#BRAVE YOUNG COWBOYS

[john-gosh-darnielle]

high beams in vain

[izaacs-notdeadyet]

damn these vampires coded

“Undead nightmare 2” “what about more zombies?”

HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED A VAMPIRE DLC????? Vampires are already kinda cannon so I think I wanna meet cowboy vampires. Life changing concept.

[frankiebirds]

brave young cowboys

Derek leaves the kitchen where he’s been trying to brainstorm with Prentiss and Gideon. He can’t face the looks on their faces anymore—the dwindling hope. He still has it; he has to have it. It’s not totally irrational—Tobias hasn’t come to kill Hotch yet. He probably won’t until he’s killed Spencer; he wouldn’t risk leaving his captive alive and alone. It’s cold comfort because if Spencer is still alive, then Spencer is still in pain, but it’s comfort, at least. Derek’s taking one of Tobias’ bibles off the shelf before he even realises he’s doing it, opening it without knowing what he’s looking for. He only occasionally believes in God these days and trusts him even more infrequently, so he doubts he’s searching for comfort. Maybe somewhere deep down, the eight-year-old who hasn’t yet seen his father die is still alive and still believes, and still remembers that Genesis 23:4 is not about narcissism because that’s the verse he opens the book to, and his stomach drops to the floor.

OR: in which the team takes just a little too long to figure out the message spencer is leaving them in georgia. derek takes it poorly.

read on ao3

[atrwriting]

thinking about stripper reader with old man logan.

he came in every week or so — disheveled outfit and hair. he was older, sure — but not in the way most men his age looked. no — the years didn’t wear on him, but whatever he did that day did. his wrinkles weren’t deep, but the bags under his eyes were. his smile lines weren’t permanent, but the distant look in his eyes was. his bones didn’t crack because they were old, but because they were under too much stress. you couldn’t help it — you wanted to take that pain away.

no one wanted to approach him because he seemed to keep to himself — worried he was a creep or something. he was quiet, too — only speaking when he ordered a drink or another after that. he replied in nods or shakes of the head, and his eyes were always on the stage. despite the fact that he tipped well — no one bit.

you were feeling brave that day when you approached him. you kept it simple — black lace teddy, black lace thong, and black heels. hair bouncy with light makeup, hoping to keep the star of the show your eyes and smile. you knew he could see you out of the corner of his eye, and it threatened your confidence — but he had peaked your interest for too long for you to toss and stumble now.

“hey, handsome,” you spoke, keeping your tone light. “need another?”

he didn’t cock his head towards you, keeping his gaze in front. he swirled the small sip of whisky left in his glass, appearing to contemplate your question. after a moment, he responded, “dancers don’t take drink orders, darlin’.”

“no,” you spoke, laughing slightly. you bent at the hips, hoping to be lower than his eye line. “but they don’t when they give private dances — interested?”

“no, thanks.”

his voice was final — and even though you were disappointed, you didn’t want to push it. you stood then, taking a step back. “okay — i’ll send a waitress over.”

after working the room — it was your turn to take one of the side stages. you had your pick of which — but you decided to keep it as far away from the man as possible. if he didn’t want to be bothered, who were you to threaten a good tip? curiosity would not be killing the cat tonight — especially not when there was more money to be made.

a few men had gathered during your set, throwing a few dollar bills here and there as you swung your hips to the music. you had switched into a falls cowboys cheerleader outfit — white shorts, blue top, and white bra. cliche and overdone, but by the look of your tips — you couldn’t care less.

you also couldn’t care less when you noticed a set of eyes on you — the man’s.

he was unashamed in the way he stared at you. he had gotten another round at some point — but wasn’t drinking any of the contents. he simply gripped it tight as he stared at your swaying hips and perfect curves. you bit your lip at the thought of him regretting turning you away, the confidence intoxicating you. before the song ended, you made sure to lock eyes with him — letting you know that this was your stage and your body he was silently and secretly drooling over. when you sent a cheeky wink his way, he shook his head — downing his glass in an instant. you smiled when he stood from his seat, immediately darting for the “vip” lounge in the back that proudly boasted a sign that read “private dances.”

when you made your way into the back room, you were told that a certain someone had specially asked for you. once you made your way back there, you found what you were looking for.

“make me feel young again, darlin’.”

you couldn’t help but smile. he didn’t say it in an insecure way, but in a way that suggested that his day had been too long and too tiring.

“tell me how you like it?”

he didn’t say anything — he just watched you. his eyes never left yours as you flung off your top, exposing your breasts. he drank his entire glass of whisky before you had planted yourself on his thighs. the flesh of your ass was like to pillows, fit for his large hands. he didn’t touch you — but by how hard he gulped, you could tell he wanted to.

“touch me, sugar,” you whispered. “i won’t tell.”

there was hesitation in his eyes, but soon his gaze darkened. restraint had fallen through the cracks, gone and forgotten. was a shame he had already paid for the dance — you would’ve fucked him for free.

now it was time to make it worth his while.

the man beneath you ground your round hips down into his pelvis, groaning at the friction. he hadn’t seen peace or pleasure since never, but it held his facial feature hostage as his nostrils picked up on the scent of your arousal. warm, tangy juices that leaked through the lace in your panties onto the denim of his jeans.

“take off your pants,” you breathed. “i’ll remind you how young you are — if you promise you’ll show me the skill that only comes with age.”

he had you bent over the table, hands behind your back held by his belt. he planted two heavy feet next to each of your ankles, keeping your legs spread and ready for him. his thrusts were hard against the back of your hips as you only had the table’s edge to support you. you felt him repeatedly hit your cervix, wincing at the aggression.

“that’s not the spot, huh, darlin’?” he spat.

you stayed silent — wanting to see how he reacted.

“i can feel it — resistance,” he grunted. “that sweet pussy needs more, doesn’t she?”

his hard, calloused hands rotated your hips so the tip of his cock repeatedly began to smack into the softest and gummiest part of your inner walls. a moan ripped through you like no other — your back arching upwards as your hips desperately tried to meet his thrusts.

“there it is — that’s it, darlin’. come on, fight back.” you could feel the rough skin of his finger tips dig up and into your pelvis, welcoming the pressure. one of his hands moved underneath you — hauling your hips upwards — pressing against your lower abdomen. he could feel the outline of his cock fucking into your womb, stuffing you full. “i can feel how deep you’re takin’ it, darlin’ — pussy so greedy, ain’t she? — always wantin’ more? those young boys just ain’ it? i’ll take care of her, darlin’…”

you were a whining mess beneath him — practically incoherent. he could hear, smell, feel, taste everything you were feeling. he had every part of you in his hands — completely vulnerable to his mercy and touch. and when your hips started to shake — fighting with him and against him — all he could do was force them down as you took his cock. you whined and whine and whinedwhinedwhined for more until the glam makeup began to melt off your face.

the man watched as your body shook for him — him and only him. you found his wrist, holding onto it for dear life as you tired to anchor yourself. the pleasure was too much, causing your head to spin. you could feel the man rub the skin of your ass tenderly, coaxing you into your orgasm. your womb bloomed for him, wanting to suck him dry and never let him go. his groans were animalistic, filling the room as you begged him to fill your pussy. he smacked your ass once, twice, thrice before he pulled out and painted your back with his cum.

once he pulled out, you were still on your stomach on the table as you tried to catch your breath. he bent down to meet your eyes — a youthful glow on his face — before he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“you just ruined men my own age for me.”

“get your things, doll — takin’ you away from here.”

———

depravity - L xoxo lmk what u think ;)

[love-lilacs]

what a cruel summer! | tyler owens x reader (18+)

Tyler laughs. That deep, clear rumble that sends every girl swooning into his arms. You aren’t immune to its charm from your spot, a roiling envy settling in your stomach as you turn away from where you had been watching them out of the corner of your eye.

You can’t be jealous. You just can’t.

No matter what this feels like. 

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI. drinking. porn w some plot??? smut. unprotected pnv (wrap it before you tap it pls). oral, f receiving. spanking. dirty talk. no use of y/n. fwb relationship and feewings.

word count: 5.1k

The heat of Oklahoma is only bearable because of the storms that pass through, with their cold fronts and sweet smelling rain, creating rotating funnels of wind for you to chase with your friends. 

That, and Tyler Owens. 

It wasn’t meant to be this serious, which is why you keep telling each other that it isn't. You almost exclusively dance only with each other because you’re the only two that are only ones who aren’t clumsy and like doing it, sneaking into each others rooms for sex but staying overnight because it’s easier than sneaking back to your respective beds. Tyler insists you ride with him in his truck because you have an uncanny ability for reading the radar and navigating, not because he’ll push to get as close to the cell as possible so that you can get the perfect shot for your journals.

It’s not serious, but when he holds you close and spins you around the floor of whatever sticky dive bar you’re in, it sure feels that way. 

It felt that way when some guy put his cowboy hat on your head, taking it back only after Tyler snatched it from your head, pulling you backwards into his chest while drawling that the guy had picked the wrong girl. 

It feels that way on the odd day off in some hotel pool when you’re perched on his shoulders after another winning round of chicken fight and his short nails are digging into your thighs while you tangle your hand in his hair. The image of your thighs around his head border on too much to handle while he cheers you on- “Atta girl!”

“I’m getting another round.” You say to no one, well aware that your friends are deep in a debate about who was stupider in today’s chase and will not hear you. They don’t notice that Tyler has been gone for the better half of 15 minutes, laughing and charming the young female bartender. She can’t be much younger than you, but has on one of those tiny blank tank tops that make boobs look like gravity is a suggestion. That paired with low pigtails that the middle-aged men at the end the bar are drooling over; you’ve decided you can’t possibly compete with her. You step up to the spot only a few spots down from Tyler and the girl, desperately trying to make eye-contact with the other bartender for a refill.

You’re just close enough to hear their conversation as he tells her about the tornado you had chased earlier that day.

“That must be so scary.” She gushes, resting her chin in her hand, “You’re so brave. I could never do that.”

Tyler laughs. That deep, clear rumble that sends every girl swooning into his arms. You aren’t immune to its charm from your spot, a roiling envy settling in your stomach as you turn away from where you had been watching them out of the corner of your eye.

You can’t be jealous. You just can’t.

No matter what this feels like. 

“Another one, miss?” The older bartender asks. You nod, “and a shot of Jack,” placing a few bills on the counter as he prepares your drinks. 

“Is that your team in the corner over there?” She asks. Their two voices are growing nearer to you. You trace your finger down a grain in the wood, wincing at the stickiness that follows you as your drinks are placed in front of you. You down the shot before you can think too hard about it, the bittersweet liquid burning down your throat.

“Yup. Best in the damn south. And this-” Tyler claps a hand on your shoulder causing you to jump back into his chest. His stupidly firm, warm and comforting chest. 

“This is my wingman. My partner. Don’t know what I’d do without her guiding me.” Tyler’s hand slips down your middle, tucking you firmly into his side. 

You look up meet his gaze, hoping your face is as steely and sharp as the mask you desperately want to wear. “Probably drive straight into a tornado and die.” You deadpan, wrapping your lips around your straw and raising your eyebrows. 

“Without you darlin,’ I don’t think I’d be getting anywhere near any one of ‘em.” Tyler grins down at you, squeezing your waist as he pulls you closer to his side. “Nice meetin’ ya, Bailey! See ya ‘round.” That’s all the goodbye he affords her as he guides you back to the group with his hand on your lower back. 

“She seemed nice.” You say, trying to keep the bitterness out of your tone. You fail. 

Tyler laughs, clearly bemused by the whole situation. 

“She’s alright. Why? You jealous, darlin’?” Tyler stops, tugging your belt loops to face him. The sudden movement combined with your tipsiness makes you stumble, placing a hand on his pec to steady yourself. 

You set your jaw as you snatch your hand away as if burned, glaring up at him. “Never.” 

“Well then, you won’t have an issue with me asking her to dance? Her shift is over soon.”

Your free hand clenches into a fist, squeezing tightly as you shake your head. 

“No?” Tyler asks, a knowing look on his face. Mouth quirking up at the side, in that stupidly charming way. 

“No.” You repeat, turning on your heel and walking back to your table. When you sip from your drink, he’s talking to Bailey again and she steps out to the dancefloor as he guides her around. The men from the end of the bar watch as they do so, jealousy clear on their faces. You’re sure it must be clear on your own too, taking another larger sip and wincing. The bartender made you a double. Not that you’re complaining as you suck it down quickly. “Let’s do shots!” You exclaim to the group, grabbing Kate’s arm. A resounding ‘yes!’ is heard from around you and two of the guys head to the bar, returning with enough shots for everyone to have two.

Tyler is peering over Bailey’s head curiously, watching as you knock both back in quick succession. Tequila. Your personal nemesis. You cannot bring yourself to care. “Let’s dance!” You giggle to Kate and Lily, dragging them to a spot on the dancefloor opposite of Tyler. They oblige you easily, moving to the beat. As the night crawls on and the music gets louder, you’re fed shot after shot until Kate has you hanging off of her left side and Lilly clutching her right hand. Tyler has long since abandoned Bailey, choosing to stand with the guys and watching you move with a smile on his handsome face. All it does is make you sad. 

“Alright, party girls. Come on, last call is coming up and we should get back.” Tyler has appeared in front of you, the rest of the guys in tow. 

“Aw!” You pout, stepping away from Kate and looking up at him. “But I’m not done! And you can’t leave Bailey!” You sing her name bitterly, wrinkling your nose and spinning, maintaining eye contact as best you can. You’re warm and swaying, much lighter than earlier. You manage to ruin your own mood when you face him again, shocked that he would still be in front of you. Your brows furrow and lips form a pout. 

Tyler sighs, wrapping an arm around your waist to steady you, guiding you out of the bar. “‘M not interested in Bailey, sweetheart. I like you.” 

“You can’t say things like that.” You insist as the cool night air hits your body. One of your friend’s cars is in front of you, backseat door open and engine running. 

“Like what?” Tyler asks, carefully turning you to face him. Concern is written on his face while he hands rest on your hips. A thumb rubs back and forth on the skin where your shirt has ridden up.

“Like sweetheart, especially after you’ve spent your night flirting with another girl.”

“I wasn’t flirting.” Tyler insists, “I wouldn’t do that to y-” He cuts himself off, “I wasn’t flirting with her.” He insists quietly, cheeks going pink.

You scoff, pushing off of him and into the backseat. “Could’ve fooled me.” You call as you buckle in your seatbelt. Tyler sighs dejectedly as he closes the door behind you. With only Lily in the backseat with you, the world suddenly feels a lot less steady in the dark car. You don’t realize you’re crying until you’re on some unlit back road towards the hotel, sniffling softly as tears fall down your face. 

Lily says your name once, then twice until you look at her. You’re sure you’re eyes are red and puffy. Concern is written on her face. “Are you okay?”

You nod, wiping furiously at your cheeks. “M’fine.” You blubber, crossing your arms as another cascade of tears leak down. 

Tyler says your name from up front this time. “We’re almost back, okay?”

“Okay.” You sob, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You run to escape from the team’s prying eyes in the lobby, not catching Tyler’s gaze as he assures them;  “I’ll check in on her.” as you rush past the closed pool, desperately searching your pocket for the room key. Only when the green light flashes and you shut the door behind you do you allow yourself to gasp for air. 

30 minutes later, you’re wrapped in a soft blanket, watching a rerun of an HGTV episode, putting sour candy after candy on your tongue. You can’t bear to look Tyler in the eyes, can't bear to face Lily and Kate’s comforting text messages inquiring about your well being. 

A knock interrupts your sulking. Expecting it to be someone from the team you ignore it, not wanting to face the music. But it comes again, louder this time, and you mute the TV.

Creeping up slowly, you reach for your phone and the nearest potential weapon- your textbook on Differential Equations in Chemistry from a summer class you’re taking. Your name is called from outside the door before you can stand on your tiptoes to peer through the peephole. Even though you recognize the voice, you check anyways. Standing sheepishly with his hands in his pockets is Tyler. 

“Can we talk?” Tyler asks, raising his hand to knock again, “I know you’re mad, darlin’, but I-”

You open the door before he can finish speaking, taking a moment to bask in his startled gaze. You look him up and down. He’s changed his clothes since the bar, sporting a backwards cap and too-small gray t-shirt he’s had since you were freshmen in college. You try to ignore the way his biceps bulge and strain against the sleeves when he adjusts the stupidly attractive hat. 

“I’m not mad.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest, hoping he doesn’t realize its his shirt that you donned. Based on the way his gaze flicks down to where your breasts are pushed up against the logo and quirks his eyebrow ever so slightly, you know he does. 

“Had me fooled, then.” He stares you down, waiting for a response. You stare back, a silent battle between the two of you on who will fold first. Begrudgingly, you concede, stepping aside for him to pass and enter the tiny room. You think he’s going to comment on the mess you’ve made; in your frustration after the chase, you left your clothes in a heap on the floor next to your damp towels from the shower and the candy bag on the unmade bed. 

“You’re a bad liar.” Tyler teases lightly with his usual lopsided grin on his face. 

To anyone else, he looks relaxed and nonchalant. You know him better. Based on the way his thumb is fiddling with his belt loop, you know he’s walking on eggshells around you. You shrug, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling your shirt down to cover more of your bare thighs.

His sullen face, half shadowed by the lamp in the corner, follows the movement. His throat bobs as he steps towards you.

“I’m sorry.” Tyler confesses, stepping towards you.

You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t have danced with her.”

You raise an eyebrow, waving a dramatic hand for him to continue. 

“And I shouldn't have said what I did to you.” He steps again, falling to his knees. Carefully spreading your thighs, he looks up at you and presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. 

“And?” You ask as he traces from your knee to the edge of the shirt leaving goosebumps in its wake, never once breaking eye contact with you. 

“Jesus woman, you’re the smartest, prettiest girl I’ve ever met and I will never doubt you again. We men are nothing compared to you.” Tyler recites, causing your smile to finally break away. You laugh, cupping his cheek as he grins too, green eyes following your movement.

“Good.” You lean down, pressing your forehead to his. Tyler closes the distance quickly, pressing a tiny kiss to your lips, unable to resist. 

“She wasn’t interesting either.” Tyler admits, trailing lazy kisses up and down your legs. You hum in response, carding your hand through his sandy locks. “Too sulky.” He quotes, not stopping his movements as he gets closer to those pitiful excuse for sleep shorts you like to wear. He presses his hand against your stomach, pushing gently until you fall backwards onto the bed. 

“Oh?” You ask, voice choked. 

“Mmm. I like you so much more. But don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna fix this.” 

“Fix it?”

“Can’t have my girl mad at me.”

My girl. 

If he didn’t have your head spinning, you’d jerk up and demand exactly what that meant. 

But Tyler does, as always, as he pushes the shirt up to expose a bit of your stomach.

Tyler rises slightly, kissing at the waistband.

“Not mad anymore.” You sigh, fisting a hand in his hair. “Was a bit disappointed, maybe.”

You feel him smile against you stomach, knowing better. But he doesn’t say anything.

“Didn’t get dinner before we left.” Tyler mumbles, more to himself as he hooks his fingers in the shorts. 

“You must be hungry.” You muse breathlessly, lifting your hips to help him.

Tyler’s eyes darken, pupils blown as he leans forward to kiss your bare, soaking core. 

“Starving.” He agrees, eyes only on you. Then he leans forward, pressing his tongue flat and licking a fat stripe up your pussy. 

The action has you crying out desperately, tightening your grip on his hair as his fingers tease at your weeping hole.

“Can’t believe I’m so lucky.” Tyler murmurs, watching carefully as he inserts one finger. You clench around him, moaning desperately “got you, pretty baby, waiting for me, in my shirt, no panties. Don’t deserve her.”

“No.” You gasp as he presses another finger. “Maybe not after today.” 

“Absolutely not.” Tyler agrees, curling his fingers experimentally. “Gotta make it up to her.”

Tyler repeats the motion a couple times watching intently until you keen forward. He surges towards you, wrapping his lips around your clit, tonguing at the little bud with his usual fervor. 

You moan loudly, pulling his head closer to you as you throw your head backwards on the messy bed, arching your back as you pull him closer, closer, closer. 

 “That’s my girl.” Tyler grunts into your core, “Is my pussy gonna come for me?”

You cry out head wobbling in a desperate ‘yes.’

“That’s right. My girl, my pussy. My sweet cunt. Who makes you feel this good?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as he repeats his motions, holding you just on the edge of coming. His arm brands across your hips, holding you in place and preventing you from squirming to get the friction you need to push you over the edge.

Tyler pulls his fingers halfway from your soaking cunt, inhaling sharply as you clench, desperately trying to pull him back in.

“Baby,” He reminds gently, toying at your clit with his thumb, “who makes you feel this good?”

Your body jolts at the featherlight touch, “You, Tyler!” You cry out, and he nods. 

“That’s my girl.” He wraps his mouth around you again, working you closer to your high as your thighs shake and breaths come quicker. Flames lick at your skin, threatening to consume you whole. The icy cold room cannot compare to Tyler’s mouth, not when he’s working you just like this. When it hits, your orgasm surrounds you like a supernova, heat covering your skin despite the overworked air conditioner blowing cool air towards your bare body. Starbursts of white bloom behind your eyelids as you thrash, desperately grinding into Tyler’s face to ride out your high.

Tyler lets you use him, grinding your pussy into his face and drinking up your orgasm, working you until you carefully pull him away, muttering “sensitive.” His chin is shiny, slick with your release and the smile he sports can only be described as smug. Tyler wraps an arm around your center, sighing as you pull him on top of you. 

You’re dimly aware of the TV casting a blue glow over the two of you as you reach for his belt, undoing it carefully.

“I really am sorry.” Tyler catches your hand, emerald eyes boring into yours. Sadness is reserved in them, touch tentative as he raises your wrist to his mouth and presses a kiss to the soft skin there. The action is so endearing you nearly want to cry.

“I know.” You pull your hand from his, running a thumb over his mouth and pulling his lip down. His tongue darts out, touching your fingertip ever so slightly. You continue your movement until you brush the scruff of his chin. You lean up to kiss him chastely. “So am I.”

Looking down at you, he’s a work of art. Face flushed and damp strands of hair hanging over his forehead, likely from a shower. That hat he was wearing is somewhere on the bedsheets of this shitty motel room. He smells strongly of cedar and pine, shrouding you in the world’s most comforting blanket. Tyler lets his body sink lower to cover you, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck. You comb your fingers through his hair, ignoring the way the cool metal of his belt buckle is digging into your thigh. Wet kisses are being placed along your skin in between murmurs and praise you can’t quite make out. 

This doesn’t feel like friends. 

You want to say as much and the sentiment is mirrored in his eyes when he opens them, hovering above you on his forearms.

But you don’t, instead whispering “can I?” as you trail your touch from his pecs to his abs, lifting his shirt and running your fingers along that light trail of hair just above his belt. 

Tyler nods. “Please, sweetheart.”

You peel your shirts from your bodies first, taking a moment to marvel at his chest as you always do, grazing your teeth across his nipple just to make him shiver. His jeans come next and you take your time unfastening them. He ungracefully kicks them off, boxers following seconds later. Tyler lowers himself fully on top of you again, careful not to let his weight crush you.

Not that you would mind if he did. 

The kisses he offers are far from filthy, instead tender and gentle, as if you’d disappear if he wasn’t careful. You can faintly taste yourself on his lips, a blush rising in your cheeks at the thought. He cups your face delicately, calloused hands rough against your soft skin.

When you reach down to grasp him, he hisses, pressing his face into your neck . 

”Shit, sweetheart.” Tyler gasps out as you trace your fingers gently over a thick vein,. “‘M not gonna last long.”

“I don’t need you to.” You mutter into his collarbone, sinking your teeth into his smooth skin and brushing a thumb over his swollen tip. Precum smears with your thumb’s movement and he groans again, hiding his face lower in your chest and messily kissing the tops of your breasts.

You continue moving your hand, drinking in his gasps and moans with pride. Finally, you guide him to your dripping heat. You gasp and he moans long and pretty when you drag his tip through your heat. The first press of his 

The stretch is something you’ll never get used to, nails digging into your shoulders as Tyler drags his lips over your cheek. “So good.” He gasps and you nod fervently, catching you lips against his. You dig your nails into his shoulders, rolling your hips once. Tyler takes his cue, pulling out slowly, watching your needy cunt grip his thick cock. When he bottoms out again, it punches a high pitched breath from your lungs. He maintains the slow, bruising pace, arms bracketing your head as he pounds your poor pussy. Every thrust hits deeper, fat tip bullying that spongy spot you can never quite reach on your own. 

Every nerve on your body is alight, hot and burning. All you can possibly conjure from your fucked-out mind is his name. Clearly, Tyler isn’t not far off from your state with the way your name falls from his lips like a prayer. 

You clench around him, lips catching in a messy kiss that can hardly be counted as such. Panting against each other’s mouths like you’ve just ran a mile. To call it a kiss would be an insult to the romantics attached to the word. It’s messy, dirty, and downright nasty. It’s hot. 

Tyler shifts, angle changing ever-so-slightly, but the movement causes his pelvis to brush against your neglected clit. 

“There?” Tyler asks as you cry out. He trails his hand down to where your bodies meet, watching the way your cunt grips his cock, wet from every thrust into your tight pussy. His fingers circle your clit and you gasp sharply, nodding eagerly and throwing your head back. “‘S fuckin’ hot.” 

“Good girl,” Tyler murmurs, “This little cunt is gon’ come for me again, ain’t it? Can feel the way you’re gripping me. ‘S like heaven.” 

The world around you grows dull. The roof could rip off of this dingy place, rain pouring on your skin, but all you could know is the way Tyler feels against you. The way his voice coaxes you closer to your high. The way his breath fans your cheek when you come, thrusts slowing as you ride out your orgasm, clenching around him. Your senses dull as all you can feel is the way his body presses to you. When you open your eyes again, Tyler is still sheathed inside of you, pressing butterfly kisses across your cheeks. You meet his concerned gaze, and something akin to a challenge seeds itself in your brain. 

With one movement, you’re pushing him off and out of you, flipping him onto his back and straddling his thighs. Tyler’s gaze is wide as he watches you, those emerald eyes nearly black from arousal and astonishment. 

His hands find themselves gripping your thighs as you rub your pulsing pussy up his length. Tyler groans again. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.”

You lean down, pressing his tip into your cunt again as you whisper into his ear. “But what a way to go, huh cowboy?”

Tyler thrusts up into you, fully inside you once again. A smirk toys at your lips as you swivel your hips around him. His gaze makes you feel powerful as you begin to ride him. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, alternating between shallow thrusts to meet your body and letting you fully take control, as if overcome by the picture in front of him.

Your eyes catch on something near your knee and the corner of your lip quirks up as you reach for it. Tyler’s hat, the one abandoned however long ago is resting backwards on your head. The too-big accessory falling over your face with every bounce.

“Fuck.” Tyler huffs, gripping your ass so tightly you’re sure he’s going to leave bruises. “You really are my girl, ain’t ya?”

You nod, a wolfish grin spreading on his face at  “Atta girl. Prove it.”

So you do, fully intending to ride him within an inch of his life. His hips meet yours with every thrust, the sound of skin hitting skin not deterring either of you. Neither does the noises spilling from your mouths. Each sound of his is music to your ears, pride surging in your chest at the knowledge that you pull those sounds from him. They may not know now, but if anyone walks by your room, there is no doubt that they would understand exactly what is going on behind that closed door. 

Still, your movements never cease as flames paint your skin, too lost in pleasure to even think about the exhausted ache blooming in your thighs. A particularly hard trust has your head tipping back with a guttural moan. Two orgasms in has left you sensitive and leaking, but Tyler doesn’t hesitate, reaching up to cup your breasts and thumbing over a nipple. Your hand reaches down to rub at your swollen and forgotten clit, easing the ache from the lack of simulation. 

He looks at you in awe, as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky, painting every constellation with your hands. As he can’t believe you’re real. There’s no way. He can’t look at you like that. Like there’s something more, like you’re something special, not without promising you something. 

This doesn’t feel like just friends. 

You don’t have time to focus on the intruding thoughts, shaking them away as you brace your hands on his chest and riding him faster, harder. Desperate to feel him, make him feel as good as he’s made you feel. Desperate to be closer. 

Tyler yanks you down to meet his lips, tugging your hair and taking control as he sets a fast pace, chasing his own high. 

“Can I-?”

“Inside me, Owens.” You order, biting at his eat and tugging slightly at his blonde strands.

Tyler has a habit of clutching you tightly when he comes, bodies pressed so tightly together that nothing could possibly separate you. Ribbons of white coat your walls as he comes with a shout, thrusting sloppily as he rides out his own high. When he finally comes to a stop, you clench around him teasingly, knowing he’s still sensitive from his orgasm. A curse spills from his lips as he slips from your weeping cunt. You don’t know how long you stay there, curling on top of him with his hat still atop your head. Tyler brushes his fingers over your back, tracing invisible pictures as the air conditioner whirs in the background. Your own fingers draw up and down his collarbone. There’s a scar on his bicep from some brush with debris after a storm. A soft kiss to the skin there has a shaky breath tearing from his lungs. Somewhere in there, you doze off, only stirring when Tyler carefully moves you off of him and tucking you into a pillow. Your eyelids flutter open, a sinking feeling settling as your stomach as Tyler leans over you, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I’ll be right back.”

You know he means it, returning in his plaid boxers with a wet washcloth to clean the remains of your sex from your inner thighs. You catch the scent of your lavender lotion being rubbed onto your legs, stifling a soft sigh into your pillow. A kiss followed tap to your hip has you sitting up, silently taking the t-shirt he offers you- his shirt. The same one he wore into your room. It’s silent as he feeds the fabric over your head and through your arms. Your eyes meet his, and he looks suddenly shy and sheepish, as if this isn’t a dance you’ve danced a million times. 

This time is different, you both know that. 

“Can I stay?” Is what he asks, looking for permission before settling into his routine. You know he’ll lay on his back before turning on his side and tucking you into him. 

Still, its a question this time, waiting for your answer. Tyler is ready to go and pretend this never happened if you would just say the words.

As if you ever would.

You shake your head, patting the spot next to you. “Yeah.” You swallow as you slide your legs under the covers. “You should stay.”

You can’t remember the last time Tyler looked so relieved. 

When you wake up to a warm body pressed against yours, it takes a moment for last night’s memories to trickle in. Your body aches deliciously, brain somehow clear despite the copious amounts of alcohol you consumed the night before. Tyler breathes quietly behind you, clutching your waist as if you’ll slip away like sand if he loosens his grip. His exhales tickle your ear and you squirm backwards into his grasp, desperate to be closer closer closer.  

“Mornin’.” Tyler murmurs in that deep voice of his. “You sleep okay?”

Your eyes close again, finding his hand and intertwining your fingers. “Mhmm. You?”

Tyler hums in agreement, turning you gently to face him. His arm is tucked under his head, bicep flexing deliciously as he studies you. A question is written on his face, searching for something in your eyes, maybe regret. 

He must not find it though, because he quietly clears his throat. “So about last night…”

You shake your head cutting him off in a feeble attempt to restrain your smile, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle as he mirrors your expression. There isn’t anything more that needs to be said, any questions answered simply by meeting the other’s gaze. Without words, it suddenly all makes sense. 

You aren’t sure who moves first, lurching into each other with such vigor that your noses collide before your lips meet and your bodies tangle into the messy sheets as one.

This is most definitely not just friends. But you were never that in the first place, were you? 

Seems you both knew that.

[geneviveleocardius]

arthur morgan romantic headcanons

but you both had a baby at a young age:

baby girl version

1. Wrapped Around Her Finger

arthur swears he’s a tough man, but the second his baby girl grabs his finger or giggles at him, he melts and says, “well, ain’t you somethin’ special.”

2. Overprotective Dad Mode

the moment anyone so much as looks at her wrong, arthur’s voice gets low as he growls, “you got somethin’ to say about my girl?”

3. Soft Nicknames

he calls her sweet little names like “darlin’,” “sugar,” or “princess,” his voice always softer than you’ve ever heard it when he talks to her.

4. Learning to Braid

arthur clumsily tries to braid her hair, muttering curses under his breath when it doesn’t work, but he keeps at it because he knows how much she loves it when he tries.

5. Showing Her the World

he loves pointing out animals and flowers to her, kneeling down to explain, “that’s a deer, little one. quiet now, don’t wanna scare it off.”

6. Storytime Dad

arthur makes up bedtime stories about cowboys and adventures, always with a brave little girl as the hero who saves the day, grinning when she asks for “just one more.”

7. Tiny Boots, Big Dreams

when she starts toddling around in tiny cowboy boots he bought for her, he can’t stop smiling and says, “look at that—already ready for the range.”

8. Drawing Lessons

he sits with her and lets her scribble in his journal, pointing to her messy drawings and saying, “that’s the best-lookin’ horse i’ve ever seen.”

9. Teaching Her to Be Tough

arthur makes sure she knows how to be strong, but he always says, “you don’t need to be tough all the time, darlin’. you just be you.”

10. Dancing with His Princess

he loves to pick her up and spin her around, both of them laughing as he says, “you’re the best dance partner i ever had, but don't tell your mommy I said that.”

11. Fixing Her Toys

whenever one of her toys breaks, arthur’s quick to sit down with it, mumbling, “don’t you worry, i’ll have it good as new in no time.”

12. Her Biggest Fan

he cheers louder than anyone when she does something small, like saying her first word or learning to run, clapping his hands and exclaiming, “that’s my girl!”

13. Teaching Her to Ride

as soon as she’s big enough, arthur has her sitting in front of him on his horse, holding the reins and saying, “you’re a natural, kiddo.”

14. Gentle Reassurance

when she’s scared, he kneels down, holding her tiny hands and saying, “ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you, not while i’m around.”

15. A Better Life for Her

arthur often tells you, “she’s gonna have better than what i had. i’ll make damn sure of that,” his voice full of quiet determination.

16. Her Secret Keeper

whenever she gets into mischief, she runs to arthur, and he chuckles before saying, “alright, but don’t tell your ma i helped you out.”

17. Little Protector

he jokes about how she’s already trying to “protect” him when she toddles up to him with her tiny hands on her hips, scolding him in her baby voice.

18. Lullabies Just for Her

arthur hums quiet lullabies while holding her close, and even if the tune’s rough, it’s the most soothing sound in the world to her.

19. Dreaming of Her Future

when he watches her sleep, arthur softly mutters to himself, “wonder what kinda woman she’ll grow up to be. hope she knows how proud i’ll always be of her.”

20. Her Favorite Place

she always runs to him, climbing into his lap no matter what he’s doing, and arthur grins, wrapping his arms around her and saying, “this is the best seat in the house.”

[rakhalofthestars]

Trust Fall

Synopsis: Boothill loves eagles and wishes to mimic their courting ritual with you <3

Tags: Boothill x gn reader, Boothill's backstory mentioned, Pre-IPC boothill, Fluff, Humor, Light angst, Established relationship, courting rituals, Boothill is native american and latino a/n: This fic also has a bit more heavy usage of cowboy slang than all my other fics

Warnings: None !!

wc: 1 496

The people of Aeragan-Espharshel had many different beliefs, each one spread through word of mouth from parent to child. From the burning hot sun that gave life to the organisms on the planet to the tiny, hard-working ants. There were stories and legends behind each and every single thing, each having their own little tidbit of wisdom to learn from. Nothing was too small or too big for the people believed that we play our own part in the cycle of life, no matter our size or role. These beliefs reflected the tribe that inhabited the planet and the respect and love they held for the land.

Naturally, it’s no surprise that there would be stories and beliefs surrounding the eagle, which was seen as the mightiest of all birds. Its feathers symbolized that which is highest, bravest, strongest and holiest. Eagles were the symbol for a warrior.

It must be why you could find the bird all across Boothill’s person. The eagle feathers in his cowboy hat, which he had once fondly told you to have found one day with his siblings whilst running through the grassy fields. The small eagle on his left shoulder, attached to the burnt red sarape that he had managed to salvage from that fateful night. The small eagle insignia on his favorite 9mm gun, one that he had commissioned to be made from brass. The eagle on the back of his leather jacket which he had carefully painted using bleach, having even added a little cowboy hat to the bird to match him. You can easily remember how eager he had been to show you his more artistic skills, at least when it came to drawing eagles.

Boothill had always admired eagles. It was one of the few aspects of him that remained from who he was before the bombing. Before everything had quite literally turned into ashes.

Him and his fellow gunslinging friends of the past would often sit by a fire at night and yarn the hours away. Boothill would be lying on the soft grass, chewing on a piece of straw, his expression thoughtful for once as he’d stare up at the vast universe up above.

“Bee in yer bonnet, [REDACTED]?” One of them would always ask, having noticed the absence of his voice amongst the crude songs they’d have started singing by then.

“Jus’ thinkin’...”, would be his short reply, followed by one or two or the whole bunch prodding at him to spill the beans.

“Share yer wisdom, why dont’cha, O’ Great [REDACTED]”, they’d all tease and the young cowboy would laugh along good-naturedly.

“Was jus’ thinkin’ that I’d like to be one a’ them eagles up in the sky. Be as brave and courageous as them.”

“See, this is why I tell y’all to keep an eye on him. He’s an odd stick, ain’tcha [REDACTED]?”

But no matter how much his friends would tease him, Boothill’s admiration for eagles would never fade. He’d look to the great birds of the sky whenever he felt at sea. An age old habit that would stick until he fulfilled his role in the cycle of life. It’s what he did when the IPC had first arrived on his planet in their foreign and menacing spaceships, spouting off what he and countless others had thought to be taradiddles. It’s what he had done when trying his damndest to keep the corporation away from disrespecting the soil he had grown up on. It’s what Boothill does now when the weight of carrying out revenge gets too heavy for his shoulders, no matter whether they were flesh and bone or cold, hard metal.

Unsurprisingly, the man knew countless facts about these mighty birds. He had made sure to infodump about them when he took you bird-watching on planets that were similar to his home, thus housing the same or similar species of birds and the like. You were always curious and wishing to know more about your partner and his roots and who was he to deny you?

“See that one right there? That’s a bald eagle”, Boothill murmured softly one time against the shell of your ear once, pointing to the sky.

“How can you tell all the way from down here?” You asked, squinting into the binoculars that you were holding in your hands.

“Well, sugar, it’s because of that white noggin of theirs. No other eagle got that same appearance.”

“Did ya know that the eagle sound you hear in Penacony’s films ain’t actually the sound they make?”, Boothill would continue, ready to tell you the same little factoids and stories that his parents had told him.

You listened while watching the eagle. Well…you weren’t really focused on following the bird’s movements anymore. You were too focused on how the cowboy’s voice had softened its usual gruffness and laced with the aching feeling of nostalgia and homesickness.

During such moments, you usually rarely interrupted the man. It was clear as day to anyone with functioning eyes how much this meant for him.

However, your eyes caught a change in the eagle’s movements and you let out a surprised gasp when you see another bald eagle locking its talons with the one you had been following. To your horror, the birds had begun hurdling down towards the hard ground below, spinning in some form of cartwheel.

“Oh no! Are they fighting?”

Boothill looked questioningly at the sky, looking for what had caught your attention and chuckled fondly.

“Naw, don’t worry darlin’. That right there is what we call a death spiral. It’s like a courting ritual. Think of it as a type of trust fall.”

“What’s the point? Won’t they get hurt?”

*I just said it’s a trust fall, didn’t I?” An exasperated tone which quickly backtracked upon receiving a fierce glare from you.

“As I was sayin’... it’s a trust fall. That pair trusts each other to let go at the last second unless they wanna bite the dust….See?”

You had sighed with relief to see the bald eagles separating just before hitting the ground, quickly flying back up to the sky.

“Thank goodness… You still haven’t explained why they do it though?”

“It’s for courting each other. Eagles are one helluva adrenaline junkie. S’pose they want a partner who can give ‘em that rush.”

The two eagles interlocked their talons once more, spinning once more in the air as they fell. You watched in awe while Boothill watched you carefully, an idea taking root in his mind.

“Say…I reckon we should give it a shot too, sugar”, the man suggested and flashed you a toothy grin.

“Absolutely not. We’re not eagles, Boothill”, you refused almost immediately.

“Oh c’mon sugar, have some faith in yer man!”

The two of you went back and forth on the matter before eventually forgetting about it. At least, that was the case on your part. Boothill on the other hand…

–

“Your bounty is complete. How would you like to land?”

“...Good question.”

In truth, Boothill wasn’t too worried about the landing since he already could see you zooming towards him on an air-hover, ready to catch the cyborg. Oh, you were mad as a march hare alright.

“I’ve told you time and time again to have a better plan for these things!” You nag at him, your pretty face contorted with exasperation.

“Don’t get yer britches in a stir, sugar. I know what I’m doin’ “, Boothill drawls, looking too carefree for someone who was free falling through the air.

“You sure? ‘Cause it sure as hell doesn’t look like it!” You roll your eyes, following him down towards the ground on your hovercraft.

“I do, thank ya kindly. I got trust in you and mahself.”

“Take my hand then, you bag of bolts!”

“Not yet.”

It takes all your strength to not just up and leave the cowboy to fend for himself in such a situation but the thought of him potentially becoming a metal pancake stops you. You decide to trust his judgment, against your own better judgment. This wasn’t your first rodeo after all.

The two of you speed towards the ground, Boothill simply leisurely holding onto his hat while you were locked in completely, waiting for his signal.

Just a few seconds before you two would’ve crashed into the rock-hard ground below, Boothill whistles and with all your strength, you pull him onto your air-hover and promptly speed the vehicle back up into the sky once more.

“This is the last time we’re doing this”, you sigh, wiping the sweat off your brow.

“Come now, lovely. Ya gots to admit that it’s fun!” Boothill grins as he wraps his strong arms around your waist and nuzzles his face against your neck. You grumble at his actions but leave him be, opting to savor his closeness instead.

“Haven’t gotten your fill yet, lil’ eagle?”

“How can I, when I trust ya’ll catch me each time?”

[twilightzoneletters]

The Lone Gunman

Pairing: bounty hunter! reader X outlaw! yunho

Genre: cowboy au, bounty hunter au, outlaw au, kinda enemies to lovers if you squint a little, reader is named y/n Marsten, Sunset Outlaws! ateez

Warnings: fem! reader, future angst, cursing, pet names, little lady, miss, darlin, mister, sir, alcohol, violence, blood, just some good ol' country talkin'

Description: You're the most sought after bounty hunter in the West. Every Sheriff in every town, big or small, want to hire you. You're the best in your profession and have a particular distaste for them damned McConnell boys. Most outlaws try to stay clear out of your path and stay off your radar, but what happens when one brave outlaw takes a particular liking to you?

Word Count: 0.5k (for now?)

"Is that your horse? She's a beaut."

You had just made your way out of the saloon, the music and laughter were muffled as you began to untie your horse, Treasure. You look over to the source of the voice, it's a young man leaning against the post on the front porch, arms crossed as he watches you. You can hardly see his face because his hat casts shadows over it, and only his back is illuminated by the warm light filtering from the windows and doorway of the saloon behind him.

You nod towards him, "Thanks," finally getting her untied you give Treasure a pat, taking an apple out of your satchel and offering it to her.

"You know," the mans voice reminded you of whiskey, deep and intoxicating, "It's not safe for a little lady like yourself to be riding around in the dead of night."

You can't help but to scoff at his words, "I think I'll manage Mister," you say, holstering your bag onto Treasure's saddle, you turn to face him and your eyes widen in shock, he's right in front of you. Glaring up at him, you finally get a good look at his face, though his face is clean shaven, he still looks rough, a few scars littering his face, probably due to long since forgotten toss ups and fights. His messy hair, a golden brown color, peeks out from under his hat as he looks down at you. He sure is handsome alright, but the uninvited close proximity is starting to piss you off, and if you weren't wearing a mask you would definitely spit in his face.

You reach up to push him back but before you can, his calloused hands grasp your own hands in them. Something bubbles up inside of you as he does not break eye-contact. Your face is illuminated by the moonlight, and your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance when he finally speaks up, voice unwavering, "Little lady," he certainly takes notice of the way that your hands ball into fists at his word, and you hate that his breath smells like expensive whiskey, "You hide behind a mask and run these lands in the night, but I know who you are, Miss Marsten."

Your heart picks up in pace at those words, rage replacing your annoyance, you break your hands free from his, "really now?" you turn back to Treasure, grabbing the reigns as you climb onto her, she stamps her foot and lets out a huff, you look down at the man now, "Well, that only makes one of us then," loathe now evident in your voice, "I haven't a clue who you are Mister."

He doesn't move or seem to react to your words at all, and it irritates you. He just smiles, "Name's Yunho darlin'. Yunho Jeong."

You tip your hat to him, "It was nice meeting you, partner," you manage to say. Then you turn away and head off, leaving him standing there, Treasure kicking up dust behind the both of you. He smirks and pulls up his own mask, yeah, he was definitely curious about you. As you trot further into the night, thoughts of him and his words linger.

[safety-pin-punk]

hey queer nd teen here i've been really interested in punk culture and the message drives me to tears but i'm scared of being called a poser because i feel like a coward

i hate cops and i think they should fucking die and the government is fucked and we have to look after each other. but i feel backed into a corner because i'm surrounded by family who would laugh at me and just wouldn't understand and i don't feel like i can Handle it but i Want to

as a shy and nonconfrontational teen with a shit ton of anxiety to boot i dunno. i admire brave hardcore punks who beat up cops and nazis but i Can't Be That

no need for a response but it would be nice

When I was a teen, I was told by my best friend that I could never be a punk. That I would never be a punk. But here I am. I was a shy quiet kid, and I’m still pretty quiet and prefer to avoid confrontations when I can. My point is, these things don’t prevent people from being a punk if its in their nature

Not all punks are the big tough punks who can physically fight those fights. Though they are a very important part of our community. But we also have plenty of disabled, neurodivergent, and chronically ill people who are just as punk, and even people who are just not into violence. They are advocates, they are researchers, they are community care takers. Being a punk isnt all about fighting evil. I actually think thats not the best way to look at it at all. Being punk is about caring for your community. And while ‘fighting evil’ is a part of it, there are a lot more things that entails.

If you truly want to be a punk, it seems like you are already going down the right path. You alluded to a not so great home life where it might not be the best idea to dress in alternative styles. You could always start with smaller, more subtle things. Or you can just wait until you can move out to start exploring that. Remember, being punk is more than just an aesthetic, and while the aesthetic may look cool, it is by no means a requirement to be a punk (honestly half the time I run around it cowboy boots and a flannel - in the winter I usually add the hat too)

You are a teen still. Growing and learning about yourself and the world around you. And so are your peers. Any teen who calls you a poser is being a jerk and doesn’t know all that much about the scene. Any grown adult that calls you a poser is probably a poser themselves who refuses to acknowledge that not every person comes from the same background. But I also feel like it’s important to tell you that what anyone else says shouldnt matter that much. Even if it feels like it does, if you let their words matter to you, you are giving them all the control.

Its okay to be young and not know a lot. Its okay to not dress alternative for any number of reasons. Its okay to not feel like you could go off and fight bad people. None of those things make you a poser.

[crystalofmoon19]

Childhood Friends - Striker x Female Imp! Reader Headcannons

This is not a request, I still have more to go, but I wanted to make these headcannons so that you have something to read in what ended with the requests. Enjoy!

● You were a small female imp who lived happily with your large family in Wrath, every year your parents took you and your little siblings to travel to the other side of Wrath, to celebrate the Harvest Moon Festival.

● You loved the celebration, you watched in amazement as your parents participated in the pain games, you also wanted to participate but they told you that you were too young to participate. That's why they left you and your little siblings in a muddy area while they were in the care of your tired grandpa (who didn't take long to fall asleep.)

● You, for your part, decided to play in the mud with your little siblings and other children who were near you, but from one moment to the next your mud pies were trampled by someone. When you looked up you saw him.

● A young Striker who looked to be your own age approached you to stomp on your mud pies and tease you, saying that girls shouldn't play in the mud; that boy didn't look like any imp you had seen before and he had features of a snake demon because of his ringed green eyes and the spikes that were around his tail gave him away as a hybrid.

● But you were not going to allow this snake boy to treat you badly, so you decided to kick his foot so that he stumbled to the ground, immediately he pulled the braids of your hair. You screamed but you bit him on the arm and he let out a kind of snake-like scream; It didn't take long for you and Striker to fight each other while the other kids started a mud fight.

● Your mother and Striker's mother (who was a snake demon) had to separate them to stop fighting, and yet he mocked you by sticking out his blue tongue and you also did the same with your tongue. Striker was forced by his mother to come forward with his name and apologize to you, but you knew he was a bad boy.

“Shut up, you dumb girl!”

“Look who's talking, snake boy!”

● Years passed, as your family continued to travel to celebrate the Harvest Moon Festival, which meant that you had to meet Striker every year. He always found a way to annoy you, after all Striker when he was little was a very problematic child and you, being a very brave girl, made them always fight.

● Striker always found a way to annoy you, whether he was making fun of your braids or your love of music (where he said music was stupid to annoy you). You in response called him “snake boy” to emphasize that he was a hybrid and told him that his breath was stinky.

● However there was something that you and Striker had in common, and that was that you liked getting into trouble, you once decided to free the hellish pigs from the town ranch and Striker surprisingly supported you in doing this. And although this caused both of you to be punished by your parents, it didn't take away from the fact that you two make a great team despite everything.

● Another way in which you and Striker managed to become friends was that you started placing bets on the competitors of the games of pain every year, Striker thought that he would easily beat you in this, but the truth is that you managed to be tied in his bets and this made Striker impressed with you.

● As time passed, you and Striker put aside your enmity to have a friendly rivalry between you, you also learned to respect each other's tastes, you supported Striker to be a cowboy like he always wanted since he was a child and he supported passion for the music. (In fact he learned to play the guitar only because you did it to sing your melodies.)

● When you became teenagers, Striker began to see you with different eyes, you were no longer the annoying girl he had known as a boy, now you had developed a curvy body and your hips widened; You were considerably prettier now and he became taller, stockier and his teeth along with the spikes on his tail were sharper. Striker started to develop feelings for you.

● Now that Striker had become old enough to compete in the pain games, and he was more than willing to impress you, what he didn't expect was that you wanted to participate too.

“Why do you want to compete, Y/N?”

“I always wanted to enter since I was a little girl, I want to prove myself in the games!”

“Well, I hope you're prepared, you won't have it easy."

“Let's see who wins in the end, Striker!”

“Do you want to bet, Y/N?”

"What do you want to bet?"

“If I win the games, you will do my farm chores for a week.”

“Okay, but if I won the games, you will take care of my little siblings this weekend.”

“Okay, deal?”

"Deal!”

● You competed in the pain games with Striker, and now that you had grown up they no longer seemed to be as exciting as you thought, because now measuring your strength against strangers, going through obstacle areas and fighting with others was not the most pleasant feeling. You definitely didn't like the games but you still weren't going to give up so easily.

● Striker on the other hand performed very well in the games, showing little to no difficulty in competition, but he always had his eyes on you.

● You gave your best effort in the pain games, you resisted quite well, but your body did not say the same. So there came a point where you fainted in the middle of the competition because you were so tired.

● Striker surprisingly came to look for you when you fainted and carried you in his arms to take you to your family.

● Hours passed until you woke up with your mother again, she scolded you that you had pushed yourself too hard but she was calm that you were okay, when you asked your mother what happened she told you that Striker had carried you home; you remembered the bet.

● That's why you wanted to talk to Striker but you didn't need to call him, because he came into your room as soon as your mother gave him permission to do so and left you two alone.

“Striker! I know about the bet, I lost, I promise I will do your farm chores as soon as I recover…”

“No need, I didn’t win the games either, Y/N.”

“What, you didn't win? Did you…?”

Striker nodded before you even finished saying your question.

“Did you leave the competition for me?”

“And I would do it again.”

● Before Striker said anything, you smiled at him and gave him a big hug that he gladly reciprocated. What he didn't expect was that you would place a kiss on his cheek and it made Striker's cheeks blush and now he could be compared to a complete imp.

“Thank you, Striker.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N.”

[dudeshusband]

Title: Mammas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys

Ship: Mike x Dude

Words: 650

Description: A little girl asks Dude about becoming a deputy sheriff.

Mike and Dude walked hand and hand through town. It was a chilly December morning and Mike was as close to him as they could get.

As they came close to the end of the town with its chickens and adobe houses, a little girl in a floral dress, stockings, and boots ran up to Dude.

“Mr. Deputy, Mr. Deputy!” she called out.

Mike and Dude stopped.

“Hello, I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yeah?” asked Dude.

“How did you get to be deputy sheriff, Mr. Dude?”

Dude chuckled. “Plain ‘ol Dude’s fine. The sheriff likes me, and trusts me.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Oh, long time ago I came into town. I was an overconfident gunslinging young man. I thought I would make my living as a gunman for hire. I met Chance, we became friends. He was like an older brother to me. He was deputy at that time. I proved myself to be the best shot Chance ever worked with.”

“When you're sheriff Mr. Dude, can you pick me as a deputy?”

Now, who said this town would elect Dude as sheriff? Dude chuckled to himself.

Still, he wanted to humor her. Dude looked over the girl and her toothy grin. “I don't know. Do you think you'll have what it takes? Are you brave? Tough?”

The girl put up little fists. “I’m a big girl! I’m not afraid of nothing!”

Dude grinned. “Alright. You gotta be good with a gun too. You're not old enough to be swingin’ any guns around.”

“I’m nine! My brother’s getting a gun!”

“How old’s your brother?”

“Ten!”

Dude cringed. “You tell him be careful now. Don't aim it at nobody. Shoot a bird or two, but be careful.”

The girl mimed shooting a gun. “Do you think I could get a bad guy?”

Dude put his hands on his hips. “Killin’ a man ain’t as easy as it looks. A man’s life ain’t like blowing out a light. Don't kill nobody ‘less you have to.”

The girl nodded. “Yes, sir. If anybody tries to get my momma, I might take a gun.”

Dude crouched down. “Use your mouth first, talk. Then your fist, then your guns. If he’s got a gun, that's different.”

“How many bad guys have you killed?”

Dude paused. He looked off into the distance. “I don't know. That's not good…not knowing.”

“But you had to, didn't you?”

Dude’s heart stirred. He frowned. He patted the girl’s head. “Run along now.”

The girl stood for a while then ran off.

“Are you alright, Dude?”

“Yeah. Sometimes…I remember what being a deputy comes with.”

“You're not a bad person, Dude.”

“Sometimes, I wonder whether everyone I shot is better off dead.”

“You can't undo anything. You might as well not dwell on it. Besides, if there were any other way you would’ve done it.”

He shrugged. “You don't stop feeling bad about it unless there's something real wrong with you.”

“You're not a bad person, Dude,” Mike repeated. They took one of his hands and kissed it. “These hands can be so gentle, you know?”

Dude managed a small smile. “I just wonder what God in Heaven is gonna have to say to me when I get there.”

“You know, you were really good with that little girl. I think you’d make a good father.”

Dude smiled. “Yeah?”

“If I were anyone else…you…”

“I would have 7 or 8 loud mouths to feed,” Dude finished with some levity. “And I’d have to chase ‘em round town.”

“Town’s only a street and a half. Are you getting that old?” Mike teased.

Dude grabbed Mike and lifted them. They shrieked.

“Put me down!”

Dude spun them around a bit.

“Dude!”

Eventually, he eased them down and gave them a big kiss.

“Next time, I'll throw you,” Dude joked.

Mike flushed. “Damn you!”

Dude laughed and the pair continued their walk back to the ranch.

[amf-studios]

The spooky month is upon us!

But before I begin my plans for Halloween festivities, I'd like to introduce you all to last year's Halloween yokai! These are some the first fankai I ever made and post(so go easy on them. XP)

First up, the vampire nemesis, Dracula and Desperatu!

These boys are my interpretations of characters from Bram stokers world famous Gothic horror novel, Dracula!

The titular character has already been name dropped in yokai watch before, however he has not made an on-screen appearance. So I corrected that~!

Dracula is an S rank, drain attribute of the shady tribe, with the soultimate "blood moon blitz" where he transforms into a swarm of bats to drain his opponents vitality!

Now the other guy is a bit more inspired! Desperatu is a portmanteau of Desperado(a term often used in wild west stories) and Nosfuratu(another word for Vampire). This Gothic cowboy is the spirit of Quincy P. Morris, which if you've actually read Dracula, you'd know as the man who got the killing blow on old drac!

Being a walking representation of the state of Texas, I played up his already present cowboy influence, and made him a vampire-hunting, cowboy vampire!

Desperatu is an S rank yokai of the brave tribe. He's a Merican yokai, a fire attribute, and has the soultimate "high moon showdown!" Where he fires of six shots from each of his silver-bullet-loaded guns.

If I were to ever make a game, these guys would be the Kyubi/venoct, Arachnus/toadel dude equivalents.

With the vamps out of the way, here's a werewolf! Or should I say, Blairwolf!

By day a young girl named Blair akafudo is a sporty outdoorsman with some mild canine quirks. But by night she's the fierce and a strong Blairwolf!

Like Dracula, we know werewolves exist in yokai watch, we've just never seen them. Though there was an academy Y episode that had weredog/jinmenkin hybrids. Speaking of hybrids, Blair also has some inspiration from the Okuri Inu, a ghostly black dog with piercing red eyes.

But despite her fierce inspiration, she's more like a were-puppy than anything. She's loyal, fun-loving and very affectionate toward her friends!

Blairwolf is D rank, earth attribute of the charming tribe. Her soultimate is called "Lycan-throw" where she digs up a Boulder to throw at her unsuspecting opponents!

Moving on to the next of the big three monsters, time for Frankenstein!

Say hello to Adam Frankenstein, the famous monster from Mary Shelly's sci-fi horror novel! Along with his shadowside form, Krankenstein!

The two forms represent the juxtaposition between the Monster in the book, who was an intelligent, tragic figure abandoned by his creator for his imperfect eyes, from the monster in the movie, which was a hulking, mindless brute.

Adam is normally intelligent and reasonable, but... he has quite the explosive temper if you can get him angry.

In both forms, he is an A rank, lightning attribute of the Eerie tribe. In his lightside, his soultimate is "Charged Adam" which boosts his stats. While his shadowside's is called "ITS ALIVE!" which boosts the entire parties stats!

Next are a more generic monster, a redesign I made of yokai watch style Zombies!

While I love yokai watch 3 and think zombie night was a brilliant idea, I can't say I've always liked their basic Zombie designs. The core part of a Zombie that makes them scary is they still resemble a human, and the yokai watch ones do, just not enough.

So, I ended up making more humanish Zombie designs. You could interpret these ones as more recently deceased then the ones in Canon. Haven't had as much time to rot just yet!

Next up, the spirit of Halloween himself, Stingy Jack/Jack O'Lantern!

The spirit of the man who managed to trick the devil herself, now forced to wonder the earth by lanterns light. Everyone's heard of this pumpkin headed freak in some way or other, even if they don't know his story.

Jack here is a C rank of the shady tribe. A fire attribute with the soultimate "lose your head!" Where he used the alcohol swishing around in his pumpkin head to make it into a molotov cocktail, and throws it at the enemy!

This of course also acts as a self destruct soultimate, because he doesn't have a head after using it. XP

And finally, a yokai late to the batch, but still fitting the Halloween vibes! Here's Potianna!

Ending things off with a wicked witch, Potianna (potion+anna) was one of the best potion brewers of her time, before the witch hunts finally caught up with her.

Now as yokai, she's fused to her beloved cauldron and keeps up her prized work~!

Potianna is a C rank, water attribute of the charming tribe. Her soultimate is called "Brutal Brew" where she dumps her cauldron onto the enemy team, both dealing damage and giving them a random debuff.

She also has a unique skill, "Alchemy" which heals her up every time she's hit with her own element!

I hope you enjoy these Halloween yokai of yesteryear, and look forward to this year's festivities~!

[redcoralpot]

hiii! not sure if your requests are open, if so then can you do a TWD Daryl x Walker male reader?

Like Reader followed Daryl & the group & always pops out time to time & Daryl goes to hunt but sees him just watching the walkers eating someone & Daryl sees him making an expiration of descust shocking Dayrl cuz Reader is a walker? Have a great day & take care off uself ^^

Dead Man Walking - Daryl Dixon X Male (Walker) Reader

I had a lot in mind for this request, so I decided to break it into multiple parts/chapters!! <33 If this series gets popular enough, I will post an extended version on AO3. If you have any questions on how the reader’s infection works, don’t be afraid to ask politely! Xoxo

The romance with Daryl will most likely start next chapter! 🫠

Warnings: Blood, violence, implied cheating (Shane + Lori)

Word Count: 1.8K

Your life from before the outbreak didn’t matter anymore, though it wasn’t like you remembered very much of it. Humanity’s civilization had crumbled within a few mere hours, and you had seen the worst of it. 

     At first, you wandered the streets of the city with plenty of others in your same predicament. That life was lonely, and your comrades never seemed to be good conversationalists. As bad as that was, you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame them. Your mouth felt uncomfortably dry after having no water and a hanging jaw for days. Days! You should be getting paid for this. 

    That all changed after a man disrupted this slow, daily routine, charging on a horse around the wrong corner. Was this how modern cowboys acted? Seriously, maybe the water deprivation was getting to you after all. 

     The mob went crazy at the sight, a sudden change from the prior leisurely pace, attacking the poor animal. You could do nothing, even as your stomach lurched, and you decided to focus your attention on the man instead. He was brave to a stupid extent, sliding under a tank as ravenous arms reached for him. The rush forced you forward too quickly as you stumbled over a bag, hitting the ground with a smack. 

     Everyone else was uncaring, focused solely on the target. You have never seen them from this perspective before, and here, you could see many more bite marks and unhealed injuries. And God, it stunk. You were surprised that anyone could get caught by these people, they could probably smell them before they could even see them! Especially the cowboy under the tank, there, for his age. Would he live, would he die? If you had a partner, you would bet on death. 

    Fate apparently had different plans for him, as he suddenly popped out of the tank, smacking a nearby infected hard enough to give him room to escape. Damn, you definitely didn’t want to get in his way. He struggled down the sidewalk, shooting to safety in a closed off alleyway. Part of you wanted to curiously follow him, but the smarter end told you to stay. 

       “C’mon!” A voice shouted from the alley, followed by gunshots. 

-

     Your name tag swung as you followed a group of survivors. The man and his savior had joined it after the drama on the street, and you were curious enough to see where they would head next. Apparently, that was a survivor camp, not too far away from the city’s borders. It was here that you learned the man’s name was Rick, and he had family there. It baffled you that he even thought of risking himself like that with a child as young as Carl. 

      His family seemed to think the same, running towards him and shouting in surprise. From your little spot yards away, you wondered if your family ever made it, and if they missed you just as much. 

       “Dad!” Carl shouted, and the man himself dropped to his knees to hug him. Was Rick crying?

        You felt a little guilty for staring at such a vulnerable moment, so you turned your eyes onto the other members. They were a plenty, diverse group, bigger than any camp you’ve witnessed before. There was one other kid among the survivors, a little girl, other than Carl. 

         This observation session was quickly shut down, interrupted by a gruff alert, “Walker!”

         A what? You? 

        Whipping your head towards the noise, you came to face a crossbow pointed at your face. Ah. 

        “I got it.”

        Your slow, dead reflexes tried their best as you dived behind a tree, but they weren’t fast enough. An arrow pierced through your shoulder, knocking you off course, and into a bush. Using this as cover, you scampered back farther from the camp, praying that this day wouldn’t be your last. 

        “Daryl! Just leave it.”

        “I ain’t never seen one smart enough to dodge before.”

         “Exactly, don’t waste your ammo.”

         “Pff, would’a gotten my arrows back anyway.”

        The shock from the shot dulled as your head produced a light feeling, making you abandon any thoughts of getting up. You sat there, frozen, as the voices faded away. Well, one of them had been paying attention after all. 

         You gripped the arrow, ripping it out in a smooth motion, biting down on your shirt. The taste of dirt filled your mouth, and while you’ve done this a number of times, you had never expected to perform it on yourself. Red trickled down your shirt, making the hole even more obvious. This Daryl was a great man, amazing even. If you couldn’t have a bath, or any human interaction, you at least deserved a shirt without stains or holes in it. You didn’t have any spares!

         Should you still follow this group? They’re bound to move soon, mobs will start moving out of the city and out among the borders. It was suicide if you did, but you found you didn’t care all that much. The world had ended, you had no family, and nothing to live for. A little fun before you died wouldn’t hurt anyone, you decided. 

         Your body felt heavy as you pulled yourself into a tree, pressing yourself against the bark and peering through the leaves at the camp. Here, it should be safer. Their threats were all on the ground, only hunting will bring them to look in the trees. 

         The same gruff voice reached your ears, “And you just left him?”

        “We had to, we had no choice.”

       “Yeah, well, I’m goin’ back to find him.”

       A pause, “I’ll go with you, we can form a rescue group.”

        “Fine.”

        “I’d like to get my bag back, too; it has supplies.”

         Through your cover, you could see Rick choosing different survivors to come with, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved that one of the sharpest was among them. Now that he and his crossbow are gone, albeit temporarily, you feel a weight come off of your shoulders. 

        Before you could dwindle in that bliss for long, a second group split off, significantly smaller than the other. Just two people, a man and a woman, one you recognized to be the mother of Carl. You shifted, trying to get a better view. 

        “We can’t do this anymore, Shane,” the woman started, “He’s back now.”

       “Rick doesn’t have to know.”

       “He’s your best friend, and don’t forget the only reason I did this was because everyone thought he was dead!”

      These people were lucky you couldn’t talk.

      “Lori—”

      “No, we’re ending this.”

      Shit. As the woman briskly walked back to the main camp, you could still see Shane hadn’t moved. He grumbled incoherent, resentful sentences, and you felt like a rat. You wanted to scream at Rick about what you just witnessed, snitching the very details of the things his wife and best friend had been doing. 

       None of the survivors seemed keen on hearing you out, though, so their secret was safe, for now.

-

      You woke up with a start, hissing as you accidentally banged your head on the wood behind you. Sitting up, you heard feet shuffling below you. Not just a pair, however, it must’ve been at least ten. Was it happening already? The rescue group must have led them back to the camp and knew they were coming, surely. 

        Yelling rang through the camp, snarling and the snapping of teeth almost overpowering it. You could see the fire, shadows of the survivors dancing around it, the moves quick and fearful. An arrow flew, gunshots rang, and you could smell blood. Daryl was back, with the rescue team following close behind. 

         “What happened here?”

        “Walkers, a whole mob of ‘em,” stated a rather stoutly, panting old man. 

         Rick asked another question, “Is everything alright, was anyone hurt?”

        …

        “A few, uh, Amy and Ed, Carol’s husband.”

       You weren’t familiar with this Amy, but you weren’t fond of Ed. You had caught him trying to hit his wife, a sweet woman, while she was doing the laundry earlier. Really, he deserved this fate, but it must be concerning for Carol. It couldn’t be easy to raise a child alone in this environment. 

       A silence fell over the group, a moment of mourning for their first losses. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see the fate of the two victims. You knew what would happen, knew it well, as the final shots of the night sounded. 

        “He was bit,” Daryl growled, and with a click, a gun was pointed at him. 

       “We don’t kill the living.”

       “But you can point a gun at me?”

       “You woulda killed him if I didn’t.”

       “What’re we gonna do with him, then? Let ‘em turn?”

       “We have to leave.”

      “There’s nowhere to go, walkers are everywhere!”

     “I know a place, it’s a facility in Druid Hills. If anywhere has a cure, it’d be in there.”

     Shane made a face, “Are we sure ‘bout this?”

    “It’d be protected, a safe place to stay; we can leave in the morning.”

     His tone made it sound final, and his best friend looked unconvinced. Daryl gave the bitten man a final, bitter eye, stomping off to brood alone. As much as the two of you were different, you had to agree with him. The man would only suffer and die in a more brutal way, after all. Alas, the only thing you could do was watch. 

      You watched as the remaining survivors settled into sleep, you watched as Shane grew more agitated, you watched as they packed their things when the sun rose, and you watched them drive away. 

       A few decided to hang back, to go their own way. Silently, you wished them well with the others, and then you watched them leave too. This is where you deemed it safe, sliding down from the tree to slip back onto the ground. With a stick you snapped off, you started your journey to Druid Hills, the bite mark on your left leg aching.  

      And who knows? Maybe they could fix this pesky infection. 

     The signs were still in good shape, and what a blessing they were. You hobbled on, for two days and nights, not catching up to the people of your interest. Halfway through, a familiar face caught your eye, sitting propped under a tree. He gnashed his teeth, eyeing you, clearly not able to get up to reach you. Sighing, you shook your head as you realized what they did. 

      You raised your stick, finally looking down at him with pity, and drove it through his eye. Blood and body residue dropped off the end as you ripped it back out of the unmoving Jim, and you leaned heavily on it again. No matter how exhausted, you continued on your way, determined to be a normal man again. 

-

End of Chapter One.

[hancocksbestgirl]

Repairs and Grace

Summary:

Nick Valentine is living in the new world - the one ushered in by his business partner and best friend, Grace, after the events of Fallout 4. With at least some of The Commonwealth's life and death issues solved, the pair turns their attention toward an incredibly important task: cleaning the Agency.

Then, when Nick encounters a small technical issue, it's up to Grace to fix him.

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Fandom: Fallout 4

Word Count: 8k

Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Sole Survivor/Nick Valentine, Nick Valentine/Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Nick Valentine, Original Fallout 4 Character, Female Sole Survivor (Fallout), Sole Survivor (Fallout)

Additional Tags, Warnings, Excerpt and Link Under the Cut:

Additional Tags/Warnings: Post-Game: Fallout 4, Not Canon Compliant, Post-Apocalypse, Alternate History, Spoilers for Fallout 4, Spoilers, Coworkers to Lovers, Original Character(s), Wireplay, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Fisting, Grinding, Shameless Smut

_________________

It had been a long time since Nick had known anything even remotely resembling peace.

Real peace, anyway.

Inner peace, sure, it came and went. A person didn’t get to be his age, live two separate lifetimes, and start watching their body decay in real time; without getting a least a little comfortable with their innermost self.

It also helped, that Eddie Winter’s case and Nick's trip to Far Harbor - both of them world-shaking events - were long behind him.

His business partner, Grace, had accompanied him on both gruesome errands, and helped where she could. With her help, and the relative calm that had followed, Nick had had time to turn some of those events over in his mismatched hands; to get used to what happened, and to what that all meant for him. There had been even more peace after that process. 

But peace around him. Now that was new to Nick Valentine. 

The Commonwealth was much different now than it had been when Grace originally showed up. 

The Institute had been nuked - a brave new world if Nick ever could picture one, and the Brotherhood of Steel had lost interest in their fair city as a result. Maxson had taken his ball and gone back south where he belonged, probably to menace someplace else. Minutemen roamed, tipping their cowboy hats and rarely having to fire those heavy laser muskets, the Railroad did… whatever it was they did without the Institute to worry about.

Diamond City went along as it always had. McDonough was dead, and Nick figured that was probably a good thing. You saw a few more Ghoul faces, people seemed less uptight. If anything, the city was even a little emptier, because the ruins around it and the small towns beyond Boston Proper were a little safer.

Even Ellie, sweet little Ellie Perkins, had met a young man with a family farm and turned in her resignation. It was a good new beginning for her, in Nick’s estimation. He sure would miss that girl, though.

As a result of Ellie’s departure, the pink lights at Valentine’s Detective Agency were off. He and his partner were taking a break from cases while they sorted out the office. In truth, Grace had been aching to reorganize his office from the first day she walked in, but she’d had bigger fish to fry both on that day, and in the intervening three years. 

Now that there was some kind of peace though, the feeling worming its way into even the farthest-flung the corners of the map, getting people’s shoulders to ratchet down a notch - Grace was inside the Agency, tearing his office apart.

Putting Nick's shoulders all the way up around his ears, as it happened.

Nick took a final drag of his cigarette, and not for the first time, really marveled at the taste. By rights, he shouldn’t have been able to taste it, or anything at all really. He never could figure out if his taste sensors were meant to serve a purpose, or were just an act of whimsy by some Institute scientist.

He ground the butt out under the heel of his dress shoe, then went inside.

Continue Reading on AO3

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

okay but- cowboy!reader having like a lot of scars bc no self preservation y'know. i feel like he'd cover some of them up with tattoos but some are just too delicate. im just imaginin' the team of seeing like a sleeve of them for the first time or maybe he has a lot on his back and everyone just wants to know what they mean and when the heck he got all of them and yeah. also my poor boy you're really runnin him through it

- 🦦

Description: scar reveal

Warnings: scars, abusive backstory

A/n: I know, I kinda feel bad but also there's so much more to come for him and I some of it (if I decide to post it) is really harsh and it will just shatter him bless him but again idk if I'm gonna post it so we'll see aha!

Taglist: @xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @heidss @chubbyboyinflannel @pendragon-writes @migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade @caffeine-mess @1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies @woodandwaxwings @wizardmon3 @aphroditeslovr @ducks118 @azeal-peal @13thdoctor-run @introvertpan84

You didn't really think about the scars most of the time. Sure, some of the bad ones haunted you at night, or with raised voices, but they weren't bad. Most of them didn't hurt anymore. Some of them did, emotionally, anyway. These ones you got covered with things you loved. The butterfly, for example, sat on your chest, a small Palos Verdes Blue Butterfly for JJ. Big enough to cover a particularly painful scar without drawing attention. Meaningful enough that it made you feel warm inside when you saw it, rather than the dread and fear that used to build up when seeing the scar.

Some, however, you couldn't cover. Most days, you forgot they existed. Others, they were all you could think about.

The bad ones, that is. Not the ones you got from falling out of a tree at the age of seven, or off a horse at sixteen. No. The ones you got when you pissed your foster parents off enough for them to create a permanent reminder.

The ones on your back bothered you. You didn't like that it was a part of your body that everyone but you could see. They would witness some of your worst memories laid out in front of them, some of which you had never even seen.

The ones on your arms were mostly covered, at least the ones on your upper arms and shoulders. They were easy to cover. The forearms you struggled to cover, not that there were many here, that would have been too visible.

Not all of these scars were linked with sadness. Some were happy. Some were from you being reckless (like daring your older brother that you could jump from the treehouse and land on your feet unharmed - you broke your arm. You were seventeen.). Some were from clumsiness growing up (tripping over the corner of a rug when running to watch the football with your brothers). All in all, they told your life story, from the scared little boy to the rebellious teen to the loved young man to the brave man that stood up for those that need it.

So yes, it made you feel vulnerable at times, but most of the time? Most of the time it made you happy to be alive. To be the person you were today.

You knew the team had already seen your tattoos, from a slight distance. They either hadn't seen the scars, or had decided not to ask about them. Either way, you weren't going to complain. You'd tell them or they'd ask eventually.

It was JJ who noticed first, the pair of you sat in the roundtable room, everyone else had gone home. She had gently brushed over a scar on your arm with a curious look. "I got that from trippin' over a rug to watch football," You said, giving a small smile. Her hand moved to one just below it, "Fallin' off a horse," She fingers traced the next scar mid way up your arm, the curious look turning to worry when you tense.

"Does it hurt?" It looked painful, still raised after years.

You shake your head, "Not anymore." You said truthfully, "They used to. Now they're just there, constantly reminding me."

"Except for the ones you cover,"

"Except for the ones I cover." You corrected yourself. Your eyes darted back down to the scar she was tracing. A particularly painful memory. You looked back up, giving a shy smile, "I really do love you, you know."

"I should hope so," She smirked, "We have been dating for over six months now."

"It never gets old, hearing you say that." You answer.

"Good, because I don't plan on stopping any time soon," She winks, gently pressing her lips to yours.

[mankind-bea-vigilant]

Brave young cowboys of the near north side

Mount those bridge rails, ride all night

Scream when captured, arch your back

Let this whole town hear your knuckles crack