#jaredpadalecki

bless her heart

pairing: Cordell Walker x southern/widow!reader

WC: 2.9K

CW: 18+ MDNI, language, death of a spouse (briefly described), NDE mentioned, reader has a large scar, reader has a strong southern/country accent, praise kink, unprotected pinv (texas-sized ten-nope, good buddy), size kink, oral sex (m & f receiving), dry humping (kinda?), pet names, overstimulation, rough sex but he talks you through it, soft dom!Cordell, aftercare, maybe missing some lmk

a/n: I love this idea anon!

“I heard she hired someone to do it.”

“Then what happened to her? She looked just awful.”

“Well, I’m sure she paid for him to rough her up, too! Had to make it look convincing.”

“Well, I heard it was for his money.”

“Oh right. Big oil.”

The audacity of bored women was limitless. The same women who showed up on your doorstep with casserole dishes, offering their thoughts and prayers, could tear you apart in the court of public opinion.

As is the case in the South, even a city as large and progressive as Austin was a small town. In the outskirts of the city, where streets gave way to arid ranch land, the town felt even smaller. Even on a twenty-acre ranch, the walls felt like they had closed in on you. People drove by slowly. Always sure to smile when they were caught snooping.

It was bad enough living in the home where your husband was murdered. Even harder having watched him take his last breath. Harder still was having to survive without him.

You were desperate to sell the property, but after the media storm, no one wanted to buy the murder house. Contrary to what everyone thought they knew, you weren’t extraordinarily wealthy. It was yet another rumor that had been repeated so often it became truth.

It had been two years since he died. Six months since the trial ended. Despite the evidence proving it was your husband’s scorned ex-business partner who had murdered him and nearly killed you, the rumor mill never quieted.

The only one of your neighbors who hadn’t shunned you was the Walker family. Not because they had an opinion about the case either way—but because they were trying to survive their family’s own version of hell. Cordell’s wife had been murdered near the Mexican border, and it had dominated the headlines shortly before your husband’s murder. You’d had a few interactions with them since purchasing the property and always found them pleasant enough. But you had mostly kept to yourself since.

Cordell’s first official interaction with you came at the supermarket. Your voice cut through the metallic clatter of shopping cart wheels and the quiet radio playing over the intercom. A strong Southern accent not uncommon for Central Texas, but less common in a city like Austin. Smooth and smoky, but laced with venom.

“You know I can hear y’all, right?”

Cart wheels stopped rattling. Voices silenced. Even the music seemed to play more quietly.

“Don’t get all shy on my account!”

Cordell glanced around, trying to find the source of the commotion, and was surprised to see someone as innocent-looking as you earning horrified looks from a group of older women.

Your shoulders shook with each breath as you stared daggers at them. The tension was palpable from the end of the aisle, where he stood frozen with the rest of the crowd.

“That’s what I thought.”

The weight of all the eyes trained on you landed at once. Cordell noticed your shoulders sag briefly and a rush of color spread across your cheeks. You quickly pulled yourself together and abandoned your cart, heading for the nearest exit.

He recognized you immediately as a neighbor and knew your situation. While he hadn’t been assigned to your husband’s murder—or your attempted murder—he was well versed in the case.

He knew there was no evidence to suggest you were involved in any way other than as a witness.

That you were a young, grieving widow and a survivor of a horrible tragedy.

He frowned as he watched you leave and wished he had done more than gawk like everyone else.

Being the kind soul that he was, he bought what you had abandoned in your cart, along with some other essentials he figured you’d forgotten.

He noticed your truck in the driveway, but the house was completely dark when he pulled in. Still, he approached cautiously and rang the doorbell. Setting the grocery bags down, he cupped his hands around his face to peer through the window beside the door.

“Hey!”

Cold panic shot through him at the sudden voice behind him. He spun around quickly with his palms out. Being in Central Texas, he was relieved not to find you holding a loaded firearm. Just a woman in daisy dukes and an old flannel holding a baseball bat, which you lowered once you recognized him.

You maintained your defensive posture.

“What do you want?”

He had a hard time keeping his lips from turning upward at your unintimidating appearance and tone. Though he’d never risk his life saying it, you looked downright adorable.

“You forgot your groceries. Just wanted to bring ’em to you.”

You studied him for a moment before sighing and allowing your shoulders to relax.

“Thanks.” You nodded, still waiting for the cruel punchline.

“I can carry them inside if you want?”

You swallowed hard and shook your head.

“I’m not stayin’ in there. I’m in the old bunkhouse.” You nodded towards the small, wooden cabin about fifty yards from the main house. From his recollection of the property before you and your husband had purchased it, the bunkhouse was barebones and had basic, gas powered appliances. Intended for cowboys to collapse out of exhaustion at the end of a long day. 

He raised his eyebrows at that, but he didn’t blame you in the least. He couldn’t fathom trying to exist alongside the constant reminder of that night. 

“Lead the way,” he said after grabbing the bags off the porch.

He saw your lips soften into a crooked smile as you turned around. As he followed you toward the bunkhouse, he noticed the new-looking graffiti on the side of the house.

You stopped when you didn’t hear footsteps behind you anymore. He had stopped to stare at the word KILLER crudely spray-painted in red. He was mortified for you. 

“Have you reported this?”

You breathed a humorless laugh.

“Prolly just some kids. I’ve gotten really good at pressure washing in the last two years,” you quipped, nodding towards your late husbands power washer. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes, though.

He squinted at you while you studied the recent vandalism. Tracing each of the letters with your eyes, which held an obvious shine you tried to blink away.

“I’ll take care of this for you,” he offered. “If you want me to, that is.”

You shrugged again, trying to seem casual. It had been a long time since anyone had shown unsolicited kindness toward you. You’d been ostracized by the community when you needed people the most. It didn’t help that you had the disposition of an injured rattlesnake. 

But Cordell was starting to suspect that you might be all bark and no bite. That your attitude was in response to the community’s mistreatment, not the cause of it.

“But Mr. Walker? Lemme fix you dinner. It’s the least I can do.” You drawled warmly. He smiled at the glimpse of your soft underbelly. When you weren’t cursing at old, nosy women in a supermarket, your accent melted through him like butter.

“Cordell’s just fine.” 

He was impressed at the remodel of the old bunkhouse. Even more impressed that you’d done a lot of the work yourself.

“It’s amazing how quickly you learn to hang Sheetrock when you can’t get a contractor to work for you.” You laughed while popping the cap off of a beer bottle and handing it to him.

“Well, you did a really good job.”

He noticed a blush creep across your cheeks and a small twinkle in your eye at the comment.

He noticed it again when he complimented your cooking. How your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer while you tucked a stray hair behind your ear. 

All from a little bit of praise. 

It surprised you, too, when you felt a sudden flash of heat in the air conditioned cabin. The way your heart fluttered at a simple statement that he probably didn’t even mean. 

You spent so long convincing yourself you didn’t care what people thought of you that you’d started to believe it yourself.

Spending time with Cordell had brought your heart out of hibernation. He started coming around more often. Usually under the guise of helping to get the property ready to sell. 

While he hated the idea of you moving, he felt like it was the only way to spend time with you without risking outright rejection. Which, he assumed coming from you, would be painful in more ways than one. 

You found yourself doing something rather humiliating, though. You started pretending you didn’t know how to do things. Unbeknownst to Cordell, and the community, you’d helped your husband with most of the repairs and upgrades on the property to save money.  

Which is why you knew how to replace fence posts, even though you asked Cordell to show you how. The reason? That warm and tingly feeling you got when he praised you. 

“Just like that.” 

“See? You got it.” 

Or your personal favorite?

“M’proud of you.”

They all flushed the shame right out of you from asking for a man’s help.

It was easy to blame the blush in your cheeks on the Texas heat. But the way you pressed your thighs together was harder to explain. 

Even a man as clueless as he was sometimes was catching on. Because in truth, he knew you were lying. The clumsy attempts to hold a hammer didn’t align with someone who can hang Sheetrock on their own. 

He didn’t mind, though. Always a people pleaser, he drank in that smile of yours like it was Texas sweet tea. It’s not like he wasn’t being a little selfish, too. 

He didn’t need to stand that closely, but he couldn’t miss an opportunity to feel you brush against him. Or catch that warm, vanilla-bourbon scent of your shampoo. 

That was his payment for showing you how to do things you already knew how to do.

The tension between you had gotten unbearably thick the more time you spent together. Always him just being a friendly neighbor helping you with projects. Usually you’d reward him with a home cooked dinner and an ice cold beer.

He learned that your love language was in acts of service. 

You learned that his was in words of affirmation. 

As it turns out, that’s a perfect combination. It also means that Cordell Walker talks his way through sex. 

At some point after the second or third beer, you were kneeling between his legs watching him shimmy his jeans down enough for you to free him from his fabric prison. 

“Show me what you can do, baby girl.” 

His warm stare gave you butterflies but you forced yourself to look away long enough to pull him out of his boxers. 

He hissed as you gave him a few pumps, trying to figure out how you were going to fit him in your mouth. 

“Don’t worry, you can do it.” He cooed while softly tilting your chin towards him when he sensed your trepidation. 

You licked a long stripe from the base to the tip, where you kissed and sucked on the sensitive skin underneath. The salty taste mixed with his musk made your mouth water. 

He groaned and let his head fall back while you memorized every inch of his dick with your tongue. Tracing every vein and along his shaft and drinking in the noises he was trying to stifle. 

His hips bucked slightly when you wrapped your lips around him. Forcing you to take him deeper than you were ready for. You gagged and it made you press your thighs together. 

He gently threaded his fingers in your hair and tightened his grip enough to still your head. Allowing him to use your mouth the way he wanted you. 

“You’re doing so good honey, just a little more.” 

He must have sensed how desperate you were for friction. You whimpered when he slotted his leg between your thighs allowing you to grind down on him while he fucked your mouth. 

“You gettin’ close?” 

You managed to hum around him. He pulled you off of him allowing you to gasp for a breath you didn’t realize you needed. You didn’t have time to miss the friction between your legs. With a hand cradling your elbow, he guided you to lie back on the couch. 

You blushed at the wet spot on your pants from where he let you grind your core on him. He just groaned at the sight. 

As he pulled your shirt over your head, you wrapped your arms tightly around your belly. He knew why. And it wasn’t because of your little tummy that most people carry.

Out of an innocent curiosity, he’d pulled your case file. Not because he believed any of the rumors. Just to know what you’d gone through without having to pry. He knew that your husband's killer had inflicted a nearly-fatal wound to your abdomen that would have likely left a permanent scar. 

One that you were self-conscious of. 

While he paid attention to your breasts, his hand slowly eased your arms away before moving to kiss the healed scar. A silent way of saying I see your pain and you’re still beautiful to me. He didn’t linger there, just acknowledging it enough to make your eyes water. 

After petting your swollen clit he sank two fingers into your pussy with ease from how wet you were. You barely registered the warm breath fanning your slick folds from how fucked out you were on his fingers. Once he started lapping and sucking at your clit, you struggled to stay still underneath him. 

“Y’gotta hold still, baby girl. Can you do that f’me? Just wanna make you feel good.” 

You just whined and tried your best to keep your hips still while he worked you open. 

His muscular arm wrapped around your thighs with ease to keep you flush with his face while he devoured you and shoved three fingers inside of your tight channel. 

He groaned as your cunt started to pulse around his thick fingers, lapping up your increased wetness like he was parched.

“So good,” he purred. “My perfect girl.”

He just made the high harder to come down from.

When he finally pulled back, he sucked the wetness off of each finger like he was savoring the flavor.

Straddling his lap you rubbed his leaking cock head through your puffy folds. Twitching everyone it nudged your clit. Pinching your bottom lip between your teeth, you tried to sink down on him. The sight made his heart swell. You were still trying to please him even though he nearly came down your throat a few minutes ago. 

“You got it. Just take it slow— don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.” He stroked his thumbs along your side where his big hands were planted. Helping to speed things along by gripping your hips and pressing you down. 

It felt like he was rearranging your organs. The pressure made your eyes roll back in their sockets. 

“It’s a lot.” You whimpered as you finally settled in his lap. 

You rocked your hips to help stretch your walls out. Desperate to feel him moving inside you. Your clit rubbed against the coarse hair nestled at the base and made your orgasm build even faster. You keened when he started to guide you along his length. The fullness was mind numbing. 

Pressed against his abs, he could feel the way your tummy bulged trying to accommodate him. He almost made you feel like a virgin again. His simple praises were like a drug to you. 

“You’re taking me so well though. Does that feel good? Feel that in your tummy?” 

You nodded eagerly as you’d almost lost the brain capacity to speak. 

He noticed your face start to twist as he dropped your harder into his lap. Your nails were digging into the muscles in his shoulders as you tried to lift up slightly. Away from the overstimulation. 

“You’re alright, doin’ so good.” 

You just whimpered in response as his fingertips dimpled the fat on your hips to keep you in place while he fucked into you. You weren’t even sinking back down into him to meet his thrusts. 

He hardly registered the way your nails bit into his skin when you came. You squeezed him so tightly he thought he’d lose circulation. The wet squelching sound was obscenely filthy and sent him over the edge. He barely had time to pull out before shooting ropes of come on his lower abs. 

Your legs were trembling on either side of him and your head rested on his shoulder while you struggled to stay upright. You were shocked when he stood up with you. Squealing and quickly wrapping your tired limbs around him.

Your back straightened when he set you down on the cool surface of your tiny bathroom vanity. 

Leaning back against the mirror, you watched as he cleaned himself up before turning his attention to you. 

“You okay?” 

You huffed a tired laugh.

“Very okay.” 

He moved to stand between your legs while he tucked a stray hair behind your ear. Like he was trying to put you back together. 

“Cordell?”

He hummed while he started running a warm shower for you.

“If I stop pretending to be bad at things, can we still do that again?” 

a/n: cordell walker is a hill i'm willing to die on y'all. please keep the requests coming!

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