#No fucking god that loved me would make everything so goddamn hard

[hucowboyification]

Poolverine and 10 please?

10- "We're really going to fuck here? What if someone sees us?"

It'd been an easy job. Get in, stab, claw, and shoot all the fuckers in the warehouse to death, get out. No one was left alive; not even the cleaning crew.

Making a quick getaway wasnt strictly necessary; given how blood-soaked they both were, it probably would've made them more suspicious. But the surrounding area had been terrorized by that group for so long that everyone turned a blind eye to the two mutants booking it down shaded alleyways, and the adrenaline made for great foreplay, so they ran anyways.

Logan pulled Wade down an alleyway, around a corner, and then into a dead end, where a brick building towered over everything.

Deep scratch marks in sets of threes littered the face of the building; hundreds, if not thousands of sets, some clearly much older than the several months Logan had been living in this universe.

"Climb," Logan instructed, lacking anything in the way of real urgency. It was made even less urgent by Logan tugging Wade's mask off and pressing him briefly to the brick wall for a deep, but surprisingly gentle kiss.

Once he was released, Wade did as he was asked. Fortunately, Logan had the forethought to make sure that people with normal hands could get to the roof, though just barely; it was a tough climb, even for Wade, and he had to question if it was really the only way up onto the roof, or if Logan just wanted to watch his ass as he made his way up tedious hand-and-foot-holds.

"Used to love coming up here," Logan sighed once they'd both reached the roof, leaning shoulder-to-shoulder against a boarded-up maintenance entrance. "Quiet. Good views. Hard to climb for most people. Back... back where I'm from, it got torn down years ago."

Wade, using the little good sense he had, didn't pry or crack a joke. He didn't particularly feel like regenerating any limbs tonight, thank you very much.

"But, anyways," Logan continued, giving Wade a sharp-toothed grin. "Thought it'd be a good place to bring you to catch our breath after a job. Be nice to spend an evening together without worrying about waking anyone up."

"Wait, do you mean-" he leaned in close, exaggeratedly whisper-shouting in Logan's ear- "S-E-X?"

"Yes, you goddamn loser, I mean fucking." Logan snorted, bumping his forehead against Wade's shoulder. "Up here, alone, under the stars."

"Aww, Wolvie, that's so romantic! We're really going to fuck here?" Wade gasped in mock surprise, bringing his hands to his face. "What if someone sees us?"

The twitching of Logan's lips gave away his attempts so suppress a laugh. "Who the fuck would see us, moron? It's the middle of the night, this is an abandoned building, and we'd see if anyone came on a nearby roof." Then he grinned. "Besides, what do you care? I always thought you'd be an exhibitionist."

"Oh, I am an exhibitionist, peanut, but you never know. There are cameras everywhere these days.

With a brief, disparaging "Jesus Christ, Wade", Logan dropped to his knees, nuzzling gently at Wade's already hard cock under his suit.

Then, the claws came out, moving towards the fabric of Wade's pants, and-

"Hey, no, no, no! Soft paws!" Wade shouted, swatting Logan's hands away and getting his fingers quite scratched up in the process. "I'm not sewing this up again! God, the knife hands are hot, but can you use your fingers to unzip me like a normal fucking person for once?"

Reluctantly, Logan did as ordered, sheathing his claws and unzipping his pants without ripping them (and Wade's skin, though that was of less concern) to shreds.

If there were cameras around (and of course there were- whatever the dicks at the TVA said, he's the main character here), they'd be getting quite a show.

Send me an ask with a number and a ship!

[vroomian]

Me: does my beet

my best: 😬

[chiistarri]

what if instead of messaging me in the middle of the night about your stupid fucking girlfriend and your stupid fucking problems with her you actually act like my fucking friend and message me like how you message everyone else in our group

[panlyv]

.

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

(Don't You) Steal My Thunder

my tyler owens playlist 🤝 inspiring fic titles

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's set on getting you on his good side. And the more you get to know him, the less you can resist.

a/n: i had to research sm car stuff for this it's not funny. i now know exactly how to describe a truck bed though, so. that's fun.

again, my inbox is wide open <33 i don't guarantee anything, but you can always come talk to me or request smth

masterlist | twisters masterlist

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met.

He prints his face on t-shirts, writes his autograph on mugs, comes up with ridiculous sayings ("Not My First Tornadeo" and "If you feel it, chase it" are really just the tip of the ice berg) and most importantly, he costs you the best shots of tornadoes every goddamn time.

Tyler Owens is a problem.

And Tyler Owens seems to have actively decided to make himself a problem too.

Which would be fine, if he flipped you the bird or told you to fuck off or threw his paper towels at you. Unluckily, those are rather examples of what you have done to him. Because it's not fine, not at all - no, Tyler Owens has decided that it's not enough to be in your way all the time, he has to seek you out and rub your nose in it.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's arrogant and he's entirely too full of himself. He brags too much and calls you "weather girl" too often. He gets under your skin more than you would ever admit.

And, as if all of that isn't enough - Tyler Owens is the very epitome of handsomeness.

It's like god didn't just have a good day when he created Tyler Owens, no, god must have still been in the post-haze of the best head he'd gotten in his whole immortal life when he'd created Tyler Owens.

Because Tyler Owens has the body of a greek god and the face of a Hollywood actor. He's not a pornstar, he's who pornstars worship. He's the Prince Charming little girls dream of and the Christian Grey grown women lust for.

Tyler Owens looks like everything you've ever wanted.

But he's just such a fucking asshole.

You wish you could say you didn't care. You'd love to be the kind of woman who didn't even acknowledge him. But you're not. You're not. You watch his videos when you can't sleep, you chuckle when you happen to overhear his jokes, you ogle his back when he's turned away from you. Sometimes, you get so lost in staring at him that you realise too late when he turns back around, and then you have to act unbothered when he grins his fucking grin at you. That's mostly when you flip him off, desperately fighting to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

Not like it stops him. You honestly feel like it only spurs him on.

Something has to seriously be wrong with him. It's not his face. But something is seriously wrong with him, you're sure of that.

Something has to be wrong with him. No sane person would ever go tornado wrangling. No hate to the rest of his crew - they're nice, you've managed to hold a few pretty normal conversations with them here and there - but none of them are sane either.

Storm chasing is different. You keep your distance. All you need are a few well-placed photographs - and those you can get from a rather safe number of miles away. The weather channel doesn't care about close-ups (not really, anyway). They want something to show the people on their comfortable couches, up in New Hampshire or Maine, so that all of them can say to each other "What poor folks, wouldn't wanna live there" and nod in pity as they switch the channel to watch another blockbuster.

You're just doing your job.

The only problem is that it's hard to do your job properly when there's always that fucking red truck in the way, driving down empty roads right into the heart of the tornado. And because no one on the news wants people to see that and go "Well, can't be too bad if there's still cars on the streets!", in the last few months - ever since you'd volunteered to move back to Oklahoma 'So that we've got someone right in Tornado Alley and don't have to fly people out there every time' - the weather channel has only shown the first few minutes of tornadoes forming. The rest of your pictures and videos lie abandoned in the trash file on your laptop. Except for a few - a very, very few, very, very good pictures of Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers. But those won't ever see the light of day either.

You'd be damned if you let anyone know that while Tyler Owens is busy disturbing your actual work, you're busy taking pictures of him shooting fireworks into tornadoes. Pictures that would make for some damn good headers (if you hadn't buried them far, far down your gallery).

This time is no different. You get a few amazing shots of the tornado forming – surely an EF2, maybe even an EF3 - before you settle in the driver's seat again, your window rolled down and your camera hung around your neck as you push down on the gas. Then, a few miles further, you get even better shots of the full tornado, of the first few minutes of destruction, right there, in the middle of an empty field.

And as always, of course, just as the tornado takes on full form, you spot that familiar red truck through the lens of your camera. It speeds down the pavement right in front of where you’ve swerved onto the side of the road and you snap a few pictures, just because you’ve got the trigger right underneath your finger. Honestly, something about that dirty red paint against the grey skies just looks too good not to capture. But then the truck comes closer and closer and starts to slow down and you let your camera sink.

Tyler has his window rolled down already when he stops the car. There’s that annoyingly handsome grin on his lips, the one that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“You’re too far away, weather girl”, he calls out above the rumble of distant wind and thunder. “The good pictures are down that way.”

“The good pictures are right here.” You lift your camera at him. “Maybe you just need to update your equipment.”

Tyler’s grin widens, but before he can throw another of those obnoxious retorts your way, Lilly’s voice rings out through the car.

“Hey, T, looks like it’s changing course. You should hurry.”

His eyes are still glued to yours, still glued so firmly to yours that it makes your skin crawl. You can’t look away, couldn’t possibly look away. Tyler Owens might just be a cocky asshole, but you’re only human. And the weight of his gaze on yours is enough to keep you stuck in place, clutching at your camera.

“We’re on our way, Lilly”, he drawls without looking away from you. “See you around, weather girl.”

The rest of the pictures you take land in your trash file with all the other pictures of the last few weeks. You’re laying in bed, your laptop propped up against a pillow, the empty plate from dinner on the mattress next to you as you sort through today’s work. That’s the good thing about the time difference – you’ve got until seven to send the channel the day's results.

By nine, you’ve showered, put on a dress you feel confident in and settled on one of the chairs at the local bar. You’ve been telling yourself you need to get out a little bit more – you’ve been living here three months now and you haven’t really made any friends so far. To be fair, your job has kept you out and about most of the time. You’ve spent more hours at gas stations to fill up your tank than you have in your own home. But now you’ve decided to put an end to that. You're a young woman in a new town, you can meet more people than just the cashier at the local supermarket.

So for the past twenty minutes, you’ve been nursing a mojito at the counter and talking to the bartender. She’s nice, she’s your age, she’s extroverted enough to keep sidling up to you after every time she has to excuse herself to do her job. That, and she tells you she’s grown up here, so she knows most of the people around. She’s just serving another customer – a long-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing country guy who’s already shared a smile or two with you – when someone rests their arm on the countertop next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he drawls, all low, deep Southern accent and you recognise his voice before you’ve even tilted your head up and looked at him. His grin drips down onto his words and wraps itself around your mind.

Tyler Owens isn’t just annoying – he’s unbelievable. He's unbelievable and he’s here.

“So you’re stalking me now”, you say, as drily as you can possibly manage. You've been doing that a lot around him. Dead-panning everything. Schooling your expression into fake neutrality.

"I'm here all the time, weather girl", he grins. "If anything, you're stalking me."

You snort, but it's rather unfunny when you think of all the videos you've watched, hours after they'd been livestreamed, cuddled up in your bed until midnight just to stare at his face. He's not that far from the truth.

"In your dreams, Owens", you say anyway, dragging your eyes back towards your almost empty cocktail glass. You wrap your lips around your straw and drain your drink entirely. What you say and what you do, none of that matters in the end. All of this is just show. Every conversation you've had with Tyler Owens in the last three months has been nothing but a performance. Other than your name, you don't think a single sentence out of your mouth has been honest. Not when it comes to him.

"Let me buy you a beer" is the only answer you get.

His grin widens when you look back up again - so cocky, so unbelievably cocky.

"I don't drink."

You push your glass an inch further down the bar top. Tyler raises his eyebrows. Fuck, someone really needs to kick him in the face. You can't keep having all these little heart attacks whenever he's close enough that you could touch him if you wanted.

Not that you want to.

"You're drinking right now", he says. You rest your palms against the bar top and blink at him.

"I don't drink with you."

He lets out a chuckle, one of those deep ones that settle right in your chest and make it hard to swallow.

"Just this once?", he asks and in all honesty, for just a second there, you actually consider giving in. He's too handsome for his own good. You really need to get it together. He's an ass (what an ass, goddamn). And he's insane. He's an insane ass. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that - those times like now, when his piercing eyes and his kissable lips and his rugged stubble and his broad, broad shoulders and his drawled voice overshadow everything else.

"Don't you have some livestreaming to do?", you ask, hoping it still comes across just as sarcastic when you're the slightest bit distracted by how gloriously tight the sleeves of his flannel are. "Go chasing tornadoes, not me."

His grin widens inexplicably further. You're sure that if you were in a comic, there'd be a lightbulb flashing above his head right about now.

"Well", he drawls, "if you feel it..."

"Don't you do that shit to me, Owens."

He's raising his eyebrows again, raising his eyebrows as you clasp your hand around your empty glass so hard your knuckles turn white. But you're serious. Just as you'd lost yourself in the view of him, that angelic, sinful view of him, he'd gone and reminded you why you were so adamant to keep your distance. If you feel it, chase it. Ridiculous. Obnoxious. He's an arrogant, know-it-all, suicidal job-wrecker. He's the guy with cameras pointed at him everywhere he goes. He signs mugs and selfies and hats and shirts and bras. He's the reason you haven't gotten a single un-edited shot of a fully formed tornado in the last three months.

"You're not a fan of my catchphrase, weather girl?"

He can't even pretend to look wounded (even though he tries) with how big the grin on his lips still is. You stare right at him, dead-eyed and unflinching.

"I'm not a fan of you."

Lies slip off your tongue so easily by now that you wonder when you'd become morally compromised enough to not even care anymore. It must've happened somewhere along the way, sometime between the first conversation you'd had with him and the one you're having with him right now.

"You wound me", he grins, his palm pressed to his chest.

For the first time tonight, you allow yourself to grin back at him.

"I try."

With that, you slip off your chair and wave the bartender goodbye. You're already two steps away when Tyler calls after you.

"I'd still buy you a beer."

"I'm still not drinking with you", you call back. You don't turn around again. You just make your way back to your car and mark the evening as a half-successful night of socialising on your to-do list.

...

You see him again first thing the next day. Of course. Because there's no tornadoes without the Tornado Wranglers on their tail. By now, you're used to it. You wave at Dani as they come back out of the store at the gas station you're waiting at. They've got both arms full of coffees and for a second, you consider offering your help, but then you hear Tyler shout something out of his car and you suddenly don't feel any desire whatsoever to get up. You've sat yourself down in your truck bed, your camera slung around your neck and the radar on your lap. If all goes right, you're hoping for a tornado to form a little to the east from here. And as much as you dislike Tyler Owens, the fact that he's here soothes your nerves. Where he goes, there's sure to be tornadoes close by.

The few times you hadn't seen him had never ended well for you. You'd missed an EF3 your second week here just because you'd followed the wrong hunch. Meanwhile Tyler, of course, had been in the middle of it.

This might just be the one singular situation that you welcome seeing his red truck around. As long as you can manage to overtake him on the road after.

It's not that you need to be faster. You don't need to reach the tornado first. You don't even take the same way as him most of the time. He wants in there, you just want a sensible picture. Still, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time you hit the brakes and jump out of your car, miles away from the actual cell as Tyler speeds down towards it. You've been telling yourself that it's because he ruins your pictures. It kind of is.

"Hey, weather girl!"

You let out a resigned breath as you tilt your head up and squint against the sun. He's still in his truck, his window rolled down, his elbow propped up against the car door.

"What do you want, Owens?"

Your fingers itch to reach for your camera. It's a visual, him in that fucking car, leaning out of his window with the sun peaking out behind him. But you can't, you can't take a picture of him this openly. Even if you were to argue that it's just the light you'd wanted to capture.

"To give you some advice", he calls out, his lips pulling into a grin. You raise your eyebrows at him. "East isn't gonna work out. Wind's changing. Go south."

He throws you a mock salute and hits the gas before you can say anything else.

Not that you'd been about to.

Instead you just curse to yourself, jump off the truck bed and throw your treacherous technology into the passenger seat with a little too much vigor. Fuck this. You sit at the steering wheel and stare out at the sky for exactly two seconds before you make your decision. Then you start your car and drive south.

You may not be a fan of Tyler Owens, but you've long since admitted to yourself that this man has got a gift. He has an unbeatable instinct when it comes to storms. And sure, you have your fair share of knowledge, but in the end, you're a photographer, not a meteorologist. You won't miss a day's work just because you're too proud to listen to Tyler.

You're a little further behind, but you can spot his truck and guess that he's driving straight on into the cell today, so you take a right and decide to try your luck with the side of the tornado. Not being right in its path doesn't sound too bad anyway.

You actually manage to snap a few well-placed pictures. You don't know what Tyler's doing, but it seems like he's not shooting random shit up the cell today. You'll watch the stream later - you're just the slightest bit curious now what's happening with them. Maybe they're doing some old-school chasing? Or maybe they're doing a challenge. Maybe Tyler is driving blindfolded. At this point, who knows.

It's good for you though. It's a considerable tornado today, an EF2 at least, and you only spot Tyler's red truck again when the cell moves further down the fields, away from him. It doesn't look like it's gonna disappear anytime soon. Maybe today's your lucky day.

Half an hour later, you're sure you've got at least a dozen pictures of the fully formed tornado, long touched down and without the red truck in the way.

You're just packing up your things, already sifting through the photos on your camera, squinting against the sunlight, trying to both tug the zipper of your bag closed and hit the right buttons at the same time when Tyler pulls up next to you.

"You look busy, weather girl", he says, already grinning that damn grin again.

"I am", you say - truthfully, for once. You let go of your bag and lower your camera. You're hesitant, but... "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime", he grins. "Just do me one favour."

You already know this can't be good. Not with that cheeky look on his face. But he'd just saved you from chasing hot air (quite literally), so he deserves a little treat. And you don't want unsettled scores with Tyler Owens.

"I want to know what favour that's supposed to be before I agree", you say anyway, because with him, you can never be too careful. And in the end, you're only willing to do so much. (Though for him, you'd already do a lot more than you'd admit. A lot more than you hope he's aware of.)

"Let me buy you a beer", he says, and for once, he sounds serious.

The memory of yesterday night flashes before your eyes, of those same words at the bar. With him so close, way too close - with that grin and that stubble and that voice and those shoulders. You cross your arms and stare at him.

"If you're livestreaming this, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard."

He just lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender.

"Cameras are off, I swear."

You stare at him for another silent ten or so seconds. At him in that fucking truck that looks just a little too good in your pictures. At him and his fucking face. That fucking face that you certainly wouldn't mind sitting on, if just to shut him up.

God, he's asking you to drink something with him. He's asking to buy you something to drink with him. You're stupid.

You're so, so stupid.

"Alright, cowboy", you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching for the handle of your car door. "I'll humour you."

...

You're in the bar again by nine that night, the same way you had been the day before. You're wearing a different dress and there's a different bartender, but you've ordered the same mojito and chosen the same place to sit.

Only this time, you're actively watching the door. And when Tyler strolls in, you've got to shift around in your seat and cross your legs. You don't even pretend you're not staring. You just ogle him openly. Not for the first time ever - you'd checked him out very obviously when he'd strutted towards you to introduce himself three months ago - but definitely for the first time in a while. And god yeah, he's a hunk of a man, alright. If you had your camera here right now...

But you don't. So instead, you drop your eyes to his feet (brown leather boots), drag them up his legs (blue jeans), over his chest (red checkered flannel), over his face (god, what you wouldn't give-) and finally rest them on the cowboy hat on top of his head.

When he's close enough to hear you, already grinning, of course, probably at how you're actually sitting there in the same spot as yesterday and hadn't just lied to his face about coming here, you raise your eyebrows at him.

"A cowboy hat?", you ask, your voice as unbothered as you can possibly manage (even though you're very, very, very much bothered right now). His grin only widens.

"Ladies love country boys", he drawls with a shrug.

"Now that's straight out of a song", you say. "You're getting lazy, Owens."

"A song?", he asks. "No, that's an Owens Original."

You pull your eyebrows even further up.

"Ladies love country boys? Trace Adkins?"

"Nope. Not familiar."

But his grin tells you that he's lying. He's a liar. He knows very well where he got that line from. And he knows just how easily he got under your skin with his simple trick. As if his face isn't enough already.

You just shake your head and turn away from him.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Owens. Buy me a beer."

...

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also a great conversationalist.

The hours fly by as you're talking. One beer turns into two, then into an uncountable number of soft drinks. You both agree that you need to drive home, neither of you is willing to risk a run-in with the police. You need your drivers license for your jobs.

Tyler talks to you about the pictures you've taken today, then about the pictures from last week. He laughs when you blame him for ruining half of them and almost spits out his coke when you slap his arm for laughing at you. He tells you about his crew, about the people they've helped with the money from their dumb t-shirt sales. You think you hate him less by the minute. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But he gets you talking about your childhood and your parents, about school and college and about how you've wound back up here in Oklahoma. That effectively distracts you.

That, and how his cocky grin morphs into a genuine smile the more you open up.

Not that you didn't love the cocky grin. You did, just a bit. As obnoxious as it was. But the way he smiles at you all sweet has you melting right in your spot.

It's not the first time you realise that beneath all that rough exterior, there beats a heart of gold. You've known what those t-shirt sales are for, that he offers food and water after a tornado hits a town, that he carries the injured out of the ruins of their houses and helps find lost dogs. The more you've been around him in the past weeks, the more you've seen of his soft side. Of the way he cares and supports. But in the end, it always is easier to go back to the status quo - to fall back onto mindless snark and fleeting first impressions.

You'd clung so desperately to the image of him as this arrogant, smug, holier-than-thou influencer god for the sole purpose of keeping your own sanity. Because you'd known that without despising him, you would fall head over heels for Tyler Owens, and you just couldn't have that.

But now, with his arm brushing against yours and his hat discarded on the bar top and his smile, that beautiful, beautiful smile on his lips...

"Five bucks", he drawls, already reaching for his wallet.

"What?"

"Five bucks says there won't be a tornado tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows at him, your glass hovering in mid-air between the two of you. You'd meant to take a sip, but now you're setting it right back down on the bar top.

"You're shitting me."

Tyler just shakes his head. He's grinning again, but it's much softer this time around.

"The winds are looking great. The forecast says it's gonna be the best conditions for tornadoes we've seen in the last six weeks. I've heard Dexter talk about how we're probably gonna see an EF4 tomorrow", you tell him, even though you're sure he's well aware of all of it. This is Tyler Owens, for god's sake. He knows about the winds and the forecasts. He knows that his crew is making preparations already.

His grin only grows. And it's smug now. It's cocky now. It's everything you thought you'd left behind during this conversation. He looks like the Tornado Wrangler again, like the guy who fucks up your pictures and makes your job harder than it already is.

It takes you a second too long to realise why.

"Dexter said that on our live", he grins, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You physically recoil from him. "Do you watch our streams, weather girl?"

"No", you breathe, rigid and frozen, shocked to your very core. No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. You'd... You hadn't made that mistake. He hadn't got you to make that mistake.

"Dexter talked about tomorrow on our live", Tyler says again, straightening his back and grinning down at you like he's just uncovered the lost grave of Cleopatra. "Only on the live. You watched our stream."

"No", you mutter, your eyes wide and your mouth dry, so dry. You need to drink. You need to drink so badly. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You watched our stream, honey."

The petname runs down your spine and clogs your senses. Honey. Oh, he's an ass, he's an asshole! But you're on the spot, you're on the spot and he's calling you honey, honey, honey. You can't do anything but watch as he leans closer to you, grinning down at you like it's his one true purpose on this earth, like he wants to eat you alive.

"I'd say you watch our streams pretty regularly, weather girl."

You swallow hard and clasp your hand around your glass.

"Yeah?", you breathe, hoping against all hope that your voice sounds somewhat innocent. You're sure it doesn't. You know it doesn't. You probably sound as guilty as you are, but... Hope dies last. Hope always dies last. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch." He shows off those pearly fucking whites for you. "Call it an instinct. I'm usually right."

He is.

He's right now. He's right usually.

Him and his fucking instinct. His goddamn gut feeling about tornadoes, always right all the fucking time. He's like an Oklahoma Jesus. The first coming of Tornado Christ.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

"I'll take your bet." You drain your glass at once. "Give me your five bucks, Owens."

You don't think it'll work. You don't think he'll let you distract him. You don't think it'll be this easy to stop his vile teasing. He's not the type of guy to let something go. He's not the type of guy to let anything go ever. But he looks at you and he grins at you and he trails his eyes over your face and then he opens up his wallet and pulls out five dollars without another word.

He puts the bill flat on the bar top.

But when you go to reach for it, he pushes his fingers down.

"The price just went up", he says.

You raise your eyebrows and let your hand sink again. Tyler is absolutely unpredictable. You should've known.

"The price just went up?", you repeat. He nods. "What more do you want to bet?"

He's closer now, closer all of a sudden. He's too close, close enough to make your breath hitch. He's looking down at you with that cocky, cheeky grin, with his weirdly green eyes, with his three day stubble and his generally much too symmetrical face. You can't do anything but look back up at him.

"A kiss", he says. Simple as that.

A kiss.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He is. Truly. He's annoying and way too full of himself and much too presumptuous. Tyler Owens is the only man who would ever do something like this. The only man who'd bet a kiss on whether or not there will be tornadoes tomorrow.

Especially with that forecast.

The one that says a tornado is basically inevitable.

"Alright", you say. He may be Tyler Owens, the guy with an infallible instinct - but he is also Tyler Owens, the guy who's been doing his hardest to get under your skin. This time might not be any different. For all you know, he's bluffing to rile you up. "I'm in."

...

At eleven the next day, you're standing next to Dexter in resigned silence.

"I really thought today was gonna pan out", you mutter.

"It should have", Dexter frowns, tapping against the screen in his hands. "It should have worked out. The conditions should have been perfect. Everything's been building the last few days."

"But it collapsed this morning."

You turn your head and watch as Tyler comes to a stand next to you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the clear sky up above. He tilts his head to you and grins. Fuck, he's wearing his goddamn hat again. It's like he doesn't even try to be normal.

"Hey, weather girl", he greets. "Ready to cash out your bet?"

You shake your head at him. No, you're not giving up this easily. You never give up this easily.

"The day's not over yet, Owens. You haven't won 'til midnight."

...

You spend most of the next hours sitting in your truck bed, reading a book you'd thrown into your backseat weeks ago and had so far neglected. Lilly hands you lunch around two, Dani offers you a coffee around five and Boone pipes up here and there to joke about the wasted day. Around six, Dexter comes by to let you know they're calling it.

You still have another hour to go. By seven, it'll be too late to send your pictures anyway. But you want the hour. You need the hour.

You still haven't decided what to do about Tyler. About Tyler and his fucking bet.

He's been loitering the whole day, walking by, joking around with his crew, livestreaming a spontaneous q&a just because.

And the more minutes tick by, the harder it is to keep ignoring that you've most definitely lost the bet. Even though you do your best. You read, you check your phone. You stare at your radar. You stare at the weather forecast. You talk to Dexter and Dani and Lilly and Boone. You take a few pictures of the sky. Then you take a few pictures of Tyler, standing some feet away from his truck and looking out at the clouds.

It's only when two of three Tornado Wranglers cars are disappearing down the road, when Tyler Owens suddenly stands in front of your truck bed, that you put down your book and face reality.

"No tornadoes in sight", he says, instead of 'Hello' or 'How are you' like any other person would.

"There's still six hours left", you reason. Even if only one of those is relevant for your job today.

"You really want to wait out six hours to prove I'm right?"

"You're not right", you argue. It's fruitless, it's stupid, it's unreasonable. But... "Not yet, anyway."

Tyler raises his eyebrows at you, lets out an amused chuckle and leans against the side of your truck bed.

"Alright, so we wait."

You eye him from the side. He's fucking leaning against your truck, staring out at the sky, talking about six hours. Goddamn. He can't be serious, can he? His crew is already gone. They've disappeared into the descending sun and he's talking about waiting another six hours. Leaned against your car.

"Fuck's sake, Owens", you sigh, scooching over to the right. "At least sit down then."

You don't talk much at first. You just open your book back up again and try your hardest to ignore that he's even here at all, barely two feet away from you on the other side of your truck bed. If you stretched your leg, you'd hit him right in the hip.

It makes reading close to impossible.

Even though he's not doing anything at all. He's just sitting there, one arm propped up on the side board, that goddamn cowboy hat on his head and his feet hanging off the opened tailgate. It's almost worse that he's not doing anything.

That he's just sitting there and watching the sky change.

You give up on reading entirely when you realise that you've finished exactly five pages in half an hour. Instead, you put your book back in the car, pull out your bluetooth speaker and two water bottles and offer Tyler one of them.

You don't even ask him what music he wants to listen to. You just put on your country playlist and roll with it. By the twitch of his lips, you know he certainly doesn't mind.

Another half hour later, it's starting to get chilly and you're beginning to grow bored of the music. Tyler sitting next to you makes you fidgety, somehow, and you can't really enjoy the songs you usually love so much. So you switch to a podcast. You don't ask Tyler if he minds. He's free to go anytime.

Around eight, the sun starts to set, and the chill turns into an unpleasant cool. You hadn't really expected to be sitting out here so long. You're not prepared for the temperature to drop. You're wearing shorts, for god's sake, shorts and a top. It's summer in Oklahoma - you don't know how Tyler even manages to survive in his long jeans. You certainly wouldn't.

But now you're a little jealous, to be honest. He doesn't look cold in the slightest while you're fighting off shivers. You can feel your hands trembling already.

You really should've brought a jacket. But who brings jackets in 30 degree summer weather?

So instead, you just resign yourself to your fate and rub your hands along your arms. Anything to get some warmth into your body.

For the first time since you've sat back down, Tyler turns his head and looks at you.

"You're cold", he says, eyes raking over your arms and the goosebumps you'd gotten.

"Great observational skills, Sherlock Holmes", you deadpan, even though he doesn't really deserve that. He had so far left you pretty much alone. "A+ on that assignment."

Well, it's hard to break bad habits.

Tyler just chuckles, shakes his head and pushes off of the truck bed. You watch, eyes narrowed, as he walks back to his own car, opens up the trunk and- pulls out a blanket?

Your hands have sunken down to your lap all by themselves by the time he's standing in front of you again, holding out the blanket.

"For you, Watson", he grins as you slowly, carefully take the blanket from him. You mutter something along the lines of a soft 'Thank you' before you wrap the blanket around your arms.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also the very definition of "Tough on the outside, soft on the inside". Sometimes, you think the word 'angelic' works for more than just his divine looks.

Your eyes are glued to him as he sits back down next to you and looks out at the darkening sky with that signature grin on his lips, like he knows that you're watching him and enjoys it more than he should. That doesn't deter you though. For the very first time. You don't even stop staring when he turns his head back to you. You don't even stop staring then.

You just look at him until his grin crumbles. Until he's smiling that smile from yesterday night, the one that has your heart squeezing together and then exploding in your chest. You think you could stare at that smile for the rest of eternity and never feel sated.

"What?", he asks, his voice so soft it makes you swallow. Your lips part, but there's no words on your tongue, none in your throat. They're stuck in your chest somewhere, wrapped around your heart so tightly that you can't let them go even now. So you just press your lips together, wrap your blanket tighter around yourself and say:

"So I'm Watson, yeah?"

Your podcast is long forgotten by the time the sky turns dark. So dark that you make Tyler climb into your car and turn on the lights. You're comfortable in your blanket, you don't feel the need to move.

It's around ten when the blanket isn't enough anymore.

You tuck your hands underneath your top, but that only helps for so long. A few minutes later, you're trembling again, trembling even though you're pulling the blanket as tightly around you as you possibly can. Tyler raises his eyebrows when a particularly heavy shiver runs down your spine, one of those that come and go within three seconds.

"Come here", he says, shuffling in his spot and motioning for you to move over to him. You don't really think about it. It's more of a reflex as you fumble the blanket off of your body, scooch over to him, settle yourself against his side and sneak your feet under his thigh. He tugs the blanket back up to your chin, tucks it in behind your back and wraps his arms around you.

Tyler Owens wraps his arms around you.

And he's so fucking warm you literally almost moan. God, you hadn't actually realised just how cold you'd been.

"Damn, you're freezing", he notes as well, just as you nestle further into him and hum in agreement. He's like a living heater right now. You'd like to just crawl inside of him and suck up all his warmth. "You should've told me sooner."

"I didn't tell you at all", you mutter, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He smells good. He smells so good. Earthy, musky somehow. You're tempted to turn your head and bury your nose in his shoulder.

Instead, you just satisfy yourself with what you can get. Fuck, he smells so good. He smells just like you'd thought he would, like country and rodeo and thunderstorms. He smells like falling into bed at the end of a successful chase. He smells like more. You want more.

You want more of Tyler Owens.

"Are you sniffing me?", he asks suddenly, but he sounds so amused you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed. You just open your eyes and grin at him, tilting your head so you can look up at him.

"What if I am?", you ask, if only to hear that breathless chuckle fall from his lips. Oh, those lips. You're in trouble. "Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

"I could never."

"Yeah, you better not, cowboy", you mutter, eyes dropping to his lips when he grins. He's so close. He's way too close. "There's like thirty things I could call the cops about on your channel."

His grin grows until he's showing off his teeth, glinting against the low light of the leds in your car. He's closer now.

"So you do watch our streams, weather girl."

His voice is so low and he's so close, so close. Your lips part all on their own. You haven't looked back up at his eyes in too long. Far too long. But he's so close, and he's so warm, and he smells so good.

"Alright", you whisper. His mouth is barely an inch from yours. You can feel every breath he takes. "I watch your streams."

And then your lips are on his.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's smug. He makes your job harder than it has to be. He does everything and anything to get under your skin. But Tyler Ownes is the best goddamn kisser this side of the globe.

He trails his hands, his big, big hands, down your sides, pushes the blanket out of the way and grabs at your waist with just enough firmness. He pulls you onto his lap and rests his thumbs over the hem of your top. He breathes into your mouth and takes it slow. He doesn't care that you almost knock his hat out of the way when you try to wrap your arms around his neck. He just holds you tightly to him and lets you tug on his lip.

You honestly don't know how much time has passed when he pulls back, grinning an entirely new grin at you, hazy and euphoric.

"It's not midnight yet", he mutters, the slightest bit out of breath.

"I don't care", you mumble, drawing him right back in for another kiss. You think you might be addicted. You simply can't get enough of him. You can't get enough of Tyler Owens.

But then a thought strikes you, and you pull away with a grin that makes him raise his eyebrows.

You chuckle against his lips.

"If you feel it, chase it, right?"

[tightjeansjavi]

warm me up

A/N: the voices won this round! @strang3lov3 & @speckledemerald also, this was my first time writing game!joel 👀 this could also be show!joel if that's what you're into! This fic really got away from me today and I didn't think it would be nearly as long as I planned it to be..but that's just sometimes how things work out 😉 huge thank u to Bug for making me this cute lil mood board and I LOVE the deers!!🤍

~word count: 3.3k~

Summary: while on patrol, you and Joel find yourselves caught in a treacherous snowstorm.

Pairing I game!joel miller x f!reader

Warnings: smut (explicit & implicit) enemies to lovers, implied age gap (non-specific) consent, cock warming, one sleeping bag trope, close proximity, using one's body warmth for survival, denial of feelings, mean!joel, grumpy!joel, reader is a spitfire and gets under Joel's skin easily, joel has a big cock! He is a big big man! teasing, banter, sexual tension, fluff, foul language, pet names: (darlin, sweetheart, and princess) reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING!

Joel is freezing, shaking like a goddamn leaf. It’s ironic, given his disposition. You should have tried to retrace your steps back to Jackson hours ago, but the winter was unforgiving, and the two of you have found yourselves in a real pickle; a frozen one.

“I told you that we were going to end up getting lost out here, Joel.” You grumble alongside him with your arms crossed over your chest. Your teeth are chattering, and it’s grinding his gears.

“We ain’t fuckin’ lost, sweetheart.” He gruffs back and adjusts his rifle strap along his shoulder. “I know where I’m goin.’”

You scoff at this because if he did know where he was going, you wouldn’t be fucking lost in a fucking blizzard right now!

“Right. I’m sure you do know where you’re going, Joel.” You mutter sarcastically under your breath.

He whips around to face you, cheeks speckled in red from the cold and even in the lowlight, you can see individual snowflakes sticking to his lashes.

“Alright, miss ‘I know everything.’ Which way do you think we should go?” He awaits your answer with a cocked brow and his lips pursed together. They’re severely cracked and on the verge of bleeding from the bitter cold.

“Not the direction we’re currently headed, that’s for damn sure! Let’s just fucking turn around and retrace our steps.” You bite back and watch the way that his jaw ticks from your tone. God, you’re a real thorn in this man’s side.

“Retrace our steps?” He laughs, shaking his head to the side and sucks in a harsh cold breath of air into his lungs. “The snow has covered up our tracks, you idiot.” He’s so fucking condescending, and you’ve just about had enough with his shit attitude for one day. Your blood is positively boiling under your thick layer of clothes, and you’d much rather succumb to Mother Nature and her wrath than spend another minute with this insufferable, annoying, mean, and painfully handsome man.

“Fuck you, Joel. I’m retracing my steps whether you have a say in it or not!” You snap and turn on your heel before you feel a rough, gloved-clad hand grasp your upper arm and yank you back towards a hard and very solid presence at your back.

“Quit your fuckin’ yappin!’” He barks against the shell of your ear. His voice is rasped, crackling like a roaring fire. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere without me, you got that?!” His grip around your arm only tightens when you tried to shove him away, but he’s built like a fucking steel fridge, and you’re no match for him.

“Then stop being a fucking asshole, Joel! I’d rather freeze to death out here than spend another minute with you!”

You mean every word. Well, you think that you do.

He sneers at your attempt to wound him with your words, as if a man with a heart made out of pure concrete can possibly be affected by the means of your figurative little daggers. They ricochet off his body and fall to the snow, disappearing under a sheet of white. “I wouldn’t have to be an asshole if you would just fuckin’ listen for once in your life! God, when we get back, and we will, I’m tellin’ Tommy that I ain’t ever goin’ on patrol with your ass again.”

His steel-like grip loosens when you don’t immediately bite back like he expects you too. He wants you to fight back, to call him names and send his own blood boiling because at least then he feels alive.

“Fine. We’ll do it your way.” You nearly whisper and bite down on the inside of your cheek, tasting harsh copper on your tongue.

“Fine.” He agrees and finally releases your arm. “We’re gonna wait out this damn storm for the night, and then tomorrow we’ll retrace our steps home. Who knows, sweetheart. Tommy might have already sent out a search party for us.”

“Let’s fucking hope that’s the case. The sooner this storm lets up, the better.” You think you’re going to cry, but you push your tears down as far as you possibly can. You have to conserve your energy, after all. Besides, Joel Miller isn’t worth your precious tears. Not even close.

He begins to survey the surrounding area. The woods offered some reliable cover with the thick evergreens acting as a shield from the treacherous wind. The snow is still falling in large flakes, but he might be able to get a fire going if he’s lucky.

“We should..probably y’know, share a sleepin’ bag for extra heat.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, feeling kinda silly in the moment because what did he have to be nervous for? His reasoning for sharing warmth was logical. It was just his survival instincts kicking in, right?

You, on the other hand, were unfazed by his request. Sure, it made perfect sense to share body heat with this man. Why the hell did he look so distraught over it - weirdo.

“Did Bear Grylls teach you that, Miller?” You look at him with a smirk playing on your lips. “If that’s the case, then we should probably sleep naked.”

That feeling that had laid dormant for so long, was beginning to reawaken and defrost at the thought of your warm, pliant, soft body being tucked up around him in close proximity. You were annoying, sure, and he could hardly tolerate your presence, but he couldn’t deny that you were a thing of beauty, and neither could his cock.

“No. Some reality TV star didn’t teach me the survival skills that I know, sweetheart. I’m jus’ that good.” He sounds cocky, full of himself and perhaps there’s a bit of eagerness detected in his tone? Maybe the dead giveaway is the way his cheeks flush, and this time it isn’t because of the cold.

You shrug and drop your pack and sleeping bag at your boots. “Whatever you say, Joel.”

He clears his throat and drops his hand from where it was resting against the back of his neck. He stares at you for a second longer than he would have liked to, and then announces that he’s going to go find some wood for a fire, and for you to stay put.

You wave him off and unroll your sleeping bag with a huff and begin to mentally question how the hell is this grizzly of a man going to fit inside of your sleeping bag? Oh well! Time to defy all the odds that have been stacked against you.

When Joel returns, he finds you already tucked away under the sleeping bag with your clothes neatly folded on top of your backpack. He managed to find a few fallen tree branches that would make good kindling, and some thicker logs for the base of the fire.

He avoids making direct eye contact with you as he crouches down and constructs a fire that he hopes to god will keep the two of you warm throughout the cold night ahead.

You already have taken notice of his suddenly quiet and almost docile demeanor with just your head visible and peeking out of the sleeping bag

“Are you sure that fire is going to last the night, Joel?”

His shoulders and back immediately tense from your question and you can already picture him clenching his jaw and muttering under his breath.

“Ain’t no tellin’ if it will last the night, sweetheart.” He stokes at the ember glowing logs with the end of a spare stick before looking over his shoulder at you. “Y’comfy in there?” His voice rasps, dipping down an octave and sounding much, much, lower.

“Yep.” You chirp. “Nice and cozy in here, Joel. Did I mention it’s very, very warm?”

He snorts under his breath, tearing his gaze away from you and focuses back on the fire. “Yeah. I bet it is.”

What you really want to say is: and it would be even warmer if you were here with me. But you refrain, and instead bury your face further into the contained warmth emitting from the sleeping bag.

Joel is hesitating, and that part couldn’t be anymore obvious based on his tense stature. Maybe he could just accept losing feeling in his fingers and toes instead of crossing that boundary with you. Or, he could man up and deal with the immediate feelings that would come as soon as his hands would inevitably touch your warm skin.

“Joel?”

Your voice tears him away from his thoughts briefly. “Hm?”

“Aren’t you..cold?”

Freezing. My cock and balls are about to fuckin’ fall off.

“M’fine.” He insists.

“So goddamn stubborn.” He hears you mutter under your breath followed by the sound of the sleeping bag zipper being pulled down. “Get in here before you freeze to death. I’m serious, Joel.”

“Fuck off. I said m’fine.” He grumbles and turns over his shoulder to look at you once more. His eyes catch a sliver of skin, a nipple peeking out from under the fabric as you were sitting up. His head whips around so fast he swears that his brain just got rattled around in his skull.

“Would you just be a fucking man and take your clothes off and get in here?”

So impatient, he thinks.

“You jus’ wanna see me naked.” He quips back.

“For fuck sakes, Joel. I just don’t want you to freeze out here. Is that so hard to believe?”

Yes.

“Jus’..don’t peek. Alright?” He slowly stands up from his place alongside the fire as he starts to shuck his heavy coat off his shoulders.

“Fine. I won’t peek, okay? Scouts honor.” You promise him and bring your hand over your eyes to cover them.

He’s grumbling to himself the whole time as he begins to undress. He bitches about the cold, his cock, and his nearly frozen toes as you listen quietly to the sound of his belt buckle being undone. He does not fold his clothes neatly like you did and instead they are left in a pile near the fire. He dashes for your sleeping bag, yanking the zipper down in a fury and climbs inside.

It’s a tight fit indeed with barely any room for him to squeeze in but he makes it work.

“Fuck!” His yell is muffled as he struggles to make himself comfortable in what little space he has. “Fuckin’ cannot believe I actually listened to you.” He rubs his hands together, blowing hot air between them.

“Oh, shut up, you big baby.” You stifle a laugh which earns you a displeased glare. “We wouldn’t be in this mess if you just would have—”

“Do not start with me, sweetheart. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.” His brows furrow and his jaw is clenched so tightly, you’re shocked that it hasn’t shattered.

“You’re all bark and no bite, Joel.” You mutter back and roll over onto your side so your back is facing him. You close your eyes and fully intend to get some much needed and deserved sleep, but the man beside you is squirming and making a big fuss.

“Darlin’ I know you ain’t want anythin’ to do with a man like me, but it was your idea for us to get naked under here..so all I’m askin’ is—”

“Just do whatever it is you need to do, Joel. Can you just be quiet about it? All I want to do right now is sleep, and your fussing about is making that really fucking difficult for me to achieve.” You snap.

“Are you givin’ me permission, sweetheart? Cus’ the last thing I want is for you to bite my damn fingers off if I touch you. So as long as it’s alright with you..” he trails off and you take matters into your own hands by reaching behind you and finding his cold hands and yanking them around your body. You couldn’t help but yelp from the stark difference of temperature from your body heat to his hands.

“You’re fucking freezing, Joel.” You state the obvious and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. I didn’t exactly have time to warm them up, sweetheart. My apologies that my hands aren’t at the right temperature for ya.” You think you hear him snicker under his breath, but maybe it’s just his close proximity that makes you hear things.

“Whatever. It’s fine.” You reassure him.

His hands are big, huge, and the skin on his palms and fingers are rough. The feeling overall is quite pleasant, and soon enough his hands don’t feel like an ice block - quite the opposite actually.

He grunts softly as attempts to make himself comfortable without pressing himself into your back. It’s proving to be a challenge as it is, and he has this feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, that this challenge is going to get the best of him.

“What’s wrong now, Joel?” You try to ignore the way his thumbs are gently stroking the space between the curve of your breasts and under your rib cage, and how his touch on your skin is beginning to light a fire in your belly, and between your thighs. His touch is gentle and it’s making your head spin with need and desire.

“I jus’—I don’t wanna make y’feel uncomfortable s’all.” He admits, voice rasping deeply. “I’m fuckin’ freezin’, darlin’ but I don’t wanna—”

“Just shut up and stick your dick in me, Joel. You’ll be warmer then.” You surprise both yourself and him.

His meaty palms squeeze you gently, fingertips kneading the flesh as he inhales a shaky, yet audible breath. The tight confines of your shared sleeping bag suddenly feel ten times tighter, and hotter. It’s suffocating in a delicious sense that you and Joel are stuck here together in this rather..unfortunate situation. You hate him, and he hates you, yet the thought of his thick cock nestling between your thighs sounds like absolute heaven on a plate right now.

Joel thinks he’s on the verge of passing out from your vulgar statement. It’s been god knows how long since he’s felt the warmth of a woman’s body around his cock. It’s been too goddamn long, he thinks.

“..well, if you’re askin.’” He whispers as his hands maneuver your body to press back against him. One strong arm anchors itself around your waist, engaging you in a warm hold when you feel his hard, broad chest pressing against your back. You haven’t even seen his cock, yet you already can tell that he’s big. The word big might not even be able to describe the massive size that is Joel Miller.

“This doesn’t mean anything. Right, Joel?” You ask through the thick growing tension that coils itself around you and the burly man beside you like a snake.

“Doesn’t mean nothin’ at all, sweetheart. Jus’ sharin’ body heat for survival, like you said.” He rasps and blows a hot puff of air against the back of your neck as his strong thighs wrap around your own. Even this man’s feet are fucking huge in every sense.

Y’know what they say about big feet? An even bigger—heart. I was going to say heart.

“Okay.” You squeak out as you relax further into his hold around you.

“Can you jus’ let me know if you’re uncomfortable at any point? Cus’ if that’s the case, I’ll slip right out. No questions asked, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his apparent nervousness. It was sweet, in a Joel-like fashion. Hell must have frozen over right then and there because the Joel you had grown so accustomed to, was anything but sweet.

“Wow. You sure know how to romance a lady up, Miller. Did Tommy teach you how to do that?” You couldn’t help but wiggle your ass back against him. The thought of reaching down between your thighs and touching yourself crossed your mind, but you refrained.

He laughed, and it sent a wave of arousal gushing like a river because his laugh was beautiful. It was music to your fucking ears.

“Shut the fuck up.” His teeth grazed at the spot where your neck meets your jaw. He bit down, drawing blood to the surface of his indentation in your skin. “I taught Tommy everythin’ he needs to know on romancin’ a woman. Don’t get it twisted, sweetheart.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, big boy.” You nearly purred. Your back arched towards him, a suppressed moan desperate to be set free when his teeth marked you.

“I think someone is a bit too eager over this whole arrangement that we have found ourselves in.” He comments in a low rasp and his hand drifts down from your hip and nudges your thighs apart with a practiced ease. His heavy cock pressed firmly against your lower back as he let out another praising grunt from between his lips.

“Stop playing with me, Joel. I don’t want to be played with.” You hiss under your breath when you feel the backside of his knuckles slowly drag through the seam of your cunt.

“Y’sure about that, sweetheart? If you don’t wanna be played with, then what do you want?”

Frankly, he’s taking too long for your liking and you decided then and there to take matters into your own hands; literally. You reach between your bodies before he even has a chance to protest as you blindly search for his cock. Your warm palm barely fits around the girth of him.

“I want you to take your cock and stretch me open, Joel. Think you can handle that? Best not keep a lady waiting. It’s awfully rude.” You tsk under your breath.

He growls as his hips buck upwards into your hand like he’s never felt the touch of a woman’s palm before in his life.

“Fine. I like a woman that knows exactly what she wants, anyway. Won’t keep ya waitin’ any longer, princess.”

Joel Miller is a man of his word and just when you think he’s bluffing, you feel the thick press of the head of his cock sliding through your slick folds and notching at your entrance.

He groans against your ear, jaw clenching, and teeth grinding because you’re tight and hugging him like a fucking fist.

“Jesus fuck. That’s a tight cunt if I’ve ever felt one.” He rasps as you slowly pull him in further at the rate that he pushes his hips. Soon, he’s bottomed out with his hips firmly pressed into your ass. His legs stay tangled through yours as his arms come to wrap you up in his hold once more.

“Fuck.” You breathe, lashes fluttering as he stretches you open. He fits snuggly, almost as if your pussy was making a home for his cock to stay there awhile, all cozy and warm with you. “See? Was that so fucking difficult?”

He shakes his head and you swear you can feel him grinning against your skin. “Nope. It wasn’t difficult at all, sweetheart. In fact, I think I’ll stay here awhile.” Yeah, he’s definitely enjoying this.

You smile at this, burying your face into the solid muscle of his bicep, pressing the lightest kiss there. Maybe you even nibbled on it, and maybe he chuckled and pulled you in even closer.

“Stay as long as you’d please, Joel.” You whisper softly.

Come morning the embers from the fire had long since died out, and the storm had since passed. You and Joel were still a bunch of tangled limbs and connected warmth by the time Tommy and the rest of patrol had found you.

Joel had since grown soft with his cock still buried deep within your warmth and his face was buried in your neck with peaceful snores slipping past his plush lips. His eyes barely peeked open when he heard familiar voices muffled, yet nearby. Tommy had just brushed a bit of snow off the top of the sleeping bag and pulled the zipper down when he was met with a sight that he wasn’t expecting.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He chuckled and shot his big brother a cheeky wink.

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[jarofstyles]

❛ come in me. i need you to fill me up. ❜

JEJE

This is late 😭 I wrote this a few days ago and forgot to post it… but it’s from the dialogue prompts I reblogged a bit ago and I felt like writing something!! 😃 and it’s dirty of course

This is from Illicit universe if you want to imagine that, or could be a standalone ❤️ and it’s pure filth

Check out our Patreon

Warnings- unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, the usual filth

——

Y/N mewled as she felt his cock filling her up. thorough, deep, hot, her face felt hot as he pressed down on her tummy. “Holy fuck.” The whimper resonated through their bedroom, along with the wet slap of skin and the soft sound of her little gasps and his grunts.

Harry's eyes rolled back as he felt her clenching around his cock, the sound of her mewling and whimpering driving him wild. It always did. He gripped firmly, fucking into her with his deep thrusts. Feeling every inch of her was what he needed more than anything. "Fuck, baby… fuck, I needed you." Harry's eyes rolled back, his head thrown back in ecstasy as he felt his cock filling her tight, wet pussy over and over again. It had been too long without it. He liked his job, but being away from her for business trips was becoming increasingly hard. Keeping his hand pressed firm on her stomach, his eyes refocused as her tits bounced with each thrust.

His length felt thick inside of her, stretching her cunt to its limits. It had been weeks since he’d been inside of her and it was showing with how she felt when he pushed inside. With each thrust, he filled her up completely, making her feel full to the brim with his hot, throbbing prick. The goal was always to make her feel good, full, satiated.

“Did you miss it?” Y/N panted, peering up at him with a loaded gaze. “Did you miss my cunt while you were away, H?”

Harry groaned at the dirty talk, his cock twitching inside of her. “Shit, angel... So much. You’ve got no fuckin’ idea. I couldn't stop thinking about it." He shifted his hips, changing the angle and hitting a particularly sensitive spot that made her gasp and tighten around him even more.

“What did you think about?” she needed to know. their phone sex hadn’t been as frequent as she wanted, but he was making it up to her now. Giving her exactly what he knew she’d need.

Harry's breath hitched as he thought back to their phone calls. They were good, anything was with his love, but nothing could compare to the real thing. Flesh against flesh, the taste, the sounds… "I thought about fucking you in the shower, bending you over the sink and pounding you out until the water turned cold." He thrust harder, the headboard jostling a bit as he looked down at the pretty cunt he had missed so desperately. “Had the perfect bathroom and no pretty little slut t’fuck full. S’a goddamn shame…”

“Shit.” Y/N whined, wrapping her legs tighter around his waist. “I know you hate wasting cum, baby. M’sorry I wasn’t there for you to have when you got worked up. Next time you’ll just have t’take me with you.”

Harry grunted, making a note of that. No trips for that long without her again. He would have to ensure she was there next time. Pay for her his damn self if they cared about him taking a plus one. Clingy? Maybe. But she was his god damn soul mate and he needed her. "I fucking hate it when you're not there, Y/N. I end up jerking off in the shower, imagining it's your tight little cunt I'm fucking." His lips ghosted hers. “It all belongs inside of you.”

Y/N's back arched off the bed, her nails digging into Harry's back as he thrust into her harder and spoke dirty words to her. Hazy eyes glazed over with pleasure at his words. Her legs pulled him closer, trying to get deeper, deeper, deeper.

“Put it in me then.” She coaxed. “I missed it just as much. Hate feeling empty.” Her body loved every single bit of him, getting off on the mere grazes of his fingers but the desperation he showed had her dripping around him. Call her selfish but she wanted everything. “Cum in me. Need you t’fill me up. Give me what you’ve been holding back.” She mewled. “I want it.”

Harry's control snapped at her words, his body reacting to the request before his brain could connect. It wasn’t his normal, but the combination of how good she felt, how long it had been and her words had shot the target. He slammed into her one last time before stilling deep inside her. His hips jerked a few times as he unloaded his heavy balls deep into her spasming cunt. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! M’sorry baby, I couldn’t hold it.” He slurred, body shaking slightly, mouth slack. Her orgasm usually came first, but she had triggered it without giving him warning. “I jus’ fucking missed you so much…”

Harry's cum shot deep into her, filling her cunt to the brim with hot, thick ropes of his essence. It overflowed slightly from around their joined bodies, running down her ass and onto the bed. Filthy, messy, completely them. His cock twitched and throbbed inside of his girl, each pulse sending another spurt of cum deep into her, filling the primal need. He panted, kissing her between inhales as his cum continued to ooze out of her. “M’sorry baby. I’ll take care of you in a second.”

Arms wrapped around Harry, holding him close as she pulled his face against her neck. Soft strokes to his hair followed whispered soothing words as he caught his breath. In all honesty? She found it incredibly hot that he had lost control like that, pouring his heart and cum into her without hesitation. It was a compliment. “It’s okay, baby.” Comforting him was instinct. “I know you’ll take care of me. wanted your cum so bad anyway…” She kissed the side of his head, letting him catch his breath. “Think you have some more for me?”

Greedy, greedy. Always needy. It’s something he utterly loved about her.

Harry groaned against her neck before slowly pulling from her heated channel. White cum dribbled down her ass as he grinned sheepishly at her question. “Maybe.” He gave her a sly little smile, licking his lips as she pulled his mouth down for a kiss. “Let me clean you up with my tongue n’food and give you your own orgasm first. Need you t’be taken care of.”

[theyluvlyss]

age gap😃? NOTHING CRAZY, CHILL, but yk, like,,, just a little young thing in her 20s or sumn being scooped up by one (or two🤭) of these older, more mature, aged like fine wine, and experienced men,,, that's all🥰.

I am thirsting so hard for remy after watching the movie… with this I can just imagine a young yet powerful mutant coming to the void and she never got the experience in sex in her timeline. So remy takes it upon himself to teach her the ways of the bedroom… first time may have involved a mistake with her powers when she cums for the first time but he’s so understandable and says like “you need to practice your control mon cherie” so he just dives back in for more (he makes her cum like 5-7 times from head alone cause he makes his woman feel amazing I bet) this is so long sorry hope you like this 😅🩷

𝐇𝐅𝐉𝐒𝐊𝐂𝐈𝐉𝐆𝐊𝐆𝐏𝐋𝐆𝐈𝐄𝐊𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐈𝐈𝐅𝐊𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐉𝐆 !!!!!

first of all,,, never apologize for length, especially to me who makes everything way longer than need be, we (I, it's just me, idk who "we" is lol) love and appreciate that shit over here. ppl who love absurdly long fics, requests, and other media unite✊🏽 !!!

second of all,,, *ugly sobbing* I'm always the writer and never (how does one actually say this properly🤔?) the writee, so for someone to have actually dropped this for me in my inbox is SO flattering and sweet and ughghfhf, you guys, I HIGHLY encourage more of this, I love it, I truly do.

third of all,,, THIS IS SO GOOD omg literally giggling and kicking my feet (I do that a lot on this app) !!! I am the same way, I saw gambit and just... idk what happened to me, something in my organic chemistry just altered forever and while I'm not and will probably never be a channing tatum girly, he did his goddamn JOB in that role, ATE IT TF UP👏🏽 (and I knew he would, it's about damn time like c'mon, he'd been promised the role for idk a decade or so like, again I say, about damn time) so while I might not be all over tatum, I am all over his portrayal of remy lebeau and I need more fics/content NEOOOWW😾 (plz😽) from y'all's little writer brains of yours.

anyways, onto what you've sent in specifically lmao, you said "young yet powerful mutant" and "mistake with her powers" and "...practice your control..." and for whatever reason, my brain conjured up a mutant reader with wings or just a power that involves maybe floating/telekinesis...😃✋🏽hear me out...

so, remy's getting busy, right, and he's making reader feel so good and, like you mentioned, she ain't got much control over her powers yet cuz she's younger than him, so she cvms and boom, her wings (whether they be feathered or fairy) just pop out without her realizing😻. or with telekinesis, the better she's feeling/closer she's getting, the more stuff/higher she's causing things around them to float because again, little and/or loss of control because he's making her feel that good (we all know he's got the tongue work of a god, I mean, just listen to the man speak for fuck's sake lmao🥴).

I think it'd definitely be a cute touch and fs something she'd get teased about from remy lmao.

[mingtinysworld]

Adrenaline Rush

Pairing: choi jongho x fem!reader

Genre: smut, fluff

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Jongho needs to blow off some steam after he's not satisfied with a performance, and you happen to be there for his assistance. Not that you mind.

Warnings: MDNI, rough, mean jongho, one face slap, throatfucking, hair pulling, degradation kink, use of names like (fucktoy, cumslut), cum swallowing

A/n: I SWEAR I did NOT plan to make Jongho this mean??? But it's ok because he's all cute and sweet at the end. I do love me a mean jongho though. Enjoyyyy please like, comment, and reblog!! - J<3

You nervously wait backstage, eyes on the monitor as staff put up the intricate set pieces for Ateez's stage. You know how hard the boys have worked for this insanely monumental opportunity. Especially Jongho, who has been nonstop belting his voice to perfect the high notes.

A few hours prior, Jongho had started feeling pain in his throat. He was afraid of letting down the group when he's known to be the powerhouse vocal that he is. You knew that no matter what, he would do an amazing job, but you were nervous on his behalf due to his harshness to himself.

You let out a stuttered breath and bounce your leg as they go on stage. They look majestic, and everyone in the crowd seems to absolutely love them. They perform almost their whole set, everything being more than perfect. You feel like crying from how proud you are, of each and every member. Then it's time for Wonderland.

This is the song that Jongho has been nervously dreading. The intense belt of 4 octaves leaves him to dread it every time. But you know that he kills it every single time, and you're certain he will today as well.

He steps forward, takes a deep steady breath, and goes for it. It's as if angels have come down to make you ascend with them. You're convinced that Jongho is not a real human being, he's an angel. No one could be that perfect, that talented, that beautiful. Your jaw is wide open with amazement, and you feel like you could cry.

They take their bows as the crowd erupts with so much love and appreciation for Ateez. They start walking offstage and you go to meet and congratulate them. You scream and clap as they emerge one by one, making them look at you with exhausted adoration. As soon as you see Jongho you lunge towards him, looping your arms around his neck and squealing with excitement.

"Babyyyy oh my god that was amazing. I'm so so proud of you!!" You give him countless pecks across his cheeks as he holds you loosely. You pull back to see his face is pulled taut and jaw clenched, and you tilt your head in confusion.

"Love? What's wrong?" You ask with a pout.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds and takes a deep breath. He leans closer to your face and speaks with a barely recognizable voice.

"If I don't fuck your face right now I think I might explode." He says intensely.

Your eyes widen at his admission and you feel like you're hit with lightning from head to toe. You swallow thickly and attempt to speak but all that comes out is a jumble of words.

"Jongho w-why are you so intense?" All you feel at the moment is pure arousal, slick coating your thin underwear. He groans dramatically and hangs his head.

"I messed up and I'm so goddamn angry right now I can barely speak." He manages with gritted teeth.

"But you did-" Before you can finish your encouraging sentence he grabs your wrist and spins you around, holding it behind your back. He leads you towards an empty costume room and you can feel his solid body walking right behind you.

"Shut the fuck up and let me use your mouth. The only good use for it apparently." You comply immediately and let him handle you like a rag doll, enjoying every second of it. As soon as he locks the door, he throws you down to the floor and you look up at him with a wide eyed expression that is screaming "ruin me."

It would truly be a shame if he didn't complete your request, so really he's only being the generous and giving boyfriend that he is. You take fluttery breaths in anticipation and sit there looking so pretty and pliant for him.

He steps forward and with one hand caresses your cheek gently. You close your eyes in bliss and lean into his touch like an obedient kitten. That is until he delivers a harsh slap to the same worshipped cheek. You jolt in surprise and hiss at the sting his palm left, but you stay as still as possible to be a good girl for Jongho.

He smiles like he just won a reward. Maybe he did because the sight of you in front of him is enough to make him burst. He pulls down his pants low enough to pull his aching cock out, but still being mostly dressed. He's leaking so much precum that it's threatening to spill onto the floor and you have to resist the urge to just lick him clean immediately.

He hooks a thumb into your mouth, lifting your head backwards to a point of almost discomfort. The light bounces off of your glazed eyes, making them look like pools of desire and helplessness. He pushes down on your tongue and you don't waste any time wrapping your lips around his digit and giving him a preview of what's to come.

Patience running thin, he pulls his finger out of your soft mouth with a pop, and gathers your hair into one fist. With the other hand he guides his leaking member into your awaiting mouth. You instantly choke around him, somehow forgetting how thick he really is. You try to breathe calmly through your nose to control your gag reflex.

He slides in farther, reaching to the entrance of your throat. He gives an experimental thrust and goes through the restrictive barrier between your mouth and throat. You instinctively swallow around him, resulting in him throwing his head back and groaning. He loses all self control and starts using your throat according to his needs.

He sets a wild pace instantly, hips never stuttering. He hits the back of your throat so sharply that you're sure you'll have giant bruises leftover. Jongho seems to have ascended to a completely different world, with his eyes closed like he's enjoying a nice yoga session. You dig your fingernails into your palms, leaving crescent indents. You want to do your best for Jongho, be a stress reliever, be the best fucktoy he's ever had. It's as if he's read your mind, because in the next second he starts to degrade you to the point your head feels cloudy.

"Who's a good fucktoy? Yeah that's right, you are. Forever my little cumslut aren't you? God I love the way your mouth feels, I could fuck it forever." The only thing you can do is let out pathetic whimpers to confirm his words. You love being used by him, being his toy. As he nears his orgasm he goes even harder. He's now using your hair to pull you back and forth along his length, sending pleasurable sharp pain to your abused scalp.

Your nose meets his stomach and you're held there while Jongho's shooting his load into your throat. You sputter and gargle around him, releasing droplets around the side of your mouth. His stomach clenches in and out as he empties everything into you. As soon as he pulls you off of him you start to cough intensely. He immediately locates a water bottle to soothe your sore throat. You gulp it down greedily, savoring every precious drop.

He helps pull you up, and supports your wobbly form. Even if he treats you so roughly, you're always his princess first and foremost. He runs a gentle hand down your back, rubbing soothingly.

"Did I do too much, my love?" He whispers worriedly.

You shake your head assuredly. "No baby, you were perfect. You were perfect on stage too you know." You croak with a raised eyebrow. He laughs at your expression and softens up.

"Oh what did I do to deserve you? I just think the world of you sweetheart." He rests his head against your forehead, breathing deeply. Your heart beats loudly, feeling the flutter of a thousand butterflies inside. You break apart and give him a cheeky grin.

"I demand a bath and a massage." You raise your head defiantly, daring him to disagree. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief.

"You don't ever change oh my god. How about I do you one better? I'll give you a bath and massage while singing you your favorite songs. Followed up by some very cuddly cuddles. What do you think?" He asks.

"I think you have yourself a deal mister Choi best singer and performer Jongho." You give him a bow and he playfully smacks you.

"Alright alright, get it together." He pretends to grumble grumpily.

"Okayyy mister bear." You retort while running away.

"HEY.” He says while chasing after you.

[peachie-bumblebee]

Hiii your nsfw headcanons for FNAF SB was INTENSE. IT WAS SOMETHING I WASNT READY FOR LMAO

So i was wondering can you do nsfw headcanons for Sun/Moon too?

HOLY SHIT! My first ask on this account- I LOVE receiving asks on anything and everything- from comments to requests! As for your ask- of course love <3

NSFW SUN/MOON HEADCANONS

MINORS DNI

did i kinda snap with this one?? y’all let me know :))

CW: OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, SOMNOPHILIA, MILD EXHIBITIONISM, CHOKING

SUN

FUCKING BRACE YOURSELF!

oh no. oh nonononono. if he’s set his eyes on you you’re kind of in trouble because he-

he fucks like a rabbit. he’s the type to practically crawl on top of his partner and beg to fuck them.

as for his sex style? fast. i don’t think he knows how to take it slow.

he will rut his partner into the goddamn floor, breathing heavy and endless thank-you’s spilling out of his mouth

he’s absolutely insane over it. he’d be drooling if he could.

he’s the type who can’t keep his hands off his partner. if you came to visit him and y’all were alone he’s immediately snaking his hands down your hips and pressing his erection into your ass.

he can’t give head cuz he doesn’t have a tONGUE but you best believe that if he could he’d be down like a damn dog about it.

i’m thinking about them long ass fingers YEOOOUCH

if his partner worked overnight at the pizzaplex and needed to take a shower his spidey senses would fucking go off

you’d turn around and his fingers would be curled around the door opening like

“Can I come in? Please say yes. I’ll leave you alone if you want but please please if you’re okay please let me in please. Please.”

he can’t help himself. Pussy/Bussy drunk ass motherfucker.

FASCINATED by fingering his partners. He loves watching them slide in and out with a PASSION. If they left a mess on them he’d nearly die and go to heaven. I swear to god.

let’s be so fucking fr I know for a fact he’d like to be called a Good boy. It’d kill him.

worships the ground you walk on. Fucks like he’s trying to win the gold medal of making you feel good. Please tell him you did.

he can go forever. He doesn’t seem to get satisfied at all. If it was up to him he’d fuck until he straight up absolutely had to get charged.

literally he’ll fuck until his partner either taps out or (consensually ofc)

YEAH HE WHIMPERS. WHAT ABOUT IT.

call him out on it and it gets worse. he’ll tell you that he can’t help it- he can’t.

it’s a orange to yellow gradient with a flushed pink-orange tip. long and skinny. i was solid on this before and i’m solid on it now.

for those who are wondering NO i don’t think any of the animatronics have metal genitalia. think dildo/fleshlight material that gets warm.

he definitely jerks off into some of your clothes if you left them there for him. if you caught him he would be embarrassed but ALSO- if you want him to keep going he’s willing.

more than willing, even.

MOON

ALSO BRACE YOURSELF.

if sun fucks like a rabid animal who can’t keep his mouth shut, moon fucks hard and mostly silently. it’s almost spooky.

he likes to watch. he likes to observe.

he’d fuck his partner from behind with a hand over their mouth, hard and medium paced. but fuck it’s hard.

silently watching his partner’s eyes roll back, hissing through his teeth at the feeling of them clenching down- only one or two words ever coming out.

“Slut.”

“Good.”

you get the picture.

WITH prior consent (everything, and I mean EVERYTHING I write includes consent) he’d watch you sleep.

and jerk off over your sleeping body.

he won’t leave a mess, don’t worry.

…unless you’d like that.

if he knew you wanted it, he’d push a finger slowly in while you slept and work it in and out, careful to keep you slumbering

if you woke up, he’d hush you and tell you to go back to sleep.

he won’t stop though.

both of them are jealous creatures. but moon especially so. if something makes him jealous then it’s absolute brutal thrusts down into his partner with their legs up around his shoulder. maybe choking them out.

don’t worry though. he knows his strength.

he’s 100% the type to silently overstimulate his partner. you could be begging and sobbing and covered in your own fluids and he wouldn’t stop unless you safeworded.

dick is pale blue to white gradient with a pink flushed tip

he doesn’t even make much of a sound when he cums. he just hisses through his teeth.

ooooh if he feels like you like sun more? oh no. oh no you’re done for. he’s gonna prove why he’s the best. it’s gonna be a problem.

a problem you enjoy but STILL

remember: he’s always watching.

always.

I HOPE YALL ENJOYED! please comment, reblog w comments, and request!!! it really motivates me <3

[wxnheart]

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐳𝐚, 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐡 (𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 E𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧)

part one

Say my name I promise I'll love you if you do it So do it for me

Chaos doesn't always have to be bad, you know.

Take for instance the bed. After some good sex. The bed that'll be a fucking mess.

Pillows everywhere (you swear you have more pillows than you do blankets; thank the Pillow Princess for that), covers thrown haphazardly, and you'll be there, sweaty and sated, resting in a pile of muscled arms, legs, and chest.

You usually don't know who the hell you're laying on you're so fucked out but damn their chest feels good.

Heh. You thought your libido was high but König and Simon got you beat there, too. By miles. Holy fucking shit. You and König also joke that Simon's the slut of the three of you. The bastard doesn't deny it, either.

As much as Simon and König love you, best believe there's always a competition between the two men when it comes to you sexually.

You'll also find out that the winner of their sparring matches is also the one who gets to fuck you first.

Those hands of König's aren't just good with a knife. He can make you come with those fingers alone.

He's also the one who loves to go down on you (this isn't to say that Simon doesn't). Will feast on you forever if you let him. Will also encourage (read: command) you to fuck his mouth or ride his face.

Dirty talk — Simon is a fucking pro. While König's showing you what his mouth does, Ghost is practically growling in your ear and telling you everything they'll do to you. Everything.

They can and will subject you to some orgasm denial if you wanna fuck around and find out, too.

And oh baby, when you get down on your knees and return the favor... it takes everything in them not to bust right then and there.

König goes crazy when you suck the head of his dick. Simon has this one vein on the underside of his. That's his weak spot. Have fun.

König loves it when you run your nails down his back while he's fucking you. Loves to see those marks in the mirror.

You also found that one spot on Simon's shoulder that if you bite down on it, the fucker goes crazy.

He loves covering you in hickeys, too.

König is the gentle but firm kisser. Simon is the passionate, tongue-fuck, bite-your-lip-and-leave-a-mark kisser. So bite his lower lip and leave a mark, goddamnit.

One time they were away and you were so fucking horny, you called them up. They heard you, heard your pleas as you touched yourself, as you told them you missed their hands, their mouths, and their dicks. You told them that you needed them to come home and fill you up. You moaned so wantonly and practically screamed when you came. They were dead silent the entire time.

König was so damn flustered and hard and frozen like a goddamn statue. Ghost was fucking seething. He was so fucking pissed. He was so fucking aroused. Why the fuck would you do that, knowing he wants nothing more than to be home, fucking you into the mattress, fucking your face, or god knows what else. Refused to rub one out and most definitely saved that for when he got home.

Simon and König also got you back once by calling you and making you masturbate for them. And god, you can never forget the way they sounded, authoritative, their accents heavy and thick with desire as they fucking ordered you to touch yourself and moan for them. Yeah, that's it. Moan for them, baby. Cum for them...

Oh, yeah, back to competition. One time König was away and Simon was home and you spent the better part of the day teasing him. He told you in so many words to fuck around and find out. You found out alright. Goddamn, did you find out.

He made you ride him. He made you ride him and like fuck were you stopping anytime soon. König called, Simon made you answer the phone (on speaker no less) and made you say his name ("Say it, love. Tell him who's making you fucking scream."). Oh shit. Silence on the other end. Again. Oh fuck, you knew it was on when König got home.

...And when you're busy catching your breath, sweaty and sated, wrapped in muscled arms, after some good ass sex—"Ready for another round?" What? You look up and two pairs of eyes stare back, clouded with feral want, and oh fuck—

[fellthemarvelous]

Aziraphale hate makes my brain hurt.

Like let's be really fuckin' for real here.

Neurodivergent fans have repeatedly said that Aziraphale is autistic coded. I agree with them. I have never been diagnosed but I wonder about myself. If only I could get a doctor to take me seriously enough to test me for it, but alas, I'm a 43-year-old woman living in the good ole US of A.

Those with religious trauma have repeatedly said that they identify with him as well. I'm one of those people. I endured 12 years of Catholic schools and just as much time being taught a very black and white view of things that I've had to spend more than 20 goddamn fucking years working to unlearn.

I find that my views as a survivor of religious abuse are often dismissed because people keep wanting to say "Aziraphale doesn't have religious trauma." Yes, thank you, I get that, but unless you've been indoctrinated and brainwashed into a very black and white view of the world, you probably don't understand the kind of feelings Aziraphale's onscreen experiences evoke in so many of us. Heaven might not be real, but the feelings of "God is always watching" still stick with me today even though I no longer believe in God. I have entirely denounced Christianity because of my own personal experience, and I refuse to allow people to try and guilt me or shame me for trauma that I didn't ask for. I wasn't given a choice.

As a child I was told that God was real and always watching everything you do (just like Santa Claus) and can hear everything you say and knows everything you are thinking. Do you know what I learned to do in order to cope with this overwhelming and anxiety-inducing information as a small child? I learned to censor my thoughts. I never spoke up, and I have always felt like I was putting on a show for people because I had to be who I was told to be or I would get into trouble.

Aziraphale said "poverty is a virtue" during The Resurrectionists, and as someone who grew up in the Bible belt and went to private schools, I was taught this very same shit by the Catholic church. He learned in that very same episode that "poverty is a virtue" is actually a tool of oppression to keep the poor poor and the wealthy wealthy. I know we all watched the episode. He went into that episode believing what he said, but by the end of it he knew it was actually utter bullshit. Aziraphale is not ignorant. He's highly intelligent, and he has never been too proud to admit when he has been wrong. He accepts that the information he learned before is not matching up with reality.

And it's so obvious some of you have zero experience with that type of indoctrination because of how very little empathy you show Aziraphale for his "mistake" of "choosing Heaven over Crowley" and "making Crowley sad" so clearly Aziraphale must somehow be "abusive" and "manipulative" and "selfish" and "self-centered" because he didn't choose to run away with Crowley at the end of season two.

First of all.

FIRST OF ALL...

Aziraphale has a mind of his own.

Aziraphale is always going to try and do what is right.

Aziraphale is an angel. He's a being of love. And the reason he's so "bad" at being an angel is because he actually wants to protect humanity. He has always loved humanity. He repeatedly has to contend with what is "right" versus what is "good" and "wrong" versus "evil". Yeah, he has flaws. He's an angel, not a goddamn fucking saint. He has lived on Earth for more than 6,000 years. He has seen everything. He loves doing human things.

He's obsessed with magic. It makes him so happy. He's not very good at it...well not when he's trying to put on a show for Crowley.

He chose to learn French the hard way, so even though he knows every single language in the world, he chooses to be mediocre at French. Something that annoys and amuses Crowley at the same time.

He loves to dance even though angels aren't supposed to dance, and dancing with Crowley was what he wanted the most.

He owns a bookshop and refuses to sell any of his books because they are books he's had for as long as there have been books. He will chase customers away from his collection, and Crowley understands how much they mean to Aziraphale because he refuses to sell any when Aziraphale leaves him in charge.

He and Crowley have been speaking to each other in coded language for more than 6,000 years. They have to be very careful about what they say because Heaven and Hell are always watching.

Heaven has photographs of Crowley and Aziraphale sitting or standing together throughout history. Hell had one photo of Crowley and Aziraphale actually working together and it was Aziraphale's quick thinking and how good he actually is at sleight of hand tricks that managed to get that photo out of Furfur's hands so he wouldn't be able to turn Crowley over to the Dark Council.

Aziraphale saved Crowley from being taken to Hell again. He wasn't able to save Crowley from Hell in Edinburgh, but he sure as heck managed to save Crowley from Hell during WWII. He took Crowley to his bookshop and showed Crowley that he stole the picture from Furfur. He saved Crowley.

You get that, right?

Aziraphale SAVED Crowley.

People always talk about how it's "always Crowley saving Aziraphale" because apparently heroic acts are only heroic when they are grand gestures. The sleight of hand wasn't heroic at all, am I right? It wasn't sparkly and showy. It wasn't interesting enough, therefore not heroic. At least that's all I'm hearing when people start with their "blah Aziraphale deserves to suffer because I have no imagination or ability to understand the media in front of me blah", and all these reasons he deserves to suffer is because Crowley almost got hurt.

Aziraphale did that without flinching and I watch that part closely every single time. He's not scared for himself. He's scared for Crowley, and he managed to hold onto that photograph. He did not fail Crowley. He protected Crowley.

And so here's another thing that we like to point out. The way that Aziraphale, an angel who is effeminate and male presenting, an angel who is soft and full of love, an angel who is kind and forgiving because he has empathy and compassion, is somehow painted as abusive and manipulative. He's not violent, but he could easily fuck up your world. He doesn't use his powers. We have no idea how powerful he is because we only ever see him do small acts. He's used to hiding. It's the only way he has ever been able to protect Crowley.

And I'm not saying that Aziraphale has actually saved Crowley before means that Crowley hasn't also saved Aziraphale. Like, you get that those are not mutually exclusive and their relationship is not transactional, right? They have spent their entire existence protecting each other but never actually getting to be together because Heaven and Hell are always watching.

Yeah, Crowley fell. We all know this. We are aware of this. He was the serpent of Eden. He gave humanity the knowledge of free will.

But what we don't talk about is what Aziraphale gave humanity.

What did he give them?

We all know what it is!

Let's say it together!

He gave Adam and Eve his flaming sword because it was dangerous outside the garden and Eve was pregnant and she was already having a really bad day. He showed them compassion and gave them his extremely powerful angelic weapon so they would stand a chance on the outside of the garden. He gave humanity the gift of compassion. It's just unfortunate that his flaming sword became a weapon of War.

And then what did he do after that?

Ooooh, yeah, that's right.

God asked him about it and he straight up lied to her and pretended he had no idea where he'd managed to misplace it. She didn't say anything after that. He told Crowley the truth though. He told Crowley the truth even though Crowley fell.

Yeah, we know Aziraphale has done some really fucking questionable things. He and Crowley both suck at passing for human in front of observant people like Nina. They're not human. They are still learning, but they managed to experience human history together despite being on opposite sides and their experiences with humanity are what has shaped them into the compassionate and loving duo they are now. One of them is not better from the other.

This, my friends, is what we call meeting in the middle. It's why shades of gray is so important. Aziraphale constantly breaks the rules. Crowley refused to play by Heaven's rules. It's the reason he fell. He doesn't play by Hell's rules either. These two dorks figured out how to cancel each others' miracles out throughout human history in order to have more time learning about humanity and each other because working all day every day sucks when there are so many new things to learn and experience with the people you love.

We know Crowley and Aziraphale both love each other. Neither of them are good at hiding the hearts stars in their eyes.

But here's what's really fucking annoying about the Aziraphale hate.

Aziraphale was already crying when Crowley grabbed him and kissed him. Aziraphale is trying so very hard to do the right thing. He loves Crowley. He does. But he also has a duty to humanity, and he has taken that job very seriously since the creation of Adam and Eve. He sent them out into the world with a flaming sword so they would have a chance at surviving beyond the walls of the garden.

And he knows that Something Terrible is going to happen and he spent all of second season trying to figure out what that Something Terrible was while trying to have some sort of more honest and open relationship with Crowley, but again, they aren't human, they are a demon and an angel approaching life from opposite sides who met in the middle and fell in love with humanity together.

He wants more than anything to tell Crowley how he feels about him, but he wants to do something grand for Crowley because Crowley has always been grand and dramatic and sexy and a little bit scary.

Crowley is impulsive and has a temper and sometimes says the wrong thing but he has always trusted Aziraphale because Aziraphale gave him a chance even after he fell. Aziraphale chose to shelter him instead of smiting him while they stood on top of that wall. He knew he was supposed to kill Crowley, but oops, he gave his sword away to the humans so he didn't really have anything to kill him with and Crowley is the one who created nebulas. The Pillars of Creation is Crowley's work and Aziraphale was there to witness that, but he watched Crowley more than he watched the nebula. He witnessed the pure joy on Crowley's face when he said "let there be light" as a nebula full of colors exploded before their eyes. He was fascinated by Crowley.

But Aziraphale is going back to Heaven even though he has made it perfectly clear he absolutely has no desire to go back to Heaven. He told the Metatron this during their conversation. He spoke these words out loud. They exist.

But then The Metatron said this....

The Metatron. The very same angel who told Aziraphale in season one "to speak to me is to speak to the Almighty." He's the boss. He's the big guy. He's used to existing as a giant head and he had to give himself a body so he wouldn't stand out on Earth. And he knows that Aziraphale and Crowley have been working together since the beginning. He knows they worked together to prevent Armageddon in season one, and now he's made it clear he knows they were working together long before that. And let's face it, Aziraphale really wants to know what this Something Terrible is that Gabriel is running from so he can try to prevent it from happening.

It makes sense that he would want to take Crowley to Heaven with him because he would be able to keep Hell from getting their hands on him again. Aziraphale hates it in Heaven. He doesn't want to go, but Something Terrible is happening and Metatron isn't taking no for an answer, and maybe Heaven won't be so bad if Crowley is there with him. At least they can fix Heaven together.

But Crowley can't go back. We all get that. We don't blame him for saying no. It doesn't change anything.

Something Terrible is about to happen and Aziraphale has to figure out what it is. He wants to change Heaven.

He is fully aware that Heaven sucks. He still has faith in God. His faith isn't in Heaven. He deserted his platoon in season one and threw himself back to Earth so he could figure out how to make sure the war between Heaven and Hell doesn't happen.

But see, here's the thing. Heaven is at the top. Heaven has all the resources. Heaven is responsible for the creation of Hell. Heaven is empty and Hell is overpopulated. Aziraphale knows this. Crowley knows this. It's obvious every time we see either place. Both sides are desperate to go to war and will not hesitate to destroy humanity in the process. This is the opposite of what Crowley and Aziraphale want for humanity. If anyone can change Heaven, it's Aziraphale. He's the only one up there who gives a shit about humanity as far as we know. No one else is going to speak on humanity's behalf.

Some of us are so busy getting mad at Aziraphale for going back to Heaven and giving Crowley a Big Sad. Newsflash: Crowley is not the main character of Good Omens. Aziraphale and Crowley are equals, yet we wanna hold Aziraphale to higher standards because he's an angel, and when he makes mistakes it's proof that he's the bad guy.

Holy mother of all things that trigger my religious trauma, let me tell you. I spent my entire life hating myself every time I made mistakes. I've had to teach myself that just because I mess up sometimes doesn't mean I'm bad. It means I'm human. I still struggle with it. I probably always will. So when you say that Aziraphale deserves to be punished for breaking Crowley's heart, you not only ignore that Aziraphale's heart is also broken, you're saying he deserves to be punished for doing what he thinks is right.

Wanting to change Heaven for the better is not a bad thing.

And some of y'all wanna see him suffer for going back into the lion's den that is Heaven, knowing that he is already an outcast, that they have already tried to kill him once, knowing that he is a deserter, that he has been lying to Heaven about a lot of things, and you still think he's blinded by Heaven? You think he's just so naive and that's the only reason he's going back. He doesn't show his emotions the same way Crowley does so it means he doesn't care as much. He's expected to consider Crowley's feelings over his own when making choices. Like holy shit if all of that hasn't defined my experience as a woman with religious trauma in this fucking society. He's expected to be subservient to Crowley and if he doesn't do what Crowley wants then he's being unreasonable and illogical.

What the actual fuck, y'all.

Like seriously.

I'm sick of this bullshit. I had to step away from this fandom because of how toxic some people in this fandom are. It's not chasing me away, but the fact that I chose to hang out in a a more toxic fandom that is already notorious for being really toxic over a fandom that claims to be more open-minded and welcoming should probably tell you something.

It gave me a lot of perspective, and yeah, I'm still gonna speak up against the bullshit Aziraphale hate.

People are entitled to their opinions, but the Aziraphale hate isn't an opinion. It's just ableist, misogynistic garbage. At this point we all know y'all say these extreme things about Aziraphale because y'all get more joy out of the harm and alienation it is causing others.

Keep being loudly wrong, but if you think I'm not entitled to challenge shitty-ass, harmful, hateful discourse, bite my ass.

I'm not the one who lost the plot in this fandom.

[trashcanfanfics]

i would like to ask an imagine ir headcannons about Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk, Vox and Blitzø when their s/o tells them "i love you" for the first time

I think I did something like this for Alastor and Vox in an overlord headcanon ask but I'll do them for Angel, Husk, and Blitz :)

Edit: I can't fuckin believe I forgot Husk goddammit

Angel Dust:

You were tired after a very long day of just trying to go to the store to stock up the hotel kitchen. Charlie had unfortunately made you the unlucky soul to go out to do it. You found it hard to hate her, but in this moment you disliked her extremely. The car you'd been loaned was stolen and you had to try and carry everything back on your own. No one from the hotel was answering their phone, except your boyfriend who was on the other side of the Pentagram for a show. So you were on your own and completely fucked.

Hours later, you've been in several fights over these groceries and hit with the car that was stolen from you, but you finally made it to the hotel. Up the steps and stumbling your way to the kitchen, you think about how to ease your aching body.

The groceries put away, and a new list for tomorrow to get the things you'd lost/went bad in the time it took to get home, you flop on your bed with a groan. A few minutes later you fell asleep.

You woke up to a commotion. Groggy, you sat up and winced at the ache in all of your limbs. The noises sounded distant, like it was in the lobby, but loud enough to rouse you from a fitful nap. You stood with a slight stumble to go see what it could be, and to possibly tell whoever it is to shut the fuck up.

On the stairs, you heard Angel's voice yelling and more angry than you've ever known him to be. Charlie's voice came softer, trying to mediate between the other angry voice. It seemed like Vaggie and Angel were going at it again. You made your way slowly down the stairs, wincing at the pain in your feet and knees from your little adventure today.

"You fucks! You sent them out to get some stupid fuckin' groceries and you don't even make sure they're okay after they called you so many fuckin' times!" All four of his arms were waving around and his eyes were slightly bloodshot from the exertion of yelling at the top of his lungs. Vaggie looked ready to kill him again, and with a bit of shame mixed into her expression.

"Angel, I'm sure they're fine--" Charlie was cut off by Angel's yelling once again.

"They aren't answerin' their phone! None of you assholes have seen 'em! If they're so fuckin' fine then where the goddamn fuck are they?!" He stops a moment to catch his breath. "Where are they?" His voice changed from anger to desperation. His four shoulders slumped as he looked at the ground. You cleared your throat.

"Uh, Angel?" You voice was rough from the nap. He whipped around, the movement causing you to sway with dizziness. "Woah..." Angel hurried over to you and grabbed you up in all his arms, squeezing you tight.

"Oh my god, I thought something happened to you!" He pulled back to look at you, your eyes tired, your limbs limp, scratches and cuts and forming bruises. "Why...Why are you so banged up?" You blinked and looked at him before shaking your head.

"I'm tired." You had barely said the sentence before Angel scooped you up and took you back upstairs. Vaggie's distant huff of annoyance and Charlie's "glad you're okay!" were the last things from the conversation as Angel took you back to your room.

Thanks for carrying me, babe." You were placed on your soft bed and Angel made quick work of taking off your shoes. He didn't answer as he went to the connected bathroom. You heard the faucet start before you saw him enter the room again. "Angel?"

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" His voice sounded angry, but in a hollow way. Not accusatory, not really. It sounded worried, haunted almost. He made his way to you and helped you out of your shirt. "I called you. A lot." Your heart ached worse than the rest of your body at the small tone.

"It was broken when some of the groceries were stolen." You pointed to the night stand, where you placed the broken remnants of your poor phone. Angel glared at it like it was the one to blame for everything wrong in his life. He helped you get out of the rest of your clothes and into the tub.

"Let me help." He grabbed a rag and cleaned your scratches and cuts. His hands were gentle and he apologized softly every time you winced. He helped dry you off and bandaged the worse of the cuts before allowing you to change into fresh underwear and pajamas.

You two were cuddled up in your bed. His arms gently around you and your head in his fluff. Angel had been soft and quiet this entire time. It made you think that he probably thought something more serious had happened. You thought about the last thing you said to him before he left to work. "Get going, bitch" wasn't what you would want to leave him with.

"Hey, you still up?" Angel only groaned in response and you decided to continue. "I want you to know that I love you." Angel only held you tighter at your words. You knew he reciprocated and you snuggled up closer before falling into a better sleep.

Blitz:

All day you wanted to talk to him. All day you waited patiently for him to be done with work. He just kept getting busy. You hadn't even gotten more than a "hi" with a small peck. Normally that'd satisfy you, you would be fine all day with that. Today was different. Today was exactly 666 days since you started dating. You'd been counting and wanted to do a silly anniversary like all the other dumb couples.

"I can't even be mad at him." You flopped on your couch. "He wasn't counting with me. This was just me being sentimental." You rolled over and curled on your side. It felt ridiculous to be upset about it. Childish. A ping from your phone dragged you out of your wallowing for a second. You picked it up.

Blitz Baby <3: Wanna get takout tnite

You: Are you asking a question?? Or is this you demanding??

Blitz Baby <3: Asking

You: Then yes ;*

Blitz Baby <3: ;* ;* ;*

You giggled, feeling a little bit better. Maybe you two could finally watch that movie you'd been wanting to for a while. A newfound excitement filled you. You loved things like this. Nights in, watching movies or playing games or even just talking. Simple, just you two. Intimacy in the best way. You're sure Blitz felt the same. He seemed to really enjoy both your alone time together.

The both of you communicated a time and decided to chill at your place this time. You'd gotten the food, cleaned up a little, got into the nicest comfy clothes you had. Everything was set and perfect and cozy. There was even a pillow fort and plenty of blankets. You were buzzing with excitement when you heard your phone pinged.

Blitz Baby <3: Mite hv t reshcedg som thn came up

You: Aw what?? :( Okay...

Blitz Baby <3: Gimme liek 30 min I try tmak it short

You: Okay

Somehow you knew this was going to happen. It always did when you wanted to hang out. Work took him too long, you had your own job, his thing with the owl prince. Too many things got in the way. But you were stubborn and had the attitude that if something wanted to take him from you, it'd have to pry him from your cold dead hands. Tonight that was kinda squandered.

Hours had gone by and still no sign from him. No text, no call, no knock on the door. Nothing. A part of you was worried something happened; the rest was just upset. Not at him, but the universe. You were laying on your couch, pillow fort taken down in a fit of sadness. Only a few pillows were allowed to stay to help comfort you. You put his food in the fridge and ate most of yours already. A little bit was saved because he liked to eat some of your plate like he liked to feed you some of his.

A knock at your door roused you from your almost sleep. You sniffed and rolled off the couch to head towards the door. Attempting to rub the redness from your eyes, you curse yourself for allowing yourself a small cry over some arbitrary thing you made up. A giant bouquet was shoved into your face.

"What the--!" You grab the offending flowers and look to the criminal responsible for the attack. There, stood in the hallway of your apartment building, was your boyfriend. "Blitz what the fuck? I thought you were busy?" His cat like grin grew on his face as he slithered by you into your apartment.

"Well, I was but, y'know." He went to the fridge and pulled out the food, popping it into the microwave. You grabbed your scissors to cut the ends at an angle only to find they'd already been cut. Blitz handed you a vase.

"You wanna watch a movie?" You put the water filled vase on the table and discard the wrapper on the flowers. "I've got that we talked about one in the dvd player already." The microwave beeped as he agreed with a hum.

"The flowers really go with the paint." They didn't but you appreciate the thought. You both left them to their vase and awful puke green wall paint.

The couch was still kind of warm from your sad wallowing earlier. You curled up to an arm on one side as he snuggled up beside you, feeding you bites every so often. Your arm was around his shoulders. The movie was some B-list horror about lake fungus coming alive and mutating the wildlife. It was probably some sort of message about saving nature or some shit, but it was funny and full of camp.

"I wanted to tell you something, by the way." You set your head on one of his huge horns. "It's kinda dumb."

"Yeah, so are a lot of things." He didn't move his head, but lifted up a forkful of whatever he was eating. "Shoot." You took the bite and chewed slowly, thinking over how you wanted to word this without sounding like the dumbest bitch in Hell.

"Today was a stupid little thing that I wanted to celebrate." You started. You felt him tense up. "It wasn't major, more like a fun thing that doesn't mean anything." You've said "thing" too many times. Abort! Abort!

"Well, what was it?" He finally moved so he could look at at you. You looked down and back to the tv. A breath or two and you thought more about what you wanted to say.

"It's been exactly 666 days since we started dating and I thought that was funny so I wanted to celebrate it like an anniversary." You stared at the credits rolling on the screen. "It doesn't matter, it was kinda dumb." You shrugged your shoulders. Blitz gently grabbed your face and made you look at him.

"I counted the days too." He admitted with a small smile, his brows knitted together. "It's kinda why I wanted to hang out today." He flops back into your side. You let out a small "oof". He fed you another bite of food before tossing the empty container onto the coffee table. The imp wiggled around to get comfy. You laughed a little and laid down so you'd both be comfy. Arms wrapped around each other, you couldn't be happier.

"I love you." You blurted after a few moments of silently tracing his white spot. Looking down, you saw Blitz already asleep. "Jesus Christ it's only been a minute." You let out a sigh of amused exasperation. That sentence can be used tomorrow to make it hard for him to leave for work in the morning.

Husk:

All day had been a living nightmare. You hadn't had the chance to sit longer than a minute at any given time. Charlie had her hands full with her and Vaggie's visit to the center of the Pride Ring. Some family reunion; the news was covering every appearance of another Prince of Hell and their immediate family. With the Pride Princess's attention elsewhere, she left most of the paper work to you. Today was full of talking with contractors and running around to get materials for the fixing of the Hotel. You'd been cussed out, smacked, overloaded, looked down on, and laughed at. In other words, you were overwhelmed and exhausted. All you wanted to do was curl up and sleep, maybe even cry.

Husk watched you run in and out the entire day. He'd seen how you looked worse and worse as the minutes ticked by. There was a pang in his chest every time you would do a half wave with a tired smile every time you passed him. He hated to see you so overworked. If he remembered correctly, Alastor was supposed to be doing half the work you were trying to juggle. Said asshole was smiling smugly in the shadows, watching you struggle with sadistic glee. Husk could feel the sticky air that hung around the red bastard nearby. It pissed him off, and Alastor knew it. That was worse.

"Finally done?" Husk grumbled out as you threw down a stack of paperwork you still had to do and sat on a bar stool. He glared at the documents. You sighed and laid your head on the cool, polished wood of the bar top. Husk winced at the way your back cracked as you went basically boneless. He poured you a cup of orange juice. A book somewhere said something about orange slices being a good idea after sports; this was the closest thing he had. The exhaustion on your face was heartbreaking as you looked at the glass.

"I don't want to exist right now." Your mumbled wish was emphasized by a small sniff. Husk put his clawed hand on your head and gave you a small scratch. You always did that when he was feeling down, maybe this could help you too. A small sigh of bliss was a good encouragement.

"What a heartwarming moment! I didn't think you had it in you, Husker!" The bane of your existence finally decided to show himself. You groaned at his loud voice interrupting the small bit of calm you were enjoying. The Radio Demon sat down next to you and threw an arm around your tired form.

"Go fuck yourself, you bastard." Husk threw Alastor's arm off you. Static popped as Alastor fixed his hair nonchalantly. You gave your lover a tired smile of appreciation. His undead heart ached at the sight.

"Now, now, no need to be crass!" The ever smiling demon laughed, making you wince. Husk's ears flattened as his anger flared. "If they wanted to be left alone, all they'd need to do is ask." That seemed to be the final straw for the cat.

"The only reason they're too tired to even be near you is because you're an asshole who loves to watch people suffer!" Husk pointed a claw at the red menace. His tail thrashed behind him, wings puffed up to make him look bigger. "Not only that, you're even more exhausting today because of your fuckin' smug face. You know you were supposed to help them today but you enjoy causing people misery more than you like controlling everything so you decided to hide in the shadows like the piece of shit you are!" You raised your head at Husk's outburst, jaw hung open. You'd never seen your boyfriend so mad.

"Husk--" You tried to comfort or calm him down. The last this you wanted was for Alastor decide to torture Husk over one bad day. Alastor's smile grew more amused at every word. Husk's glare grew with it. The deer demon threw his arm around your shoulders again and pulled you to his side.

"Would you look at that! You see how your loverboy raises his hackles! What a show, don't you think dear?" His grip tightened on you as you tried to push him away. You didn't have the energy to tell him off today, nor the strength to shove him off his stool, it seemed. Husk growled.

"Get your. Fuckin' hands. Off them." Husk's words were said through gritted teeth. Alastor was about to say something but Husk hissed at him. You felt like you were sitting in the middle of a vortex. They were both staring each other down with an intensity you'd never seen before. Miraculously, Alastor let you go and stood up.

"Fine, fine, I suppose I should be getting to work, anyhow." And with a snap of the deer's fingers, he was gone, along with the paperwork you'd placed on the bar top. A sigh slipped from your lips as you placed your head back down in relief. You really thought you were about to witness Husk's second death. It took the last bit of energy you had.

"Sorry 'bout that." Husk rounded the bar and gently scooped you into his arms. "Didn't mean to make you feel worse." You only groaned in response as you rested your head against his chest. He carried you upstairs and to his room.

Husk's room was the same design as yours when you first got here. A standard red wallpaper with dark wood furniture, red sheets and dim lighting. He hadn't bothered to change it, other than some of your clothes littering the floor. There were a few knickknacks you'd given him, some from his apartment. He'd always act aloof or uninterested when you'd give him something in the beginning of your relationship, but you knew he liked them.

"Wait here." He gently placed you on the bed. You basically moaned as you sank into the soft mattress. He left the room and you heard his footsteps retreat down the hall. You used this time to take off your shoes and get comfier in the bed. The weight of your eyelids caused you to close them.

Husk re-entered the room, the sound of the door clicking back closed making you open your eyes again. He walked over to you and offered the glass of orange juice from earlier. You smiled and sat up a bit to drink some of it.

"Husk." Your eyes blinked slowly before looking up at him with a slightly bigger, tired smile. "I love you." The words made him tense up. He looked at the lamp across the room, his tail twitched at the end and wings fluffed up then back down. You waited patiently for his response. He fidgeted a bit more before looking at you then back down at the half empty cup in your hand.

"You should sleep, you look exhausted." He gently too the cup from you and set it on the nightstand. You laid back down and he went to turn off the light and draw the curtains. It left you in near darkness. You tensed slightly when you felt him crawl up beside you, but soon relaxed. He pulled you into his gentle embrace and covered you both with a wing as his tail curled over your thigh. A gentle purr lulled you into a much needed sleep.

"Love you too." The grumbled words were the last thing you registered before rest fully took over.

[strawberries-and-summer-days]

NO WAY IN HELL ‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅

| percy jackson x popstar au

| au masterlist ☽

warnings: swearing and i think thats just about it!

a/n: i return from the actual dead guys. live has been hectic as hell recently so im staying up late so i can get the part out to you!! its like 12am when im posting this so delusion is feeding me here

lia and riley crowd around you as you recount for the millionth time what happened at the rooftop party.

they've been at you all week asking what happened - it definitely didn't help when that stupid gossip account posted about it. so now you face the downfall of trying to be a decent human being.

clearly it worked out oh so well and everything is perfectly fine.

you've been drained all week working out a few details for your upcoming shows, going to the gym every day to stay in shape for said shows, dealing with lia and riley, the pile of emails and work related things you should probably answer but haven't gotten around to yet.

honestly all you want to do is curl up into bed and sleep.

a nap would be really good right now.

instead you're stuck here with lia pestering you about the whole rooftop ordeal.

"oh my gosh, we've been over this, as i said the last time you asked - which by the way was," you check your watch. "thirty minutes ago. i said hello, we stood there awkwardly for about six minutes i asked how his day was he said decent, he asked me how my day was, i said decent, i randomly blurted out that the stars were pretty and then proceeded to complain about the party, then said i was going home. end of goddamn fucking story."

riley just laughs at your frustration and lia grins sheepishly at you.

"im sorry, please let me stay here tonight."

shaking your head you get up off the couch to start making dinner. your phone starts blaring as you do and lia picks it up and launches it across the room. "its stacey." she says as you catch it.

"hey, stacey what's up?" you ask your assistant/ agent. she does a lot of shit for you honestly, its hard to keep up with what she does.

"i just got a call from someone on percy jackson's marketing team-" you drop the onion you were holding. "and they want to schedule a meeting with you sometime this week." the silence is loud.

"why?" you croak out

"they want to discuss the rumours going around." fucking finally you hiss internally.

"okay...."

"okay you'll do it? or okay you want to tell them where to shove their discussions?" stacey asks skeptically, having worked with you long enough to know your tones.

sighing you answer her, "okay i'll do it, but i want riley and lia there with me."

"of course," stacey replies likely jotting this down.

"and for the love of god not in a public space."

you hash out some more details and hang up turning to face to very eager eavesdroppers, "what do you want us for?" lia asks.

letting out another sigh, "guess who's meeting us this week?"

☾. ⋅

percyjackson

liked by underovergrover, chris.rodriguez, lukecastellan, the.annabethchase, lia.mandel, rileywest and 923, 872 others

percyjackson i won both games btw

view all comments

underovergrover only cause you cheated!

percyjackson don't be bitter because i won

underovergrover fucker

user1 these little bits of his life only make him more hot oml

user2 i so wanna know if y/n was there

user3 no cause real??? i wanna know if us percy/n shippers have a chance

user4 im in love with him holy

user5 Y/N'S FRIENDS LIKED THE POST AGAIN AHHHHHH

user6 oml i ship them so hard i need to know if they're dating

☾. ⋅

percy was pissed.

ok that's an understatement. he was- is livid.

he had only agreed to this stupid meeting because he managers had suggested to him it might be good to clear the air. what he wasn't expecting was y/n to agree, let alone agree with a list of fucking demands.

and not only did she come with demands she shows up thirty minutes late with her friends in tow.

what. the. fuck?

once she settles in her agent leans froward and addresses percy's team as if y/n is incapable to do so.

"hello there everyone, how are you all doing today?"

percy's manager reply's out of curtesy before getting right down to business. "ok, i'd like to start by introducing myself, y/n i'm lauren i'm percy's manager and i organised this meeting because of the rumours i'm sure you've heard all about."

y/n nods. "yes i've heard of them."

"good because my team and yours have come up with a few ways to deal with the rumours." she place's a her hands on the table and leans forward when she talks. "the first and most obvious is for both of you to post an announcement that you aren't dating, but are simply friends and or acquaintances." you both nod at that. "the second option is to address the rumours via getting into another relationship - but obviously since you're both single right now its a poor decision." she takes a deep breath and flicks her eyes over to y/n's managers. "and the third and mine and stacey's most favoured one is that you.... fake date."

the silence the follows is deafening.

percy practically leaps out of his chair. "what the hell?"

"no fucking way-" y/n says at the same time.

"you've got to be kidding me," you both say at he same time you eyes shooting up to meet, stacey's and lauren's hidden smiles don't help the situation either.

"obviously if you don't feel comfortable doing that we understand," stacey says calmly.

"but if you are okay with that we can move forward with that plan... if that's what you wish for."

percy glares at y/n as she gathers her stuff and mutters "no way in hell am i doing that," before storming off.

her friends... lia? and... riley? stand up after her hastily making apologies, "we'll go.. get her, i'm so sorry about that."

stacey obviously knowing that y/n isn't coming back starts to gather all her stuff. "so sorry about all that," she looks at me and then lauren. "we'll have an answer by the end of the week."

☾. ⋅

yn.official

liked by underovergrover, lia.mandel, rileywest, lukecastellan, maisiehpeters, gracieabrams and 1, 489, 326 others

yn.official life's been good 😊

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lia.mandel im so excited to for our dinner tmr night!!

user1 mother posted!!!

user2 percy's friends liking this is my roman empire

user3 ikr i need to know if they're dating

user4 ugh seeing y/n happy make me smile

rileywest coffee with you was fun!!

underovergrover new album maybe??

yn.official maybe 🤭

user5 GROVER COMMENTED??? AND Y/N RESPONDED???? THIS IS NOT A DRILL GUYS.

user6 HOLY FUCK!!!!

☾. ⋅

you pace the room, stacey watches you with lia and riley on the couch as the phone dials.

lauren picks up on the third ring. "hello this is lauren smyth speaking."

"hi lauren, its stacey here. i was just ringing about our answer to your offer," she makes one more glance at you before focusing back on the call. "our answer is...."

TAGLIST‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ [if you're name is white it mean i couldn't tag you]

@lauptimist, @itzmeme, @mariaaaaaahhhh, @paankhaleyaar, @maybxlle,

@lara20aral, @cxp1d, @user-3113s-blog, @pleasingregulus,

@avihashearts4lix, @inlovewithmorales, @brokecollegebitch, @user-3113s-blog, @officiallyalbino

@gloryhaddock, @kozumesphone, @moonlightwonderlan, @starxshining, @taintedrosee [if you want to be added just let me know!]

[skribbyposts]

Another zosan post bc they invade my thoughts every waking moment !! also i'm typing on mobile so this might be weirdly formatted

anyways, hc that Sanji is the MOST TOUCHY DRUNK to ever exist and he's all over all of his crewmates all the time. in addition to this, Sanji is also a fucking horrible lightweight. like.... tipsy after two beers lightweight. Sanji also YAPS to whoever's nearest to him about everything and anything that comes to his mind. Zoro is his main victim all of the time and does not appreciate it (yes he does, hes so gay) and its so funny to the rest of the crew b/c he has to peel a rambling sanji off of him while blushing so much he looks like a really tan tomato.

Nami + Usopp appear briefly here b/c i love their friendship so much heart emoji!!! <3333

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ugh, marimo, get off of me."

Zoro sighs from his position pressed against the edge of a bench, having what is arguably the worst time ever in the corner of some random bar he's been dragged to by the rest of the crew.

"I'm not on you, cook. move your goddamn leg."

"No, you move your leg."

Zoro tries in vain to shuffle away from the lanky limb draped across his lap, narrowly avoiding spilling his beer all across said limb.

The blonde always got touchy when he was drunk, plastering his entire body on the nearest person and talking their ear off for the remainder of the night.

Somehow, it was always Zoro who ended up with a tipsy Sanji draped over him, his breath smelling strongly of cheap liquor as he rambled about god knows what.

Zoro sighs again, resigning himself to his fate as the blond proceeds to hook his heel around one of Zoro's legs and pull himself forward so that he's pressed up against the other man's side. Zoro feels Sanji's elbow poking his arm. He tells himself it's very unpleasant.

"Yknow, you're coming with me to get... uh... groceries tomorrow. Yeah. We need bread."

"You've told me that three times tonight."

"Well, I'm telling you again, you algae head." Sanji lolls his head back to look at the ceiling, using the hand not trapped between them to loosely gesture at the man next to him.

"Nice one," Zoro deadpans.

"Oh, fuck you," Sanji replies, and then rests his head on Zoro's shoulder. "you want hamburgers for lunch tomorrow?" he asks over the loud murmur of the bar.

Zoro, however, does not reply. Instead, he stares straight ahead and tries to focus on the fact that Sanji's chin is digging uncomfortably into his shoulder rather than how his face is inches away.

Sanji doesn't seem to notice, his breath fanning along Zoro's cheek as he prattles on about brioche buns.

Zoro is trying very hard to stay still, internally processing the warmth of the cook's flushed face against his own and sending a silent prayer to whatever deity is out there this will be over soon. He also pointedly does not look at Nami and Usopp snickering over their wine glasses in the corner either.

He's snapped out of his impromptu staring contest with a stain on the wall when he feels Sanji slump almost completely off of the chair, and then suffers a mini heart attack when the blond kicks his legs up on the other side of the bench and straight up puts his head in Zoro's lap.

Zoro stares down at him in surprise and Sanji stares back, both eyes visible with his bangs swept out of his face. They're half-lidded and his face is tinted red from the liquor. Neither of them says anything, for a moment. Sanji's gaze sweeps across Zoro's face, looking for something. He pauses, and Zoro has to clamp his mouth shut because every time he sees Sanji like this he suddenly gains the inexplicable urge to say I've been in love with you for three years, please make out with me, which would be very bad.

The cook's eyebrows furrow, and he parts his pretty, pink lips before mumbling softly;

"...Did you get a haircut?"

Zoro throws his head back and groans. "That's it, we're going back to the ship."

He can hear Nami and Usopp's shrieking laughter clearly, even over Sanji's slurred protests as Zoro chugs the rest of his beer, hoists the fucking idiot up on his back, and marches out of the bar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoro did, in fact, get a haircut. Sanji should know b/c hes the one who did it lmao. Also, it takes Zoro an hour to walk the 15 minutes back to the ship, and Sanji talks about bread the entire time.

Am i making Zoro whipped for Sanji because i am whipped for Sanji? Interesting question, indeed. Will i ever stop? No.

Ty to my loyal 5 followers i gained yesterday!!! shoutout to yall.

Also i would REALLY appreciate comments about how i can improve my writing style so if you have any feedback please comment !!!!!

okay bye :p

[ft-3racha]

Hiii!

Soft sex with Chan? 👀🩷

If not it’s ok!!

absolutely !!

i do think that chan is 100% the guy to be into rough stuff as much as he is into soft sex, as long as it‘s with you, the person he loves.

he would make sure to let you know how much he apprechiates your body and take his goddamn time, giving you slow and deep, sensual kisses, your tongues dancing around each other while breathy moans and whines escape your throat.

chan would slowly drag his lips down your neck, leaving kisses, bites and licks all over your soft skin, mumbling little praises more to himself than anything else. your body instantly responds to his actions as you grind yourself on him, your most sensitive parts rubbing against his.

„you are so beautiful.“

„keep on making those sounds for me, pretty. so good f‘me.“

„fuck, i love it when you grind on me. feels so good, baby.“

foreplay would be a necessity, since that man is a god with those pretty lips of his and absolutely knows how to make you fall apart on them, so he would do exactly that…at least once, maybe twice if you beg for it nicely, since that is his favorite thing to hear; your moans, especially when you cum and can‘t get enough of him, so you beg for him to do it again, lightly tugging on his soft curls while his hands stroke your thighs.

„please channie, make me cum again.“

„it feels so good chris, please don‘t stop.“

after all the prepping and taking his time, his patience will leave him eventually, because his cock is rock hard, pre-cum leaking in his briefs (which he looses as fast as he can at that point). even after cumming already, you‘re still so needy for him to take you. and he will. once he is positioned, in missionary, because he loves looking at your face as he enters you, you feel him do exactly that. he slowly pushes into you, and you involuntarily hold your breath at the stretch, because no matter how many times you guys fucked before, the feeling is always absolutely incredible. he‘d take a second or two before moving, every stroke of his slow and deep, precisely hitting that spot inside of you that makes you go absolutely feral. chan would kiss you, whisper sweet nothings into your ear as he fucks into you, the sounds of your bodys colliding filling the room.

„you take me so well, absolutely made for my cock.“

„so good, so fucking tight.“

„feels so good around me, angel. so damn good.“

you‘d see stars with the way his cock makes you feel. your legs would wrap around his hips, nails clawing in his back as your orgasm approaches. he‘d tell you to hold on just a moment longer, his strokes getting sloppier and sloppier, indicating that he, too, is close. and with a deep groan and your name rolling off of his plump lips he‘d cum, sending you over the edge right with him. the feeling of him spilling into you makes your orgasm ten times more intense, maybe even triggering a second one (if possible, that depends on you).

„gonna fill you up baby, mark you as mine.“

„you gonna cum? just a second longer, hold on for me. i‘m almost there, my love.“

„fuck, angel. i‘m so close, can feel you squeezing me so tight.“

and afterwards? we all know this man is an absolute angel. he‘d make sure you are okay, would clean you up and give you something to drink. chan would take his time to talk about what just happened and ask if everything was absolutely okay with you or if he did anything to make you uncomfortable. he‘d make sure to shower you with kisses before having an actual shower with you, your guys‘ favorite takeout already ordered and comfy clothes waiting to be put on your freshly washed bodies.

„are you okay, angel?“

„here, drink up. you did so well for me, baby.“

„i love you unconditionally.“