#say anything else about cowboys i beg

[coolspacequips]

atp if someone makes a cowboy thing and captions it with save a horse, ride a cowboy, I move on lol...

[mossyivy]

Hi tipsy!!! Hope you’re doing okay bestie! <3

I had a dream about this last night—DI Cowboy Leon and Spoiled/Bratty City Girl User…😜

Let’s just say, he took my attitude away in the best way possible…(Wink Wink 👀) ((In the stables 👀👀))

- Anon! 🎀

Ugh DI Cowboy Leon! You lucky mf I never have dreams like that 🥺

NSFW Under the Cut

CW: Fingering, Praise(kinda?)/Degradation, Man handling (if you squint), Begging, and inappropriate use of a saddle rack.

[Not Proof Read]

You're a new hire from the city after inheriting farm land from your grandfather after he dies and you don't know the first thing about running a farm. But thankfully there's another farm at the other side of town that focuses on animal by products and the owners was good friends with your grandpa. More than happy to teach you the ropes to get the farm back into shape.

So you go to work for Leon on his farm for the next few months per your agreement. What Leon didn't realize was how much of an ungrateful little brat you are. So spoiled by that daddy of yours he saw leave for the city and not turn back when he was a kid.

Constantly arguing with his reasoning (throwing tantrums), rolling your eyes, wasting his time but acting like he's wasting yours and most importantly having no god damn manners. He was doing something nice for a, seemingly, complete stranger and not once had you uttered a single "please" or "thank you". Not that he expected anything out of his kind gesture but he at least expected a thank you.

One evening after sending everyone home, he's irritated, having one of this worst days. He just needed to fix up one of the saddle upholstery and be done with everything for the night. He was on edge entering the stables. Reaching the storage area, he sees you. You're setting the riding gear back up. He specifically told you not to do this. But here you were. Not listening to him as usual.

"I told you not to put everythin' back." You look at him, huffing and rolling your eyes. He swears if you roll your eyes one more time...

"I thought you'd be thankful for me putting everything back. Since apparently no one else could do it." He feels his body tense as you drop the saddle on the floor. Bits of hay and bedding bursting up from the ground as you look at him. Moving past him you grab the few saddles you've put up on their racks, pulling them off to drop to the floor. Leon clenches his jaw, arms crossed as he stares you down.

"Happy?" You mutter, looking at him again. His lips pursed, smacking gently as he opens them.

"Are you a toddler?" You eyes go wide as he steps forward, moving into your personal space. Grabbing the damaged saddle off the floor and steps away throwing it on the standing rack.

"The hell do you mean by that?" Your anger rises as he scoffs, almost like he's about the blow the question off while he looks for his cobbler tool kit.

"You act like a god damn child. How you survived this long I honest to God have no idea!" That got under your skin, watching him turn towards the saddle, starting to assess the damage.

A child? You're not a child! How could you say such a thing? He doesn't know you.

"I'm not a child. You don't know me." He scoffs, glaring at you as you got closer. Getting into his personal space. He knows your type enough to not feel threatened or even anxious by how you're acting.

"Oh, I don't know you? I think I do."

"Enlighten me." He bites the inside of his cheek, trying to hold onto that small shred of rationality he had left before you used that mocking tone. He moves, putting you in between him and the saddle rack. His hands touch the leather of the saddle behind you, arms stiff and trapping you.

There's no escape.

"I know exactly how much of a selfish, entitled lil' brat you are. Walkin' 'round here acting' like you know everythin'." You move your legs, his foot plants between your legs, knee bending into thighs.

"I'm doin' this out of the kindness of my heart for you and you haven't even shown so much as a scrap of appreciation for it." The anger dies in his throat, his leg slipping forward, that's when he feels it.

Wetness seeping through the knee of his jeans, your pussy planted directly on top of it. A small whimper rips from your lips as you look away. Immediately embarrassed by your bodies reaction.

He doesn't even look remotely surprised as he looks down, bending his leg further up into you. Your hands going to grip the saddle behind you as your body moves on it's own. Forcing you on your tip toes. A scoff escapes him, smirk meeting your eyes as he pulls your gaze back to him by the chin.

"Shoulda known. It's always you uptight types that eat up bein' put in your place. You must think I'm delectable, don't you sweetheart?"

"F-fuck you..." His smirk quickly turns to a full blown grin.

"Is that an invitation?" You stutter out bits and pieces of words, making him chuckle as he leans down to your level.

"Lemme guess, those city boys ain't treatin' you right? Left you high and dry. Don't know how to handle your attitude? I could put you back in line if you let me." He moves in closer, lips brush against your neck as he plants wet kisses up to your ear.

"Come on, sugar. Tell me no and I'll stop." His hands fall on your hips, gliding around to your ass with a tight grip as he kisses your neck. Leaving a trail of hickeys to the front of your neck. A soft moan falls from your lips, making him laugh against your skin. Hands slide to your waist, starting to fiddle with your belt.

Unbuckling it enough to get your jean shorts undone and down your legs to the hard floors of the storage area. Leon whistles, looking down at your panties, juices soaked through the thin fabric. Clinging to you lips.

"You always this wet darlin'?"

"No..." He huffs with a cocy grin, thumbs making circles in your hip bones while he stares.

"Figures a stuffy ol' bitch like you would be like this. Just a couple'a words get you actin' up. Soakin' through your own undies like some kinda slut." He watches the fire in your eyes ignite, grabbing the frilly fabric and peeling it off your weeping cunt with a deep groan.

His hands move, fingers guided between your folds, brushing against your clit with a few teasing circles. You bite your lip, muffling a pathetic moan from coming out. He pushes the saddle off the rack with one hand, forcing you against the hard wood. Lips meet lips as he swallows your cries with his kisses, tongues dancing in a flurry of passion.

His fingers slip off your clit and circle your entrance before plunging forward. Tightness envelopes his digits, curling into that spongy spot that makes you pull away from his lips and gasp.

"Feels good don't it darlin'?" You just nod, thighs tightening around his arm when his thumb meets your clit. His name curling from you like the prettiest sound he's ever heard. Thighs shaking as he feels you tightening around his fingers. His hand pulls back, thumb, hand pressing flat against your mound with a gentle squeeze.

"Wha... Why'd you-"

"Beg for it." His hand rubs over your mound with the most gentle of touches, thumb poking past your lips to graze your clit.

"I..."

"You've been nothin' but a God damn thorn in my side since you got here. Beg for it. Prove you want it, be thankful I'm even thinkin' about letting you cum."

"Please, please Leon. I'm- I'm sorry I've been a pain." His lips curl, fingers moving past your lips again and slipping back into place. Thumb on clit and fingers working your g-spot. Your head falls back, a louder cry coming from you as he grabs the front of your neck.

"I didn't tell you to stop." You nod, huffing out a small curse.

"I'm so use to knowing and doing everything I'm just..." You tighten around him again, feeling that warm sensation in your stomach.

"A mouthy cunt." He finishes for you, you nod again, shutting your eyes tight, hips bucking into his hand.

"Yes, yes! I'm a mouthy cunt and I should have been more grateful! But- Please, I just wanna cum. So close." He picks up the pace, holding onto you. You mumble out incoherent "thank you"s as you cry out his name in a sharp breath. Cumming on his fingers. He rolls his hand against you, helping you ride out your orgasm, panting as your body falls limp against him. Huffing and puffing as he kisses the shell of your ear.

"Good girl, knowin' exactly what to say to make it up to me." He gives you a kiss on the lips, and a slap to the ass as he pulls back.

"You gonna be good from now on? Might come with a reward if you follow through with it."

"Yes, Sir." He chuckles, giving you another kiss.

"Sir... I like the sound of that."

[sailor-aviator]

Hey.

Go ahead and get settled because this will be...long, in true Liz fashion.

So, by now I'm sure most of you have heard what's happened. If not, you can search this blog for some answers or others for more.

I joined this fandom offiicially at the end of September after being a long time lurker. I had just lost my job and times were uncertain for me. I felt inspired to write, and as someone whose formative years were shaped by the fandom experience, I wanted to feel that sense of belonging again - to feel like a part of a community. I've talked about it on here before, but I started my fandom days in the original Hunger Games fandom when the first movie had just come out, and then I shifted gears towards the SuperWhoLock fandom. If you know anything about SuperWhoLock, then you know you had to have pretty tough fucking skin to be a part of any of it.

Of course, this was back in the day when fandom was an actual community and not authors having to beg for scraps of engagement and people thinking its a numbers game. I was a fairly large blog within the SuperWhoLock community (Waywardly-Carrying-On was the username), but I left fandom for a few years because life got hectic and I felt like I had outgrown the fandom itself as I was no longer watching any of the shows. As the years went on, I started to yearn for the fandom experience again, which is how I found myself dipping toes into several different ones.

I was so excited to publish my first fanfic. I had convinced myself that I wasn't a good writer (much to the chagrin of my irl friends), and I had put a pause on writing my original story. I wanted to write this idea about a cowboy and a girl using characters that I had grown to love like I did way back in my older days. So, I started posting, and I was so excited for the story, that I kept posting almost daily. MamaMay was one of the first people to embrace not only my story, but me as a person into the fandom. She made me feel welcomed and wanted.

Pretty much right off the bat I was already getting anons telling me that I was being too much and that I needed to calm down with all the posting. I was confused because...this is Tumblr. It's literally a blogging website? Why wouldn't I post? I decided to ignore the mean words (not before giving my opinion, of course) and kept on doing my thing. Well, the anons got continually worse and worse. I had a suspiscion as to who the anons could be, but I never had concrete proof. So, I experimented with blocking suspects until finally it worked. I'm not naming names because that's not my style, so don't even bother asking.

The fact of the matter is, some of you have entered fandom spaces for the first time, and you don't know how to act. You don't care to learn fandom etiquette as you've made abundantly clear by calling fandom olds every name under the sun while utilizing the anonymous feature. Newsflash, you're part of the problem. You're the reason why authors don't want to publish anymore. You are the reason that something that's supposed to be fun is starting to feel like a goddamn chore.

How many times can authors on here say that we aren't machines? We have lives outside of this website: family, friends, jobs, school, etc. Some of you really are just hellbent on making everyone around you miserable, and it's sad. You can't just leave well enough alone and let people enjoy something, no you feel like everyone has to enjoy it the same way as you.

Some of you go after authors on here because of some weird sense of jealousy too. I don't know why my shit blew up, babe, I really don't. But I started out with no followers and no support just like everyone else. I'll tell you what helped me though: following fandom etiquette and reaching out to other creators to build an actual community. None of this "I've reblogged three of your things and now I'm messaging you so that you return the favor." No, I reached out to make actual friendships which is what fandom is SUPPOSED to be. If someone was clearly not interested, it was fine!! I backed off and kept doing my own thing.

Some of you think being mean on the internet makes you big and bad. Guess what! It doesn't! It's loser mentality and I feel genuinely sorry for you. I'm sorry that people in your own life made you feel so small as to feel like you had to lash out at strangers on the internet who are just trying to have fun.

Anyway, this is my really long way of saying that I am taking a break for a little bit. I have no idea how long it will be - could be the weekend, could be a couple of weeks, could be forever. I need time to decide if this is something I want to keep persuing. If I come back, I don't know if I will remain a TGM blog or if I'll shift gears and hop into another fandom with a rebrand. Guess we'll just have to see.

To the people on here who have been a constant source of joy, laughter, and support: thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Your presence has meant everything to me, and I hope that my break sees me wanting to come back and giggle about the silly plane movie with you all again.

Nothing but love,

Liz 💛

[chronicowboy]

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming) | 22k

"Do you have any idea what its like telling him his Buck is hurt?"

"Yes," Buck growls out, voice sharp as the knives embedded in Eddie's chest. "Yeah, Eddie, I really fucking do because I was the one that had to tell him that you'd been shot."

Eddie laughs. Its a broken sound, animalistic and rough and sounding only like a laugh echoing halfway across the galaxy. A wet laugh, edges razor sharp with bitter irony, corners like spears of desperate loneliness. He wants to grab Buck by the face and make him understand. Make him understand that the comparison of those situations is an admission of Buck's place in Christopher's life. Make him understand what Buck has never quite been able to grasp fully.

"Once," Eddie says instead. "Once. Imagine doing that five times within the last six months. Over and over and over. Watching his little face crumple like that first time when we didn't know if you'd ever wake up, listening to him begging to see you even if you've already been sent home because he doesn't quite believe that you aren't gonna disappear like his mom." Its too much, too much all at once, and Buck's mouth falls open like he hadn't been expecting it. A chink in his armour. Eddie exploits it. "He's terrified, Buck. And you just keeping throwing yourself into danger like he doesn't care about you."

"I know he cares," Buck argues hoarsely.

"Do you?" Eddie pushes, eyes dropping to the tense line of Buck's shoulders. "Do you? Because I think that if you did, if you knew just how much he cared, you wouldn't be ignoring harnesses and risking your life for a Walmart bunny."

"You know as well as I do that toys mean a lot to kids—"

"They're valuable, yes," Eddie concedes. "But not at the cost of a life, Buck." Not your life. "Does Christopher even cross your mind when you free climb down a cliff?"

"Of course he does!" Buck clenches his hands in the pillow he drags into his lap, unable to do anything else to purge his anger. "It was a little boy I was climbing down for, Eddie! You don't think I was thinking of Christopher?"

"I don't think you were thinking of him in the right way," Eddie snaps, pushing himself up from the armchair and pacing the floor in front of the coffee table.

"And how should I have been thinking of him, Eddie?" Buck's voice turns cold and emotionless in a way that sends a shudder down his spine. "In terms and conditions? In legal fine print? In the event of your death? Is that how I should have been thinking of him? As his back-up plan?"

"Back-up plan?" Eddie stares down at him incredulously, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

(OR: buck gets reckless, eddie gets angry, they talk in all the wrong ways, and the universe decides to intervene) [AKA The Angst Fic/season seven divorce era 2.0 fic]

@danielsousa @diazly @gracelcdomas @diazass @rogue205 @alyxmastershipper @pinky-promisesss @evanbucklxy @buddiearemydads @youraveragebookwhore @kenneth-black @poughkeepsies @littlechaosgremlin @krispold @scarcrossedbuck @thisyearsloveisnow @shortsighted-owl @ebdaydreamer @mellaithwen @littlebunnyz @shipping2survive @wallpaper-inside-my-heart @theroguetranslator @thebestbooksaround @i-am-a-mess24-7 @disasterpans @cowboy-buck @violet-rot @angstydiaz @livingonzenstreet @chiefcolorathletetoad

[koqabear]

My Life in Your Hands

Song: Cien Años, Natalia Lafourcade, Pepe Aguilar

“The life of a detective hasn’t always been so lonely; you knew how to trust, once. But after being shown the dangers of vulnerability, you choose to keep it safe and focus on more important matters— completing your mission and stopping a certain outlaw that dares open a door you long ago lost the key to.”

criminal!Soobin x detective!reader

Genre: enemies to… reluctant enemies? It’s weird. Mutual pining, angst, smut, he’s a cowboy your honor 

word count: 7.9K

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, guns, death, violence, blood, injuries, pet names (mostly anything with “pretty” in front of it.)

Smut Warnings: no established dom/sub dynamics, they’re just really hurt and angry, marking, possessiveness, dry humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, manhandling, cum eating,  teasing, begging, scratching, multiple orgasms, creampie 

Notes: this turned out so much sadder than I meant it to be?? It was just supposed to be a silly cowboy story, how did I get here… also, the song is really fitting… sad, but fitting. If you’re curious about anything after reading, feel free to ask me on my blog!

The air becomes tense the moment you step into the bar. 

It’s quiet— too quiet, the people seated around you leaning in and whispering secretly as though their conversations were dangerous. The air is foggy and dense with smoke as the customers drink under low lights, eyes shifting from the singer onstage to you, taking your figure in before they’re moving on to the next eye-catching thing. 

This bar is made up of regulars— everyday customers and familiar faces that nod to each other, waving over their favorite waitresses as they ask for another glass of whiskey— and her time, if she’s willing. The sight practically makes you gag, the wooden chair creaking lowly beneath you as you lean back to inspect the place; your hat is low on your head as you slowly scan the room, hyper-aware of every movement that is being made around you.

“How can I help you today ma’am?” The server before you is pretty, her perfectly rouge lips sculpted into an impeccable smile as she flutters her lashes sweetly at you; all you can do is softly dismiss her, asking for a simple glass of water as you try to ignore the confusion on her face. 

“ ‘m just waiting for someone, is all,” your voice is gruff as you find an odd need to clarify your behavior that might seem strange, a slight relief entering your system as you see her brightly nod in understanding before she’s off. 

You’re not here to drink at all, you think somberly, eyes flitting back to the main entrance for just a moment, but you’re not completely lying about waiting for someone. 

Your thoughts are interrupted by the loud arguments that continue to build up to your left, the table next to you suddenly becoming fussy over a game of poker. Yet you pay them no mind, the dull glint of the guns in their holsters giving you more than enough of a warning to not spare them so much as a dirty look. 

“Here you are ma’am,” the waitress says, daintily placing down a glass of water before she’s standing straight, clearing her throat as you barely regard her, “let me know if there’s anything else you need.” 

A nod is all you give her— your attention is much more focused on the young man that enters the bar, quietly slipping in as he makes his way toward you. He’s tall, dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket that contrasts greatly with the white button-up he wears. His shoes click softly to the beat of the singer’s song, arms lazily swinging by his sides as he reaches up to adjust his pristine, white cowboy hat.

Looking down, you allow your own hat to obscure your view as you feel him walk past you, the slight breeze he leaves behind allowing you to catch a whiff of his cologne— then he’s sitting, the loud screech of the chair against the wooden floor making you wince slightly as he allows himself to get comfortable. 

“Gentlemen,” you hear him say, the sight of him nodding to the same loud patrons from earlier being caught in your peripheral vision. His voice is soft and deep, and it only lowers more as he leans into the table, the rest following along as they begin to discuss a seemingly urgent matter. 

You try to listen in— you really do— but you’re unable to pick up on anything, your teeth gritting together in frustration as it all becomes incoherent mumbling to your ears. But then, you hear it— “reward money.”

You’re practically on the edge of your seat as you look forward, seemingly mesmerized by the woman on stage as your fingers drum along absentmindedly to the music. To any outsider, you’d look entirely drawn in by her performance— but it’s far from that. You think your ears might strain from how hard you attempt to listen in, a frown on your face as you’re only able to pick up on a few keywords; they all mash together until he pulls out a heavy key from his pocket, the sound of it a dull thud against the wooden table.

“Careful now boys,” he scolds, immediately placing a protective hand over it as the others attempt to snatch it away. His fingers are slender and careful as they wrap around the item, slowly picking it up before he’s stashing it away safely in an inner breast pocket— briefly, you allow yourself to steal a glance as your eyes hone in on the sight. 

“I worked mighty hard for that little key you saw there,” he pouts, leaning back in his seat as his arms are crossed over his chest firmly, the thick muscle showing even under the layers and dim lighting, “I think it’s time we discuss my payment.”

“How do we know you’re not cheatin’ us?” A man chimes in, a frown on his face as he leans on his elbows, “for all we know, that key could be a fake.”

“A fake?” The man scoffs, laughing softly as his brows raise in bewilderment, “you know I’d never do that you guys.” 

His words begin to become drowned out in your mind, much more focused instead on how you’re going to take that key away from them— and leave in one piece, of course. 

There are five of them now, you calculate, sparing a glance to the rest of the bar, no doubt that there are more of Yeonjun’s goons lying around as well. 

It’s surprising to see that the leader of his own gang isn’t present to take charge of the transaction, but you’re sure that he’s found other ways to entertain himself— briefly, your eyes wander back to the bar and its excess of pretty women; you grimace at your thoughts and its implications. 

Instead, his right-hand man seems to be present in his place— though, you’ve always thought Hueningkai had too much of a short temper to be a proper leader. Even now, your theory proves to be true, the young man glaring daggers at the sly man before them, clearly doubting every word he’s told as his posture remains stiff. 

“Come on now, you know Yeonjun wouldn’t have approved of this if he couldn’t trust me,” the man says, tipping back his hat as his narrowed eyes come into the light, “Why don’t you just give me the money now and hunt me down later if it makes you feel better.” 

You’re in disbelief that this man would be willing to give up this key so easily— whatever they’re offering, it must be more than enough.

There’s not a price that compares to what he has in his pocket, you think, just as suspicious as the substitute leader as you try not to glance back at the table again, it would be foolish to give it up now. 

That key could guarantee an easy life— the key to a hidden vault, filled to the brim with gold and smuggled treasures from the fortune of one of the greatest leaders that ever hit the underground crime scene; The late Kim Namjoon would be fuming if he knew it managed to slip out of his unknown heir’s hands. 

Then again, many speculate that it wasn’t a simple key that would open this vault— he was a great mind after all, and Kim Namjoon would not let such a flimsy security measure stick; it is rumored that the key that is currently slid across that wooden table is only the first step to acquiring the fortune. 

Your job is to see if that rumor proves to be true. 

The sound of a heavy briefcase brings you out of your daze— the recipient doesn’t even bother peering inside as a wide grin is spread across his face, thanking them as they all stand to leave; he doesn’t stand with them, bidding them goodbye and safe travels as he eagerly waves them away— it is silent, save for the sound of his whiskey glass hitting the table after he downed it; clicking his tongue, he sighs.

“Pretty lady, whatcha thinkin’ bout over there?”

His loud call doesn’t phase you; your fingernails dig into the wood as you trace shapes on it, not bothering to look at the sound of a chair being dragged against the wood. Slow, calculated steps come closer to you, and the thud of his briefcase comes first before the thud of his body falling into the chair. 

“Couldn’t solve the puzzle,” you pause, looking up as you catch the way the man’s smile widens as your eyes meet his, “Soobin?”

“Oh please,” he says, tilting his head as he leans forward, hand on his chin as he takes your appearance in, “you know all their brains put together couldn’t even amount to half of mine.” 

You roll your eyes at the thought— he’s as narcissistic as always.

“Too much work then?” You muse, pouting as a finger circles the rim of your glass mindlessly, “you gave it up so easily.”

“You hurt me, pretty girl,” Soobin says, a pout to match yours gracing his lips as he shakes his head, “you’ve always been one to underestimate me.”

“What is it, then?” You say, your voice hardening as you attempt to come up with reasoning for his actions, “what number could they have possibly given you that made you give up that key?” 

He tuts at your tone of voice— completely dismissive of the glare you fix him, he clicks his tongue as he feigns getting lost in thought; it isn’t long before a fiendish smile sneaks onto his lips. 

“There isn’t a price in the world that would make me hand that key over,” he says, leaning in so close that you think he might just pounce at you— but he doesn’t, sending you a wink instead, “Now I have to go before the chase begins.”

He’s taking off before you know it— the suitcase is left behind, and you’re out of your seat before you can second guess yourself. You kick the suitcase open— there’s nothing but paper in there. 

It was a setup. 

The absence of music is suddenly much more apparent to you— there are no workers around, and the silence is quickly filled by the bullets that come your way; the chair beside you breaks to pieces from the impact of the stray shots. 

You’re quick to flip the table on its side— even quicker to run away, only able to take down a few of Yeonjun’s men before you’re running out of bullets, the rest of the patrons much more involved as they partake in the fight that breaks out. The calming music that once filled the air is now replaced by bullets and the dull thuds of bodies falling around you; the familiar bark of Yeonjun’s voice reaches your ears, followed by hurried footsteps and mumbles of Soobin’s and your names. 

“That fuckin’ detective got some real guts, showin’ up and sittin’ beside us like that,” Yeonjun grits out, kicking away any obstacles as he continues his search, firing at every person that attempts to reach for their weapon and aim it at him.

“I know you’re still here, detective!” Yeonjun yells, fuming as he steps on the bullet wound of a patron— the scream of agony echoes throughout the place as you wince at the sound, “come out now and I’ll go easy on you!”

The only other exit is behind the bar in the employee’s lounge— and by now you’ve crawled your way into some random nook that you can feel your limbs beginning to tense, your teeth sinking into your tongue as you try to ignore the pool of blood from a nearby body that is slowly inching towards you.

“We could work together, even!” He muses, eyeing the place as he signals for his people to leave— he’s attempting to convince you, trying to make you feel more secure as the sight of an equal match could lower your guard. 

“We’re both after the same thing, right?” He says, spinning his gun before he’s firing off into some unknown hiding spot— the shot rings a long closer than you’d like, and you’re barely able to pick up on the offhanded oops that Yeonjun lets out. 

“I knew Soobin would cross me,” he sneers, firing again as he makes his way around the bar, “yet I still gave him the benefit of the doubt— sneaky little thing, that one.” 

Slowly, he makes his way to the center of the bar; he stops, surveying the area for any other places you might be. 

“I know how hard you’ve been workin’ to catch him— to catch both of us. How bout this,” he clicks his tongue, staring down at the barrel of his gun before he’s aiming it again, “work with me, and we’ll catch him— together! I’ll let you take all the credit for his capture… and you let a couple of my things slide under the table.” 

The shot is fired— the sound that rips through you is uncontrollable, the bullet that lodges itself in your bicep catching you off guard as you break the skin of your lip. Your attempt to put pressure on the wound is futile, and your mind is racing to find a way to escape. Looking up, you find that Yeonjun is already looming over you.

“There you are, cutie.”

 You flinch at the sight of him kicking away the debris that hid you so well; his foot stomps down, your eyes shutting instinctively as the blood of someone unknown splashes onto your face— the feeling makes you want to gag.

But you hold it all back as you’re being pulled up roughly, a weak groan leaving you as Yeonjun’s fingers dig into your wound— your mind is spinning so quickly that you’re helpless against the way he slams you against the wall, your cheek pressed against it as he restrains you.

“Quite the offer I put up, hmm?” He says, grabbing a fistful of your hair as he’s forcing you to look at him, “I’d take it if I were you.”

You don’t respond to his words; you know better than to make a deal with Yeonjun, but you’d rather have him think he’s got the upper hand while you wait for a vulnerable moment to appear. 

“Tempting,” you remark, frowning at the way his grip becomes bruising on your arm, “if I were as power-hungry as you.” 

“You’re quite the mean little thing, aren’t you?” He sighs, and your head is roughly pressed against the wall once more, “see, if we’re gonna work together, I don’t think I’d be able to put up with all that— that is of course unless you’d like to die instead.” 

The barrel of his gun is cool against your skin— slowly, the hammer of his revolver is pulled, and the glint in his eyes is unmistakable as he appears in your peripheral vision. 

“I know how fond you’ve been getting of our little friend,” he pouts, a mocking tone to his voice as he leans against you, “but I’d advise you to choose wisely here.” 

You’re trapped— he’s got you, and good, Yeonjun knows this— you see the way he grins at you, waiting patiently for you to decide as the pressure on your temple slowly begins to become worse; the innocent smile he sends you as you glare back at him does nothing to make you feel better. 

What other choice do you have? There’s nothing good that can come out of making a deal with Yeonjun, but you’ve come too far to give it all up now— shakily, you clear your throat, trying to find the words that only seem lodged in your throat. 

Yet, it seems to be your lucky day. 

The pressure at your temple is lifted as Yeonjun groans in pain, the shot still ringing throughout the bar as you take this moment to run, kicking his gun away before you do— and without realizing it, you effortlessly make your way to Soobin’s open arms. 

“Can’t believe you would trade me in like that,” you pay no mind to the way his arm wraps around yours protectively, attempting to shrug him off before he’s pulling you back to him. 

“If you go out now, you’ll die. There’s too many of them out there for you to go like that,” He hisses into your ear, leading you to the back exit and tucking you under his frame as he crouches down low, “just follow me.” 

You’re given no choice with the way your blood is beginning to seep through the cracks of your fingers— you need to get it treated, and fast. The sounds of Yeonjun’s men storming in is enough to have you urging Soobin to hurry, the two of you slipping out from the back and into the night sky. 

It’s foggy and humid as the pavement beneath you is still wet from the rainfall, and you’re far too surprised the moment that Soobin forces the two of you to take off into a sprint— quietly sneaking behind buildings and homes of those who are peacefully asleep. 

“Did you come here on foot?!” You hiss, your arm beginning to take a toll on you as your energy begins to seep out— you can hear the familiar clammer of hooves on the streets as Yeonjun’s people begin their search, only half the size as the others were left to protect their leader. 

“Of course not,” Soobin scoffs, and it isn’t long before you spot a horse tied to the post of a closed shop, “Just stationed myself at a safer distance.” 

The horse is sleek and taken care of— all of its equipment is pristine and expensive as Soobin assists you on, ignoring your protests and groans of pain as he scoots up closer behind you. 

“Grab on tight, pretty thing,” he says, gripping onto the reins as his thighs close around yours, “might be a bit of a bumpy ride.”

You don’t get another chance to adjust before he’s taking off, your body pressed against his as you feel the exhaustion of it all begin to take a toll on you. Your shirt is soaked and sticky— yet the pain has dulled down significantly as you fight to stay alert, unsure of what Soobin is planning as you race down empty, lonelier streets. 

The homes slowly become sparse— before you know it, you’re surrounded by trees, the terrain switching from pavement to the unstable grounds of the forest. The ride could almost be considered calming— that is, until a sudden gunshot has your eyes snapping wide open, stiffening up against Soobin’s chest as he commands his horse to go faster. 

“Stupid fucker found us,” Soobin grits, glancing back at the single person who managed to keep track of Soobin and your whereabouts. His shots are getting increasingly closer, and Soobin’s horse can only go so fast— before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching at his hip with your uninjured arm, taking the gun from his holster before you’re twisting dangerously to face back. 

“Hey, hey!” The sound of a gun being fired so close to his ear has Soobin losing control of his horse for a second, sending you a glare that would immediately make anyone wilt. But you ignore it, stretching out your good arm as you attempt to fire at the person chasing you once more, “watch it, are you crazy? You’re gonna fall!” 

You’re practically ready to slip off with the way you’re forced to twist around, Soobin’s arm flying to secure itself on your waist as you two go over a rocky spot— the sudden movement makes you wince as you miss another shot.

“I don’t have infinite bullets either now!” He says, sneaking a glance back before he’s back to rushing his horse, “you better aim right if you’re gonna hit him!” 

“I’m trying!” You bark, gritting your teeth at his insults, “it’d help a lot if you’d shut up!”

You can tell he’s getting ready to say something— but he holds back, cursing under his breath as his grip on your waist secures. Slowly, you take a deep breath; it’s hard to spot your target in such a dark forest, but as you attempt to take a moment to concentrate, you’re finally able to get a clear shot— the relief that floods through you is unexpected as you slump against Soobin’s hold.

“Easy there, don’t go all soft on me either,” he says, twisting you back around before he’s caging you in; he feels warm, the feeling oddly welcomed as exhaustion threatens to creep up on you. Attempting to fight it back, you find it to be much more persistent than before— which is why you feel a tinge of panic when your eyelids become uncontrollably heavy. 

“Just a little bit more,” you hear Soobin say, his voice a muffled mess to your ears, “I’ll patch you up then.”

With the ride much calmer than it was moments ago, you finally find it in yourself to rest. 

✩ ☆ ✩

“Here, slowly,” Soobin’s bed is soft as he slowly guides you down on it, attempting to ignore the way you wince in pain from the awkward angle your arm remains in. He quickly leaves to get supplies to patch you up, and you take a moment to regain your composure. 

It’s strange— his home is cozy, well-decorated, and clearly used a lot. For someone like him, you’d expect something more barren; he has no pictures, no true personal touches that could link this small cabin to him— but it’s intimate nonetheless, the smell of him filling the air and mixing in with the faint scent of a candle that sits at his nightstand. 

You don’t get much of a chance to look around as Soobin quickly returns— his jacket and hat have been discarded, and you take in his appearance as you wince at the state of his white button-up; now coated red on the right side with your blood. Meeting his eyes, you frown— his dyed hair is ruffled messily as he lays down his supplies next to you, placing down a short stool before he’s sitting down in front of you, knees knocking your legs open carelessly as he situates himself between them.

“Your shirt— here, let me…” Slowly, he moves to cut the sleeve for better access; you stop him midway, your uninjured hand hesitantly reaching for the buttons of your shirt instead. 

You really don’t have to, you hear him mumble, slightly panicked, but you shake your head, knowing it’d be much easier for you to take the item off than to have him struggle with the fabric around your injury. It’s quiet, your eyes much more focused on a point behind him as you carefully shrug off your sullied shirt— he’s quick to assist you, his gentle hands brushing against the warm skin of your shoulders as he places the shirt to the side. 

Shakily, your eyes meet his; his eyes are focused as they take in the state of your wound, brows furrowed and his lip caught in his teeth as he winces at how messy the injury has become. It’s oddly tense— you haven’t been this close to Soobin in a long time, quiet and vulnerable as you allow him to take care of you. 

Sweat begins to bead on your skin as he begins to take a hold of your arm, examining the wound once more before he begins the process of trying to take the bullet out— a small warning is all you get before he offhandedly points at a pillow nearby for you to hold onto. 

Instead, your hand immediately finds purchase on his thigh— it’s instinctive, and you don’t stop to gauge his reaction as your fingers hold on desperately, gritting your teeth as you bear the uncomfortable feeling of Soobin taking out the bullet.

It’s quiet, but you can hear soft words of praise and reassurance fall from his lips, kind words that serve to encourage you as he finally takes the small bullet out; the piece is carefully put onto a tissue that is left to be discarded. You attempt to remain silent as he cleans your injury, clearing off the dried blood that ran down your arm as he softly brushes the wet cloth against your skin. It isn’t until you’re all clean that he begins to apply alcohol to it as well. 

“Shit— sorry,” you grit, startled by the sudden sting as he immediately pulls away, whispering an apology of his own before hesitantly tending to you again. After a moment, your body becomes relaxed in his hold once more, allowing him to gain the confidence to tend to you freely again. 

The stitches don’t feel too bad; he’s awful skilled, the action quick and effortless as you keep quiet through it all, the feeling of the gauze wrapping around your bicep and applying subtle pressure to your wound finally giving you the relief you didn’t know you needed. 

Soobin looks more at ease as well— and before you can pick up on what he’s doing, he’s taking your uninjured hand gingerly, his fingers delicate as he holds onto your wrist lightly. The cloth in his hand is warm as he wipes you with it, thoroughly taking each of your fingers as he wipes off all the blood that managed to cake on; then, it slowly moves up to your face, cleaning off the blood of someone unknown as your eyes meet Soobin’s; your lips part as you stare at him, unsure of what to do as he remains concentrated on his task.

He looks so different from before— there’s a heavy look in his eyes, as though the life he’s lived has been filling itself with nothing but regrets. And as you take in the way his hand lingers, carefully caressing your cheek, you wonder bitterly if this was one of them.

“Why are you doing all this?” You ask, your voice much softer than you expected it to be— there’s no more energy to be malicious to him, only exhaustion and a burning curiosity left in you as you watch him hesitate to answer. 

“I couldn’t let them take you like that,” he says, a frown settling on his features as he slowly pulls away— the absence of his touch feels jarring, your hand curling into a fist as you listen to him speak, “they would’ve used you to get what they wanted from me.”

“What, too scared that I would’ve caught you?” You quip, oddly angered that even now, all he can think of is himself. You don’t know why the words feel so poisonous on your tongue, the anger that ignites inside you only stirring more as you watch the way he becomes angered by your accusation. 

“They would have a hold of my greatest weakness,” he grits out, as though admiring it aloud brings him another wave of anger. His eyes stare at the tight fist that rests on your thigh— then they meet yours, narrowed and pointed as his lips turn down in distaste.

“You.” 

The word feels like a punch to the stomach— you can feel the air leave your lungs as you stare at him, unsure of what to make out of his words as he stares at you with that same fire in his eyes, a fire that is unwilling to back down on his claim.

His greatest weakness— you. And he would be damned if he let Yeonjun of all people lay their hands on you, free to do as they pleased as they used you for leverage— or worse, used you to kill him. 

“Stop spouting nonsense,” you say, an unknown rage blooming within you as he regards you with such a fire, “you showed me just how much you cared the day you turned your back to our work and all we stood for.”

The memory is enough to leave a bitter taste on your tongue; you can tell the mention of it is enough to have him back down like a wounded puppy, unsure of how to respond to that. 

You trusted Soobin, once— and you learned your lesson when he pushed you out of his life, turning to a life of shadows as your partner you once trusted your life with became no better than the everyday criminals you went after. The humiliation of it all set deep into your bones— a deep grudge that reared its head even now, when Soobin seemed to be ready to come back to ask for forgiveness. 

“___,” the sound of your name on his lips is bittersweet. His effect on you is unrivaled, a fact you wish wasn’t true as you attempt to hide the way the sound sends electric shocks through you. He’s somber, his eyes searching yours in hopes of breaking through and finding an emotion akin to his, “you have no idea how much I cared.” 

“I have full access to the vault.” His words clear your mind out effortlessly, “I’m the heir.”

The heir to the fortune— the new leader of the crime syndicate Kim Namjoon spent years building up under the shadows. The man before you was not who he claimed to be— he never was. Hesitantly, he takes your hand— he’s shaky, fingers lacing with yours as he leans into you, long legs knocking against yours as the space he made for yourself becomes wider. There’s a new emotion that coats his face, free and unadulterated as he looks deeply into your eyes.

“Join me.” His words are breathy as you stare at him, confused, angry, hesitant. “You’ll never have to worry about anything again— I could care for you.”  

Your hand feels like fire in his— you pull away like you’ve been burned, disbelief on your face as Soobin stares at you like a scolded child, doe eyes soft and shining under the soft lights of the lamp on his nightstand. 

“I—“ it’s hard to speak— why is it so hard? The words are stuck on your tongue as you stare at him, the man you cared for so deeply, offering a chance to start over. A chance you’ve dreamed about since the day he disappeared from you, a chance that you never allowed yourself to properly hope for, and it’s finally being presented to you.

“I can’t.” 

Soobin knew your answer before he asked— there was never any other option for you. But the pain, the confusion you feel building within you is much more unexpected, your mind fogging as the reality of it all begins to set in. 

“This whole time…” you begin, brows furrowed as the conflicting emotions form a torrent within you, wild and uncontrollable as your mouth enables them to be let loose. 

“You knew everything. What his group was doing, where he was, how to catch him—“ your eyes flick back to his, wounded and sharp in hopes of getting him to the same level as you, “you knew it all. Yet you lied in my face, led me on whenever I thought we finally had a lead.” 

“And yet you beg me to believe that you still care for me?” 

He shakes his head, reluctant to give up as he attempts to reassure you again. 

“I’m sorry— I wasn’t in control of my life back then. I never meant to hurt you,” his attempts to dissuade your feelings are futile, for his claims do nothing but egg you on even more. 

“The moment I leave this cabin,” you growl, glaring at him as you speak, “we will be nothing more but enemies. Forget everything about me. You’ll become my one target from this moment on.” 

A new resolve has formed on your face— Soobin knows you’ll never hate him more than you do now. 

“Your life will be in my hands.”

“The moment you leave this cabin…” he whispers, determined to see you crack, for even a small moment longer, “I will no longer hold back on you. My sweet killer…” 

He’s so close— why would you let him get so close? His lips are practically brushing against yours, eyes lidded and low as he leans towards you, your head tilted down as his puppy eyes continue to shine, even now. 

“Give me one last memory to keep of you.” 

The feeling of your lips crashing against his is unexpected; but the anger inside you is too hot, too rapid for you to simply leave like this. You’ve lived your life filled with regrets— what’s one more going to do to you?

Soobin’s hum of surprise is muffled by your kiss that threatens to take him whole— your yearning, so eager and greedy, is like a switch to him; he’s chasing after you, leaning into your touch desperately as his hands meet the skin of your bare waist. His touch leaves a trail of fire, caressing and smoothing out the skin as he feels every scar, sees every bruise, any detail that he might be able to ingrain into his mind. 

Your back sinks into the mattress— you’re unsure of when Soobin decided to become so greedy, the kiss rough as he allows himself to bite at your lip, his hair soft against your face as a trail of kisses and marks are left along the column of your neck. His touch will be left for weeks to come— he’s determined to make it so, determined to make you have to face your reflection and the memory of him, the memory of his want for you. 

Tangled limbs, pressure against your body— the act is messy and desperate as Soobin has half the mind to leave your injured arm as undisturbed as possible, supporting his weight on one arm as he allows the other to explore your body; trailing up your waist, fingers tracing along the expanse of your chest, ready to take your bra off with ease. Your hand is careless as it rips away his buttons, desperate to have him the same way he has you. 

His chest is smooth and sturdy— his muscles are firm under your touch, honey skin littered with bruises and scars that have your fingertips tracing along them, briefly wondering what stories might belong with them, the memories he carries engraved within him. 

His hips are slotted desperately between yours; you didn’t realize how he was able to get into such a position so easily, his hand already venturing from your breasts to cup your face, hovering above you as he whispers to you, his voice breathy and sultry that it takes effort to listen to what he says. 

“I’ve wanted to have you like this longer than I can remember,” he says, his eyes meeting yours and conveying words his mouth refuses to speak. Close. Needy. Vulnerable. “It hurts to think that I’ll be losing you again after this.” 

If you had any fight with his words, it died the moment his hips rolled firmly into yours. The breath that escapes him is shaky and labored, and he’s unable to control himself as he finds his mind loosening, words spilling beyond his comprehension as the pressure of his body against yours makes you rock back into him. 

“I’ll be damned if I ever let Yeonjun have you like this,” he says, fingers digging into your hips as his thrusts become harsh, uncalculated, and desperate, “I would’ve killed him.”

A small groan leaves your mouth at that— his eyes that once sparkled under the light, pleading for forgiveness, hardened into something foreign, wild and needy as he took what he could from you, the feeling of him hard and pulsing against you making your head fog with need.

Adjusting his position, he stands— you feel your body moving along with him, hips dangling dangerously over the bed as he holds you there, hands already working to get your pants undone.

“What makes you think he would’ve done any of that?” You ask, breathless as his sharp eyes meet yours, filled with an emotion you hesitate to pinpoint. 

“That man would fuck anything that moves,” Soobin growls, your body bare before him as he begins to kneel, your legs thrown over his shoulders carelessly as you gulp at the action, “I can’t imagine what he’d do to a pretty thing like you.”

He’s good at rendering you speechless— that is, if his mouth sucking firmly on your clit had anything to do with it. He’s desperate, eager to have you fall apart on his tongue as he feels your body jolt at the stimulation, a hand grabbing at his hair to bring him closer still. 

His fingers that slip through your entrance has your mouth falling open and your eyes fluttering shut, a small whimper slipping out of you as he groans, his mind reeling at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, pulling him in and asking for more. 

Soobin can’t help but wonder how you would feel wrapped around his cock, your arousal like an aphrodisiac to him as he finds himself growing needier, tongue messily laving at your clit as his fingers speed up the process, thick and long as a third soon finds its way inside. 

Your body is tensing quickly; the pleasure is overwhelming, the sight of having Soobin kneeling before you, desperate and lost in your pleasure as his eyes flutter open, meeting yours boldly has your thighs squeezing around his head uncontrollably. Your hips are left in his control as his hands grip onto them tightly, forcing you into him even more as his warm lips wrap around your clit once more, sucking and tongue flicking at the bud in hopes of feeling you fall apart in his hold. 

Unexpectedly, his name leaves your lips; it’s a sweet mewl that has him painfully aware of how hard he’s become, the bulge constricting against the fabric of his pants as he can only listen to the sweet sounds you make—and hope that he’ll have you coming apart on his cock soon as well. 

Your hips buck against his face mindlessly— it’s too much, yet not enough, his fingers thrusting roughly and curling to hit that spot that makes you see stars. The pleasure is hot and blinding as you feel it beginning to build up, your mouth agape as moans and cries to keep going cascade through you like a waterfall. 

His name becomes a prayer on your lips. Soobin. Soobin, please, you whimper, your good hand reaching down to tangle itself into his hair once more. His touch is addictive, and before you can realize what’s happening, you’re coming undone, his pace never faltering as he allows you to ride it out, your hips rolling carelessly on his face. 

You’re left a panting and weak mess in Soobin’s hold, your head sinking back into the mattress as you feel his fingers slowly slip out of you— a weak whine escapes you as his tongue cleans you up, running along your slit and teasing your entrance before he’s parting from you. Your head tilts as your eyes meet his, his eyes blown out and filled with lust as his tongue and lips slowly wrap around his fingers— cleaning your essence off it slowly, your mind swirling at the sight as you quickly find your pussy clenching desperately against nothing. 

 “My pretty girl,” he sighs out, his fingers making quick work of undoing his jeans, “you have no idea how badly I wanted to take you with me all this time. Years ago, throughout all this time, even today.”

He’s painfully hard as his cock finally springs into view— his hand is quick to wrap around it, his tip leaking and flushed as a thumb runs over it; his body jolts at the feeling, slowly fucking into his fist as his eyes don’t leave yours for a second. 

“Why didn’t you?” You breathe out, legs locking around his waist and pulling him eagerly. Your thighs are so warm and soft around him, his tip teasing your entrance as he fucks himself against your pussy, never pushing through enough to enter you. He can feel your wetness coating him, fogging his mind as his own arousal mixes with yours, the sight so dirty and desperate that he feels his hips buck in need. 

“I don’t know. I should’ve begged you for forgiveness the moment I first saw you,” his words, you realize, are genuine— your lidded eyes clear for a moment, and the conflicting emotions from before attempt to rear their head once more. You gulp, words dying on your tongue as his tip begins to prod at your entrance. 

“Beg for it now. Apologize,” you breathe out, a hand placing itself over his as his head snaps up to meet your gaze. Your nails dig into his forearm as your thighs lock around him, your gaze angry and demanding as you roll your hips into him in frustration, “since you seem so desperate for me.” 

His gaze softens— hesitantly, his lips part, tongue running over them as his tip finally breaches inside you. The stretch is unexpected, your walls immediately closing around him and attempting to pull him in as he subtly leans towards you. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Your arm slides from his forearm to his bicep— you’re pulling him in, his other arm coming down to support his weight as he leans over you. This is only the beginning, your eyes say, sharp and narrowed as you prompt him to continue. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, slowly pushing inside you as he stops to allow you to feel every vein, every detail, rubbing along your warm walls and curving as his hips buck unintentionally. 

“I was a fool to leave you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since,” it’s sincere, you can see it in the way his expression furrows as he continues talking, frustration laced in his voice as his hips finally meet yours, pressing firmly as he bottoms out. 

Your fingers dig into the skin of his bicep— roughly, you pull him down, his face hovering above yours, dangerously closer as you watch his adam’s apple bob nervously. You don’t have to say anything— the fire in your eyes is more than enough for him, the room silent save for the sounds of your breaths that intertwine as his hips slowly begin to move, barely pulling out as he relishes in the feeling of being inside you. 

“I’m terrified of losing you again,” he admits, his confession shifting into unknown territories as his mind fogs up once more, “I’m sorry I couldn’t face you sooner.”

You say nothing— all you can do is scan his expression, his eyes that are lidded and filled with so many dangerous emotions. In response, your fingers tangle themselves in his hair— bringing him down to you as your lips meet him in a hungry kiss. 

His hips don’t hesitate to pick up the pace; the feeling of you clenching around him is driving him mad, his cock managing to hit a spot that has your mouth falling open, lips left victim to Soobin’s teasing bites, the feeling of his teeth sinking into the bottom flesh making you whimper uselessly against him.

He may be the one that’s pounding into you restlessly, leaving your mind blank and his name on your tongue, but you’re the one that truly has him intoxicated. He wants to feel you, all of you, your chest that rubs against his driving him mad as he becomes hyper-aware of how much he can feel you against him. You’re practically sinking into the bed with the force he drives himself into you, skin slapping against skin and his pelvis smacking against yours as your arousal only increases with every action. 

He’s wrapped tightly around your finger, and the last thing he wants to do is let go. 

“___,” your name is like honey on his lips, the sound of it rolling off his tongue so effortlessly that he can’t help but find himself saying it again, and again, a mantra of his own as he feels the way you recklessly fuck back into him, nails digging into his shoulder before they’re scratching down his back— the stinging sensation that’s left behind only serves to spur him on, the thought of having your scars on his body for days to come driving him mad. 

“I don’t want you to think of anyone else,” he says, breathless against you as your arm throws itself over his shoulders, fingers tangling themselves in his hair as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. 

“Think of me every time you look at yourself in the mirror, when you see the places I touched,” his hand trails down to your hip, fingers squeezing the supple flesh before it moves to circle your clit, your legs tightening against him before you're bucking your hips wildly, “when you touch yourself, wish it were me that was there for you.“

“No one will ever be able to care for you like I do.”

His cock is abusive against the spot that drives you wild. It reaches it with ease, hitting it thrust after thrust. One, twice, three times. Then you’re coming undone, a weak whimper all you can manage as you wrap around him like a vice. It’s enough to set him off as well, a soft groan escaping him as his hips struggle to keep a proper rhythm. Your bodies move together in harmony regardless, riding out each other’s highs as the warm feeling of his cum fills you, never-ending as it slowly begins to leak out before he’s fucking it back into you.

It’s silent, and neither of you can muster anything to say as you’re both catching your breath; Soobin’s face quickly buries itself into your neck, his lips ghosting along your skin as he speaks. 

“Stay,” he pleads, arms slowly circling your waist before you’re pulled into him, warm and secure in his hold. “Just for tonight. Stay a while longer.”

Softly, his head moves along your shoulder, his hair feather-like as it brushes against you. His lips graze a trail along, leaving a gentle kiss on the shoulder of your injured arm. 

“After tonight,” you breathe out, your hand traitorous as it caresses his scalp gently, the memories of your past and your moments together reviving a dangerous feeling, “I’ll forget everything about you— we’ll be nothing more than enemies.”

Softly, Soobin nods; his gaze never meets yours, the two of you adjusting in his bed as he allows you to rest on his chest. You’re a pile of tangled limbs, hearts beating in one as you wonder if you could’ve had this years ago, free of complicated emotions and regrets. 

“If I am to die by anyone’s hands, it will only be yours,” he says, hand encasing yours as he brings it to rest over his heart. “Promise me it will be so.” 

A game of death— you’ve always been incredible at your job, and there hasn’t been a single mission you haven’t completed. But, feeling him under your palm, warm and beating for you, you find the words stuck in your throat for a moment. 

“I promise.”

The cabin falls into complete silence as the feeling of you finally in his arms lulls Soobin into a deep sleep; he’ll think of this night for years to come, if he’s able to.

His words are nothing but a lie— he’ll never be able to forget you. 

And after tonight, neither will you. 

[violetswritingg]

Thunderstruck

Tyler Owens x OFC!

Description: When cowgirl meets cowboy after a year of no-contact and chaos ensues during storm season!

Rating: M (Mentions of blood and death in Tornadoes and storms alike, angst and loss of loved ones, car accidents, Tornado aftermath, and injury to characters, slight age gap (5 years))

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Click here

9

A few seconds later......

"I'm just fine, you're the one who almost had a house drop on them." His words bit at her exposed nerve endings. Filling Riley with regret for even stopping to check on him, her stomach twisting in knots.

"Right. Okay then." Riley was tired, she was hungry, but also still nauseous, her head hurt and now her chest felt tight hearing the sharp tone that had left Tyler's lips. Something so familiar but so distant in her memory. It was how he always sounded when he was upset with her for doing something dangerous.

Or, at least, stupidly dangerous.

Riley turned on her heel and made it a grand total of two steps before the sound of skin against skin and a quiet yelp made her turn back around. Witnessing Tyler, holding his shoulder, glare at the dark-haired man beside him, who had appeared out of nowhere. Having been around the back of the house-turned-debris they were poking around. The new face simply raised his brows and put his hands on his hips, coffee eyes drilling expectantly into Tyler. His ever-present smile never really leaving his face, even present now, a slight curl to them as he nodded his head in Riley's direction.

Tyler glanced her way looking like a kicked puppy, barely meeting her slightly amused-mostly shocked expression and round eyes.

"Sorry" Tyler sighed, "I didn't mean that."

"Kinda felt like you did." Riley swallowed hard, eyes squinting as the sun started to shift positions in the sky, having to raise a hand to block the rays from fully blinding her. "I'm uh- I'm gonna go." She started to walk, Tyler's voice calling after her. His boots crunching against the ground in quick strides.

"No, wait, really, I'm sorry. I'm just still pissed off about that shit with Kate-"

"It's fine Owens. You don't owe me any-" She had barely turned around, desperate for Tyler to not see the hurt she was feeling, because she had no right. But also wanted to just drop everything and apologize and fall into his arms. After her day she knew a single hug from him, if they were still in good standing with each other, would probably make her feel like it would all be okay. Truly. If even only for a couple minutes.

"Please don't call me that." Riley stopped, angled away from the blonde man, shoulders raised. Tyler's voice barely carrying, but it was enough. A lead weight dropping onto Riley's chest. "Just..." The man looked around for a second, "This isn't your fault ya know?" Tyler's abrupt change, turning it on her, shouldn't have thrown her. Not after her experience with it firsthand. But she is.

"Easy for you to say," She sputtered, "It's easy for you, all you do is run around and shoot fireworks up into tornados or god knows whatever else your followers ask you to do next. But for me?" She should stop, She knew that, but once she had started it was like a single crack had suddenly blown open and the dam was crumbling more and more with every word that left her mouth unfiltered, "Every time I fail, it's a town that's hit. Family homes ripped from the ground. Torn to shreds. Parents without kids and kids without parents. So, thank you for saying that, but it is. I could have prevented this Tyler. I could have." She didn't know who she was begging to believe her. Him or herself. "But I fucked up. As per usual."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tyler scoffed, eye wide as he stared her down, hating how Riley's face dropped, her eyes losing any spark they had, but confused more than anything. She couldn't think-

"I'm not my dad. He was always so good at this, I'm sure he'd have it all figured out by now." Riley shrugged, small, pitiful little bubbles of semi-laughter popped up and out of her lips as she shook her head. Gaze eventually falling to her feet as her arms wrapped around her stomach.

She looked so small.

"Maybe..." Tyler started off gently, "but you can't know that. And I'm sorry, but have you met you? You are exactly like him, in a good way." Tyler points at her quickly as she went to open her mouth. "You are not a fuck up Riley. You're working harder than any other chaser I know to actually find answers, help people. But Jesus Christ Riley," He chuckled, beside himself, worry glazing over his eyes, "when is it going to be enough? You almost let yourself get crushed by a house! A couple hours ago! And then you just walked away like it was no big deal." Tyler couldn't stop more incredulous laughter from tumbling past his lips like missiles aiming right at her open wounds.

"So that a family could lay one of its members to rest intact!" Riley bit, chewing through every word. Nails digging into her palms.

The word hit him like a punch to the gut and flashes of that moment. Seeing Nathan's body, Riley sobbing under his weight and covered in her fathers blood. The woman, now grown, in front of him and lacking the rust-colored stains as the one in his memory.

"Ty, I'm sorry-" She wanted to kick herself. Screaming why?! Over and over and over. Tyler didn't let her finish though. Riley taking a step back at the shift in his posture, his shoulders slumping forward as his jaw dropped, quick breaths puffing in and out of his lungs.

"What about you? Is it me that's going to have to pull your body out of a house so I can bury you intact? Like I pulled you out of that truck?"

It felt like she had been dealt a physical blow, the way all the air left her body, as if punched in the stomach. That's what she would equate it to. That sounded right. Shit. Her eyes started to burn, still locked on Tyler's now wide-open orbs. His own shock painted so clearly in the blue-green waves, followed by guilt, and lastly, panic.

For the first time in a very long while, she was met with the familiar feeling of losing something she didn't think she ever would. But that was her fault, as per usual. It was all her fault.

"Riley-"

"Ri, there you are. I have been looking everywhere for you!" Riley was broken out of the fog she didn't even realize she had fallen into by the sudden jolt of a hand clapping her on the shoulder. Shaking her gently a bit before pulling her into his side.

"Daniel." She muttered, leaning more into his hold as exhaustion swept over her like a storm cloud on an April day in Oklahoma. Knees feeling like Jello all of a sudden.

"Hey there boss lady, we need your help with something." His arm over her shoulder anchored her, her hand coming up to grab his as he started to shift them away from the blonde man who looked like he was about to lose his mind.

"Wait- we were in the middle of something. Riley, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it- Not like that-"

Tyler stops in his tracks, having followed behind a couple step without hesitation, as Daniel whipped his head around with a far nastier glare than Tyler ever though such a baby face could make. His breaths felt heavy in his chest, Pulling away from Boone as he felt hands on his shoulder and back. Dragging a hand down his mouth and shaking his head as he could only watch Daniel take Riley away.

"We were worried you had found yourself buried under some other little old ladies house, Sarah, Jenny, and I at least." His voice was gentle, but still joking. Trying to bring the old Riley back, the one who would hang out the Warlock's window in the middle of a storm. Their Riley. Their fearless leader and most looked up to person. Their hero. "You're welcome for the assist, by the way. I take payment in affection and head pats." The 20-year-old grinned down at Riley and the slightly older young adult shook her head. Slowly coming back to herself. Her grin practiced, not meeting her eyes, having almost perfected it after pushing herself to meet their expectations – everyone's expectations – for years.

"Can it Casanova, save it for girls your own age." Riley could see the pure relief sink into Daniel's face and her head ached.

"What if I don't like girls my own age? What if I don't like girls?" He grinned brightly, still supporting her but bouncing up and down as best he could.

"Then why you looking at me like that, huh?" Riley elbowed his side a bit, wincing when her body ached, her side stinging at the movement.

"This is just how I look at people Riley. What are you talking about?"

"You are really pushing your luck kid."

"Ooh. It hurts, I may never recover!" He pretended to sputter and keel over, almost taking Riley with him. Daniel trying to keep his laughter at bay, conscious of their surroundings even when goofing off. While Riley forced hers to cover the shot of pain that went through her side at the sudden jolt.

"Good."

Daniel gasped and clapped a hand over his chest as he straightened up. Riley audibly groaning and gripping her side as he pulled her up with him.

"Sorry!"

~~*~~

“Thanks Sam.” Riley grunted as she tried not to flinch away from the feel of the needle going through skin. Fixing her ripped stitch. “You’re a lifesaver, knew it was a good decision to bring on a med student.”

“Ex-Pre-med student. You’re just lucky I watched way too much youtube way too early on in life with no parental controls in place.” Sam finished off the stitch and pressed a clean bandage over the area gently. Dead silence filling the room as three sets of eyes drilled into his head.

“I’m sorry what?” Riley breathed through clenched teeth.

“You said you knew how!” Sarah gasped, “You said-”

“I said I knew how, you never asked from where!” Sam defended himself, taking off his gloves and throwing his hands up.

“I thought it was obvious why I was asking you! The med student!”

“I was pre-med. For like six months!”

“Oh my god.” Riley muttered, falling back onto the motel mattress, her shirt falling back down as she threw her arm over her eyes.

“We trusted you!” Daniel chimed in, definitely not as angry as he was pretending to be. If anything, just based on his voice alone Riley could tell he was holding back laughter and she couldn’t help but think this was an incredibly stupid thing to be experiencing right now. And so she started laughing.

Then Daniel cracked, which triggered Sam, Sarah being the last to break. Actors.

~~*~~

It had been a couple hours since the whole youtube doctor incident, Daniel and Sam made pretty quick exits once it was confirmed she wasn’t going to die. Sarah stuck around a little longer, flouncing around the way she does when she’s worried and didn’t want to leave Riley alone.

The blonde managed to convince the brunette she was fine and was probably going to turn in early. No storms on radar, not ones that looked like they would produce anything till late tomorrow at the earliest. If not dissipate before anything could even really happen. Tomorrow would most likely be just a inventory and restock day. A day for data analysis and writing a couple more chapters of her thesis that needed to be turned in by the end of next week.

Riley’s mood had slightly increased but she still couldn’t seem to shake the lingering feeling of Tyler’s words. How they clung to her skin and ridges of her brain, the hurt. It brought up a lot of other unresolved feelings that then made her restless.

Trying to turn on the Tv for some white noise didn’t even help like it normally did, not when it was immediately on a local news channel. The broadcast showing footage from the wreckage at Crystal Lake. She knew it was torture to make herself watch it when she spent all day in it, having only washed it off her skin and hair before Sam fixed her stitches. But the feeling of debris dust and dirt and dried blood would always be a sensation that would never leave her mind or her skin. Lingering guilt hanging like a sword.

What is the saying? Heavy is the head that lies the crown.

All the damage played out in front of her as dollar signs flashed at the top, how much can an estimation of the face value even really touch the priceless thing those people had just lost? The feeling of home. Everything they once had, shattered. It can’t be tallied. It’s impossible.

But they still try. It’s absurd.

Quiet knocks at her door cut through the Tv. Riley rolling her eyes and huffing, pushing herself off the mattress slowly, “I’m fine Sarah! You don’t need to tuck me in,” Her hand gripped the door handle, pulling it open, “I’m a big girl I-”

“Hey.” Tyler really tried to tamper down his grin, but he knew he was caught. He never could hide from her.

His laughter wasn’t out loud, but she could see it, and it made her want to shrivel up and die on the spot. Honestly hoping for a hole to open in the ground and swallow her whole. They were in the wrong state for that unfortunately.

“I uh- I heard through the grape vine you and your child army had moved out by the rodeo, and I uh thought you might be hungry. You always forget to eat after a bad chase…” Tyler kept going until it was almost physically painful, until he simply, awkwardly, held up the pizza box in his grip. Like a kid giving his first ever date to the school dance her corsage. It was like a shock to her system, how disarmed she could be for him when he was like this. No bravado, no smirk or cowboy hat. Hair a little messy and not all put together. When he was Ty.

Time to go. Is what her brain was screaming at her.

So she took the pizza, gave him a flash of what she hope passed as a grin and shut the door. His face turning down at every corner as the door clicked in place. Riley, as if made of metal walked over to her bed, sat down, opened the pizza, and looked down.

Pepperoni, sausage, and olives. Her favorite.

Fuck.

Her hands were finding the door before she could really think about what she was doing. Her eyes meeting Tyler’s in an instant, the man’s shoulders rolling back as he stood taller. At attention, waiting for her next move.

Riley opened the door a bit more, leaning on it, hand gently placed over her right side, “Find the dog?” she asked softly, head leaning against the door now as well.

He just looked at her, eyebrows raising.

“Of course you did, what am I thinking?” She answers her own question with a pitiful chuckle. Head dipping down as her eyes went to her socked feet.

“I’m sorry Riley. I feel like I’m saying that a lot lately, I just- there isn’t really an excuse for it. I’ve been an ass, and I apologize.” Tyler burst out after taking a breath, dipping his head down to try and meet Riley’s eye. He hated when she was like this, especially when she was like this because in part of something he said.

“Thank you.”

“How are you doing after all that?” Tyler swallowed, tucking his chin a bit and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Leaning against the door frame, but giving Riley her space. Mentally telling himself to pull it together.

Riley just shrugged, “You know me, can handle the storm but never the aftermath.” Not after becoming the aftermath. It was never the same after that.

“I thought that you might want to see something good after all that today.” He held out his hand. “I wanna take you somewhere, might help take your mind off things for a bit.” His grin was hopeful, but cautious. His gaze soft.

Earlier had been bad, as bad as it gets with them, but this feeling. That look. It always left her stomach filled with proverbial butterflies, made her think that as long as Tyler Owens cared about her enough to look at her like that, that everything would be okay. And it would be, because he would make it okay, because he cared.

It was a look she didn’t think he would ever give her again after last chase seasons dramatic, heartbreaking close. So, she takes his hand, gives it a quick squeeze. He turned it over and sees the blistering and cuts that dotted her palms. Wounds she hadn’t even realized were there until they got to the new motel. Her breath got caught in her throat and she pulled away out of instinct. Tyler looked crushed and that was just too much for her conscience to bear. Her mouth moves before she knows it is. 

“Give me a minute? I need to get changed.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be out here.” Tyler grinned, a slight bounce in his step as he backed away from the doorway and moved back to the railing surrounding the walkway around the second floor looking into the parking lot and across the street. Riley waiting till the door was closed to let her smile slip, something feeling like it was sliding back into place and locking in. Like she had finally found the next correct piece of a jigsaw puzzle.

It was a nice feeling. Like something was going right for once.

~~*~~

[wildemaven]

forever | agent whiskey

-> pairing: agent whiskey x f!reader

-> wc: 821

-> content warning: alluding to sex, accidental marriage, talks of annulment/divorce, fluff, happy ending, mention of drunken mistake

-> a/n: this is a third installment to my accidentally got married to Jack in Vegas. Had this random thought this morning and thought I’d give them a happy ending.

part one | part two | masterlist

The doors of the courthouse stare you down as you sit frozen in your parked car. The reality of why you are here is your own doing— you had set the appointment up, demanded that he actually show up and be here on time. Yet, you can’t seem to bring yourself to walk through those doors that will bring an end to the one thing that’s been weighing heavy on your heart the last 24 hours.  

He’s your partner. Your friend. And now your husband, in a marriage you never wanted, never dreamed about. You were independent and career driven, you didn’t have time to fall in love and play family. You were an agent before anything else, a damn good one at that. 

And as much as he is a thorn in your side, on even a good day, there’s this small part of you that has started to feel complete with him. 

Life carried on like normal after your last big assignment produced this drunken martial mess. Neither of you spoke of it at work, and no one mentioned the shiny gold hardware that adorned both of your left hands. 

Behind closed doors was a different story. The same song and dance routine of falling into bed with him after insisting things needed to end before someone got hurt. Your judgment seemingly clouded by lust driven promises and hours of passion at the hands of a man whose heart was more invested in this charade than you were. By morning, guilt and regret crept in and you were grabbing your clothes and stumbling out the door yelling to the naked cowboy in bed, This is the last time Jack! 

Only it wasn’t, no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t figure out why you were so drawn to him, despite the fact that you were literally begging him for this marriage to come to an end. 

Jack was your best friend when you needed him most. An incredible partner who always had your back through any situation. And even with the amount of snoring that came from his side of the bed, he had become a loving husband. 

You release a deep steady sigh. Grabbing your purse along with the stack of legal papers from the passenger seat, you dolefully make your way to the courthouse entrance. And like many times prior, you’ll sit alone in front of the judge in the empty courtroom, wait until he’s scolding you for wasting his time yet again because your husband— Jack didn’t show up. 

The large wooden doors creak open as you land on the top steps and you’re met with a familiar face you hadn’t expected to see. 

 “Jack?” You barely managed to whisper his name, shock still flooding your system, the papers in your hold crinkle as you grip them tightly. 

“Yer late Darlin’. Judge wasn’t too happy either. Dismissed the appointment. Said he’s not makin’ another one until we can both be here together and on time.” There’s a tinge of sorrow in his voice, he looks out into the parking lot, trying to avoid your gaze. 

He looks handsome in his blue jeans and leather jacket, your favorite look of his. He’d even worn it that night in Vegas, making the memory of that night a little more special. 

“You showed up.” You say, saddened at the thought that he finally decided he was done too. 

“Isn’t that what you wanted? Get divorced so you could go live yer life, without me botherin’ you.” You can hear the hurt in his voice as he stands in front of you, hands firmly on his waist. 

“I do— did.” Your heart starts to speak for you. “I thought I wanted this Jack, I did want it. But— I…”

“What are ya tryin’ to say?” He takes a step closer, removing his glasses, revealing his handsome mustached face fully to you. 

“I’m not sure— I thought this was what I wanted.” Pointing to the ornate building you’re both standing in front of. “But now that you’re here, I don’t think I can go through with it.”

This kiss feels different. It’s unhurried and soft. It’s all butterflies and feelings of happiness. It’s an all encompassing experience, the first of many more to come and you want to feel like this forever. 

“Well, that settles that then. Question is, yer place or mine, Darlin’?” He asks. His left hand cupping the side of your face, you lean into it. The coolness of his ring, mirroring the one you still wear as well, against your cheek is a welcomed sensation. 

“Seeing how we both have the afternoon off, how ‘bout we go find our place?” You suggest, eager to show him the listings you had already been looking at this morning. 

“Our place, huh? Sure you won’t get tired of this cowboy?” 

“I survived this long, I’m sure I can handle forever.”

[redsparrow2117]

"The End of the World is a Product".

I don't normally make....any posts, but the Fallout show, and some of the response to it has me wanting to actually put some words down here. There will be spoilers for the Fallout show if you want to avoid that.

Several people whose opinion I respect a lot have their own thoughts on the show, Amazon making it, and general disappointment with where Fallout as an IP has gone in the several decades it has existed. I agree with a lot of these statements and think that Fallout peaked with New Vegas, and Bethesda's ownership and usage of the IP has been uninspired at best.

That said, I did watch the show. And generally, I liked it. I have some complaints (like, wtf if the Brotherhood even doing? Who is really in charge? The writers *blew up* the NCR, just like that? For....some reason?) The main thing I have an issue with, is the dissonance between the message of the show, and the company that made it.

I think the parts that really made the show were Coop's flashbacks to before the war. I love his character, so much. And from Coop, The Ghoul, I get my dissonance.

We see him interacting with general Hollywood. It's basically the same as ours. Despite what Some People(tm) will say, Hollywood is a tool of the United States Machine. An extension of the country's will. Coop is making a cowboy movie, one of many he has made. He expresses being uncomfortable with his new movie's seeming obsession with killing, not wanting his character to kill the villain when he is begging for his life. The director tells him "people want to see a good man pushed too far." We see later, after the war, Coop made the movie the way the director wanted.

Coop's wife works in marketing, or something like it, for Vault-Tec. Coop likes the idea of the Vaults at first. Save people from the end of the world. Good stuff, thinks Coop. He was in the Marines, fought at Anchorage. He believes in protecting people and his country. So when his wife asks him to do an ad for Vault-Tec, he says yes.

Very quickly, he leaves making movies, and basically now works for Vault-Tec. Has a big party, invites a bunch of his friends, and only one of his acting friends shows up. Says everyone else declined on moral grounds, because they don't like Vault-Tec, and all the other mega corporations working with them or around the world. Coop's friend mentions he sold his voice/a character he created to the company that makes Mr. Handy's, and how everyone and everything is a product now, and embracing that is the only way to make money anymore. "You're a product, I'm a product, the end of the world is a product."

Coop later meets one of his acting friends, Charles Whiteknife, to talk about the party and why he didn't go. Charles brings up Vault-Tec, the mega corporations, and "Fiduciary Responsibility". I never, ever, in my mind would think a Fallout show, executive produced by "Thanks" Todd Howard, would bring that up.

Charles lays it out for Coop: Vault-Tec makes money selling Vaults. If they want to make money, then everyone's fear of the end of the world is really what is for sale. The end of the world is the product.

So no peace talks to calm down the war between the US and China. No safe feeling. They need fear. They want to make money, so you cannot feel safe. We see a prelude at Coop's earlier party: two Vault-Tec executives are talking about heading off those exact peace talks before anything definite is done so quarterly profits go up. Even the president is mentioned as missing, but that could be a kidnapping or a reference to the Enclave.

Coop doesn't want to believe that. Why would his wife work there if that was the case?

We see, as the flashbacks go on, how much she knows, but won't give away. She needs her job so her family can get into "one of the good Vaults". Coop ends up spying on a meeting between his wife, a Vault-Tec exec, and a bunch of major corporations and private entities. A nice cameo set up for big fans. We see West-Tek, Big MT, ROBCO, all of them. Vault-Tec wants them to buy into the Vaults, so they can make money.

So they can control the end of the world.

They think a total monopoly in the post-apocalypse will save the world from war.

Then the real reveal: Vault-Tec, in order to make guarantees on their experimental Vaults, and to make guarantees to the investors, is going to drop the bomb. Maybe not all of them, but definitely start the Great War.

Because it will make them money now, and when the world is over, they can rule over the ashes with a gaggle of experimented-on, traumatized survivors, brainwashed to do what they want, and led by the preserved executives that helped end the world.

"Well, thanks for the spoilers, RedSparrow, but what is the point?"

Well, when people write about the future, like George Orwell did in 1984, or Ray Bradbury in Fahrenheit 451, or even Suzanne Collins in Hunger Games, they weren't really writing about the future. They were writing about the problems they dealt with in their present, exaggerated to make them stand out.

"What happens when the cattle ranchers own half the town?" Charlie Whiteknife asks Coop when they meet at the bar.

"The town burns down."

"Exactly. The ranchers are in charge now."

This isn't really new stuff for Fallout, if you have played any of the games beyond 3,4, or 76. (Hell, 76 tries to act like Vault-Tec are the good guys for some stupid ass reason.)

We now live in that moment. Maybe we didn't when Fallout 1 came out, or maybe it was easier to hide then. At this point, it's nearly impossible to really ignore, and anyone saying that is incorrect or a good thing is just burying their head in the sand to avoid the truth.

Maybe we don't have Vaults, or Vault-Tec, but we have Amazon, selling us everything and grinding employees to dust on vague promises of earning a living.

We have our own ROBCO, and the CEO of our version of ROBCO bought Twitter because his ex left him for a trans woman and is currently trying to sell losers online his idea of a sex bot and shitty cars that rust and explode.

We have social media monopolies that live off of hate-engagement and spreading fear. Hell, the US government is banning social media platforms they can't control, and privatizing things like internet access through Starlink. Elongated Muskrat tried to cut off Ukraine's access to it after one of their generals told him to shut up and stop sucking up to Russia.

None of this is new. I'm probably sounding like your weird boomer uncle online right now.

But your weird boomer uncle doesn't think they will end the world.

But they will.

So here's the dissonance I struggle with: why is Amazon, one of the many companies enshitti-fying everything right now, making a show that tells you the plan?

It's easier to imagine the end of the world, than it is to imagine the end of capitalism, so the saying goes.

But the end of the world is the plan of capitalism. That's the end goal.

And it's wild to me that the Fallout show, made by Amazon, is the one telling us this.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

Fuck it Friday

tagged by @folk-fae @eddiediaaz @rewritetheending @wildlife4life @exhuastedpigeon @messyhairdiaz @spotsandsocks @jeeyuns @transboybuckley @honestlydarkprincess @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley @wikiangela @disasterbuckdiaz

thank you lovelies! 💖

here is a good chunk from paint sex fic that i wrote in a daze last night and that i am needing validation for asdfggjkll (and uhhh it's not paint sex but i think ya'll are used to that by now)

“I’m gonna need more than that,” Eddie says carefully, tightening his grip on Buck’s hand so he doesn’t slip away, and ducking his head to catch Buck’s nervously wandering eyes. “What exactly has you so upset? Is it–is it me?” He knows he has a tendency to be difficult and obstinate, unwilling to move when he has firmly planted himself somewhere, and that these past few weeks have been filled with him shooting down each suggestion Buck has made. Perhaps he has been too coarse, too self-centered, too focused on his own likes and dislikes, too blinded by the tunnel vision he so easily falls into.  The thought that he has been that way with Buck makes his stomach roll unpleasantly and he can’t fight the grimace that twists at his face, his inner uncomfortable turmoil splashing across his features and leaving a sour taste in the back of his throat. An almost bleak horror stretches over Buck’s expression, making him go pale and nearly gaunt in the dim, wan light that surrounds them. “No. No, Eddie. It’s–It’s us.” Frustration wells up inside Eddie, knocking around his chest like a battering ram and curdling the breath the expels harshly from his nostrils. He brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, trying to hold it all back, trying to use the pressure as a way to force down the crackling heat threatening to overtake him, begging to be released so it can consume him entirely until he fades away, nothing but ashes in the wind.  “What exactly does that mean?” he asks. “Because I’m just not getting it. You–Explain it to me, Buck, okay? Stop doing–” he breaks off and shakes his head, gesturing wildly between them with his free hand.  “I’m trying,” Buck grits out. “But–I don’t know. It’s so stupid, but if we can’t agree on this, on something as simple as a paint color, then–what does that mean? Surely that says something about us and I’m terrified of what it is and I’ve been going over and over it in my head, trying to puzzle out why we are so stuck on this, trying to understand why we aren’t on the same page, and I–” Eddie leans forward, the manic and rabid muscle in his chest pulling and tugging and ripping a flesh and bone, leaving him no choice but to get closer to Buck, to the person the animal in him wants more than anything. “Buck, hey, hey. Breathe, sweetheart,” he whispers, burying his reverence thirty feet deep and flinging it six stories high, passing it along to Buck in the hopes that the fragile, world-wrecking emotion will touch him in any way possible, eagerly traveling from Eddie's mouth and skin as he taps Buck’s chin and brushes the tip of his thumb against his bottom lip which had begun to tremble as Buck spoke.

tagging: @elvensorceress @spaceprincessem @try-set-me-on-fire @anxieteandbiscuits @captain-hen @lover-of-mine @housewifebuck @diazass @bigfootsmom @cowboy-buck @bucks118 @butchdiaz @transbuck @shortsighted-owl @buddierights @loserdiaz @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @forthewolves @eddiediaztho @thewolvesof1998 @king-buckley and anyone else who wants to share!

[ivymarrugo]

Okay I'm utterly obsessed with Cowboy!Reiner, so here's something to please all your minds and mine.

18+ minors get out ♥️

some warnings: slight size kink, semi public kink, breeding kink, cowgirl, cockwarming , slight dumbification, dirty talk, use of "cum, cunt, cock, dick, pussy", basically nasty ass things.

Feel free to leave any request

Imagine Cowboy!Reiner fucking his lovely little wife dumb. Fucking her against his truck, or in the barn, in their bed, by the stables. Just fucking her anywhere he can.

Imagine Cowboy!Reiner having a breeding kink, wanting to cum inside your cunt so so bad, wanting to have as many babies as he can with you, wanting to see your cute tummy grow as the months pass carrying his child inside.

Imagine riding Cowboy!Reiner dumb, wanting nothing more than to feel his cock destroy every part of your insides. Not caring about anything else but to feel his cum leak out of your folds down to his thighs and to stain the bedsheets. His big hands gripping your waist tightly enough to leave marks, helping you fuck yourself with his dick, he's overstimulated and so are you, but you just can't stop, you've become obsessed over his cock, the sensation, the stretch making you feel like you're in heaven.

Imagine driving Cowboy!Reiner's tractor with him, sitting on his lap as he lays soft kisses on your shoulder and neck, sending soft shivers down your spine. Suddenly he brings the tractor to a halt as he grabs your hips and presses your body down on his hard cock. "Ya feel that doll?" He's big, like really fucking big, everytime he fucks you it feels like he could split you in half. "Ya look so hot in those shorts." He says as he squeezes one of your thighs, his hand moving up until he reaches your heat. "I want this pussy so bad doll, can't ya give it to me?" He fakes a beg, because he's not really begging, he's gonna have it either way. A big grin appears on his face as you nod. "Atta girl." He moves you up a bit, lowering your shorts and pulling your panties to the side, sitting you down on his cock, he groans loudly at the feeling, his hands gripping your waist. "God doll, ya always feel so fuckin' good f'r me." He starts the tractor again, driving towards the house while you cockwarm him, he feels so lucky to have you.

[cowboydisaster]

Drunken Revelations

originally posted on 19 December 2022

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

word count: 1k

summary: When alcohol has loosened your lips, you finally tell Arthur how you feel about him, and everything falls into place.

a/n: just a little fluffy drabble I posted back in December. In the process of reposting, you know the drill. All fluff! If you're on the taglist but dont want to be tagged for re-uploads just lmk!

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

The Valentine saloon is bustling with people. Laughter and saloon-typical music fills the air, as does the unfortunate smell of livestock and alcohol. You're already two bottles of whiskey in, and nowhere near done. Just about every woman in the bar has pushed themselves in between you and Arthur, placing their hands on his chest and practically begging for his affections. It turns your stomach sour, watching these women throw themselves at Arthur. 

You're not sure exactly when you started to develop feelings for the outlaw. But sometime before Blackwater you began to see him as something more than just a friend. Of course you never told him, you couldn't. You know he won't reciprocate the feelings. Arthur hasn't taken a woman since Eliza. Certainly you won't change that. 

You lean up from your barstool, and while the bartender isn't looking, snatch a bottle of whiskey from behind the old wooden counter. You take a long swig, embracing the burn that trails down your throat. The liquor numbs your emotions, taking with it some of the pain you're feeling over the outlaw at your side. Arthur peeks over at you, eyes barely visible under his hat. 

"You alright over there? What's that, your second bottle?" He asks, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Th- think it's my third, actually." You're surprised by the slur in your speech, but soon forget about it as warmth seeps through your bones. 

Arthur looks like he wants to continue, but a woman, clad in a dress finer than anything you've ever owned, steps in between you two. She knocks his attention from you, and you merely take another long swig of alcohol.

"Well hey there cowboy." The woman says, a bright smile coating her face as she stares up at Arthur. He is still looking after you, but you don't notice as you stare straight ahead, attempting to ignore the lady at your side. 

"Miss." Arthur offers, tipping his hat before returning to his drink. He's not the least bit interested in this woman. 

"Ain't too often a handsome cowboy such as yourself comes round here. Handsome and rough as ya are. I can tell that you know how to take care of a lady…" she presses herself against Arthur then, leaning up to whisper against his ear. 

"...how to please one." 

Arthur simply puts his hands up and backs away from her, chuckling lightly. 

"Listen, I ain't interested, lady."

She furrows her brow, offended by Arthur's rejection, and quickly leaves in the direction that she came from. Your hand grips the neck of the bottle you're nursing tightly. You could shatter the glass if you could clench your hand any tighter. With a scowl, you drunkenly look over to Arthur. 

"I don't know why you keep- why you keep rejecting them." You hiccup. 

"Why are you still here anyways, ya could be buyin' a room for your new lady."  You spit out, harsher than intended. It would be easier. Easier to get over Arthur if he had someone else, but no. He simply remains alone, always leaving you wondering if there's a chance. Arthur turns and looks at you with a puzzled expression. 

"What on earth are you talkin' bout, woman?" He asks, grabbing the bottle from your hands and placing it away from you. 

"Oh you know. You've got women practically begging to have you by their side. I don't know why you haven't just fuckin' picked one already." You look down, choking back tears before you continue. 

"I would probably feel better if you just picked a goddamn woman. Maybe then I'd f-finally be able to move on." 

Your drunken, rosy cheeks are bright, as are your tear filled eyes. The alcohol has loosened your lips, but you can't find it within you to care. 

"You're drunk, you don't know what you're sayin'." Arthur mumbles, moving his hand to the small of your back to urge you away from the bar. You grip his forearm, stopping him. The whiskey gives you confidence, and you turn to look Arthur directly in the eyes. 

"No- Arthur you stupid bastard, I know exactly what I'm sayin'... I love you. I've loved you for the longest time but you don't feel the same way and that's alright." You wipe away the tears that form in your eyes before you continue. 

"But do you know how frustrating it is to watch these women throw themselves at you all the time? Like- like I'm not even there to see it." 

Arthur stares at you, his jaw a little slack. There's a clarity in his eyes that you've never seen before, as his jaw opens and closes a few times, searching for the words that he can’t find.

"You love me?" His voice is quiet, just barely a whisper. 

Sheepishly, you nod your head. 

"I know that you don't feel the same way, I just couldn't keep it on any longer. And I'm sorry if this complicates things, I-" You ramble, suddenly nervous from your admission. 

Arthur interrupts you, running a hand over his face.

"Oh Morgan, you damn idiot." He mumbles. 

Then, with no warning, and no hesitation, his lips are on yours. At first your lips are slack with surprise, but as he moves against you, you lean into his touch. Arthur's lips are rough and calloused where yours are soft and plump. He kisses you with the passion of a man who has been hiding for years, with the promise of returned feelings. You're drowned and pulled back up by his lips, grounded and floating on the high of his tongue. 

Flutters erupt in your heart as he pulls away. His hand is still resting on your cheek, warm against your rosy face. His blue-green eyes are locked onto yours. Cheers and claps erupt from the bar around you, but you are only focused on Arthur. 

"Oh sweetheart, I've been waitin' for this for so long." He grumbles, still so close that you can feel his breath on your face. 

You pull him back down to you, catching his lips in another heart stopping kiss. More cheers erupt in the saloon, encouraging the newfound love that blossoms in the room.

[chaneajoyyy]

Just watched top gun maverick…… and whooo Chile. Any fics for any of them and a poc or black reader?

You know it! @leahnicole1219

TOP GUN FANFICITON (!black reader or !poc reader)

BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW

"you know what i need in my life is to run and jump iinto bradley bradshaws arms to kiss him like he's gets back imma sprint"- @inkdrinkerworld

"he met me in my im going to stay single phase & now i'm obsessed with him (!au)- @deanscroissant

hit the hard deck series- @purplelily247

crush (bradley x black!oc), good wife (x!blackoc)- @dulcewrites/@dulcelibra

"he puts on such a hard front but he's a total pleaser in the bedroom. he'll go all out if you're having a hard day and not ask for anything in return, no matter how much you insist it'll make you feel even better, the rooster and i series- @princessphilly

LT JAKE "HANGMAN" SERESIN

call me jake series, watermelon sugar, hangman is secretly possessive and loves leaving marks everywhere he can especially if he sees someone else flirting with his girl, Can I request a soft moment between Hangman and the girl he is seeing?, thinking about calling him daddy for the first time. Like, it just slips when you’re begging him to touch or fuck you and the man goes feral., ohhhhh Hangman finally getting with the girl of his dreams but she’s not convinced he actually likes her because she’s heavier and he’s carved like a greek statue, so he spends the night proving to her just how much he’s attracted to her, i know you wanted smutty but I’ve been feeling really blah lately so if you could hit me with some humor fluff maybe slight smut? With rbf reader who is blunt saying 10) “Look, I’m not into choking but I wouldn’t mind if you grabbed me by the neck every once in a while.” To hangman while playing pool just completely shocking him, going off the thought that Hangman has a classic sailor pinup on his thigh... Could we please have some Hangman tattoo worship please?- @princessphilly

mrs. seresin- @afictionalwhor3

jake's love language, cowboy's date with a georgian (xblack!oc), wet dreams, texas roadhouse, jade, alien storytime (another world series) - @entertainmentgirl80

"hello hello my love <3 I thought maybe I could request something where reader has never really been comforted when crying throughout her life but one time Jake walks in on her crying and just comforts her. She doesn’t expect that and it’s all just a bunch of fluff! I love your writing so much thank you for putting your work out for people to enjoy <3- @inkdrinkerworld

you're pretty, so happening, you're alive, trip to the bahamas no fuck that series- @itsthestutterforme

LT RUBEN "PAYBACK" FITCH

"we neverrrr talk about Payback. Tell me about what happens when Reuben takes a girl out on their first date. Since I'm feeling all mushy."- @princessphilly

LT JAVY "COYOTE" MACHADO

"just wanna share sime little thots on Javy but damn does that man look like he gives such good head. He's reserved but when its behing closed doors that mouth can do anything you want ((but you'll have to ask niceky first)) 🥴", "thots on Coyote and pussy worship?"- @princessphilly

daylight, pie, cancelled flights and beignets- @siempre-bucky

if it's worth your time series, promise this ain't a test, i did what i had to do, for better days, how sweet it is...- @coyotesamachado

flight scare- @words-4u

pie- @siempre-bucky

LT BILLY "FRITZ" AVALONE

***

LT MICKEY "FANBOY" GARCIA

what happens when mickey grows his hair out... - @siempre-bucky

take me by the heart, take me by the hand- @rae-gar-targaryen

warped series (with jake seresin)- @anjaelle

ROBERT "BOB" FLOYD

sundress season, bob is a freak in the bedroom, good girls do, bob and his good girl's wedding night, "anything you got for rooster i'll take it...literally anything but like him on the beach playing touch football" - @princessphilly

white christmas (spy/the americans au)- @dulcewrites

morning showers, koko's and bobby's sexy time, koko's insecurities, expecting again koko's & bobby's special day, koko's special valentine's, - @entertainmentgirl80

the new girl, i think you're cute- @ladyelissarose

might be an understatement- @friendlyneighborhoodchaosdemon

***LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE ANY !BLACK READER OR !POC READER FIC WITH THESE CHARACTERS HIT MY LINE!!!***

[galaxyedging]

Sinful Sunday thoughts.

Smut under the cut.

Marcus Pike

Your sweet Marcus had always been King of Aftercare. Whether it was massaging your calves to ease them after having then tense so many times when he wanted to see how many orgasms it would take to completely break you. Or applying soothing aloe to the welts he would leave on your ass when you dared to be a naughty girl. Marcus would always leave you patched up and refreshed.

Since you had decided to take the next big step in your relationship, his aftercare game had been raised even higher.

This is how you came to be here, sat on Marcus's lap eating fresh strawberries dipped in honey. A female produced soft porn playing on the TV in the corner of your shared bedroom. The breath moans from it make you clench around Marcus's soft cock plugging your entrance. The motion caused a warmth to trickle onto Marcus's bare thigh. Marcus pauses mid shoulder massage to deliver a playful nip to your ear.

"Now, Sweetheart, you know you have to keep every drop of me in that ripe little cunt. If you kept that up, I'll have to fuck another load into you and I won't be as gentle about it." His words affect him just as much as they affect you as his cock starts to harden inside you.

While licking the last of the honey from your fingers, you lean back against him. Clenching your inner muscles around his now semi hard cock you whisper "Promise?".

Jack Daniels

Jack was proud of having earned back the trust of his fellow Statesman. It had been a long road since he abandoned his plans with Poppy after Ginger helped him regain his memory. Standing there holding his lost love's photo, he couldn't pretend that she would want him to kill so many innocent people to avenge her or their little boy.

He had literally done everything asked of him. He followed every rule. Attended every psych eval. Turned up early for every meeting. Like today, he had slipped on his glasses fifteen minutes before everyone else. Four hours later, after the biggest meeting of the year, he finally slipped them off, thankful that the newest models were easier to tamper with than the old ones and that no one could see than he had spent the four hours with his cock buried in his naked, gaged and bound wife.

A sigh of relief left you when the meeting ended. Jack had padded your wrists and ankles, so the bindings didn't hurt. They had enough give, so you didn't strain anything. The relief came from the hope that Jack might finally move inside of you. The girth of him had you split open, your legs stretch wide exposed the engorged bundle of nerves begging for his touch to the soft cotton sheets below you, the delicate lace at the edges of your comforter scrapped deliciously against your nipples. It was all enough to keep you on the edge of arousal.

"How's my Sweet Girl doin'?" Jack's hands roam your body until you get bold enough to move, and a resounding slap lands on your ass cheek. "Nuh-uh. You don't get anything until you learn your lesson, you dirty bitch. Walking around town in that little sundress for any man to see. I bet half the town jerked off to the thought of your tits almost spilling out or the thought of lifting that little skirt. Is that what you wanted?" Jack doesn't even both to remove the gag to hear what you are trying to say. "Hush now. I don't want any more excuses. Maybe if I keep you here a few more hours then fuck you until you cry for me to stop, you'll remember who should be only man jerking off to you."

Then Jack's neatly groomed moustache tickles your ear as he leans in to whisper. "Unless you wanna say your safe word, and we skip to the end because this whole thing is killing me, Sugar."

After a mumble safe word, he does indeed fuck you until tears streak your cheeks and the next time you spend hours with Jack's cock inside of you is because your cowboy fell asleep after finally getting his happy ending.

[noxexistant]

Hiii nox, can I please possibly request "that was probably the least sincere apology i've ever received.” (If you could throw a little Skittery in there perhaps)

accidentally dropped the whole skittery in there my b

------

“I’m sorry.”

It’s maybe the eight thousandth time Jack’s said it.  Skittery might be sure that Jack’s forgotten how to say anything else, just reduced himself in his entirety to worthless apologies that Skittery can’t do anything with but ignore.  But Jack’s a stubborn bastard, and never could deal with the thought that any of his boys were upset with him.  He’s a controlling piece of shit, likes to paint himself their patriarch, their leader and king - all of that, and then goes and stabs them in the back for cash anyway.

And he’s explained.  Maybe six thousand times to the eight thousand apologies, how it wasn’t really for the money.  How it was selfless, really, he’d just wanted to protect them.  

Wanted to protect Davey, at least.

But Skittery knows better than ever now that Cowboy’s full of shit.  A traitor and a liar who could so easily turn on them again, probably only regrets doing it at all because of how things had turned out.  And he never knows how to let nothing go, even when Skittery breaks away from the group all reunited and stumbles outside for a bitter smoke, praying for a moment of peace, maybe the will to calm down so the kids can stop giving him those godawful looks.

“I really am sorry.”  

But it’s Jack again.  

“I swear, Skits, I…”

He should’ve known Jack would follow him.  Jack would follow anyone anywhere to bargain, to talk, to get the last goddamn word in.

“I’m sorry, alright? I’ll be better.”

“Well, that was probably the least sincere apology I’ve ever received,” Skittery spits, the words out of his mouth before he’s had a chance to think better, choke them back like he’s been doing since Jack came back.  He knocks his thumb against the butt of his cigarette and watches the ash tumble to the ground, tries to tell himself he’ll be half calm by the time it lands.

It doesn’t even get to before Jack is talking again.

“I just don’t know what you want from me,” he says, splaying his palms in frustration.  Something like humility.  And he’s back in his pauper clothes now, but all Skittery can see is the one he’d been dressed in for the rally, that fine warm clean new costume of a wealthier man.  No more selfish than Jack truly is, but so much easier to identify as such.

He’s even more a liar now, back dressed like he’s one of them again.  Like that’s a call he can make.

“I—I’ve said I’m sorry, an’ I am, an’ all the rest of the guys, they’re fine.  What is it with you? Why can’t you forgive me?”

Skittery wasn’t done with his smoke, wants the rest of it desperately and can’t afford to waste it regardless, but he’s too angry to keep it.  He tosses it down and watches, stomach turning with his fury, as its cherry sparks and spits embers as it rolls across the cobbles, like it’s angry too.

“The fact you’re asking’ forgiveness is one thing,” he says, calmer than he feels.  “If you’d jus’ been sorry.  Apologised an’ meant it and that’d been it.  But no, no, you’re beggin’ forgiveness as quick as you’re sayin’ you’re sorry - it’s about you.  Not me.  Ain’t never about me.”

“I want you to forgive me,” Jack says, quiet, and Skittery rounds on him.

“Well, I don’t!” he hollers.  “You’re a fuckin’ scab! A traitor, an’ you can’t take that back.  You fuckin’ grovel an’ beg an’ you can’t take that back.”

“I gave the money back—”

“But you took it.  An’ you put the clothes on, an’ you turned your back on us, an’ you went.”

Skittery kicks himself off the wall and drags his hand down his face.  Wishes he could soak Jack, break his damn nose, make him sorry in a way that matters.  But he’s tired.  The kids are all inside and they’re so damn happy to have Cowboy back.

Skittery heads back inside too, but tosses one last statement over his shoulder.

“Wish you ain’t bothered comin’ back.”

[sunwarmed-ash]

WIP wednesday

i've been rebinging House so the next chapter of Plenty to go around is essentially done. Unless the muse gets something else finished first that'll probs be sundays update

here's a teaser for ch 5 👀😈 vvvv

slut!chase, daddy kink, top!house, chase/everyone fic

Chase is showered and on his way back to the sleep lab when he's met with two highly unexpected, early morning visitors. 

Foreman’s been able to save face, and ass, for about 15 minutes, but when Chase walks in with still-damp hair and a sizable limp House & Wilson put two and two together and get slut. 

Wilson looks pleasantly amused between the two young men, whereas House’s eyes threaten homicide. 

“Well, I’m glad to see we’re upholding the Princeton Plainsboro standard of care in my absence,” House spits.

“The patient's fine-” Chase starts to insist but House is quick to shut him down. 

“Not talking to you.” 

Chase flushes red and his jaw snaps close with a click of his teeth.  

“Someone left Chase hanging,” Foreman laughs, folding his arms across his chest, “figured it was my turn to lend a helping hand.” 

Chase thinks it's ballsy, talking back to House like that. Maybe a little too ballsy. Just because the team was independently fucking Chase didn't mean their pecking order changed. 

“You’re interfering with his punishment. How can the slut learn if you undermine my authority?”

Foreman and House continue to glare at each other like they were a couple of cowboys about to draw their weapons at a high noon standoff. Foreman’s the first to fire. 

“Your training must not be that good,” Foreman shrugs, “Got him to cum twice with the cage on anyway.”

Chase clears his throat to cover an unexpected moan. And then every bit of House’s fury is suddenly directed at Chase. 

“He did what?”

“I-” Chase’s entire body flushes hot. There was nothing he could say to deny it. “I'm sorry.” 

The edge of House’s mouth raises in a smirk but Chase knows from experience that doesn't mean anything good for him. 

“Oooo naughty boy. Now Daddy’s going to have to spank you.”

---

They’ve relocated to House's office. 

The blinds are drawn but the doors aren't locked and as soon as he can, House pushes Chase down across his desk, yanks down his pants, and slaps his exposed ass cheek hard. 

“Fuck!” Chase howls, hips thrusting against the desk in an effort to get away from the stinging pain. That doesn't last long though, because when it takes too long for another swat to come, Chase is pushing his ass backward and wordlessly begging for another. 

“Nope, not if you enjoy it. Defeats the point of punishment,” House says before pushing the tip of his forefinger past the puffy entrance of Chase’s asshole. 

“AH!” Chase hisses.

“You're pretty swollen, you sore?”

“Yes Daddy…” Chase pants, resting his face back against the desk’s surface. 

“How about now,” House asks before rotating his forefinger to find Chase’s prostate. He pushes hard against it and-

“Ah!” Chase hisses, “Yes, fuck, oh my god…” 

“Good. It’s going to get worse,” House warns before he pushes a second finger inside. 

“Fuck. Daddy please…” Chase cries. His hands fly across the desk, knocking everything to the ground in an effort to find something to hold onto. The sting in his ass hurts, but the ache in his cock and balls has him begging for this to continue. 

“House…” Wilson warns, misreading Chase's noise. Chase had honestly forgotten the man was there.

House huffs his own irritation the doctors way. 

“Chase? You good?”

“YES! Please, please,” Chase pants desperately, “I’m sore, but I want it. Don’t stop.”

“See Jimmy. Nothing to worry about.” 

House twists his fingers and rubs again at his oversensitive prostate, Chase’s knees tremble so hard that if it wasn't for House’s desk, he’d fall on the floor. 

“Fuck…Daddy…”

“What? You want to cum? You don't deserve to.”

“I know, I know, I'm sorry,” Chase sobs, but in some ways he's not. Everything hurts, but just the way he likes. He’s got House’s full attention on him, and when he gets jealous, his fucks get rougher. His desire to mark his claim gets stronger. And Chase loves when that side comes out. 

“Foreman didn't cum in you?” 

“No. But I wanted him to.”

Chase can practically hear House’s eyes roll. 

“Of course you did, you want everyone to cum in you.”

“Please,” Chase blubbers. 

“What are you willing to do for it?” House asks, and before Chase can answer, House’s cock is sliding inside him and Chase melts against the desk with a pitiful whimper. 

“Hey,” House says, slapping Chase's ass, “I asked you a question.”

“Anything,” Chase groans, ass clenching hard around the man’s cock.  

“Anything?” House confirms, dragging his dick back out before thrusting sharply back inside. “Keep the cage on, for say, 3 days?”

“Hhhn,” Chase whines instead of answering because House has started up a steady pace, holding Chase’s hips firm. The angle puts immense pressure on his prostate and Chase’s whimpers only get louder. The desk squeaks under the strain, but there’s no way in hell anyone will stop. 

“Chase.”

Chase's answer gets punched out of him with the force of House’s next thrusts.

“Yes!” 

“A week?”

Chase’s legs are having a hard time keeping up with the thrusts.

“Y-yeah...” 

“2 months?” 

House’s next thrusts are intentionally deep. Chase feels his sanity sizzle and fry.  

“Fuck… yeah, yeah I would. I would, please- just,” Chase groans, unable to finish the sentence the next jab to his prostate leaves him gasping. 

“Wilson, put your dick in his mouth. If he keeps moaning, someone's gonna walk in here.”

[soft-for-them]

As warm as a dead man can be - The Captain x male reader

Summary: A small look into the life of you and the Captain.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: One of my favourite gay Ben Willbond characters, which there's a lot of...

It took a few decades to get over your own death, to come to terms with the fact that you’re forever stuck in the same house where you died, giant bleeding gash in your abdomen and outfit never changing.

Though through all it he’s been there.

At first he’d check in on you, minding not to stand too close, his posture stiff but his eyes shaped like hearts. He would watch on as you entertained Kitty, the young woman becoming a sister to you, his heart swelling with pure love he hadn’t felt since Havers, his hands itching to be held.

Then the check ins evolved into him sitting next to you whilst you stared off into space, the early nineties being the hardest for you because the sudden realisation that you’d never age another year age had dawned upon you. He’d sit close, sometime he’d tell a story to quell your nerves, other times he’d allow you to talk about the seventies and the hippy movement, about passed lovers, how for just a moment you felt a part of something bigger. However, one day when the skies cried out heavy thunderous rain, the other ghosts hidden away and quiet, you had flung your arms around him in the tightest hug.

Those hugs became frequent when eyes weren’t watching, your fingers always touching him when you walked passed and you'd always aligning the lapels of his uniform just to be close.

The Captain likes that you’re a very touchy person. Maybe it’s because he can't touch anything else with his hands, that the only thing that he can feel are the cold dead skin of the other ghosts.

The Captain loves to watch you dance with Kitty, the young woman always begging you to teach her disco dance moves, either that or she’s dragging you about the house like a hyper little child pointing at everything like she’s never seen it before. Just imagine the sight, you dressed in your flared jeans, cowboy boots and white shirt (not minding the blood stains) being twirled around by Kitty, your eyes catching the Captain’s with every spin, a giant smile on your face.

You’d get the courage to steal kisses from him years later. The first time it happened it must have been two thousand and four in late afternoon, you both were sitting outside watching the clouds in silence when all the sudden you leaned over, peck him on the cheek followed by fleeing.

The Captain had sat in the same place red faced for a half hour before Fanny came around disturbing the peace.

That very same day the Captain had the courage to ask for another kiss, for he was too shy to do it himself, which you did. Then you did it again. And again, and- well you get the picture.

His hands are as warm as a dead man could be, his fingers intertwined with yours as you relax in a quiet corner of the house. His jacket if off, though he can’t go far without it for it is a part of what he died in. Your hands are warm and so connected to his that they refuse to let go.

Pat would have described your hands like a stubborn knot that could only be untied by the best of knot tiers.

Your face leans on the Captain shoulder, his cheek pressed in the short crop of your hair, the seventies style jostled by the occasional kiss.

The radio plays in the background, radio four playing for it’s the best compromise between your music tastes, the long talking of the presenters lulling in the background almost like the two of you have left Button house and are sat in a nice café or park.

“It’s a nice day today.” you say as your eyes trail to the small window overlooking the large back garden, the radio mixed with the birds songs calming you down from morning filled with disorganised chaos and too many dead bodies.

“It is indeed.” he replies as you nestle into his shoulder some more.

“My Captain how I wish to stay like this forever.” you whisper as you take you other hand and cup his face, your fingers moving across his jaw.

The Captain happily hums almost like a purr, a thing he only really does around you, his body sinking closer to yours.

“Let’s stay here until the sun sets and everyone lays down to sleep.” you carry on.

“I would stay here forever if it was here with you.” Captain whispers, his voice so quiet that you almost miss it.

You smile and snuggle closer, the sun yet to set.