the side of the driveway.

"The dock alright?" he asks as he takes a step back, and he watches you for any hesitation as you give him a nod and walk in front of him, your arms crossing over your chest.

The pond was one of your favorite places about Jake's farm. Many late nights he had brought you out here under the stars, casting a line for the small fish that lived in it.

Stolen kisses, borrowed jackets. It seemed like a lifetime ago, the thought hits you. Your feet pause at the end of the dock, and you find yourself sitting down, letting your feet dangle above the water.

Jake mirrors you, sitting on the other edge of the dock, leaving a foot or two of space between you and him. It's silent. The evening was upon you, and the sun just barely was setting over the distant mountain.

There were some chirps from the crickets in the grasses around the pond, but it wasn't quite summer, so things cooled off when the sun went down.

You fold your arms over your chest, and you glance at him, taking in his features now that you were close. Hardened eyes, firm features. He looked weathered, not like the lively and carefree Jake you knew.

"What happened?" you whisper, your voice just barely cutting above the breeze blowing through, your hair swirling around you underneath your hat.

Jake swallows thickly before speaking, his gaze rigid on the edge of the water. "I had to leave," he starts. His hand reaches for a small pile of rocks near the end post of the dock.

One rock at a time, he skips them across the surface of the water with practiced ease. It made you think of a memory, but you push it down as you try to focus on him at the moment.

"Why?"

It seemed to be the age-old question. Why did he leave? He should have been able to spit it out, to tell you the reason, but he felt ashamed at the reality of what your response would be.

He doesn't answer you for a second, his left hand coming to grip the wooden edge of the dock firmly. Jake's knuckles go white, and you can see him almost dissociate.

In a moment of bravery, you reach your right hand out, letting your fingers rest on his own. His gaze immediately snaps over to you, and when the light of the sun hits his eyes, you see it.

Tears. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he looked scared. Everything in your body screamed at you to stay back, get away, he'll only hurt you in the end.

But you knew Jake, and even if he changed, his core needs never did. You lean forward, and you pull him into your arms, into a hug. He stiffens under your touch, his arms going rigid as you hold him.

He curses himself for being so weak, so vulnerable in front of you, especially when you came here to hear him out, not comfort him.

"Sorry," he says again, and you pull back at the sound of his voice. Jake reaches up and brushes the tear out of his eye and he mutters, "You never should have to see me like this."

Your gaze softens and you reply, "And yet I promised you I'd stay by your side through everything." Jake looks at you, and he swears he could sob at the way you're looking at him.

You're still the same girl he fell in love with years ago, and with the way you're looking at him, he thinks you never stopped.

He takes a deep breath to ground himself before he starts, "I didn't leave because I didn't want to marry you, or because I didn't love you."

He looks deep into your eyes and whispers, "God, I loved you back then. I love you even more now." A wave of butterflies comes over you at his confession, but you stay silent, urging him to continue.

Jake looks back toward the edge of the water before he continues, "I was drafted. I was pulled to join the aviators of the Navy in California."

You still at his words, your mouth falling open as you blink in shock. Jake laughs icily as he watches a fish come up to the surface to catch a mosquito, and then continues, "I was going to be the whole way across the country, with people I'd never met, away from you for who knows how long."

You can feel your own tears burn in your eyes and you mumble, "Jake..." But he's not done and pushes, "I'd never wanted to be a pilot, Y/n. All I ever wanted to do was marry you, have a family and kids, and run my old man's farm."

His words and voice are intense, close to breaking, but he states, "I knew I could be gone for years. Killed overseas. I couldn't put you through that, so I had to become the best damn pilot they ever saw."

You can't stop the strangled gasp from leaving your lips, and you lunge forward, your body working faster than your mind. Tears stream from your eyes as you slap him, your palm making contact with his ever-so-slightly stubbly cheek.

His head recoils away, and his eyes shut as you whack him with you hands. "You asshole!" you yell, tears blurring your vision, you lean forward and crush him into a hug.

Jake didn't know how to respond, so he opted for one hand on your waist. His cheek was stinging from the impact of your slap, but he knew he deserved it.

What he didn't understand was why you were hugging him.

After all this time, his dumb explanation and reasoning, and you were hugging him? A sob pushes through your lips, and Jake feels his heart splinter at the raw emotion in your cry.

He wraps his arms around you tightly, thinking to himself that you could punch him, slap him, kick him in a minute- but he'd try his damn best to comfort you right now.

"You asshole," you manage to choke out, "6 months of leaving me with nothing, just because you got drafted?" Jake closes his eyes and squeezes you tighter, trying to commit your body to his memory before you pulled away.

"Jake. Jake. Jay," you say, the desperation in your voice growing with each call of his name. You try to push him off of you, and he lets go of you a moment later.

Your hand comes up to cradle the cheek you slapped, the skin still red from the impact of your hand. You can tell he's unsure, and nervous about what you're going to say.

There's raw fear in his green eyes, and you knew in a minute you could crush him. But you couldn't do that.

You let your palm rest on his cheek, the other moving to push the baseball cap from his head, setting it on the dock behind you two. With one hand on his cheek, and the other at the base of his neck, you stare at the man in front of you.

Suddenly, it all makes sense. His larger, stronger physique. Training in the military, always working out to stay fit. The hardened look in his eye. Getting used to taking orders and following them without question. His shortened hair and clean-shaven face. The need to remain sharp-looking at all times when in uniform.

"Oh, Jake," you whisper, a tear streaming from your eye. Jake reaches up with his own hand, cupping your face and brushing the tear away gently.

"Why would you ever leave and not tell me you got drafted?" you ask, your voice open and vulnerable. He sighs in your hands, his free hand coming up to cover your own lithe fingers.

"I was afraid you wouldn't want me anymore, and I didn't think I could handle you saying that to my face. So I made the choice for you," he says slowly, "I know it was stupid, but," and he pauses.

He looks deep into your (colored) eyes and states, "But leaving while I knew you still loved me was a better option than having to leave and knowing you didn't."

A hiccup takes over you and you whisper, "Jake, I haven't stopped." He freezes at that, his grip tightening on your hand holding his face.

"Say it again."

A small smile creeps onto your lips and you whisper, "Jake, I still love you." Jake's features then begin to mirror your own, a watery smile coming across his mouth as he replies, "I still love you too. That's why I came to find you on the ranch a while back."

You just shake your head and mutter, "Stop with the excuses, okay?" Jake feels a pang of nerves run over him again, unsure of your next move.

"Well, cowboy, are you gonna kiss me or not?" The words barely leave your mouth before he captures your lips with his own.

He tastes just like you remember, sweet yet cool like the peppermint gum he would always chew. His mouth was warm against your own, wet from saliva and the shine of his tears.

It's a sweet and salty kiss, the tang of peppermint accompanied by the mix of salty tears from both of you. It was perfect.

Jake's mouth moves against yours in a practiced rhythm like he never left, his hand moving from grasping your own to moving to your back, dragging you into his lap.

Every movement was needy, grasping hands, clashing teeth. You accidentally bit his lip, his fingers might have gotten stuck in your hair when he pushed your hat off.

Everything about his movements screamed I missed you. I love you. Please tell me you're still mine. Your body was no different- I have always missed you. I loved you while you were gone. I'll always be yours.

Jake's the one to pull away and he whispers against your lips, "Please tell me there wasn't anyone else." You lean in and press a hard peck on his mouth and you mutter back, "It was only ever you, cowboy."

Tag list: @xxdragonwriterxx @tejxswini @mysterystarz @mortedeveles @vs-redemption @kal0psi-a @gin-no-g @starstruckkittensweets @kitacharm @shirari @animated-moon @mitzwinchester @elitparadox @yumeyooa @angels-main @anlian-aishang @notroosterbradshaw

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2infinity-and-b3yond · 2 months

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Seeing woody and Jessie yell at each other like real siblings is so comforting in it’s weird ways and buzz separating the pride siblings just adds onto it like how real siblings are separate before real shit goes down. I also find it funny how soft but short tempered woody is

#toy story #woody pride #sheriff woody #ts3 #jessie the cowgirl #jessie and woody being siblings #the pride siblings #buzz is into cowboys and cowgirls #tumblr fyp #fypシ

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yourlocalghoulette · 2 months

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Part 3 ~ Second Chances

A/N; part threee! I don't have much to say except *insert evil laughter* these two boutta be the cutest couple. Lmk if you want to be on the taglist!

W/C: 3k

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

Warnings~ Eventual smut so 18+ MDNI! fluff! slow burn, relationship building, flirting, language, teasing, single dad!Joel, reader has trauma, no use of Y/N, reader has hair long enough to be seen under a helmet

Two weeks pass by in a blur, and you’ve fallen into a smooth schedule of working at the barn and the coffee shop on alternating days. Each day around the horses brings more confidence. You’re starting to come to terms with the fact that Joel won’t hurt you like your last trainers did. Not that he’s a trainer, really, or even an employer. It’s more like a partnership, maybe even a friendship. Or at least you hope it’s a friendship. You both share the chores at the barn, always working side by side, learning about each other or just enjoying the silence.

Silence used to scare you. You hated being to deep in your thoughts, in your memories. But with Joel, it’s different. It feels comfortable, feels natural, just enjoying each other’s presence. Something about Joel just makes you feel relaxed. Something that usually doesn’t come easy.

You’ve learned a lot about Joel in the past few weeks. You learned he has a younger brother named Tommy, and that he’s a coffee addict. Just like you.

“You think this one will look good on her?”

Joel holds up a dark turquoise nylon halter. He’d stopped at the tack shop on the way to the barn to get a new halter for Dottie.

Sarah looks up from where she’s admiring an indricately designed barrel saddle. She shrugs. “I like the purple better.”

Joel rolls his eyes, a knowing grin etched on his face. “Because it’s your favorite color. You’re biased,” he chuckles.

Sarah shoulders him playfully. “Maybe. But it does look good on Dottie.” She grins slyly up at him. “Why don’t you ask your little ‘friend’?” She teases, holding up air quotes.

Heat instantly creeps up Joel’s cheeks as he instantly recognizes she’s talking about you. “Good idea, kiddo,” he mutters.

“Da-ad, you’re blushing!” Sarah squeals, poking his cheek playfully.

“‘M not. I don’t ‘blush’,” Joel waves her away. “Whatever. Fine. I’ll ask her.”

Sarah nods approvingly as Joel pulls his phone from his faded leather jacket pocket and takes a picture of the halter.

You nearly drop your phone as Joel’s notification buzzes at the top of your phone. “Jesus Christ, I’m acting like a goddamn teenager,” you mutter to yourself, opening the message.

Joel- Hey, I’m trying to pick out a halter for Dottie. You think this one would look good on her?

Attached - One image.

You smile at the image of Joel’s fingers awkwardly trying to hold the halter so you could see it properly. The dark purple color is sure to look good on her, you think to yourself. Sitting up criss cross applesauce in bed, you text him back.

You- totally! it kind of looks like her last halter though lol.

Joel- Thanks, cowgirl. Sarah was giving me shit about texting you.

You grin at that message, knowing that Sarah was teasing him about him turning to you for advice.

You- Why’s that, cowboy?

No answer. Were you being to forward with that answer? You’ll find out when you get to the barn, probably.

You pull yourself out of bed and run through your meloncholy everyday morning routine. You skip your usual shower, knowing you’re gonna get dirty at the barn. You change into a pair of tighter-fitting black Wrangler jeans and a faded black Dune t-shirt.

You’re about to walk out the door when you’re stopped in your tracks by a message from Joel.

Joel- She likes to play matchmaker.

It’s around 10 AM when you get to the barn. Inside, the barn is alive with activity, the sound of horses nickering and the scent of hay filling the air. You spot Joel hauling a trail saddle off of Amadeus, his easy confidence evident as he moves around the horse with practiced ease.

"Morning, cowboy," you greet him with a smile, walking over to join him.

Joel looks up, a grin spreading across his face at the sight of you. "Morning, cowgirl," he replies, his voice warm and welcoming. "Sleep well?"

You nod, grateful for the casualness of the conversation. "Yeah, not bad. How about you?"

Joel shrugs, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before tossing the saddle onto it’s rack. "Could've been better," he admits with a sheepish grin. "Sarah woke me up early this morning, insisting we go riding before it gets too hot."

You laugh, imagining Sarah dragging Joel out of bed with all the enthusiasm of a kid on Christmas morning. "Sounds like fun."

Joel chuckles, a sparkle in his eyes as he looks at you. "Yeah, she's definitely got a way of getting what she wants."

Sarah bounds into the barn with Dottie’s new halter in hand. “Hey, kids,” she giggles infectiously, giving you a side hug.

Joel rolls his eyes, unclipping Whiskey from the crossties. “Hey, kiddo. Would’ya mind filling up the water troughs outside f’me?”

“Sure, dad,” she says in her usual bubbly voice, discarding the halter into the tack room and walking outside.

Joel shakes his head in disbelief. “Kid’s an angel,” he says proudly.

“Sure is,” you smile softly, admiring the obvious love that Joel has for his daughter. You grab a mucking fork from the rack next to the tack room and get to work tackling the stalls. Joel follows suit and starts cleaning the stall next to yours.

“Say, cowgirl,” he breaks the silence after a few moments. “I know you’re a bit wary about ridin’ and stuff, but would you want to go on a trail ride sometime? Jus’ you and me.”

You smile to yourself, the infectious thoughts about spending time like that with Joel clouding your fears of riding. “I’d love that. As long as we can do an easy ride. You good with that, cowboy?”

He grins at you as he dumps a load of manure into the wheelbarrow, his soft brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “F’course, cowgirl.” He hesitates for a second before asking, “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened that made you so….”

“Scared?” You finish his sentence for him softly. He nods. “I don’t mind at all.” You grunt as you struggle to push the mucking fork under a pile on manure. You jump as you feel him behind you, arms reaching around you and grabbing the handle to help you lift it. “Thanks,” you mutter, heat creeping up your cheeks. “Um- anyway, I-” you chuckle nervously, unable to wrap your head around what Joel just did.

“The- uh- your story,” Joel grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh-right,” you laugh, and Joel swears your smile can light up the darkest of places. “I kind of told you already at the coffee shop, but two of the trainers I had in high school were very mentally and sometimes physically abusive towards me. High school was…it was a rough time.”

Joel nods in understanding, his eyes softening as he looks at you.

You take a deep breath, grateful for Joel's understanding gaze. It's not easy to open up about the painful memories of your past, but with Joel, it feels different—safer.

"I used to love riding, you know?" you continue, your voice soft as you sift through the memories. "It was my escape, my sanctuary. But then...things changed. The trainers I had, they were ruthless. They pushed me too hard, ignored my boundaries. And when I couldn't meet their expectations, they...they punished me."

The words hang heavy in the air, a palpable reminder of the pain you've carried for so long. But as you speak, you feel a weight lifting off your shoulders, replaced by a sense of relief at finally sharing your story with someone who listens without judgment.

Joel's expression is a mixture of sympathy and understanding as he listens to your words, his gaze unwavering. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," he says softly, his voice filled with genuine empathy. "No one deserves to be treated like that, especially not when they're just trying to follow their passion."

You nod in agreement, grateful for Joel's comforting presence. "Yeah, it was...it was tough," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I'm trying to move past it, to reclaim what I lost. And being here, with you, it feels like a step in the right direction."

A gentle smile tugs at Joel's lips, a silent reassurance that you're not alone in your journey. "You're strong, cowgirl," he says, his voice soft but filled with conviction. "Stronger than you realize. And if you ever need someone to lean on, I'm here."

The sincerity in Joel's words washes over you like a wave, warming your heart and filling you with a newfound sense of hope. In his presence, you feel understood, accepted for who you are, scars and all.

"Thank you, Joel," you say, your voice choked with emotion. "For everything."

Joel's smile widens, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he reaches out to squeeze your shoulder gently. "Anytime, cowgirl. Anytime."

You sniffle slightly, wiping a few tears off of your cheek with a chukle. “Sorry,” you mumble. “I look like a goddamn baby right now. You’re just…one of the only people I’ve ever told.”

“Well, I’m honored,” Joel smiles. “Can I…can I hug you?” he asks softly.

You nod, and he takes you gently in his arms, his embrace warm and soft and comforting. You jump and pull away when Sarah walks in. She holds her hands up, an incredulous look on her face.

“Did I interrupt something?” she giggles.

“No, of course not, kiddo,” Joel ruffles her hair.

She glances at you, eyes slightly red with tears. “Are you okay?”

You nod, touched by the sincere concern in the 14-year-olds voice. “I’m fine, trust me. Just…telling your dad about some old memories.”

Sarah's expression softens, and she steps closer, wrapping you in a gentle hug. "I'm sorry you had to go through that," she says sincerely, her voice filled with empathy beyond her years. "But I'm glad you're here now, with us."

You smile through your lingering tears, touched by Sarah's kindness. "Thanks, Sarah. You're a good kid."

She grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I try," she says playfully, before turning to Joel. "So, when's that trail ride happening, Dad?"

Joel chuckles, his arm still draped around your shoulders. "Soon, kiddo. Real soon."

‘Soon’ ends up being that evening. Tommy had picked up Sarah for dance class, leaving you and Joel alone together at the barn. “You’re gonna be riding little miss Dottie here,” Joel grins, tossing you her brand new purple halter.

You catch it smoothly. “Cool. She’s…y’know, calm?”

“Of course. About as calm and quiet as they get. I could throw ya on Arizona. You’d be in for a ride,” Joel sticks his tongue out at you. “I’m not that mean though.”

“Gasp. Joel Miller is kind enough to put me on a tame horse? Unbelievable,” you grin in mock astonishment. He elbows you playfully and you both giggle like a couple of damn teenagers.

“Maybe not. Don’t test my patience, cowgirl,” he chuckles, feigning an evil smile.

Once you both bring in Dottie and Whiskey and secure them in the cross ties, Joel tosses you a curry comb and a soft body brush. “Groom away, cowgirl. I wanna see my reflection in this horse’s coat,” he orders playfully.

“If I do that you might scare yourself, old man,” you tease. You take the brushes from him and run your fingers over the bristles of the body brush, poofing a cloud of dust and horsehair into Joel’s face. You grin triumphantly as you turn to Dottie and start rubbing circles into her coat with the currycomb.

“37 years old ya little shit,” he shakes his head, trying to hide his wide grin.

It doesn’t take long for the horses to get tacked up and ready, Dottie suited up in a black cushioned trail saddle and Whiskey in an intricately detailed barrel saddle and hackamore.

“We gotta fit you for a helmet, cowgirl. Safety first,” Joel reminds you as the horses stomp and snort impatiently.

Normally you would roll your eyes at the thought of a helmet on a trail ride. But now, after surviving the fall so many years ago, you’d never refuse one. “Sounds good, cowboy.”

You follow Joel over to the rack of helmets sitting in the tack room, and he picks out a dark blue one. “This color’ll look good on ya,” he says quietly, gently fitting the helmet over your head and buckling it, his calloused fingers grazing your chin. Your shared gaze lingers for a second before you blink and look away, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“This one fits good, Joel, thanks.”

“Perfect, cowgirl. Let’s get mounted up, shall we?”

You giggle, following him out to the barn where you unclip the horses from their spots at the crossties and lead them outside. You make sure Dottie’s cinch is tight enough before sticking your left foot in the stirrup and swinging up with ease. You cock an eyebrow at Joel, who’s dragging a mounting block over to Whiskey’s left side.

“Old joints can’t handle mounting from the ground?” You tease, gently easing Dottie over to where Whiskey is standing. You take a mental note that she neck reins.

“Shuddup,” Joel mutters as he swings easily onto the saddle with help of the mounting block. Right away, Joel notices your natural seat. The reins at perfect tension, your straight posture and your position in the saddle all seemed to come natural to you, even though it has been so long since you’ve ridden. He also notices how beautiful you are. The sun kissing your skin just right in the early evening light, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile at him. No matter how hard he tries to keep you at arms length in fear he’ll get hurt by another woman, he can’t help but be drawn into you.

“Take a picture, cowboy, it’ll last longer,” you smirk, gently tapping Dottie’s side with your heels to get her to start walking alongside Whiskey.

He tries to hide the shade of red creeping up his cheeks. “Follow me, cowgirl,” he gestures, guiding Whiskey into a shaded trail entrance leading out of the pasture.

As the horses amble along the trail, Joel can't help but steal glances at you whenever he thinks you're not looking. The way you handle Dottie with such ease and confidence, the sunlight catching in your hair, the subtle curve of your smile—it's all too captivating for him to ignore.

"You know, cowgirl," Joel finally speaks up, breaking the comfortable silence between you, "you look like you were born in that saddle."

You chuckle softly, heat creeping onto your cheeks at his compliment. "Thanks, cowboy. Guess it's like they say, old habits die hard."

Joel smiles, a warmth spreading through his chest at the sound of your laughter. "Well, you sure make it look easy."

You ride in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds being the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. The trail winds through the countryside, offering breathtaking views of rolling hills and lush greenery.

As the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the landscape, Joel can't shake the feeling of contentment that washes over him. Here, surrounded by nature and in the company of someone he cares about, everything feels right in the world.

"You know," Joel speaks up again, his voice soft and contemplative, "I never used to believe in second chances. But being here with you, it's made me realize that sometimes life gives you unexpected opportunities to start over."

You turn to him, meeting his gaze with a gentle smile. "I know what you mean," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "Being here, with you, it feels like I'm finally getting a second chance at something I thought I'd lost forever."

Joel's heart skips a beat at your words, the depth of emotion in your eyes leaving him speechless. In that moment, he knows that he never wants to let you go, that he'll do whatever it takes to keep you by his side.

"Me too, cowgirl," Joel finally says, his voice filled with sincerity. "Me too."

#joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #mrs ohara writes shit

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winslowat3am · 1 year

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Good afternoon fellow traveler 👋🏻I hope you enjoy your birthday/vacation :D I miss the personal posts and I like it more than the other stuff you post so glad you’re being more personal again! Is it worth going to Disneyland Paris? I’ve never been to a park but I’ve read alot about Disneyland and the theme parks’ best parts and been saving up for my birthday this december. Let me know which other ones you recommend and if you really think is worth the hype.

Thank you! :)

Let me just say that first of all I'm not gay, but I'm gay for Buzz Lightdaddy, he's so big & strong, look at the miraculous crotch shot (lmfao, I'm hyped off candy so this response will probably be a mess, I'm sorry). Ugh, fuck. ❤️

I can't believe you've never been to a park, you have to go! No matter which you choose. ☺️ Every park has its pros & cons, I personally like some things better about Disney Paris like HyperSpace Mountain & Big Thunder Mountain, but I think Cali is the best park, overall. I'll actually be going to Disney Florida again with my wife in December for our one year anniversary, if you go there you might run into us! 🙈 We have a few places to go before then, though.

You can't really get bad food at a Disney park, either. I'm greedy asf, so I would know. I ate this all to myself & I still have guilt, completely violated my cheat day. You ever had food so tasty you had to get a picture of it just to remember the deliciosity? 😂 I genuinely adore people who take time to add hella toppings on pizzas. They're a different breed. If you go to the Paris location you have to try Colonel Hathi's Pizza Outpost! Also, you need to go on the Ratatouille ride, it's so cute! One of my faves.

The parade(s) were lit, the green army dudes (do they have a name?) & the cowboys & cowgirls were jamming out. Big dick Buzz, Woody & Jesse came into view & I lost it, lmao. Some of my favorite childhood chars came through (Lion King, Toy Story was everywhere tbh, lol, Mickey, I damn near cried when Mickey appeared 😩, also Winnie the Pooh, my sweet sweet Winnie 🥹). I think Paris are one of the best when it comes to interacting with the crowd & letting people get pictures with them. They genuinely seem happy to be there. *Also I am a huge fan of the seasonal decorations & landscaping*

I recommend going during the day & night, like we did. You get to see all the sexyness of the decorations at night!

There's so much to see, I can't post everything. Just try & see as much as you can if you decide to visit this park. (Make sure to try the Jedi Burger & visit the parks' other restaurants!) We also stayed in a hotel not too far away & got to visit the Eiffel tower & a few other places, try to get a hotel that isn't too far from tourist attractions. Make sure to buy some souvenirs, too, that was one of my favorite things. ☺️

#ask box #ask #disneyland #paris #france #sorry for the late reply

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bitchinfawkseh · 22 days

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Heaven Knows Your Name, I've Been Praying: Chapter 16

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Summary: Cheryl and Dean find themselves at a frat party on Halloween in hunt for a ghost.

W.C: 5742

Warnings: N/A

[A/N] this chapter was so fun to write!!! Cheryl's Halloween costume is a reference to the movie Bandidas that Salma Hayek stared in

Masterlist | AO3

They'd been tracking this ghost in California for a couple of days now, it had killed the previous couple that resided in an old home. A poltergeist, a quick salt and burn, nothing to worry about. The poltergeist had a schedule it liked to stick to. It came around every year on October thirty-first, Halloween, which was today, and it killed whoever resided in the home. But, the house was now owned by a fraternity, and luckily for them, they were throwing a Halloween party that gave them the perfect chance to end the ghost for good.

Cheryl set a beige cowboy hat on her head and adjusted her hair. She had claimed the bathroom, she was a woman, and she got first dibs anyway. She wanted something practical but sexy to wear for this case, so obviously she had to choose the cowgirl costume. It showed off plenty of cleavage but had a proper pair of pants so she could still move around. Cheryl pouted her lips together and swiped some lip gloss along her bottom lip. She felt good about herself – desirable – maybe Dean would finally kiss her. He was a man, it was his job to make the first move. It was a little old-fashioned, but it was what she liked in romantic relationships. She liked to be treated like a princess – within reason.

“Cher, you ready?” Dean's voice sounded from outside the door. He was a little buzzed, she could tell because he slurred her name a little. But, she found Dean worked better when he was a little buzzed – plus, it was a frat party they were going to. They had to blend in. Cheryl tucked her clear lip gloss into one of the pockets on the sides of her jeans and fluffed up her hair one final time. “Yeah! Just a second.” She called back. She didn't tell Dean what she decided to dress as, she decided to keep it a surprise. It made him a little ticked off at first – because she bought him and Sam matching costumes as well. Mario and Luigi. But, he was excited to see what she chose. Maybe a sexy nurse, or cop, or a devil! The choices were endless.

The door clicked open and Dean's eyes widened when Cheryl stepped out of the bathroom looking gorgeous as ever. A cowgirl… He flushed and tugged at the collar of his shirt, he only decided to wear the hat from his Mario costume, the other stuff was too small. “C–Cher.” He stammered, cringing when his voice cracked. Cheryl only smiled and did a small twirl for him, flaunting her backside to him which only made his butterflies worse. “You like?” She asked.

“Yeah!” He answered quickly. Dean swiped his tongue across his bottom lip as he focused on her ass in those jeans. They were high-waisted, tight around the butt but the legs were wide and flared with plenty of pockets and cow print accents. She looked great. “You look…”

“Hot?”

“Beautiful.” He corrected. Cheryl blushed and tucked her hair behind her ears. She couldn't help but smile, being called beautiful made her feel beautiful. “Gracias.” She whispered.

Her arms awkwardly dropped to her sides and she bit her lower lip. “Where's the rest of your costume?” She asked.

“Didn't fit.” He answered, tucking his hands into his pockets. Cheryl frowned and looked everywhere but at Dean, she was a little shy after his compliment. “Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't sure what would fit.”

“It's okay,” He smiled, “Sammy and Carlos are waiting for us outside, let's go.”

Cheryl nodded, “Okay, you know – today is the Day of the Dead? It's a Mexican holiday.”

“Oh yeah, I've heard of that. What do you do on the Day of the Dead?” He asked.

“We honour the family members that are no longer with us, visit their plots and decorate them with sugar skulls and flowers. My Mother and Rosità and I used to wear costumes that we made together and baked all day before we got together with family.” Cheryl explained. She glanced up at him, smiling when she saw that he was listening to her every word intently. “You'd like it, I think.”

Dean smiled gently, “It sounds nice.”

“You'd also like what we do for Christmas, we have parades – parties, we even set off fireworks. It's a big deal.” She raved. Dean cocked a brow and took his hands out of his pockets. “Yeah? Do you miss it? Mexico I mean.”

“Sometimes… not really though.”

“Why not?”

“Bad memories.” She answered simply. Silently telling him that she didn't want to talk about Mexico anymore.

Dean paced towards the door and grasped the door handle. He held the door open for Cheryl before walking out himself, he had to be chivalrous. He has to court her.

Cheryl quickly thanked him before jogging over to Carlos. He had on a pirate's hat with a skull and crossbones on the front. She was a little disappointed that his costume was so boring. “Hey,” She whispered, “did you get the stuff?” She asked. Carlos nodded and glanced around before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small tin. He handed it to her and she cracked open the tin, grinning when she saw half a dozen pre-rolled joints. “Sweet, it's safe, right?”

“Of course, it is. Alejandro sent it, it's medical stuff.” He replied with a scoff. Cheryl pursed her lips together and nodded, it's been a while since she smoked weed, but she was excited to try it again. She glanced back up at Carlos, “Can I take one now?”

“I mean, if you want. I'd save it for later though.” He said.

Cheryl sighed, “Yeah… you're right.” She closed the lid and made sure it clicked shut before passing it back to Carlos. Hunting while high was a bad idea.

She tucked her hands into her back pockets and tilted her head, “Is Sam gonna ride with you?” She questioned. Carlos nodded and looked back at the motel, “Yeah, he decided to change out of his costume when he learned that Dean was just gonna wear the hat.” He turned to look back down at her and grinned knowingly. “You and Dean are gonna ride together… alone… huh?”

She blushed, “Guess so… it's probably gonna be awkward though.”

“Oh, no it won't. Don't be dramatic. You know what you should ask him – ask him why he's such a bitch.”

“Carlos!”

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Cheryl glanced over at Dean and her lips thinned, they'd been silent for the majority of the car ride, and things were getting awkward now. She glanced down at her thighs and sucked in a breath, trying to think of a conversation starter. She swallowed hard and pursed her lips together. “A–are you excited for the party?” She asked.

“Yeah, never been to a frat party.” He grinned.

“Seriously? I would've thought that you totally have gone to one before.”

“Never went to college, remember?” Dean chuckled. He set one of his hands on his thigh and tapped his fingers against his jeans. “Are you excited?”

“Sorta, it's mostly a job for us.”

“True.”

They fell into another spell of silence, but this time it was a little less awkward. They were almost at the frat house, just a couple more minutes and they were fine. Carlos and Sam were good buffers – they made things less awkward. She and Dean were good friends – great friends – before she caught feelings, and now things were weird. Things were mostly fine when they were drunk together – but they couldn't be drunk all of the time. Cheryl glanced up at him, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of anxiety. Did he know that she liked him? Was he trying to tell her that he wasn't interested? Was he mad at her? Cheryl shyly looked down at her feet, “Are you mad at me?” She asked quietly.

Dean's eyes widened and his heart dropped, why did she think that he was mad at her? “I– no, no I'm not mad at you, Cher. Why the hell do you think I'm mad at you?”

“I dunno… we just… we don't talk like we used to. Everything is so awkward now – and it's like… ugh, I don't know.”

“Things are just complicated right now, it's nothing you did.” He muttered. He crept down the street in the Impala, looking for an empty parking spot. The streets were lined with cars, probably for the frat party. Cheryl sighed, “Oh… well, if there's anything that I can do for you, let me know.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”

Cheryl knew that the complicated thing was likely about the deal that he made. She didn't know why he made the deal, only that he had a year left. To be honest, she was waiting for him to tell her on his own time, but it was taking a lot longer than she hoped. All she knew was that he had a year left because of a demon deal, and she wanted to make the most of that year. She wanted to be with him if he'd still have her after everything.

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“Okay, I got the salt, lighter and gasoline,” Sam said as he checked through the backpack he was going to carry around the party. Cheryl nodded and crossed her arms square against her chest, they knew which house it was – lights were flashing from inside the house and music was blaring. It seemed the neighbours were either at the party or didn't care. “Do we know where the body is?” She asked. Sam and Carlos both shook their heads, all they knew was that Margaret May's remains were somewhere in the house. “Our best guess is the attic or the walls.”

Dean's eyebrows raised, “The walls?”

“Margaret May was a schizophrenic woman in the mid eighteen hundreds, husband's of mentally ill wives often kept them in hidden rooms behind the walls,” Carlos replied.

Cheryl frowned, “That's so sad…”

“Yeah, if you were still my wife I would have stuffed you in the walls a long time ago.” Carlos snorted. Cheryl rolled her eyes and ignored his comment, “Okay, anyway. So our best bet is a secret room behind the walls?”

“Yup,” Sam said. He swung the backpack over so he could loop his arm through the last strap. “We should split up, cover more ground in the house. It's huge and busy.” Sam added. Carlos nodded in agreement and glanced down at Cheryl and Dean. He and Sam discussed on the way over a perfect plan to get them to talk to each other and work together. It was fool-proof, nothing could go wrong. “Sam and I will check out the first floor and the basement, you guys check upstairs.” He smirked. Dean cocked a brow, seemingly not noticing that Cheryl flushed and was glaring at Carlos. “You guys are gettin’ pretty close, huh?” He asked, his eyes landing on Sam who only shrugged.

“Yeah, Carlos is cool.”

“Yeah,” Carlos jutted his thumb towards Sam, “and he's better than you.”

Dean's lips thinned, “Yeah, all right.”

“Carlos, stop being rude to Dean. He has done nothing to you, so quit it.” Cheryl hissed. She has had it with Carlos being mean to Dean, it wasn't funny anymore. He sighed, “Okay, I'm sorry, Dean.”

“Uh, thanks.” He replied. Carlos gestured towards Cheryl and pursed his lips together. “I'm doing you a favour anyway, she can see ghosts and all.” He said nonchalantly, assuming that they already knew. Sam and Dean's jaws went slack and their eyes widened. Cheryl could see ghosts? “She can do what–” Dean started.

Cheryl raised her hands quickly, “Barely – it's just a little clairvoyance. All of the women in my family have the gift, some stronger than others.” She explained. “I'm more in tune with energies than seeing the actual ghosts.”

“What the fuck?” Dean squinted. A chick who could sense ghosts – a hunter who could sense ghosts, was hot. Cheryl just became even sexier to him somehow.

“So you can sense energies?” Sam asked. “Does it make the job easier for you?”

“Sometimes, most of the time I clue in too late, don't realize or it isn't useful.” She explained. Cheryl let her arms fall to rest at her side and exhaled heavily. “But enough about me, we should head inside, the faster we get rid of this thing, the sooner we can party.” She said giddily.

“I like the way you think,” Dean smirked. He glanced at Sam and Carlos, “You heard her, let's get going.”

They walked up the front steps to the house, all excited for their own reasons. A very drunk young man with bleached yellow hair and ski goggles sat perched on a stool by the open front door. He belched, “Hey! No entry if you ain't got anything good.” They could give them the weed that they have… but Cheryl did not want to do that. She glanced around and pouted her lips together before taking a step forward. She lifted the hem of her shirt along with her bra, flashing the frat bro for a couple of seconds before lowering her shirt again. He seemed starstruck for a couple of seconds, his mouth hung open and his eyes were still settled on her chest. Quickly, the frat bro shook his head and grinned. “Go on in.” He said.

Cheryl smiled wide and turned on her heel to face the three boys. “Come on.” She chirped before strolling into the house. Dean and Sam were a little starstruck themselves, Carlos on the other hand was used to her antics. Sam looked over at Dean and snorted, “Hey, maybe you'll get your turn soon.” He joked.

“Shut the hell up.” Dean huffed.

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Neon lights flashed and EDM music blared through the house, it felt as if it were shaking the floorboards. Cheryl wrinkled her nose and stepped over a puddle of chunky vomit. They could just barely hear some sexual moaning over the music – which was to be expected. People had sex at parties. “God, this was never my scene.” She muttered.

“What?!” Dean yelled. He raised his finger to his ear and yelled again: “I can't hear you!”

“I said this was never my scene!”

“Oh!” He sucked in a breath and squinted down at her, this music was really loud. “I still can't hear you!” He said. Cheryl sighed and rolled her eyes, she looked around for any room that didn't have sex sounds coming from it. Without another thought, Cheryl took his hand and pulled him into an empty closet across the hall.

Thankfully, it was a little spacious, given the fact that it was a walk-in – but with all of the useless crap on the shelves, it sort of squished them together. Cheryl panted and bit her lip, “Oh geez…” She whispered. Dean let out a little groan and backed as far away from her as he could. It didn't do much, but at least he wasn't touching her anymore. “Right, what were you saying so we can get outta here?” He asked hoarsely. He could barely see her, except for when little flashes of blue and green lights would shine from the crack under the door. Those would illuminate her face and make her lips gleam. “Oh… I was just saying that this isn't really my scene.” She replied. Cheryl tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “And we've searched most of the upstairs, except for some of the rooms… and you know why. I don't think the secret room is up here.”

He sighed, “Maybe… we should go find Sam and Carlos. Maybe they found the room.”

Dean grasped the doorknob and attempted to twist it, but it wouldn't budge. His brows furrowed and he pulled on it hard, “What the fuck – this thing is locked.” He growled.

“What? No, it's not.” Cheryl took a turn trying to get the door open but to no avail. Her lips parted and she flicked her eyes up to meet his, and in unison, they both said: “Shit.”

Sam aimed the flashlight down either end of the dimly lit basement littered with Halloween decorations. “What do you think they're doing?” He asked. Carlos let out a laugh and peeked under the stairs, there were many things that they could be doing. “Probably fucking.” He answered.

Sam wrinkled his nose, “Ew.”

“Hey, you know it's likely.”

“I mean, yeah. But it's gross thinking about it. That's my brother and friend.”

“Oh, yeah. I know.” He snorted. “But hey, if it makes ‘em happy.” He said. Sam nodded in agreement, if Cheryl and Dean were happy together (finally), he was happy for them. He'd seen them act like weird teenagers with crushes for way too long.

“Who do you think is gonna kiss who first?” Sam asked. Carlos pursed his lips together and shrugged, it could be either of them. “Cheryl, surprisingly.”

“Really? I think Dean will.”

“Wanna bet on it?”

“How much?”

“An even twenty.” He shrugged. Carlos outstretched his hand for them to “shake on it,” a common thing he did when making bets. Sam took his hand and squeezed it as he shook it, “Deal.”

Dean and Cheryl sat side-by-side, which was the last thing that either of them wanted. She had butterflies in her stomach and goosebumps on her skin, and his ears were tinged red and his heart was beating a million miles an hour. They tried getting out, yelling for help, and calling Sam and Carlos numerous times, but nothing. The music was too loud, and they were stuck in here for the time being. At least when they were stuck in the basement with Casey, they had room to roam. “So, um…” Cheryl started. She tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbled on it, focusing on the lights under the crack under the door. “Have you ever thought about going to a concert? Like Metallica or something?”

“Uh, nah,” Dean answered.

“Really? Why?”

“Dunno, nobody I liked happened to be playing at the same time I was there.”

“Oh,” Cheryl whispered.

“I'd like to go to a concert, maybe for Bon Jovi or Def Leppard.” She said. Cheryl reluctantly glanced up at him and smiled faintly. Dean cocked a brow and grinned, “Def Leppard is good… Pour Some Sugar On Me… Woman… Hysteria… Love Bites…” He trailed off.

“You like Def Leppard?”

“Wouldn't be my first choice, but yeah.”

“Your first choice is probably Led Zeppelin, huh?” Cheryl smiled.

“You remembered that?”

“Yup, it's all you ever play in the Impala most of the time. Hard to forget.”

Dean chuckled, “Guess so…” He inhaled deeply and glanced around the cramped closet. “So, uh,” He looked back at her, “how's your Mom?”

“Oh, she's good. She finally got a phone so we talk a lot now.”

“She didn't have a phone before?”

“Had to sell it for some of Rosità's funeral costs.”

“Oh.”

Cheryl picked at the chipped nail polish on her fingernails and chewed on her bottom lip. She had gotten so used to not being around or hearing from her Mom all the time, she forgot that she missed her until they started talking over the phone weekly. “You know, she keeps asking about you.” She said.

Dean's brows shot up, “Oh yeah? What does she say?” He asked.

“Mostly asks how you are, if you're eating good ‘n stuff… she also asks if we're dating.” Dean was silent for a moment, it was nice that Maria cared to ask how he was, but what got him was her thinking that they were together. To be honest, he liked that she thought that. “...Do you want to be?” He asked hoarsely. Her breath caught and her eyes widened, she couldn't believe her ears. “What?”

“Do you wanna… you know. Date?” Dean repeated. He felt like a loser asking a girl out like this, this wasn't flirty or sexy. Hell – it was so bad that he'd understand if she said no.

Cheryl's eyes flickered up to his face, searching it for any sign of deceit, but when she saw nothing but sincerity, her heart soared. Her tongue swiped across her bottom lip and she slowly nodded. “Si… I do.” She whispered finally. Dean leaned closer to her as if he were a moth to a flame, completely enamoured by her. “Yeah?” He breathed. His breath fanned across her lips and she nodded again. Instead of tensing, she relaxed. “Si, and I promise you I won't leave this time. It's my fault we never got to go on that date, ojos de angel…” She purred softly. He grinned gently, his gaze still stuck on her face. He's wanted to hear that for so long, that promise. A promise that she wouldn't leave. “What does that mean? Ojos de angel?” He asked. Cheryl crept closer to his face, “Guess.”

“Sweetheart?” Dean whispered.

She smiled softly, “No…”

He could feel the warmth coming from her mouth now, she was so close, yet so far from where he wanted. Dean swallowed, “Darling?”

“No…” Cheryl stared up at him through her lashes, “It means angel eyes.” She said. And at last, she gently pressed her lips against his, and he could have sworn that the Earth had stopped spinning on its axis.

Sam jumped when an animatronic clown suddenly came to life and crackled beside him. “Holy shit–” He stammered, stumbling back into a laughing Carlos. Sam hates clowns, and he hates them even more when they jump out at him. Carlos wheezed and slapped his stomach, “Oh fuck! That was glorious.”

“It was not!” Sam said, exasperated.

“Chicken shit scared of clowns!” He snorted. Carlos shook his head and ran his fingers through the ends of his tightly curly hair. “Oh man, phew. That was funny.” He sighed.

A ghastly-looking woman descended the stairs in a white nightgown. She had frazzled hair sunken eyes, and deep laceration marks and rashes around her wrists. Her cracked blue lips parted as she glanced around the room. A ghost haunting a fraternity house, how humorous.

A man with skull face paint smeared all over his face looked the woman up and down before giving her a thumbs up. “Sick costume!” He exclaimed. The woman tilted her head and squinted at him, he looked real enough, but the facepaint was what confused her. “I am not ill.” She echoed. The frat bros brows knitted together and he nodded slowly. “Uh, okay…” He muttered. As the man walked away, she raised her chin before fading away into nothing, as if she were never there. It was time for the hunt: the hunt of those residing in the house. It was her house, her home, and there were strangers in it. She had to protect her home.

Unfortunately for Sam and Carlos, they didn't notice the ghost's appearance. It was a Halloween party, with tons of people, it'd be impressive if they did notice her.

Cheryl straddled Dean's lap, her lips working over his fervently and with such passion that Dean thought it may be a dream. He threaded his hands through her hair and urged her closer to him, desperate to feel every inch of her soft skin. “Cher…” He murmured. Cheryl cupped his cheek and stroked it sweetly as she pulled back briefly. “You okay?” She asked gently. Even though she doubted that he wanted to stop, she still wanted to make sure. His comfort meant everything to her. Dean grinned and nodded, “Oh yeah, I'm perfect.” He said before leaning in to kiss her again. His hands settled on her hips and he started to get a little too excited when she pressed her hands square against his chest and pinned him to the shelves.

Dean panted against her lips and his brows furrowed when a weird sphere object dug into his lower back. At first, he tried to ignore it, but it was getting pretty annoying. He pecked her lips one last time and reluctantly pulled back, “Hold on,” He grumbled.

“What's wrong?” Cheryl asked. He reached behind him and felt at the little knob. “Something's digging into my back,” Dean muttered. He twisted it and the wall behind him gave out unexpectedly. Dean fell back and smoked his head and fingers off of the shelf when he ducked Cheryl's head down to his chest so she wouldn't get hurt. “Holy fuck.” Dean groaned. Cheryl gasped and her eyes widened, she had lost her hat during their makeout session and fall, but that was the least of her worries.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” Cheryl asked. He blinked hard and glanced up at her, “Think so.” He muttered. Now that he confirmed he was okay, she was hyper-aware of the fact that she was completely on top of him. Her knees were on either side of his hips, her chest pressed against him, and their noses centimetres apart from each other. Sure, they had just shared their first kiss, but they were far from where being on top of one another would happen. Cheryl flushed deeply, “Sorry.” Dean only smirked, “Nah, I like a woman on top. It's… hot.”

“Dean, we are not having sex in here.”

“Hey, you mentioned it. Not me.” He raised his hands in defence. Cheryl rolled her eyes and looked up to the wall that seemingly just caved in. “Wait…” She whispered. Cheryl slid off of him and army crawled towards the small dark opening. “I think this is the secret room!”

She crawled through the door and climbed to her feet, feeling around the ripped wallpaper to try and find a light switch. “Dean!” Cheryl whisper-shouted. Suddenly, his hot breath fanned down her neck, “What?” He whispered back. Cheryl flinched and clenched her jaw, “Don't do that. You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He snorted. He reached into his pocket and flicked open his lighter. The tiny flame illuminated a small portion of the room, they could see the vague outlines of furniture. Cheryl glanced around and rubbed her dust-covered hands on her pants. She felt around the dresser in the corner of the room and let out a relieved sigh when she grasped a candle stick. “Here, I found a candle. Light me up.” She outstretched her hands towards Dean and he quickly flicked the flame from the lighter over the candle wick which caught fire almost immediately.

“Gracias.” Cheryl smiled faintly. Dean sent her a nod and brushed past her, continuing to search the room. “So, why do you think Marge is killing all these folks who buy the house?” He asked in an attempt to make conversation.

“Her name is Margaret, and she was a mentally ill woman whose husband abused her and kept her locked up in this room… she probably thinks people are trying to hurt her.” Dean was silent for a moment, a little taken aback by the empathy she had for the ghost. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and nodded slowly. “Yeah, maybe. But hey, at least she'll be at rest when we salt and burn her bones, right?”

When Cheryl didn't reply, he spun around to look at her. His brows raised when he noticed that she stood over a small bed in the corner. In the bed lay brittle bones draped in the nightgown that Margaret died in. She had leather cuffs looped around her wrists that were attached to the bed. Margaret May, the schizophrenic woman who was terribly mistreated by the man who was supposed to love and protect her. Margaret May, starved to death after her husband strapped her down and abandoned the home. Cheryl's lips thinned and she set the candlestick into a candle holder on the nightstand. “Help me move the bed away from the wall, don't want the house to catch fire.” She sighed. Dean flipped the lighter shut and tucked it into his pocket before moving to the headboard of the bed. “You get the footboard.” He said, jutting his chin forward.

Cheryl crouched down and tucked her fingers under the base of the bed and Dean did the same. They counted to three before both lifting at the same time and shimmying back to set the bed down in the middle of the room. Cheryl swallowed hard and crossed her arms against her chest, “Do you mind if I say a prayer for her?” She asked quietly.

“No, uh, go ahead…” He murmured. Cheryl nodded and took a hesitant step forward, crossing herself and then the remains of Margaret. She whispered in Spanish a Catholic prayer, a way of showing respect for Margaret.

The candle on the nightstand flickered and the creaking of the rocking chair facing the back wall started to sound. Cheryl's eyes widened and she slowly turned, the apparition of Margaret sat in the rocking chair. Her fluffy hair poked through the bars of the chair and all she did was hum. Dean gulped and shot Cheryl a look, Margaret was a bit unpredictable as a human, even more so now. “My love, my love, my love…” Margaret hummed. She stopped rocking in the chair and stopped humming. “Where is my husband? I miss him.” She croaked. She looked over her shoulder at Cheryl and Dean and blinked slowly. “There are people in my home, I am scared. I need my husband.”

Cheryl straightened her posture, “Your husband? He went to work, Margaret, he'll be home soon.” She soothed. Margaret beamed and rose out of her spot, padding towards Cheryl carefully. “Really? Oh… I best go to bed then. He will be home when I wake up and he will send our guests away.”

Without another word, Margaret climbed into bed and became one with her remains. The candle stopped flickering almost immediately, and the eerie vibe was no longer in the room. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly the bed erupted into flames. He jumped back, his eyes blown wide. A ghost had never taken care of its remains before, this was a first. Cheryl exhaled sharply and squinted at the flames. “She wanted to go…” She whispered, slightly shocked. Dean's lips parted and he swallowed, “I haven't ever seen a ghost do that before, have you?”

“No… I haven't.”

Dean's phone buzzed in his pocket and he hastily fished it out, not even bothering to look at who was calling before picking up. “Sam?!”

“Oof, wrong.” Carlos chuckled. Dean's face fell and his lips thinned into a straight line. Carlos sighed, “Where the hell are you guys?”

“Found the room upstairs, burned the old gals bones. The door we came in through is locked though so can ya come let us out?”

“Sure thing, buddy.”

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None of them were in the mood to stick around for the rest of the party, so they decided to go back to the motel and turn in early. Sam and Carlos went to grab food after changing, leaving Cheryl and Dean alone yet again.

Cheryl set a pink rose in front of a small oval photo frame with a portrait of a beaming young woman with eyes full of life. Carefully, she lit the small tea light and set it beside the photograph and clasped her hands in her lap before smiling softly. The shower squeaked as the water stopped running, but she wasn't worried about Dean finding her like this. Honouring her sister's memory.

“Rosità… I miss you.” She started hoarsely. Cheryl tucked her hair behind her ear and stared into her dark eyes in the photograph. “Mom does too. I'm sure she lit a candle for you today.” She added. The bathroom door swung open and Dean emerged, rubbing his head with a towel aggressively to dry his short hair. He glanced up, and when he noticed the small altar that Cheryl was sitting in front of, he stopped. “Hey… what's that?” He asked.

“A memorial. For Rosità.” Cheryl answered with a soft smile. Dean pursed his lips together and nodded slowly before coming to park next to her on the edge of the bed. He'd never seen a picture of Rosità before, she looked quite like Cheryl. Just… happier.

She inhaled deeply and leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She changed into something more comfortable while Dean was showering – an oversized t-shirt (courtesy to Carlos) and sweats. “I have an extra candle… if you wanna light one for your Dad.” Cheryl offered. Dean scoffed and shook his head before tossing the wet towel onto an empty chair. “Nah, thanks though.” He answered.

They fell into a spell of silence, but this time it wasn't as awkward. Cheryl swiped her tongue across her bottom lip before biting it. “So, we kissed.” She whispered. He nodded and pursed his lips together, “We did…”

Silence again.

“I liked it.” Cheryl confessed. She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes and showing nothing but sincerity. “I like you.” She added. Dean swallowed hard and his heart started to race, he felt the same… it was just hard to say. So, all he said was: “Me too.” Dean averted his eyes to his feet and set a hand on his knee. “It wasn't just the closet talkin’. I wanna… you know, date you.” He said finally.

“Can I ask what that means?”

“What?”

“Like… is it open… are you gonna hook up with other girls – because I'm not for that.”

“Fuck no!” He blurted. Dean's lips thinned and his brows furrowed, he didn't want to be seeing anyone else. He didn't want to hook up with other girls anymore. “I'd like to be exclusive…”

“Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“If you want labels… yeah. I guess boyfriend and girlfriend.” He grinned a little. Cheryl smiled and lifted her hand to set it on his thigh. “Yes, I'd like that.”

He dipped down and peered into her eyes, a soft smile on his face. “So…” He trailed off.

“So?” Cheryl beamed.

“Can I kiss you this time?” Dean asked. Somehow, her elated grin widened and she nodded excitedly. “Si… you may,” Cheryl whispered against his lips. Without wasting another second, he pressed his lips against hers and cupped her face in his hands, holding her as if she were porcelain. And for the first time in a while, Dean felt alive.

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