𝜗𝜚 save a horse, ride..the cute cowboy from the bar?
content: riding, fluff, creampies, he whimpers, begging, wearing his hat as he fucks you!, yearning and romantic Choso, masturbation, dancing, dry humping, thigh riding, happy endings, unprotected p in v
more like this here + read the hc version!
It’s summer in the south. The heat is blistering, the bars are full and the dresses are pretty.
Especially your dress, Choso thinks, as he blushes behind his glass and tries to avert his eyes. Usually, he wouldn’t blink twice at a pretty girl speaking to him so easily, evening sun filtering lazily onto her cheeks- they’re ten a penny down here, almost as common as the cattle he herds.
But you make him nervous, and he swallows thickly every time you laugh at a joke or tilt your head down. Because, when your head goes down, so does your neckline and it makes him hot. You aren’t even particularly exposed- Jesus Choso, get it together!- but when his dark eyes catch a glimpse of your cleavage, he gulps.
You’d spotted him looking at you, eyes dragging over the way your skirts twirled around and took your tapping boots in and out of his eyeline. The fiddle was loud, he couldn’t find an opening to talk to you (and he sure as hell wasn’t going to dance) and his palms got clammy everytime he looked at you for too long.
Luckily, he didn’t have to wait for an opening because you came sauntering up to him , cheeks flushed and hair tousled from the dancing.
“Hey, uh, haven’t seen you around here before…” he stammers. “Y’come here often?” He wants to die. He wants somebody to smash a glass over his head, unprovoked, so maybe he’ll get shot and he’ll never have to relive this again.
You giggle, and his throat goes dry. “Nah, just moved. Do you come here often, cowboy?”
Oh Jesus. “S’not really my thing, it’s more his.” His head tilts over to Gojo in the corner, hat tilted down over his head and enthusiastically grinning at somebody with long black hair. Choso shakes his head. “Plus, I’ve not danced in a while.”
“Aw, well maybe I can teach you!” You smile, eyes brightening. “Hey, I’ve gotta start heading home or else it’ll get dark. Save me a dance next week?”
He smiles stupidly. “Yeah, yeah. S’fine.”
You smile up at him again, cleavage peeking out oh so slightly over the lace trimming of your dress, and Choso knows he’s hopelessly gone.
The next week, he greets you with a polite tip of the hat and allows you to encase his calloused hand in your softer one, spin him around on the floor until he gets the hang of it.
“You’re good!” You laugh, layered skirts whirling in sync with both pairs of boots.
He doesn’t reply, brows scrunched in concentration. You smile softly, and gasp in excitement when the fiddle switches to a quicker key signature and somebody with a banjo starts plucking the strings quicker than your eyes can keep up with.
Choso grins. He knows this song, has heard it almost every week since he started frequenting this bar; he pivots you about, warm hands firm on your waist, and lifts- you squeal, laughing, and try to ignore how lovely his arms look from up here.
When the song finishes, you’re breathless and glowing. “So you can dance!”
He scratches the back of his head awkwardly. “Sort of… my little brother made me learn. Said he thinks it’s a life skill, ‘though if y’ask me I think he just likes seeing me embarrassed.”
Amusedly, you chuckle- “well, Choso, I didn’t think it was embarrassing at all.”
He smiles. “Well, as long as you don’t think so.” You go quiet, still lightly swaying in his grip like your body forgot it wasn’t supposed to be spinning anymore.
His hands are still on your waist.
Yours are still on his shoulders.
“Oh, um, would you just look at the sky! It’s getting dark already, wow!” You say, cheeks reddening and it’s not from the dancing this time. Your hands snatch back from his shoulders like they’ve been burnt.
He blinks. “Yeah, s’pose it is, sweetheart.” Choso looks slightly saddened to see you go, and your heart melts- so do your inhibitions, apparently. Because suddenly, you’re taking it upon yourself to kiss him goodbye like you’re lovers.
Boots arc up to their tiptoes, lips soft and slightly parted. In the dim corner of the bar, Choso leans down for ease and you’re planting a lingering kiss to his cheek, although it ends up being more like the corner of his mouth.
He thinks you don’t hear over the music- surely, a shaky breath would go unnoticed? After all, he has just been dancing. Unfortunately, you do hear, because it comes out as more of a desperate whine; his hands just slightly dig more into the curves of your waist, and then he’s pulling away.
“Thanks. For the dance, I mean.”
“S’nothing.” He grins dazedly, before ripping the brim of his hat down benignantly. “Get home safe, miss.”
You do, flop down onto your bed and squeal into the pillows like a lovestruck teenager. Then, you formulate a plan for next week, and grin into the pillows. Then, you moan into the pillows; fingers slip inside slick walls, prodding and pulling, while your other hand traces over where Choso held your waist.
Choso is not faring any better. He’s stood leaning against the wall of his ranch- because he couldn’t even wait to get inside- while his rough hand fists his cock at the memory of your tits, your mouth pressed tantalisingly close to his.
There’s tears beading at the corner of his eyes, and he blinks them away angrily like it pains him to use energy on anything other than imagining how it would feel to fuck you.
His hips stutter, his cock twitches- no, no, he’s not supposed to be thinking about that, not supposed to be fantasising about how good you’d look ruined and crying under him and-
His boots are ruined- erratic spurts of milky white ribboning messily over the leather, dampening the material. Shit.
The week after that, he’s decided- he will make a move, he will be romantic and he will ask you politely if he can take you on a date.
He didn’t say anything about being sober, though.
He’s one (or several) shots of cheap whiskey in, and his throat is burning- he feels courageous, determined. So, when you saunter all friendly up to him at the bar, neckline cut lower than last week and hair falling loosely over your bared shoulders, it’s only natural he completely loses any suaveness he was hoping for.
“Hey, Cho! How’re you doin-“
“You, uh…you wanna get out of here?” He says bluntly, admiring your pretty face when it breaks into a smile.
“Only if- only if it’s okay with you, though, wouldn’t wanna-“ Choso starts, cheeks reddening below the brim of his hat, and he can feel every strand of hair that’s currently tickling the nape of his neck.
And then he stops, because you’re taking one large, calloused hand in your softer one and dragging him from the bar into the sandy outside. You look at back at him, just for a second, and Choso feels the pang in his heart he’s been trying desperately to ignore for weeks.
Golden, pink and orange hues dust lovingly across your face; the setting sun catches every glint in your bright eyes, illuminating the irises with glowing fractions of light. Hair flows messily around your face, catching in the light wind.
Choso grins stupidly and clutches at his chest.
“I can show you around more, if you like.” He offers, gesturing at nothing in particular.
You look awestruck, and it takes Choso aback. “You would? Really? I’d love to take myself, but I don’t much fancy my chances with one of those rattlesnakes.” You grimace.
“They’re no big deal, really,” he says, “you just suck out the venom. I could show you how to do that, too.” You eye him up and giggle behind your hand, and Choso’s unsure if it’s at the implication or the way he’s certain his pupils are dilated to what feels like fifteen times their normal size.
His boots kick up little clouds of dust and sand on the pebbled path that leads to his ranch. He watches with dark eyes, completely enamoured, at the way you just look so happy being there; he’s thinking about what you’d look like here all the time- permanently, even.
Maybe even what you’d look like waking up next to him, helping him with chores, your boots next to his, the sound of children giggling-
He scrubs a hand down his embarrassed face. Calm down, Choso! You step inside, fingertips grazing the door like you’ve done it a million times, and take in the interior. At least, Choso thinks you’re taking in the interior, because now you’re turning around and looking at him so intensely he thinks his knees are susceptible to buckle.
And, like the good, obedient boy he is, Choso obeys.
Lets you whirl him around until his back is to the wall, until he can see your deft fingers unbuttoning the blouse of your dress, revealing the skin he’s been desperate for; until you’re planting a hand on his thumping chest and shoving him back onto his couch.
Choso is painfully, terribly, embarrassingly hard. He’s tenting through his jeans, and his cheeks are red with embarrassment; palms come to rest on the curve of your thighs below your dress, now planted firmly either side of his hips.
“Are you- oh.” Choso gulps, because you start to move; you start to rock back and forth, hips grinding down fluidly against his- he swears he can feel how wet you are through your cotton underwear, and he has a brief and perverted thought about how they’d smell pressed up against his face.
“C’mon, Cho, don’t go shy now.” You mutter, lips trailing down his throat.
“M’sorry, I’m jus-ah! Jus’…” he clears his throat awkwardly, “sensitive.” He finishes meekly. You grin, and Choso can feel the line of it spread across his neck. He shudders.
Almost cums in his pants, actually, when the fabric of his jeans catches your clit jusssssst right and then you’re throwing your head back in bliss, hips blindly rutting on him.
He’s not quite sure what to do; a hand comes up to steady your waist, fingerprints branding ovals into the loosening fabric, and the other lies across his face like if he can’t see you you won’t be able to see how much he’s falling apart.
Unfortunately for Choso, you absolutely can.
And, even worse for him, he’s about to cum from it.
He isn’t sure if it’s the humiliation or the very fact that it’s you, but his cock twitches once- twice- and the denim lining of his jeans is ruined with sticky white sap.
“…Choso,” you breathe, “did you just-“
He groans and buries his face into yours, lips meeting lips with a feral cadence that has you reeling, teeth clashing and moans being ripped from your throat everytime he cascades a wave of saliva down your neck.
His tongue dips, past your collarbone and sternum, to your tits. They’re spilling ungracefully from your blouse, pushed together oh so deliciously and Choso can’t help but encircle a budding nipple with his warm mouth.
You gasp and shudder, hips resuming their stumbling rhythm onto his bulge. His breath stutters, and you yank his head back to kiss him.
Choso watches, hazy with pleasure, as you lift yourself up to unbutton his jeans and belt with a soft clink of metal. And then, soft palms are curling wonderfully around his thick cock and he bucks up into your touch.
There’s no respite, no brief period where Choso can collect his bearings; you smile down at him sweetly, plump lips twitching, and slowly feed your weeping pussy every inch of him.
The effect is instantaneous; the noises are downright pornographic and it makes you blush- your sweet, pretty cunt is just wrapped around Choso oh so perfectly, tits brushing his gaping face, and his flushed cockhead dribbles out wisps of milky precum against your cervix.
“Ohhhh, s’good.” He mumbles, mouth ajar around your breast, “so good, can I m-move- oh.”
You’re already ahead of him, hips starting to rock sloppily back and forth, back and forth. There’s a ring of creamy white building at the base of his throbbing cock already, dribbling over his pelvis, and he resists the urge to swipe a finger through it and suck depravedly.
Instead, he decides he’s not that far gone yet (or maybe he is) and resigns himself to simply gripping at your curves for support as you ride him so thoroughly he thinks he’ll cry.
In fact, he thinks he is crying- salty tears spring up daintily at the corners of his crinkled eyes, and you flutter around him so incredibly cutely he has to bury himself in your tits again for reprieve.
His hat rustles, and a glowing, devilish little idea pops into your cockdrunk head. Carefully, inconspicuously, you pluck the accessory from his hair and plant it on top of yours.
Choso notices, notices the way your tits rise into him and then fall back, and when his eyes land on the sight of you above him, he gapes.
“Oh, oh-“ he crackles, “s-suits you, sweetheart.” You laugh. He crumbles.
You look gorgeous. Your hips stirring, hair falling in lazy fashion over your bared shoulders and marked up neck. “Does it? Hmm. M-maybe I should get my own, or maybe…” you lick a malicious, lilliputian stripe up his neck. “I’ll just keep this one, yeah?”
He goes to answer, and you clench around him- he bucks and gasps; he’s completely at your mercy, reduced to a blubbering mess on your cunt. You just snicker.
Choso cums first- hard, jittering out rope upon rope of pearly white spray that varnishes your pussy. He grips blindly at your waist, your face, presses his lips to yours and then reels backwards for air.
“Oh, Cho- y’so good, keep going, please!”
And Choso Kamo is not one to ignore a request. Even if it has him crying out in overstimulation, overworked cock twitching pathetically inside your cunt. But as much as it hurts, as much as his vision is blurring with tears as he bawls quietly into the safety of your shoulder, he can’t stop.
Won’t stop, until you’re gasping and pushing away, “Ch-Choso, you can-oh!- you can stop now, slow down-“ he can’t do anything but mewl and pull you flush against his chest, slick splashing out onto the couch.
The next day, you wake up with sticky thighs and aching muscles. Early morning sun seeps into the room you ended up in, painting Choso’s ruined bedsheets rich shades of vivacious clementine.
A very warm, very content Choso is nuzzled into your chest like he belongs there, his bicep slung protectively around your much smaller body. His hair is loose, and it tickles your skin cozily. You’d be the picture of domesticity, if it wasn’t for the fact you’re both naked. And the cum leaking from your ruined pussy, but that’s a problem for later.
“Morning, sweetheart.” You whisper, brushing soft fingers through brown hair.
“Mornin’.” Comes the muffled response into your chest.
a/n: EEEEEEEKKKK COWBOY CHOSOOOO!! I’m so glad you all enjoyed the shortened version, so I thought I’d give you the full one :D
@esavyrse @f33bs @loverofladybugs
