#like the way they keep talking to you the entire time you fight them. the lines from lodun and mathila especially that imply

[passengerseatsam]

we don't talk enough about the absolute negligent omission that is sam not keeping a journal like john's.

I don't know whether to blame the bunker again (x) or to simply blame the rapid change in culture around technology in the late-aughts. sam is generally shown to be an early adopter of technology, which is fine and IC enough, blah blah blah. it's also boring as fuck. every time late seasons sam is like "I downloaded a database of the entire men of letters library onto my laptop" i want to fist fight robert singer myself. you're telling me that noted academic lawboy@stanford.edu has gone the last 15 years without keeping notes??? I simply do not believe you.

MY personal hc is that he starts keeping a journal between seasons 3-4, but I also think it'd make sense as early as season 2, when he resigns himself to a life as a hunter (also, when sam is the most pro-dad). it starts as him writing down everything he can remember from his psychic dreams, tracking when his powers arise and what they do. of course, he's also making notes about cases the way john did— crocatta in milan, OH, etc.

mystery spot notes go crazy. every morning he wakes up and writes down what killed dean the day before, and every morning he wakes up to a fresh page, the previous tuesday's notes gone.

when he starts working with ruby, he tracks his progress like a science experiment, because to him it is. he keeps track of how much blood he's drinking, and how his powers change. when dean comes back, he thinks about ripping those pages out, but he can't bring himself to do it. he fills pages with research about angels, makes a list of questions he wants to ask them... then crosses it out when he decides that dean's right, angels are dicks.

in season 5, he sketches out everything he can remember about heaven, in case he forgets it all again.

soulless doesn't write anything down. he doesn't see the point. it gets pretty messy in season 7; he switches to enochian mid-sentence sometimes without noticing, and unconsciously doodles chains and hellfire in the margins.

the discovery of the bunker should really only add to his enthusiasm for meticulous notekeeping. If you want to digitize it, fine, I guess. but I personally think that a rigorous college education plus almost a decade of hunting should have him pretty set in his ways with a pen and paper. also he's had at least 2 laptops smashed.

give him a notion account at the very least

[hyperfixingfr]

I'm putting this in the tags for the people who are sending me rude asks. Please do the mature thing and just don't send me nasty things. Thanks.

For the last time since I keep getting nasty fucking asks about it insulting me and calling me names; I am not tryna run none of you people outta this damn fandom and that was never my goal so quit playing victim and pretending I am. This is a fandom for everyone, obviously... Which is why I criticize when you guys treat it like it isn't. I was trying countless times yesterday to drop the conversation when the person arguing with me kept insisting that they had an issue with me talking about an aspect they didn't like, because they were arguing with me over an opinion I had that they didn't like, not over something that mattered. This aspect personally affected me, and many others in the server. This isn't an aspect I enjoy people pretending is cute or funny because it caused very, very real damage to things like body positivity. I don't try to fight with ANYONE here, ever. My entire goal in these situations is to educate when someone believes this is bad behavior by explaining why it's problematic to gloss over this aspect or glorify it when it was a very real issue. Please, ask yourself why you're beefing with a minor. I beg of you. This person had no intention to listen to me, OR the server owner, when we told them that they can have different opinions and simply ignore it if they don't like it. They also ignored the countless attempts at de-escalating the situation, proving they just wanted to argue about it.

I should also mention this person said some really nasty things that implied I was apart of cancel culture, or on the "everything is problematic" bandwagon which is kind of implying they think that criticizing bigotry is wrong, even when it's coming from the minority group it affected. My criticizing of a media is not disliking of a media, nor is it "cancel culture". I am not trying to CANCEL a show from the 2000s. I am merely pointing out its flaws. If you can't handle being apart of a morally flawed show's fandom, don't be apart of it. Not only that, but this person made passive aggressive comments such as "wow you ramble a lot" completely unnecessarily when I was speaking. Why was this needed? I know I do. Why are you trying to insinuate that my passion about the subject is weird? Either way, I wasn't trying to have this fight. They were. This person said a lot of insensitive things to me, claiming I pulled the autism card when I rebuttaled the "wow you ramble a lot" stuff, telling me they had an issue with me merely discussing a topic that was 100% allowed in the server (stated by the server owner, the channel was allowed for criticism), and was overall very passionate about putting me in the wrong for simply pointing out and discussing the flaws of a show because it was brought up. That's not okay and that's incredibly judgy. I dunno why this person can't admit they're wrong, but it's not hard to understand that my criticism is not unwarranted nor is it unwelcome. I did nothing wrong by speaking about it in a channel that directly said criticism was allowed.

Do not play victim when you started the argument AND fueled the argument when people tried to stop it. Simple as. I'm really hoping this person realizes they're wrong and apologizes appropriately like a mature adult, because this is ridiculous. This is such a stupid thing for them to have fought me over and no one's gonna be upset if they just... Did the right thing and apologize. This applies to ANY of you who mess up. If you mess up and realize you've done something you shouldn't have, just apologize man. Especially in a case like this where the person was arguing over "toma-to, tamato-e" or whatever. They didn't like my WARRENTED opinion and they got on my ass about it repeatedly, and I got nothing out of asking them why they held it because their response was basically "you don't like this media how I like it, so you can't possibly like it, get out". Hence, them asking why I'm in a server of fans if I... "Don't like the show". Simply because I criticized an aspect.

Please, if any of you don't believe me, the server is open for the public. You can go in there and see the conversation yourself. I am not hiding myself at all from this, and I'm glad to share evidence that I did just as I said and they did just as I said. This is a stupid fvking argument and any of you still dragging it on should be ashamed for thinking this is worth arguing about. People have opinions, leave it at that. What happened to respecting valid stances?

[bakugoushotwife]

in my opinion, gojo’s storyline has been handled so so poorly i can’t help but think it’s intentional. it is not bad writing to kill a character—even a beloved character. i know most people will dismiss my criticisms because gojo is so beloved to me and so many others. i’ve said before that i don’t mind if he died. does it hurt? of course, and i would still cry and be sad about it. but there is a beautiful way to do it. with respect and honor for his legacy—for what he has done for your manga, the characters in it, and audiences worldwide. but no…gege chose the path of horror and disrespect. at certain points i’d say to myself, well. this is a dark manga. but essentially gojo is the only character that receives this treatment. since the beginning—since suguru left him, he’s been wondering if he mattered because he was a person, or if he only mattered because he was powerful and useable. we certainly fucking answered that question. he is a weapon and nobody ever cared about him at all!!!

and we knew he was being used—he knew he was being used, but he is selfless. so he did it for his kids. for megumi and yuuji and yuuta—he wanted them to be safe. in these flashbacks it’s exceedingly clear that he knew he would die. again—that’s not my issue. gojo dying to sukuna makes plenty of sense and it would hurt to leave it there. but to give us an afterlife scene where he’s presented a choice—north and south—that concept lead nowhere, that’s truly fucked up. to leave all the subtle clues and hints for no reason but to keep people reading and theorizing his return is fucked up. to continue to use his imagery to promote your manga when you know he’s not even honored in your manga is fucked up. we don’t get a funeral or a grave for him. no one’s spoken about him in chapters despite him fighting for hours against sukuna and damaging him so much that yuuji could win, nothing. yuuta wearing him like a costume and no one is horrified about it. i thought his students WERE different. they weren’t jujutsu society yet. that’s why gojo was their teacher—shaping them into better human beings. how am i supposed to trust in their future when it seems they’re just as cold and heartless as everyone before them? no one has honored gojo in any way since the moment he died. and they’ve forgotten about him. he spent his entire life fighting and no one can even say thank you. gege intentionally used gojo to promote the end of his manga because he knows that gojo fans make up at least half of his fanbase so had we stopped reading when he died, he would have lost a lot of traction. he baited us intentionally, cruelly, and something that transcends storytelling. i’ve truly never seen a mangaka have this sort of vitriol for one of their characters and the people that love him.

we spent the entire last chapter talking about some random fucking mission when we have several unanswered questions and concerns. i thought gege said he wanted this ending to be shocking and something you didn’t see in shonen? tying everything up neatly where no one has any trauma or grief for what they’ve experienced, everyone comes back to life except the one character you hate specifically and choso, defying your own power structures and having everyone laughing into the sunset is exactly how shonen ends so what in the fuck is he talking about??

let me disclaim, this is not megumi hate at all. i love him very much and i am so happy he’s back with the group but like. he shouldn’t be able to even walk. he tanked unlimited void for over 6 minutes whenever that length caused irreversible damage to sukuna himself. not to mention the countless black flashes. so what the fuck? he doesn’t mention gojo at all?? the first time he laughs in this manga is after he reads a note written by his dead fucking caretaker about his dead fucking father? like i don’t believe. random open ended kenjaku/suguru mention just to piss me off, an absolutely no mention of gojos sacrifice or how they’ll miss him. i’m sick to my stomach. gege defiled his memory both in the story and outside of it. wow.

P.S. SUKUNA CARED MORE ABOUT GOJO THAN ANYONE ELSE (SUGURU IS NOT INCLUDED IN THIS I MEAN HIS STUDENTS AND SOCIETY)

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

[tauforged]

this little tidbit on loduns wiki page is amusing becasue it implies that like, something happened to the first executioner between the teaser demo and the update dropping and instead of hiring a new guy they were just like fuck it. make the dragon work a second job

[orcelito]

i do love that vash is the Definition of high int, low wis. he puts on the goofiness to get ppl to not pay attention to how absolutely Bonkers skilled he is so ppl just assume he's a dumbass. and like. he IS. in some ways. he is SUCH a dumbass. but he's an incredibly intelligent dumbass. he has layers.

[madlori]

On being an older fangirl

I was probably 10 years old when I first conceived of what was, looking back, fanfiction. Me and my best friend would lie in bed together on sleepovers and I'd make up stories about what happened after the end of our favorite book, "The Westing Game." She'd ask me for more stories, and I'd tell her more, inventing them as I went along. "Then what?" she'd say.

I was 14 when I went to my first convention. I had discovered Star Trek: The Next Generation. It was 1987, and my youth pastor was a huge Trekkie. He took me to a one-day crappy Creation con, but it was amazing to me. I met Nichelle Nichols. My dad showed me the Trek movies. He and I watched TNG together.

When I went to college in 1991, my dad used to videotape TNG episodes onto VHS tapes and mail them to me, so I could keep watching (I didn't have TV in my dorm room).

By the time I was a senior, we had Trek watching parties in the dorm lounge, where the TV had cable. Star Trek: Voyager had started up, and I wrote a column about it for the college newspaper. I joined a mailing list about it, with people in it that I still know today.

I got my first computer that could go online in 1995. I was on newsgroups. I discovered Doctor Who. I went to Trek conventions where we still passed around fanzines containing fic and art and smutty K/S fan creations.

Then it was Harry Potter. Then there were websites. Then there was Geocities, where we could all make our own little spots. We organized them into webrings. We talked on newsgroups and mailing lists. There were fanfic archives. Then there was fanfiction.net.

Then...there was LiveJournal. And we could interact in entirely new ways. We could form communities, and debate things, and fight over canon, and get into ship wars. On LiveJournal, I met my best friend of 22 years. I was in her wedding. She's my sister of the heart (which is what she calls me).

Then there was Tumblr. And Twitter. And now there's Discord. But it's all the same.

I am the same.

I am still that little girl who made up fanfiction in her head to entertain her best friend. I am still the one who was amazed to find communities on the internet - which was so new, so raw, so uncommodified - where others like me could meet. I found there people to meet in real life.

I am still that twentysomething going to her first major convention, being told that someone loved my fic, being asked about my writing process.

I am still that thirtysomething watching something I wrote blow up. Seeing friends from other fandoms find me in new ones, finding them there, too. Forgetting which fandom I know someone from, because I've known them for twenty years.

I still know some of the people who created those early websites, those mailing lists, those archives. I still meet people in new fandoms who say "Oh, I read your fic in [fandom] fifteen years ago!" There's no feeling quite like having someone remember something you wrote for that long. Or meeting someone whose fic meant a lot to YOU, or who you talked with on rec.arts.drwho.creative in 1997.

Aging in fandom is a gift. Being middle-aged in fandom is a joy. Having people who still read what I write and ask "Then what?" is a blessing.

It breaks my heart that so many people see it as something to be ashamed of, when it is one of my life's greatest gifts.

[tortoise-teapot]

lost elf theme dark solas theme... there needs to be a third solas song there is a piece missing. where is his whimsy. anyway i've filled in the gap with this

[fullhalalalchemist]

URGENT: 🚨🚨EARN IT ACT IS BACK IN THE SENATE 🚨🚨 TUMBLR’S NSFW BAN HITTING THE ENTIRE INTERNET THIS SUMMER 2023

April 28, 2023

I’m so sorry for the long post but please please please pay attention and spread this

What is the EARN IT Act?

The EARN IT Act (s. 1207) has been roundly condemned by nearly every major LGBTQ+ advocacy and human rights organization in the country.

This is the third time the Senate has been trying to force this through, and I talked about it last year. It is a bill that claims "protects children and victims against CSAM" by creating an unelected and politically appointed national commission of law enforcement specialists to dictate "best practices" that websites all across the nation will be forced to follow. (Keep in mind, most websites in the world are created in the US, so this has global ramifications). These "best practices" would include killing encryption so that any law enforcement can scan and see every single message, dm, photo, cloud storage, data, and any website you have every so much as glanced at. Contrary to popular belief, no they actually can't already do that. These "best practices" also create new laws for "removing CSAM" online, leading to mass censorship of non-CSAM content like what happened to tumblr. Keep in mind that groups like NCOSE, an anti-LGBT hate group, will be allowed on this commission. If websites don't follow these best practices, they lose their Section 230 protections, leading to mass censorship either way.

Section 230 is foundational to modern online communications. It's the entire reason social media exists. It grants legal protection to users and websites, and says that websites aren't responsible for what users upload online unless it's criminal. Without Section 230, websites are at the mercy of whatever bullshit regulatory laws any and every US state passes. Imagine if Texas and Florida were allowed to say what you can and can't publish and access online. That is what will happen if EARN IT passes. (For context, Trump wanted to get rid of Section 230 because he knew it would lead to mass govt surveillance and censorship of minorities online.)

This is really not a drill. Anyone who makes or consume anything “adult” and LGBT online has to be prepared to fight Sen. Blumenthal’s EARN IT Act, brought back from the grave by a bipartisan consensus to destroy Section 230. If this bill passes, we’re going to see most, if not all, adult content and accounts removed from mainstream platforms. This will include anything related to LGBT content, including SFW fanfiction, for example. Youtube, Twitter, Reddit, Tiktok, Tumblr, all of them will be completely gutted of anything related to LGBT content, abortion healthcare, resources for victims of any type of abuse, etc. It is a right-wing fascists wet dream, which is why NCOSE is behind this bill and why another name for this bill is named in reference to NCOSE.

NCOSE used to be named Morality in Media, and has rebranded into an "anti-trafficking" organization. They are a hate group that has made millions off of being "against trafficking" while helping almost no victims and pushing for homophobic laws globally. They have successfully pushing the idea that any form of sexual expression, including talking about HEALTH, leads to sex trafficking. That's how SESTA passed. Their goal is to eliminate all sex, anything gay, and everything that goes against their idea of ‘God’ from the internet and hyper disney-fy and sanitize it. This is a highly coordinated attack on multiple fronts.

The EARN IT Act will lead to mass online censorship and surveillance. Platforms will be forced to scan their users’ communications and censor all sex-related content, including sex education, literally anything lgbt, transgender or non-binary education and support systems, aything related to abortion, and sex worker communication according to the ACLU. All this in the name of “protecting kids” and “fighting CSAM”, both of which the bill does nothing of the sort. In fact it makes fighting CSEM even harder.

EARN IT will open the way for politicians to define the category of “pornography" as they — or the lobbies that fund them — please. The same way that right-wing groups have successfully banned books about race and LGBT, are banning trans people from existing, all under the guise of protecting children from "grooming and exploitation", is how they will successfully censor the internet.

As long as state legislatures can tie in "fighting CSAM" to their bullshit laws, they can use EARN IT to censor and surveill whatever they want.

This is already a nightmare enough. But the bill also DESTROYS ENCRYPTION, you know, the thing protecting literally anyone or any govt entity from going into your private messages and emails and anything on your devices and spying on you.

This bill is going to finish what FOSTA/SESTA started. And that should terrify you.

Senator Blumenthal (Same guy who said ‘Facebook should ban finsta’) pushed this bill all of 2020, literally every activist (There were more than half a million signatures on this site opposing this act!) pushed hard to stop this bill. Now he brings it back, doesn’t show the text of the bill until hours later, and it’s WORSE. Instead of fixing literally anything in the bill that might actually protect kids online, Bluemnthal is hoping to fast track this and shove it through, hoping to get little media attention other than propaganda of “protecting kids” to support this shitty legislation that will harm kids. Blumental doesn't care about protecting anyone, and only wants his name in headlines.

It will make CSAM much much worse.

One of the many reasons this bill is so dangerous: It totally misunderstands how Section 230 works, and in doing so (as with FOSTA) it is likely to make the very real problem of CSAM worse, not better. Section 230 gives companies the flexibility to try different approaches to dealing with various content moderation challenges. It allows for greater and greater experimentation and adjustments as they learn what works – without fear of liability for any “failure.” Removing Section 230 protections does the opposite. It says if you do anything, you may face crippling legal liability. This actually makes companies less willing to do anything that involves trying to seek out, take down, and report CSAM because of the greatly increased liability that comes with admitting that there is CSAM on your platform to search for and deal with. This liability would allow anyone for any reason to sue any platform they want, suing smaller ones out of existence. Look at what is happening right now with book bans across the nation with far right groups. This is going to happen to the internet if this bill passes.

(Remember, the state department released a report in December 2021 recommending that the government crack down on “obscenity” as hard the Reagan Administration did. If this bill passes, it could easily go way beyond shit red states are currently trying. It is a goldmine for the fascist right that is currently in the middle of banning every book that talks about race and sexuality across the US.)

The reason these bills keep showing up is because there is this false lie spread by organizations like NCOSE that platforms do nothing about CSEM online. However, platforms are already liable for child sexual exploitation under federal law. Tech companies sent more than 45 million+ instances of CSAM to the DOJ in 2019 alone, most of which they declined to investigate. This shows that platforms are actually doing everything in their power already to stop CSEM by following already existing laws. The Earn It Act includes zero resources for proven investigation or prevention programs. If Senator Bluementhal actually cared about protecting youth, why wouldn’t he include anything to actually protect them in his shitty horrible bill? EARN IT is actually likely to make prosecuting child molesters more difficult since evidence collected this way likely violates the Fourth Amendment and would be inadmissible in court.

I don’t know why so many Senators are eager to cosponsor the “make child pornography worse” bill, but here we are.

HOW TO FIGHT BACK

EARN IT Act was introduced just two weeks ago and is already being fast-tracked. It will be marked up the week of May 1st and head to the Senate floor immediately after. If there is no loud and consistent opposition, it will be law by JUNE! Most bills never go to markup, so this means they are putting pressure to move this through. There are already 20 co-sponsors, a fifth of the entire Senate. This is an uphill battle and it is very much all hands on deck.

CALL YOUR REPRESENTATIVES.

This website takes you to your Senator / House members contact info. EMAIL, MESSAGE, SEND LETTERS, CALL CALL CALL CALL CALL. Calling is the BEST way to get a message through. Get your family and friends to send calls too. This is literally the end of free speech online.

(202) 224-3121 connects you to the congressional hotline. Here is a call script if you don't know what to say. Call them every day. Even on the weekends, leaving voicemails are fine.

2. Sign these petitions!

Link to Petition 1

Link to Petition 2

3. SPREAD THE WORD ONLINE

If you have any social media, spread this online. One of the best ways we fought back against this last year was MASSIVE spread online. Tiktok, reddit, twitter, discord, whatever means you have at least mention it. We could see most social media die out by this fall if we don't fight back.

Here is a linktree with more information on this bill including a masterpost of articles, the links to petitions, and the call script.

DISCORD LINK IF YOU WANT TO HELP FIGHT IT

TLDR: The EARN IT Act will lead to online censorship of any and all adult & lgbt content across the entire internet, open the floodgates to mass surveillance the likes which we haven’t seen before, lead to much more CSEM being distributed online, and destroy encryption. Call 202-224-3121 to connect to your house and senate representative and tell them to VOTE NO on this bill that does not protect anyone and harms everyone.

[satorena]

✮⋆˙ I LUV WHEN WE GET FREAKY ON CAMERA !?

featuring. g. satoru, f. toji, g. suguru, n. kento x afab!reader

warnings. cybersex, camgirl!reader, facetiming, onlyfans account, dirty talking, usage of toys, reader wears lingerie, fingering, anal play, consented video taping, feminine pet names, let’s pretend toji has money okay? okay.

rena’s note. big shoutout to my dawgs @screampied ! would’ve suffered a bad writer’s block if not for them <3 ly pooks

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

“yeah baby~ fuck, arch your back just like that—shit!”

you complied to his request, moaning as you arch your back and push your hips backwards, deepening the angle of which your dildo penetrated inside of you.

from your facetime call, you faced the camera and propped your dildo to the wall behind you. you watched as your ass recoiled like waves, flesh bouncing off the wall in hypnotic motions, giving your boyfriend the pov he demanded at the start of this call.

you watched through your laptop screen as your boyfriend held his cock tightly with one hand, his other hand propped at the back of his head. his stomach clenched tightly as he matched your pace with his jerks. your wet squelches filled the atmosphere followed by your moans, arms stretched out to claw at the silk sheets on your bed.

“mmh—fuck baby, wish you were h-here right now,” you whine, bringing your fingertips to your lolled out tongue, coating the digits with your saliva, before slipping them between your thighs to focus on your neglected clit.

drawing figure eights to the bundle of nerves, your cheek smushed against the mattress, face heating and tears streaking down your cheeks.

bottom lip tucked in his teeth, gojo narrows his cerulean eyes to zero in on your figure, the sounds of your creamy pussy rocking back and forth on your dildo, your teary eyes watching him with such want— and fuck if he doesn’t wish this conference meeting overseas would end so he could blow your back out.

“i know, ‘m sorry— hah, princess,” he whines, thumbing his leaking slit as the hand behind his hair starts to grip at his own locks. the stinging feeling reminded him of you and it only turned him on further.

“just a f—few more days, yeah? and i’m all yours, promise baby, wait out for me,” he prods further, upset at the fact he has to reach out to you virtually. even behind the low quality of your camera, you shone like an angel sent from heaven, lashes wet with tears and your lips glistening from your smeared gloss.

you nod your head, before fluttering your eyes close as your gut begins to coil. your limbs grow hot and limp, toes curling and you up the pace of your rocking, the drag of the customized silicone dildo against your velvety walls stretching you in ways that reminded you an awful lot of your boyfriend.

“toru—fuck, i’m cumming!” you arch your back deeper, chest pressed flat against the mattress, fingernails scratching the softness of your sheets.

gojo had been on the brink of an orgasm eons ago, but he held back for you. to him, nothing beat busting a nut at the same time you did. his snowy white hair matted to his forehead, cheeks flushed a pretty red as he now focuses on his stiff cock with two firm hands.

he mimics circular motions you usually do, fighting to keep his eyes open as his orgasm washes over him just from the sight of your cries alone. your body shudders, your own orgasm washing over you from head to toe as you mewl out his name, spraying your juices all over the wall behind you and down your plush thighs.

your back arches outwards and you’re drooling all over yourself but gojo doesn’t think he’s seen anything prettier in his entire life.

“shit—oh fuck, cum for me princess, make a mess all over—ngh, yourself for me—my perfect fuckin’ girl.”

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

“welcome back everyone~”

there was something terribly sinful in the way the girl currently clothed in skimpy lingerie, fingers rubbing at her pussy in lazy circles with a dildo to her lips, tip of the toy teasingly grazing at her pink tongue—was also the same girl toji paid money to babysit his kid whenever he was away at work.

toji was no good man. this was definitely wrong on many personal levels, but alas he was still a man, if the way his dick hardened painfully quick at the sound of your honeyed voice alone.

he shifts in his chair, leaning back into it as he palms his hard on through his sweats. he watches with narrowed green orbs as you finally swallow the silicone toy down your throat, the dildo lubed in your saliva whenever it came out of contact from your mouth.

“wishin’ it was your fat cock instead, mmh,” you swirl your tongue around the dildo, before arriving to the tip and latching your plump lips around it.

you simultaneously increase the speed at your folds, fingers soon growing sticky with your essence as the obscene wetness fills the room. you moan around the toy, spreading your lips for the camera while clenching around nothing.

dick long freed from his pants and tucked tightly in his fist, toji groans as he watches your pretty pussy flutter and basically beg for him to fill you up. he hacks up some spit and drips it down on his girthy length, before roughly going back to jerking at his dick.

“i wonder which one of my lucky viewers is gonna get to fuck me next live?” you breathlessly giggle, before lowering the dildo in your free hand to your gaping cunt.

your comments flood with praises and pleasantries, with money flowing in easily—anything to capture your attention and have you notice them. they’re desperate, toji thinks, but realizes he’s definitely no better—hands already moving to donate a much bigger sum than whatever pussydestroyer69 could ever offer you.

“ooh, four bills is a hefty amount,” you tilt your head to the side, your pretty lips stretched in a perfect smile. you giggle when the comments start to insult toji but he’s too far enamoured in the way your free hand now travelled to your breast, groping at the mounds and flicking at your stiff buds.

you return to the regular programming, pressing the tip of your dildo to your cunt, dragging it up and down your wet folds, teasing yourself with your legs spread open for the viewers to see.

“fuck— this feels amazing, mmh, ‘m sooo sensitive,” you whine, applying a small amount of pressure to slightly push the tip in but pull it back out.

this was torturous— your thong pushed to the side to reveal your puffy lips as it leaked your essence. toji let his mind run to how badly he wanted to taste you. he was sure you’d be as sweet as honey, a potent taste on his tongue, and the thought of you face down with your ass up, begging for him to eat you out had his balls tightening with eagerness.

“fuckin’ shit— what a tease.” toji grunts, throwing his head back as he rubs the callouses at his palms against his veiny skin. his hips jerked up in anticipation, feeling his limbs run hot while his thumb circled at his reddened tip.

“y’wanna fuck my gaping pussy? yeah, ‘m all wet and tight just for you— hnng, bet i’d have you cumming quicker than you ever had~” you taunt, and finally push the toy all the way in, moaning at the stretch of the toy at your pussy.

your toes curl and you tighten your hold at your tits, slowly thrusting the dildo in and out of your cunt, the slick sound of the friction enticing toji as he matches your pace, fanged teeth biting down at his bottom lip.

you pout your bottom lip, small whines escaping your throat as you fuck yourself desperately. “feels’good— shit, need you to fuck me daddy!”

call him delusional but he felt you spoke to him and not the rest of these bums, legs opened and pussy clenching down at the dripping toy, as your hips rocked upwards to try and meet the dildo for further pleasure.

the telltale of his dick twitching uncontrollably told he was on the brink of an orgasm, one that has him cursing incessantly and brings sweat to his hairline. he pries his eyes open, refusing to miss out on how your folds get abused by yourself, multitasking between thrusting inside and attacking your clit.

“‘m gonna cum daddy—please lemme cum—ngh!” you plead, and as if some force between the two of you is pulled, you spray your essence all over yourself, slick dripping down your sheets and wetting your lingerie, staining your panties soaked as toji calls out your name, hips bucking into his tight fist as ropes of hot cum are pulled out of him.

“there we go baby—damn, keep creamin’ just like that.”

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

“c’mon mama—don’t you let up, fuck, keep bouncin’ f’me.”

you whined some more, thighs aching and trembling from your consistent riding mixed with the added stimulation to your rim from your gifted anal plug. behind you was geto’s set up, computer camera propped as your back faced it, with geto seated at the edge of the bed.

hands planted firmly onto his chest, you stabilized yourself as you continued to rock your hips, dragging yourself up and down on his inches of dick, feeling his hardness stretch out your walls.

“sugu, ‘s too much— shit, want you to fuck me already!” you moaned, leaning your head downward to his broad shoulders, forehead slippery with sweat.

geto chuckled at your neediness, clicking his tongue as he lands a firm slap to your reddened ass. you all but moaned, hips moving back and forth as you clenched your mounds around his cock.

“but baby,” geto complains mockingly, slipping his hand in between your bodies and thumbing at your swollen clit. “y’wouldn’t wanna disappoint your fans, would ya?”

as he spoke, he glanced over your shoulder to check the comment section, as it was filled with numerous donations, praises as well as degradations. the more his viewers donated money to him, the quicker the toy plugged in your ass vibrated.

the triple stimulation had your brain gone to mush, your golden spot brutally toyed with as the foreign but pleasurable feeling in your puckered hole stretched it out, added with the circles at your bundle of nerves, sending shivers all throughout your body.

“uhn uhn,” you shake your head, all but against the idea of ruining his live stream simply because you were tired. more than anything, you wanted to cum, even if it had been in the most torturous way you could think of.

“that’s my good girl,” geto presses his lips at the crane of your head. his praise sends tingles in your belly, core licking with heat. his hands find their way to your ass cheeks, groping the soft mounds as encouragement, the actions causing a shift in the toy to be pushed slightly deeper inside of you.

“f-fuck—don’t do that, i’ll cum!” you complain, arching your chest into his, sensitive nipples brushing into his own.

the creamy mess at the base of his cock clearly accessible to the viewers sent a massive amount of money right into geto’s account and straight to your ass, as you jolted into his hold, clinging your arms around his neck.

“holy shit—one thousand?” geto asks breathlessly, followed by immediate more pinging indicating more donations. “you’re a hit baby—they fuckin’ love this pussy. too bad it’s all fuckin’ mine though, hah,”

you’re flattered by it all, and hit with a final wave of confidence before you’re sure the dam in your gut will snap, you push him back to lay on his bed. geto watches you with a cocked brow and smug smile, baby hairs messily framing his flushed skin.

“oh?” he asks, amused by the sudden turn of events. he never lets go of your hips, instead tightening his hold on you as you plant your feet to the mattress.

you hop up and down, his dick nearly slipping by how far up you rode him, with your palms pressed against the plane of his abs. feeling tears build up at your lash line, you moan and wail, dick penetrating deep into your cunt deliciously.

“fuckin’ ride this dick, ‘s all yours mama—shit, gonna make me cum all inside that pretty pussy, mmh. give it all t’me,”

it doesn’t take much between his constant praising, the slickness of your wetness around his cock and the additional vibrations to your ass to have you cumming hard around him. you clamp your walls down, momentarily pausing your riding as you let it take over your entire body.

geto comes through, hips bucking upwards to further your orgasm and you’re sure you momentarily blacked out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your tongue lolls out of your mouth.

“what a pretty fuckin’ face baby, all mine. goddamn, ‘s too bad your biggest fan won’t get to see it— ain’t that right, satoru?”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

“k-kento—oh fuck daddy, ‘s so fucking deep!”

his wrist ached as he worked his way up and down his cock, tip throbbing an angry red. he watched himself hold your waist with one grip of his hand, the other propped up to film the lewd scenery, capturing you in all your glory.

nanami maintained a steady focus, pistonning into your cunt at a ruthless pace, a ruthless angle, and judging by the sound of your broken moans, he was thrusting into that spot that had you seeing stars and slurring your words.

on the screen showed you face down with your ass up, hands bind by his tie behind your back, face planted into his bed as he fucked into you passionately. your pussy gripped onto his cock greedily, sucking him in as the ripples of your ass bounced on his pelvis.

“my perfect girl, fuck, keep taking it just like that.” his large hand held at your waist firmly, bottoming out just to pull out all the way to where your lips latched at his tip, coating his dick in your creamy essence.

his hand made it to the top of his shaft, and when the screen presented him an erotic view of both your body fluids— semen, juices, sweat— sticking between both your damp skin, where you lowered yourself on his cock and where he pushed forward to fasten the process, his thumb grazed over his slit tauntingly, the same way he’s seen you done it dozens of times.

it’d never occur to him that watching himself plow into you would turn him on so, but you were so far away and he was immensely turned on.

his button down now unbuttoned, his chest heaved up and down as he panted heavily, sliding his other hand down to cup at his balls, the way you’ve done to him so many times. he winces at the feeling, dick painfully hard as it twitches in his hold.

“holy fuck— my perfect fuckin’ girl, shit.” he groans, narrowing his eyes to focus on the hypnotic sight that had his erection crying impossibly further.

the sight of you unable to do anything but take his dick like the slut you were made to be for him had him curling his feet and thighs tremble rather quickly. your fingers twitched as you begged him to free you, to let you touch him, but all that resorted to was your ass getting slapped for your disobedience.

“behave princess.” nanami warned you while rubbing his hand at the reddened skin, and you whined a ‘m so sorry daddy but obeyed nonetheless, and whatever kink triggered in nanami activated, as he jerked off faster, desperate to chase that release.

in the video, nanami pulled his dick out momentarily, causing you to cry out at your pussy’s emptiness. lowering the camera to your abused cunt, your pink walls gaped and clenched around nothing, practically calling out for him to fill the void. he chuckles behind his phone, before grabbing at his cock and lining himself at your entrance, teasing your folds by dragging his tip up and down before bottoming out again.

“fuckin’ hell, i need you right now,” nanami cussed, wanting nothing more than to feel your warmth around his cock instead of his own hand, to feel you clamp and suck him into your pussy, to have you squirt on his cock and still beg him for more despite your sensitivity.

between the pornographic sight of your cunt clenching down on his cock, your asshole winking at him, the recoil of your ass onto him and the sinful arch of your back, nanami soon painted his fist white in his cum, head thrown back as he was overtaken by an orgasm.

“damn it—shit, just like that princess—keep gripping onto me, gonna fill that pretty pussy full of my cum.”

yes, gojo was the generous donator on geto’s live stream. pervert

[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?"

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run

Pt 3

At some point, Soap and Gaz fall asleep on the couch, sprawled across one another. Ghost is laid back in one of the recliners, struggling to keep his eyes open as Price’s voice lulls him to sleep from the kitchen.

You're not sure how long the two of you have sat here. It took Price an hour to finally open his mouth. He has hardly met your eye since he’s started talking, hands clasped together on top of the table.

The ache you felt in your chest for these men worsened the longer Price spoke. Proud military men, tired of seeing the monsters they hunted get slaps on the wrist for atrocious crimes. Making plea deals with lawyers, getting one way tickets into luxury cells when they should be six feet underground.

You don’t realise Price has stopped talking till Soap snores, causing Dixon to shuffle at your feet, all four dogs scattered around the kitchen floor. You look him over, taking in the man now that all his bravado has been drained, leaving only the raw human underneath. Blue eyes darkened by years on the force and then years behind bars, forced into proximity with the very animals he and his team longed to put down. You’re looking at a man who fought for what was right and when justice wasn’t served in a way he deemed fit, he settled it.

Price is staring down at his hands, and you’re worried he’s going to hurt himself with how vigorously he rubs his hands together. You don’t think, reaching across the table and grasping one of his hands in yours, running your thumb across scarred knuckles. “Don’t do that.” You scold, and his head whips up to stare at you, eyes wide, hopeful but hesitant.

He looks down at your hand holding his, then back at you. “You’re not…?” He trails off, clearing his throat as he sits up straighter, letting your palm slip into his. You’re not sure what word he was going to use, but you shake your head.

“I’m… I’m sorry you all had to…” You don’t finish your sentence, letting it hang in the air between you. You’re shocked to see tears pool at the corner of his eyes but he’s quick to blink them away.

“You’re not horrified by us?” He asks, and you can tell he’s trying to fight his voice from shaking. You clear your throat, but gently squeeze his hand when his grip loosens.

“You have done… horrible things. Inhumane things.” You start, trying to pick your words carefully as you scoot your chair closer to his. He watches you warily, but there is no denying the growing hope in those eyes. “But I couldn’t imagine seeing what you saw everyday. Hearing the things you’ve heard, having to keep that all to yourself. Seeing… monsters you’ve spent years tracking get served the minimum sentence with a cozy cell waiting for them.” His hand starts to shake, and your heart breaks seeing how hard he’s fighting back the tears pooling in his eyes. “We never would have actually hurt you, I swear on my life. We just… Fuck we had been running for fucking hours through those god damn trees and-“ His voice cracks, and you gently run your thumb over the back of his hand. “Why are you being so nice?” He almost spits the word, but his grip on your hand tightens.

Grounding.

“You did as I asked. You told me the truth.” You mirror his words from the barn, and he barks out a wet sounding laugh before covering his face with his free hand. “And you’re happy with that truth?”

“I’m happy you decided you could trust me enough with it.” You admit softly, and he stares into your eyes, and you don’t feel the need to look away this time. “Anyone else would have gone running for the hills.” He whispers, and you can’t help but smile.

“Not many places to run to, and if I’m telling the honest truth, there are worse things than killing human filth.” You shrug, and he lets out a bewildered laugh. “You can’t mean-“

“I do though. There are people in this world that don’t deserve the freedom they have, that have ripped apart the lives of others and continue living like they didn’t single-handedly ruin someone’s entire foundation.” Your words are a little more forceful than you intended, raw. And Price catches it, sitting up a little straighter, tugging your hand closer.

“You have your own monster, don’t you pretty?” He asks seriously, and you swallow, lowering your gaze to your clasped hands.

“I think that’s a story for another night.” You whisper, and you see him nod, before realization hits, and his eyes widen.

“You’re going to let us-“

“You are going to have to show me that I am not making a mistake by letting four wanted men stay in my house.” You interrupt him, but there’s a smile on your face. The next seconds are a blur and you suddenly find this giant of a man at your feet, kneeling in front of you and holding both your hands in his. His shoulders are shaking, head bent but you hear the hitch in his breath.

“Price..” You murmur, a little nervous but you slip your hands free, slowly running your fingers through his hair, and you hear the sob that leaves him. He bunches up the loose fabric of your sweats in his fist, and you can feel his tears starting to soak through.

“You are a good person.” He chokes out, looking up at you and the look on his face has tears of your own threatening to spill. He looks exhausted, like every ounce of his energy has finally been drained, years of enduring visceral human indecency ingrained into every part of his being. And yet he is gazing at you like you are the first glimpse of the sun after week long rainstorms, constant flooding and devastation, the light breaking through the clouds to spread warmth on a new day.

“You’re still a good person too.”

Those words linger in the air.

You lose track of time as you sit there, running your fingers through his hair, this man who you’ve never met, who invited himself into your home, but has bared the darkest corners of his soul to you all in one night. Grimes had made his way over at some point, staring at Price with a concerned tilt of his head. He never did like when you cried, and you can tell he’s desperate to try and comfort this strange man in his home. He lays besides him, paws outstretched, inching forward ever so slowly.

“He doesn’t like that you’re upset.” You mumble, watching the way his eyes snap over to Grimes. “Even though I terribly upset his mama earlier?” He mutters, he and Grimes staring at one another.

“Grimes has always been a big softy. Dixon is the one who’s gonna hold a grudge.” An answering ‘boof’ comes from beside you, Dixon plopping his head back on his paws after making his stance known.

Grimes scoots forward until he can rest his big head on Price’s lap, nuzzling down and looking up at him expectantly, and Price gives you a hesitant look. You just nod, smiling gently. “You’re gonna be staying with four of them, better get yourselves acquainted.”

“What in the bloody fuck did I miss?” A drowsy voice mutters from the doorway, and Ghost stands there, taking in the sight of Price kneeling before you, still clutching your sweatpants, and you can see the downturn of his lips through his mask when he notices the dried tears on Price’s cheek.

You gently pull Price’s hands off your sweats, and he looks as though you just took away his favorite treat. “I’ll go grab some fresh blankets.” You hum, face warming when you can feel both of their gazes on your back as you walk up the stairs.

“Wait, does that mean-“ You hear Ghost start, and you’re shocked to hear it so soft, but their words are lost as you turn down the hallway. You slip into the bedroom at the end of the hall, making quick work of dusting off the dresser and small TV, gently stacking a pile of clean sheets and towels. This room already had two beds, you just hoped they were big enough for these giant oafs.

You just about scream when a pair of hands grip your waist, and you whirl around. “Price you have got to stop grabbing me now- Oh.”

It was Ghost, eyes unreadable as he stares you down, and you clear your throat, loosening your grasp just a bit but still attempting to push him off.

“You scared me, you need to stop-“

“Thank you.” He interrupts, and your eyes widen as he pulls you closer.

“I- Well you’re welcome, I couldn’t just-“

“Yes you could. You could send out right back outside, hell you could get a goddamn brigade of officers here and you would be justified for it.” He shrugs, but you frown, shaking your head.

“No. From… from what Price told me, you all made your own choices to help those the governments deem lesser than them. You helped people who have watched law officials let them down again and again.” You state firmly, wincing slightly as you feel Ghost dig his fingers into your hips. “Easy.” You scold, and he immediately eases up, but doesn’t let go of you, keeping you pressed to him and your heart skips.

“I’ll just finish-“

“Whoever divorces such a sweet little bird must have absolute shit for brains.” Ghost states, quite confidently, and you can’t stop the shocked giggle that slips past. “Absolute fuckin idiot.”

“You can’t win me over with flattery you know.” You huff, but he sees right through you, dark eyes taking in your flustered expression, and you feel heat burn your cheeks as you avoid meeting his eye.

“Mmm, we’ll see about that. Think it’ll get me pretty damn far.” He grins, and you smack his hands before pausing.

“Wait.” You mutter, prying his right hand off of you and lifting it up, inspecting.

Your teeth made a pretty gnarly imprint, already scabbing. “Ah don’t worry about that. I deserved it.”

“C’mon you big idiot, before you let that thing get infected.” You order, pushing him towards the bathroom and he lets out a loud laugh, the sound causing butterflies to seize your stomach.

“Yes ma’am.”

[moonlight-prose]

smut prompt #8 for logan 👀💗

forty five minutes in the closet

a/n: not me literally writing this in right where you left me ch4. hilarious and iconic timing, because i was fighting the urge to just have them fuck full on in that closet. so here's my chance to do just that. for funsies i'm shoving it into that universe. do not look at me for using that gif. i literally can't deny myself the sight.

summary: an alternative scene to what really happened in that closet.

OR wade wilson forces logan to play seven minutes in heaven. (it was longer than seven minutes if we're being honest.)

word count: 2.6k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, exhibitionism, dirty talk, logan is filthy af and we love that, spit, fingering sort of, p in v sex, quickie, rough sex, biting, he's down bad for his honey what can i say, panty gag, a formal apology for how fucking horny and unhinged this is.

The closet felt smaller than intended—even as your back was pressed to the wall hard enough to feel the cracks in the drywall that stretched to the ceiling. Laughter filtered through the thin wooden door as Wade told yet another joke about shit you couldn't discern. Even if you asked him to explain, you'd still be confused come morning.

Logan leaned heavily against his side of the closet. Approximately two feet of space between you. The tips of your shoes touched his boots. The faint scent of cigar smoke still lingered from where he ripped it out and tossed it in an ashtray. You wouldn't have cared if he smoked in here. You might have asked for a puff.

He insisted on keeping the air clean in case you had to breathe.

Wade claimed you were playing seven minutes in heaven. Seven minutes of alone time with the man who made your head spin. In a proximity close enough to feel the heat of his body from where you stood. Although you'd been standing there for four minutes (you were keeping count via the watch on Logan's wrist) and the group seemed to have forgotten about the both of you entirely.

"Do you—um—know what usually happens here?"

A smile curved on his lips—eyes scrutinizing you with a look that told you he was teasing you. "Yeah. I do. I'm old, not stupid."

"I just wanted to make sure..." In a swift move you barely saw, he rose to his full height and crossed the invisible line holding the two of you on opposing sides. "Oh–"

"Honey." His voice was low, yet you felt as if he was screaming in your ear.

"Yes?" you breathed—eyes fixed on the way his chest took up your space. His flannel was stretched across it and for a moment you wondered if you started salivating at the sight.

"Are you nervous?"

Another raucous round of laughs broke through the darkness that surrounded you. But you could barely hear them over the echo of your own heart. It hammered loudly against your chest—quickening the closer he got. The more his large frame began to engulf you in a warmth you only dreamed of. You clamored to come up with a response, to flippantly push off his advance with a tease of your own.

His hands pressing on either side of your head to the wall behind you killed every ounce of bravery you had left. All your worries and thoughts about what lay on the other side of that door were extinguished. Logan leaned down, his nose brushed yours, and inhaled deep enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

"I can smell you," he rumbled. "Sweet like honey."

A searing heat built beneath your skin, burning from your cheeks down to the tips of your toes. Your mouth opened—words still fighting to be formed—but he didn't need an answer. Not when he could smell the arousal that pooled between your thighs. How you subtly shifted to find a bit of friction in the hopes of something more.

"You mind if I kiss you bub?"

A piece of you fractured in the darkness of that closet—settling comfortably in his own chest. You might ask for it back after all of this, but Logan felt his chances of you walking out as his were growing the longer this went on.

Glancing up—eyes wide and darkened with lust—you bit back the whine that crawled up the back of your throat. "They'll hear us."

He shrugged, shifting close enough for you to almost taste the whiskey off his lips. "Good."

"Logan–"

Lips pressed to your cheek, drawing a soft sigh from your parted mouth. "Somethin' tells me they're just waiting for it." His hand left the wall to trail along your waist, dipping slowly with a kiss to the corner of your lips. "And somethin' also tells me...you like that idea."

It's not as if you were entirely opposed to the idea. Actually most nights (if not every night) was spent with you imagining what it would be like to feel him this way. To be stretched with his cock so much you would feel a delicious burn.

You craved it.

He knew solely from the wanton look on your face. The way your eyes fluttered the further his hand went.

"You gonna let me in or what honey?" he cooed, fingers dipping beneath your skirt to seek out the slick that soaked the lace of your underwear.

Surely the seven minutes had run out, leaving the both of you to make a choice. Stay here and keep going for everyone to catch you. Or walk out, find a room, and continue this in private.

The thought of waiting a second longer snapped at your heels with an air of impatience you let consume you. What the fuck did it matter if they heard you getting fucked against the wall? What did it matter if you'd never live this down as long as you lived?

How could you actually think about shame when Logan's fingers were pressed against your dripping cunt, seeking out your clit through the thin fabric that divided you.

Sagging against the wall with a soft moan, you gripped his flannel in your fist and yanked his lips to yours. He groaned, falling into your body and effectively pinning you to the wall, as his tongue met yours. And suddenly you realized...you liked how whiskey tasted off of his tongue.

He devoured you with the kiss, swallowing each moan and stunted whine as his fingers made quick work of finding your clit. Rubbing quick circles, he plunged his tongue into your mouth - licking at your teeth with a fervor that seeped down into your stomach. It was messy. His spit mixed with yours, staining the skin of your cheek. Your slick coated the inside of your thighs as he pushed the fabric into you roughly.

Yet none of it felt enough to ease the ache that spread rapidly down to the tips of your fingers. Your heart twisted as he gripped the back of your neck—leading you in a kiss that divulged down to nothing but teeth and spit.

You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, your leg hooking around his hip, in the hopes of dragging him closer. To feel the hard bulge against the rough denim of his jeans.

"Look at you," he mumbled against your cheek. "All pretty and leakin' for me."

A sharp burst of need pulled tight at your stomach—the breath torn from your lungs. "Inside–"

He smiled. "C'mon honey. Use that smart head of yours. Gimme some words."

His words were a brutal tease that scraped against your skin. Yet that coupled with his fingers that seemed to hold an edge of desperation, left you gasping for air. Fingers dug into his shirt, lips found his in the hollow darkness, and you begged for mercy. This was your penance. The altar he intended to bend you across.

Oh how you longed for him to follow through.

"Fuck me," you managed to get out between sharp intakes of breath and heady kisses. "Please Logan. It hurts.

The sound that emanated from deep in his chest could only be described as feral. You'd never heard him like that before. Bordering on the line of unhinged and sanity. A flare of want pulled at your body, echoing loudly in your chest.

You wanted to hear it again. To feel him break beneath your palms as he rutted into you with need. You ached to watch him whittle himself down to the barest of his senses. The animalistic urge of lust he kept hidden for weeks on end.

"Yeah?" His words were a snarl against your ear, teeth scraping your jaw as he ripped his hand away. "'M gonna make it better. Gonna take away the pain."

Nails scratched at the back of his neck when you heard his claws slide out—cutting through the fabric that clung to you. It was sopping wet; proof that you hadn't in fact been lying about your need. Logan felt his cock leak in his jeans at the sight—how your slick clung to his fingers as he swiped along the gusset.

"All for me," he sighed.

"Uh-huh." If you thought you sounded needy before, that was nothing compared to this moment.

He eyed you briefly. The hazel you'd grown fond of now dark and clouded with lust. The plea for more lay on the tip of your tongue—ready to be laved against his skin the longer he took. But then he brought the fabric to his mouth, his tongue running across it with a broken groan. The breath was punched from your lungs—legs shaking as a wave of slick poured out of you.

"Oh fuck–" you gasped, cupping his chin to catch his lips in a kiss.

The clink of his belt buckle echoed like a gunshot in the small space. Your heart began to race. Fingers shaking as you watched him tug his cock free; fisting the red and leaking tip with a throaty moan. Saliva filled your mouth at the mere thought of him sliding between your lips. The image of him feeding you his cock with a smile.

He fanned the flames of your simmering fire, offering you pleasure with ease.

His hand gripped your other leg, positioning it over his hip before pushing you up along the wall. The yelp was muffled by his lips; your hands finding purchase against his hot skin.

"Gotta be real quiet now bub," he mumbled, sliding his cock along your drenched cunt.

The head tapped against your clit once, twice. By the third time your teeth were dug into your bottom lip so hard copper burst on your tongue.

"I promise."

He chuckled, breathless. You joined.

The compact space stretched out before you, expanding with each joined breath and laugh. Passion intertwined in your chest, reaching for him with a tender touch of reverence. And nothing existed but the two of you.

"Hey Logan."

His cock jumped at the sound of your voice so light and airy. "Yeah honey?"

"If I don't tell you after this." Your hips canted into his, grinding towards where he positioned himself. "I had a really nice time tonight."

His heart fluttered as your words settled into his skin—soaking up your warmth. "Me too."

The laughter diminished the second he pushed forward, sliding into you with a slickened thrust that left his body shuddering. You swallowed the sob that wrenched from your chest when he kept going. Stretching you until you felt the burn begin to seep into your body. You weren't prepared for how addicting it felt; how mindless he made you.

Seven minutes had surely blended into fifteen, giving the group no doubt of what you were doing. That only solidified when he bottomed out and you moaned so loud it nearly gave him a heart attack. His fingers clamored for something in his pocket—his lips sliding against yours to silence the endless whimpers. He filled you until you saw white behind your eyes each time they fluttered closed.

"They're gonna hear ya," he muttered. You caught a flash of lace before it was being pressed to your lips—willing you to part them and hold the fabric between your teeth.

Logan gave you one minute to find your brain in the muddled thoughts that filled you, before pulling out. Only to slam back in. Your cry was muffled—eyes rolled back—and he felt a searing triumph begin to form in his chest. At the sight of you in a messy state of bliss.

His hips slapped against yours, the wet slide of your cunt a loud echo. Adding to the symphony of his groans and your whimpered sounds. Your spit soaked into the lace, fingers digging hard along the planes of his back, and he felt you gush at the feel of his teeth sinking into your neck.

"So fuckin' sweet for me," he grunted, cupping your ass to push you back and forth on his cock. A shift in the angle had you going dumb. Eyes wide and glazed with tears. "My pretty girl huh?"

Fuck you wanted to scream. You longed to hear his name bounce off the closet walls and spill into the foyer of Wade's damn apartment. To remind them that time was still passing and their limit had reached the vastness of infinity.

He pounded into you with sharp gasps of praise, words that fell on ears deafened by the rush of blood that ran right to your head. Oxygen felt secondary when his cock kissed the wall of your cunt with such accuracy it left you blinded. Enough to have you sobbing into the spit soaked lace - tears spilling down your cheeks.

"You take it like it was fuckin' made for you yeah?"

You nodded, breasts bouncing as he fucked you along his cock—his other hand pressed to the wall. You took it like it was made for you, because it was made for you. Logan belonged to you. Whether he knew it now or not.

"I can feel you squeezin' me," he gasped. "Gonna cum?"

"Mhm," you mumbled, the squelch of your cunt loud enough to block out the laughter from the outside.

"Then do it honey." His thumb found your clit, swirling it with sharp pointed circles. Your toes curled in your shoes—head falling back to the wall with a soft thud. "That's it. Fuckin' cum for me."

"Mmff–" A sob of what morphed into his name tore from the depths of your body. Rendering you a shaky mess in his arms as you clamped down around his cock.

Slick poured out of you, coating the hair along the base of his stomach in your essence. Logan growled at the sight. His eyes narrowed and teeth bared with each stunted thrust of his hips into yours. Claws punctured the drywall behind you as a way to keep his body level. To ground himself as he came with a hoarse groan he quickly muffled into the top of your breast.

Grinding into you, he emptied himself entirely. Rope after rope of his spend now filling you to the point of dripping down to his balls.

You felt the need to drop to your knees and taste him.

To clean him entirely and place him neatly back in his jeans. But the movement of your body no longer remained an option—your legs numb and back sore from being pounded into the wall.

He removed the gag with a huff, kissing you gently with his thumbs pressed to the tops of your cheeks. A soft caress. A contract to the rough way he manhandled you.

"I can't feel my legs," you sighed into his mouth, tongue swiping along his bottom lip.

"You're not supposed to." The weak slap to his chest had him laughing louder than intended.

"Don't worry. Wade won't notice if you carry me."

He groaned, his teeth scraping at the flesh of your breast. "Don't fuckin’ say his name or I won't be able to fuck you again tonight."

You giggled, running your hands through his mussed hair. "Whiskey dick?"

"Shut up–"

"He's told you–"

Lips sealed over yours, hips pushing yours until the sigh stuttered from your chest. "Don't fuckin' start honey."

You smiled into the kiss. "Or you'll finish?"

A thump rammed against the door, startling the both of you. You half expected it to swing open and expose Logan with his jeans down to his knees and his softened cock still inside you. But all that came through was Wade's laughter—his knuckles rapping on the wood.

"Did he rise babygirl?" he shouted much to the detriment of the group who booed behind him.

"I will cut you open through the door!" Logan snarled. A triumphant laugh rattled the walls as Logan lowered you to the ground. Only for Wade to get the last official word.

"HE ROSE!"

[nanaslutt]

Bathtime w/ Fuckbuddy Satoru Gojo <3

contains: fem reader, reader is a teacher at Jujutsu High, clit play, mutual pining, teasing, so much dirty talk, possessive!Satoru if u squint

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

"Ahhhh...." You moaned quietly into the small space of your bathroom as the soreness from your limbs was washed away by the borderline scolding hot water that swallowed up your body. The bubbles tickled your chin as you sunk deeper, letting the water cover your body up to your neck so you appeared to be a head floating in the bath.

Gojo had been out on a mission, which meant you were in charge of teaching his students and overseeing their sparing. Only you had to get hands-on with them several times and ended up moving your body in ways you haven't moved since you were in high school. 

You were a sorcerer and you trained frequently, but in the weeks before training his students, curses had been quiet, which meant fewer missions and less moving your body. So you stayed inside most days to complete paperwork, ignoring the training you should've been doing to stay agile and keep your bones loose during the dry spell of curse appearances--and boy did it show.

Not in your performance, but in your bones. You felt your muscles straining and burning when you pulled off some showy move for the students as you avoided one of their hits. The day felt like it was dragging on forever, and each time one of his precious students asked if you would spar with them, you accepted because your ego was too big to decline because of a little soreness. 

You had plenty of time to regret it afterwards though as you lay on your floor and stretched your body, cursing at Gojo over the phone for having such energetic students. He laughed and apologized, though he didnt seem very sorry to hear you groaning and moaning in pain through the phone. All of your moans sounded the same to him, pervert. Although he did promise to make it up to you when he came home from his mission in a few days, so you let him off the hook. 

Though you were irritated, as you shut your eyes and let the Epsom salt soak into your tired body, letting the hot water creep into your skin, you couldn't find yourself to be all that mad. This felt so good, you hadn't relaxed like this in a while. You silently prayed to someone that the dry spell of curse sightings would keep up so you could relax like this more often, even though you knew that was wishful thinking. 

You let the hot water wash all of the thoughts from your head, and it must've taken some of your consciousness with it because you failed to hear the dull bang of your front door opening, followed by footsteps that got closer and closer to the outside of your bathroom door. Your entire body jolted forward when you snapped back into reality fully at the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

The adrenaline and fear from your fight or flight response didnt last long when the familiar feeling of Gojo's cursed energy flooded into your body, relaxing you almost instantly. "Oh? Did I scare you?" Gojo giggled as he pushed the door open entirely, his long frame leaning against the doorway, arms crossed as he watched you from under his blindfold.

 The bubbles had covered your chest in a way that almost looked like someone had placed them there on purpose. They came up to just above your nipples, covering the part of you Gojo wanted to see most. The rest of the suds stuck to the skin of your breasts, slowly slipping downwards at a snail's pace. If you kept your body sitting up like you were for long enough, the bubbles would surely run off your tits and reveal your pretty nipples to Gojo's eyes. 

The water still sloshed around your body from your sudden movements before you sighed and leaned back against the tub, letting the water absorb you into it once more. "Fuck, Satoru... what are you doing here? I thought you were going to be gone for another week?" You asked, trying to keep the longing out of your tone as you spoke to him, not wanting him to know you missed him as much as you did, his ego didn't need that. 

"Aww did someone miss me?" Gojo asked, tilting his head at you. "I missed you too, that's why I used you as motivation to exercise that curse as quickly as possible so I could come to you~" The teasing and playfulness in his voice both irritated and aroused you. You scoffed, turning your head away from him to stare at the very interesting blank wall of the shower as you felt a blush creep onto your face.

"Get in and close the door or leave, you're letting all the hot air out." You bit, ignoring his teasing words as you felt goosebumps tickle your arms from under your skin. "Ohhh~ Is that an invitation?" Gojo cooed, uncrossing his arms as he kicked the door shut behind him, a large hand reaching behind his head to pull off his blindfold, his beautiful blue eyes being revealed from underneath.

You kept your face unreadable as you looked back at Gojo, your greedy eyes taking in the way his arms bulged as the jacket slid off his arms, falling to the floor. It must've been hot where he was sent on the mission because instead of the signature white long-sleeve button-up shirt he usually wore under his jacket, his body was adorned in a tight black muscle shirt. One that made your mouth water with how little it left to the imagination.

"Hey, my eyes are up here. You're making me embarrassed, y'know~" Gojo whined, faux pouting as he crossed his arms over his body and pulled up the bottom of his shirt before slowly sliding it up his body, giving you a show as each row of his insanely defined abs was revealed to you. Satoru grinned at you when he pulled the shirt over his head, his hair looking ruffled and fluffy from his head being squeezed through such a tight opening. Cute.

"Don't say that like you don't stare at me shamelessly when I take off my clothes in front of you." You retort, feeling your body start to react to the show he was putting on for you. "I can't help it, you get so squirmy when I watch you, it's adorable," Gojo responded, his hands making quick work of his belt as he kept his piercing eyes on yours while he did so.

Your lip curled up slightly in embarrassment at his words. How was he able to just say stuff like that? "You touchin' yourself under there?" Gojo asked, his voice keeping the teasing tone but with the addition of something deeper now. Your jaw dropped as you stared at him incredulously, a blush spreading across your face. "Y-you-" Briefly looking down you noticed the bulge that had already formed in his pants.

He could see nothing but your head floating atop the bubbles, how was he already hard? "You have such a dirty mouth Satoru." You responded, shaking your head at him. He giggled as he finally pulled his pants and boxers off his heels, his hard cock standing at full attention, the delicious curve made it point up towards his belly. You did your best to avert your eyes, looking back at the blank wall of the shower as he got closer.

"Heh~ You're so easy to tease." He teased. "Scoot forward, make some room for me, princess." Your heart was beating out of your chest. It had only been a week and a half since Gojo had left on his mission, but your body had missed him so badly. Not a second went by that you didnt crave Satoru's presence in some way, so now that he was actually here after ten days of pining, your body didn't know what to do with all the feelings you were experiencing.

Wordlessly, you leaned forward and allowed Gojo to slide into the bath behind you. He hissed when he stuck his first foot in the bath behind your body. "Are you a masochist?? Why is the water so hot??" Gojo complained, hissing and whining under his breath after each inch of skin he sunk into the water.

His childishness eased some of the tension and embarrassment you were feeling. You smiled to yourself as he situated himself deeper into the bath, his thighs spreading around your body. "Your students pushed me to my limits, I don't think there's a muscle in my body that isn't sore." You sighed. Gojo hummed in awknowledgement as he wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you back agaisnt him, your back flush to his chest--which felt so much wider than you remember. 

You tried to ignore the very prominent feeling of Gojo's hard cock poking your lower back as you relaxed against him, your eyes taking in his usual porcelain skin turning red on the tops of his knees as they poked out from under the water, burned from the heat of the water. "Is your body more sensitive to heat because of your infinity? Or are you just a bitch?" You asked, staring blankly at the shower wall in front of you.

Gojo tsked at your words, his arms squeezing tighter around your body. "You could've said that last part nicer. I'm sensitive." He replied, pouting as he placed his chin on your head, staring at the same wall you were. You laughed softly, relaxing even further against him "I've always been sensitive to extreme temperatures, but I think anyone besides you would agree with me when I say this bath is just too hot."

You stayed quiet for a few seconds before you spoke again, "I think you're just a bitch." You said teasingly, smiling to yourself. Gojo pulled his head back from resting on the top of your head and looked down at your smaller frame against his as he pouted. He quickly got distracted though, forgetting your words as his eyes traced over the slope of your shoulders, the curve of your neck, and the valley between your breasts, glistening from the water.

Satoru licked his lips when an idea suddenly popped into his head. Releasing the hold he had on your body, he placed one of his hands right under your tit, the other slowly sliding down the front of your body. On instinct, you looked down, as if you could see his hands working on your body under the water. His large hand acted like it creating a path to your cunt, but right when he got to your pelvis, he changed direction and rubbed his hand down your thigh before sliding it back up, repeating that action.

"You're so mean to me sometimes..." He pouted, the hand he had holding your body against him slipping up to cup your breast, his large hand practically engulfing the entire thing as he slowly massaged it. "Satoru..." You whispered, your head pressing back against his chest. "I'm nothing but nice to you, y'know?" He continued, his hand alternating between pinching your nipple with his fingers and rubbing your entire tit in his palm.

You sighed as he touched you, your body melting under his touch. "But even though you're a bully..." Satoru's hand slid back up to your pelvis, he rubbed the area of skin right above your clit with his fingers, pressing down against the skin slowly, the same as he did when he fucked you and was trying to feel himself thrust inside you. You didn't even realize that your legs were spreading on instinct, making room for him to touch you.

You gasped quietly as you waited for him to touch you. The throbbing between your thighs was now pulsing rapidly with your need for relief the longer he teased you. "...I still want to make you feel good." He finished, his fingers releasing the pressure on your pelvis as they slid down to your pussy, his fingers finding your clit with ease as he started rubbing slow, teasing circles against it.

"Does that make me a pushover?" He whispered hotly against your ear as you gasped in a breath at the sudden striking pleasure. "Fuck-" You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as he played with your little clit expertly, his other hand rubbing his index finger in circles around your areola, much the same pace as the one on your clit. "Hm? Does it baby?" Gojo asked, his greedy mouth sucking the shell of your ear into his mouth, his tongue teasing it as his lips suctioned around it, the sensation sending goosebumps down your body.

"I-I don't know." You whined, your brain not even registering what he was saying to you as he pleasured your body. He truly knew your body like the back of his hand, he knew each and every spot that had you whining and crying for him. "You don't know?" He repeated, leaving hot kisses against your ear as he sped up the circles on your clit, adding slightly more pressure at the same time.

"You aren't listening huh? That's so mean princess. I'm going out of my way to make you feel good even after you've bullied me, and you can't even listen to me?" He cooed, making his voice higher as he teased you. His index finger and thumb pinched around the hard bud of your nipple as he rolled it between his fingers. You squirmed against his body, your legs jerking every so often causing the water to slosh around you.

Your hand gripped Gojo's wrist which was working vehemently on your pussy, making jolts of electricity shock through your body. "S-Satoru... satoru that feels good." You whined, your hair tickling his skin as your head rubbed on his chest. Gojo smiled, switching his hand to massage your other breast. "You can't think of anything other than how good you feel, huh?" He asked, kissing the spot right behind your ear.

His cock was twitching against your back after each whine and moan you released. He was so grateful you were pressed so tightly against him, your squirming giving his cock significant release as your lower back rubbed all over him. "M-mhmm-" You responded, pressing your lips together as you opened your legs wider for him. 

Gojo pressed kisses all over your neck and ear as he continued rubbing his fingers over your sensitive little bud, working you higher and higher toward your orgasm. "You're so soft. I missed you against me like this. I love holding you." Gojo whispered, his words too intimate for a fuckbudy to say, making you blush with embarrassment. "M-missed you too." You respond honestly, putting your pride aside. "You make me feel so good Satoru.." you praised, your words going straight to his cock.

"Yeah? I touch you so much better than you touch yourself huh?" He asked, his fingers quickening with his own excitement. "Y-yeah." You whine the word dragging out from between your lips. "I'm the only one who makes you feel this good, huh?" Satoru whispered, practically whining into your ear as he rutted his hips against your back. 

You groaned in response, feeling yourself almost about to tip over the edge. His hand on your tit massaged harder as he humped against you faster, the water sloshing around your body, spilling onto the floor. "Say it baby, need you to say it," Gojo begged, increasing the pressure on your clit, making your legs jerk together, trying to close around his hand when you felt the hot coil of your release wind up impossibly tighter.

"O-only you Satoru only you. F-fuck fuck I'm cumming-" Your smaller hand tightens around his wrist as you hold onto him for dear life as your orgasm wracks through your body. Satoru chases you, keeping your body pressed to his when you jerk forward, your body trying to fold in on itself when the intensity of your high. "Oh good fucking girl, take it, baby, that's it, cum for me." Gojo groaned against your ear, his hand squeezing your tit as wave after wave of your orgasm washed over you.

Satoru's cock dripped pre-cum into the water when you came, his own arousal increasing tenfold as he watched you cum. You relaxed back against his chest when you came down from your high, your head falling limply on his chest as you gasped softly, trying to recover from such an intense orgasm. "That looked like it felt so good baby, good job." He praised, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Your face was flushed red with your arousal as you closed your eyes when you felt his lips touch you. "Thank you, Satoru. I really needed that." You said, rubbing your thumb on his wrist that had started caressing the spot where your thigh and hip meet. He hummed, kissing your head once more as he acknowledged your words, the hand on your tit still slowly massaging it in circles.

"Would you look at that..." Satoru spoke, making you turn your head to look up at him, wondering what he was looking at. He smirked down at you when he got a view of your face, his eyes making contact with your own. "The water is still hot." His smirk grew when you tsked and looked away from him, the white-haired man bursting into a fit of giggles as he wrapped his arms around your body. 

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Can I request something spicy for YanBatman with his Ex-WifeReader? 🫨

TW: Semi-NSFW, implied breeding kink, mention/implied cockwarming

(I sincerely hope you like it! It feels like forever since I’ve written something like this, let alone something spicy.)

Entrapment

A talk. That’s all this meeting was suppose to be. Just a simple and civil discussion about the upcoming court proceedings regarding the divorce and what would be happening afterwards regarding your relationship with the family (especially Damian), nothing more. So, how did it end up like this? How could it have possibly strayed so far off track?

~~~~

You weren’t too surprised when you got a call from Bruce. He often went between nonstop blowing up your phone to not reaching out to you for days at a time, you were getting more and more used to it by now. You of course didn’t answer it, your lawyer had advised you not to after your telling them of how Bruce was throughout your entire relationship with him. His tendencies and the way he behaved when it came to you. Your lawyer wasn’t exactly completely believing of it, and that was pretty understandable given some of the things you had divulged to them (if you hadn’t lived and dealt with it yourself you would have had a hard time believing it too) but they decided it was better to be safe than sorry and advised you to not interact with Bruce outside of them. And so you hadn’t and you didn’t plan to either. That was until you listened to the voicemail that he had left behind.

He had an offer. He wanted to meet in person and discuss this whole situation, one on one. He wanted to come to an equal agreement outside of having to go to court. And as much as you hated it it sounded like it might be the better option. There was no pretending that this divorce would go in your favor, there were just too many things going against you. Bruce had the money, he had the means to get the best damn lawyer in Gotham and fight this to the very end. Not to mention that this divorce would be very public in general given just who it involved. And he could very easily get the media on his side, tarnishing your image as a whole. Not that you cared too much for that, you had planned to leave Gotham behind anyway after the divorce was final but the thing that got you the most was the rest of the family.

You adored Alfred. Not only was he simply one hell of a butler but he had been so good to you throughout your marriage to Bruce. Even though you two hadn’t been married that long, Alfred was still very much a support to you and what you went through. He didn’t completely agree with what Bruce did or how he went about things, you were your own person and he tried to remind Bruce of that on many occasions, but there was only so much he could do. And it wasn’t just Alfred you cared about, you also loved all of Bruce’s kids. Once you married Bruce they didn’t just become your family, they were your babies too. And you still wanted to have them in your life and you knew Bruce would hold them over your head no matter which way this divorce went.

Sure, the rest of the family had been involved to some extent with what Bruce was doing in your relationship, especially when it came to keeping you isolated and cooped up in the manor. But as far as you saw it that was all due to Bruce’s influence, you couldn’t bring yourself to actually believe that they would willingly go along with it of their own accord. Or that they even gave Bruce ideas to begin with to keep you by his side and with them as a result. You just couldn’t possibly think of them like that, you just couldn’t. So, it of course scared you at the thought of being completely cut off from the people you had opened your heart to. You still wanted to be there for them, still be a part of their life but just at a safe arm’s length away instead of how it was before.

The more you thought about it, mulling it over and over again in your head, this offer was sounding like the more beneficial thing to do. You did still have love for Bruce of course, you just didn’t want to be in that kind of situation again and you knew the only way to prevent that and keep yourself safe was to step away from him and any form of romantic relationship with him.

~~~~

The day was finally here for the two of you to meet and you couldn’t help the anxiety that washed over you. You never truly knew what Bruce would do, what he was really thinking in the moment. He was unpredictable like that. He could come off oh so charming and inviting, it was scary how easy he could lure you into his trap. And you knew better than anyone what it was like to be caught in that snare. That was what your whole marriage had been with him after all, just one big entrapment.

Even when you were briefly on the phone with him to set up this meeting you couldn’t contain the tremor of nerves you had just hearing his voice again. You really did miss it, you missed him. But this needed to be done. For the both of you. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Seeing him face to face again was something else. He looked good, he looked like he was taking care of himself again. That was a far cry from how he was the first few months after you left. He was a mess and it showed. That alone almost had you going back to him just so he’d be alright but you knew what came with him being back to himself and you couldn’t put yourself in that position again. You just had to remind yourself that this was it and it would soon be over for good.

Bruce greets you with open arms, you’re not quick enough to back out of his reach before he’s already enveloped you in his hold. He’s warm, he’s always been so warm. And his hold is tight, longing but not as suffocating as it used to be. And just as you’re beginning to feel yourself unconsciously fall into his warmth just like you used to so many times before, welcoming his touch again, he pulls away. For a split second you want to reach out to him and feel his touch all over again but you remind yourself that this isn’t what this is anymore. It can’t be.

Once the two of you are settled you start off talking small talk and everything seems good, everything seems okay. Bruce asks how you’ve been, if you’re doing alright with everything that’s been going on. He seems caring. He seems like he genuinely wants to know how this has affected you but you remind yourself yet again that this isn’t what you think it is. He then moves on to talking about the family and how they have been holding up through out this process, everyone’s taking it hard. Dealing with it in their own way but it seems Damian is the one who is taking it the hardest. That’s what you had feared. You worried about how Damian was taking all of this, how he was being effected by it. He was such a guarded kid, so closed off. You felt terrible having to put him through this, as well as the others but it’s what needed to be done. Right?

It isn’t until you try to bring up the original topic of discussion, the entire reason for this meeting in the first place, that you see how this wasn’t remotely the meaning of this meeting. You barely caught sight of Bruce’s jaw clenching when the words left your mouth, that was enough insight for you to know that this wasn’t at all what it was meant to be.

It’s obvious that it’s the last thing he wants to do, you can tell. He’d rather talk about anything else other than that. It’s one thing to ask how you’ve been regarding it or talking about how the rest of the family’s been taking it in but he doesn’t want to actually get into it. He’s avoiding it, of course he is. You can’t blame him but this needs to be over with.

“Bruce.” He tenses. It feels like it’s been forever since you said his name, he’s missed hearing it from you. He wants to hear it over and over again, like a mantra. God, the way it hit him when that’s all you could say as he thrusted so deep into you, just his name rolling off your tongue repeatedly. Fuck he missed it. He missed you.

“Remember, we’re meeting here for a reason. I don’t want to take up much more time than we need to. So, could we get to it?” Business. That’s all this was. Bruce hated it. Of all things, this is what brought you out of hiding? This is what opened you up to seeing him once more?

No.

He wouldn’t take that as an excuse.

He just wouldn’t.

“You’re right, (Name). Let’s get to business.”

~~~~

Without a doubt in your mind this was his intention all along. Of course it was. How could you see it any other way?

Bruce was calculating. He proved that more than once since you have known him.

It showed I n how he talked, the words he said dripping off his lips one after another, the sweet nothings he filled your head with.

In how he touched you; the placement of his hands, the way his fingers brushed you, the methodic way they curled deep inside your warmth.

But more importantly he was the most calculated when it came to fucking you. He knew you better than yourself, he spent your whole entire relationship learning and memorizing your body. What you wanted, what you needed. What exactly drove you to the deepest depths of pleasure. He knew it all. And he certainly knew how to use it to his advantage.

Each thrust, deeper than the last, was all so cunningly planned out. The way he grounded his hips into yours, the way he clutched you so close, melding himself into you, opening you up even more to take him completely. Every single move was so irrevocably mapped out.

~~~~

Your warmth. Oh, how much he’s missed it. How much he’s fucking craved feeling it wrapped around, enveloping him whole again, only for him to feel. You have no idea how many times he’s touched his throbbing cock to the thought of it, to the thought of having you sprawled out under him again. You have no fucking idea.

Once he has you right where he wants you, completely lost in the ecstasy of it all, he allows himself to finally give in to his own blinding pleasure.

No more calculating.

No more cunning.

No more being methodic.

No more.

Now it was all solely his mindless self indulgence. His once slow, deep thrusts turned into rapid, savage pounding. His kisses were more aggressive, sloppy. His touch was burning hotter than ever as he gripped and grabbed every piece of you he could.

At this point, Bruce let himself get lost in it. He let himself fall into the deepest, darkest pits of his desires. All he wanted now was to chase that feeling he’s been left without for so long, over and over again.

One after another, he released everything he had deep inside you. Again, and again, and again. All of this; all of his pent up anger, hurt, passion, everything he had bottled up inside throughout this whole shitshow of a situation, he was free to let it all go.

After the haze finally let up, Bruce was left basking in the aftermath. He couldn’t have felt better than ever before. He had you again, he had you here in his arms and it wasn’t a dream this time. You were the real deal and he couldn’t have been happier.

He couldn’t help but look at you,, watching you, taking all of you in again just like the many times he used to before. You were a fucking mess after everything and he absolutely loved it. He did that to you, he made you that way. And he took great pride and pleasure in it. He left you so full, both with himself still inside you (he just couldn’t bring himself to part with your warmth again) and all his cum. This was how he wanted to stay. This was how he wanted to be.

Placing his large hand on your stomach, he caressed it tenderly. There was no way you wouldn’t fall pregnant after this, he had made sure of it with all the times he filled you with his seed. He wanted you pregnant, he wanted you filled to the brim with his baby. He needed to have you tied for life and what better way to ensure that than by bringing a new life into the world together.

You wouldn’t be able to get away from him now. This had been yet another way to entrap you, to keep you in his grasp and Bruce wasn’t going to leave any room for you to wriggle out of his reach again.

“Let’s start anew, (Name). After all, we’re going to have even more of a reason to work things out now.”

[asidian]

I've seen a lot of talk about how hell affected Edwin's pain tolerance, but not very much breaking down how it seems to have affected the way he manages emotion. So to that end, here we go:

Edwin Payne vs emotions (and how his no good very bad helltime messed with him something awful)

Dead Boy Detectives does a very good job early on of establishing the fact that Edwin is not particularly good with people. He's stilted, he's repressed, and though he can be incredibly kind to the people he cares about, he can also be quite abrasive, particularly to those he doesn't know well.

Time and time again, we see Charles step in to be the face man. Charles is the one to greet the clients, to take note of their names, to set them at ease. Charles is the one to support Crystal emotionally, and his interactions with Edwin seem to imply that he's done the same for Edwin, over the years. Charles has to remind Edwin to mind his bedside manner, and he explains to Crystal that Edwin forgets how to talk to people sometimes, because of how long he spent in hell.

In short, these boys compensate for each other's strengths and weaknesses in a lot of ways, and Charles is very much the one doing the emotional heavy lifting in this partnership.

And there's a reason for that, laid out in the text and subtext all throughout the show, and the narrative handles it brilliantly.

Edwin's actor does a fantastic job in expressing the character's reactions – or rather, lack of them. Because in the most shocking scenes throughout the show, Edwin often doesn't seem as horrified as the others in the face of events that ought to be horrific. In the Devlin house, he seems as though the murders scarcely affect him. When the jumper at the top of the lighthouse throws herself down, he's downright composed in comparison to everyone else.

And Edwin repeatedly shows or expresses that emotion makes him uncomfortable. When Crystal and Charles are fighting in episode five, he requests that they set their feelings aside until the case is finished. At the end of the episode, he says that the day has been entirely too full of emotions for his taste.

So, what is it specifically about emotion that bothers him so much?

In hell, emotion meant an awful, bloody death.

Panicking over potential incoming horrors? Nope, sorry, too loud. Dead again. Having a sobbing breakdown in a corner? Nope, sorry, too loud. Injured and trying to keep it down so it doesn't get worse? Nope, sorry, that's too loud, too.

Again and again, we see Edwin trying to tamp down on his emotions, but also, tellingly, trying to keep his emotions subdued and quiet.

When Charles finds him in hell, he's crying without making a single sound. When Esther starts to torture him in episode eight, he doesn't scream at first. He's trained himself out of making noise when something hurts or frightens him.

Of course he wants to set emotions aside until the case is done. He's spent seventy years learning what happens if you don't. You take care of business first. If, and only if, there's an after? That's when you let yourself feel.

Early on, when Edwin and Charles need to find the correct book but Edwin is unable to access their office due to the Cat King's bracelet, Edwin is upset. He's frustrated and out of sorts, blocked from making progress on the thing he knows he needs to be doing – hurting himself trying to get his arm through the mirror until Charles stops him. It's Charles who has to step in and help him calm down. It's Charles who has to remind him to breathe through what is very likely a panicked throwback to those times when if he could not solve his way out of a problem, it would very literally get him killed. In this scene, we get a brief glimpse of how Edwin looks when he starts to lose his grip on his rigid control.

And that's before we even get to these things:

Because as awful as the doll spider was, it wasn't the only thing skulking around the Doll House. Charles stumbles across misery wraiths when he goes to rescue Edwin from hell – and we know from the Devlin house episode that Edwin is extremely aware of what they do and how they operate. They were in his space, looking for despair to feed off during a time when he had it in spades.

Taken all together? It's an absolutely heartbreaking picture.

This boy seemed a little socially awkward before his death, from what we see of his time before hell. But afterward? He's had seventy long years of having to teach himself to regulate his own emotions, under pain of excruciating torture if he didn't do it well enough.

With an object lesson like that, over and over again, for literal decades, it's no wonder that Edwin has such a hard time navigating emotions and everything surrounding them.