#but goddamn if I don't love every joke about it

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@pamwritessometimes

"This sat in my drafts for months..." Then proceeds to write something so utterly TRUE, HONEST, and ON BRAND for falling in love with the frustrating, adorable, lovable, asshole that is Soldier Boy.

I loved every bit of this fic!

He��s a walking contradiction. He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together. And you love it. You love that you make him hesitate. That you make him stay. "Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”

I AM MELTING! This is SO good. I love this part because the idea that Ben is a "contradiction" is true when it comes to the reader. I love the headcanon that Ben is violent and angry, but he's soft when it comes to his girl. I do not believe for one second that Ben would ever be violent towards the woman he loves or want to hurt her in any way even when he's angry. And I love a man with rough hands that is only gentle with them when he’s with his girl 😍

And the line "Fuck, you've ruined me" made my soul leave my body. I cannot describe how good it is or how wonderfully it fits him.

You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway. But he’s fluent in actions.

Oh goodness, every single example you listed after this line was perfect for him. Ben giving the reader coffee, Ben watching the reader and paying attention to what the reader likes- YES!

Because we all know that Ben will say the wrong thing at the wrong time, but he will make it up to the woman he loves. AND BEN putting his hand on the reader's hip to remind himself that he does have her in his life:

Ben’s not stupid.

He's not. And I love that you put this in here, that Ben really isn't a mindless brute, he has a brain, you're so right!

His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.

Goodness 🫣 I don't want to think about the jokes, but we all know he has no filter lol.

And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness. Maybe you can’t fix him. But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.

YES A MILLION TIMES YES! He's insufferable, but he's worth it. I loved all of this! It was so wonderfully written and so fitting for Soldier Boy. And oh goodness yes, he's also got a choke hold on me as well lol.

Loving Soldier Boy…

Soldier Boy x reader (drabble)

Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.

Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence

Song inspo: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.

Loving Soldier Boy isn’t easy.

You knew Soldier Boy was a handful. Hell, he knows he’s a handful. And you know Ben has never been handled before. Not properly. Not by someone who knows when to push and when to pull, when to hold steady and when to let go.

But you?

You thought you had him figured out.

He’s bad news — at least that’s what everyone keeps telling you.

“That man is not safe” MM says, arms crossed.

“He’s straightdown psychotic” Annie agrees, looking at you like she’s waiting for the spell Ben must have put on you to break.

Hughie just grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

Frenchie sighs. “I have seen many dangerous men, mon coeur, but that one?” He shakes his head. “That one is the iceberg that sinks the ship.”

Even Kimiko seems to eye you with pity.

And Butcher — he just tsked.

“That’s a bloody dangerous game you’re about to play, luv.”

But all that didn’t matter.

Not when Ben flashes you that cocky, wolfish grin. Not when he pulls you in with that fiery gaze that makes your pulse stutter. Not when he touches you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

He’s a walking contradiction.

He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.

And you love it.

You love that you make him hesitate.

That you make him stay.

"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”

Loving Soldier Boy is mastering the skill of interpreting nonverbal communication.

You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.

But he’s fluent in actions.

Like how he always, always keeps a hand on you — your waist, your back, the nape of your neck — like he needs the physical contact to remind himself you’re real and still with him.

Or how, when you’re pissed at him, he won’t apologize outright, but he will fix your coffee just the way you like it, set it down in front of you with a grunt and a pointed look, like There. Happy now?

Or the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you because no matter how much of a dick he is sometimes, the thought of him possibly outliving you haunts him.

He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.

And yet, when he pulls you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair, his lips ghosting over yours—

You think maybe he’s worth the trouble.

Loving Soldier Boy is a delicate art.

It’s catching the flicker of rage in his eyes before he explodes, steering him away from the fire instead of into it.

It’s letting him run his mouth, knowing that half the shit he says is just to get a rise out of people, and the other half—

Well.

“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.

Ben’s not stupid.

But when he came back from the dead, or, you know, from 40 years of being locked up, you’re starting to realize… he might not be as up to date as he thinks.

You blink. “Because it was beeping?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter like he didn’t just pull some absolute batshit nonsense. “Wouldn’t shut the hell up.”

“That’s… literally its job, Ben.”

“Well, now it’s unemployed.” He smirks. “Like half the people I’ve worked with.

Loving Soldier Boy is like wrestling with a live grenade.

Violence isn’t just second nature to Ben — it’s first.

He doesn’t do restraint.

Like the time some guy got a little too close to you at a club and ended up with a broken jaw — because Ben doesn’t do warnings either.

Or the time he punched a cop without even thinking about the consequences.

“To be fair, he was being a dick.”

“He was giving you a parking ticket.”

Ben scoffs. “Exactly.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” He throws his hands up, all mock innocence. “I told him not to touch my car.”

Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.

There’s something infuriating about Ben’s shameless, unapologetic brand of horniness.

His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.

And yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

And he knows it.

No matter how many times you glare at him, no matter how often you mutter “Ben, we are in public”, he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together when he leans in too close, and he can practically smell the forming pool in your panties.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice is low, dripping with amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t love it when I talk dirty to you.”

You glare at him. “You literally just told the bartender that I needed something ‘to keep my mouth occupied.’”

Ben grins. “And I stand by that.”

You fight the urge to groan. “You are insufferable.”

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “But you like me insufferable.”

And fuck.

Maybe you do.

Loving Soldier Boy is realizing you’re the one really losing the fight.

When the team calls you out on his bullshit, you just sit there and listen.

You have no defense.

Because what are you even supposed to say?

He’s trying? (He’s not.)

He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)

He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)

And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.

Maybe you can’t fix him.

But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.

The chokehold this man has on me is insane — help

Also… This sat in my drafts for months, but I gave it a reread and didn’t completely hate it — so here you go. Hope you enjoyed!🤍

xx Pam

[makerofmadness]

ok I know I said I love dark cacao but like they didn't have to make two of him /j

(I'm sorry what the fzck is going on with kingdom right now like. I thought my friend was kidding when they said "ancient+" I thought it was a joke about Mystic Flour like what the fudge do you MEAN someone actually signed off on that-)

(I feel like I caused this somehow 😭 like I think I said once on here that cacao's my favorite out of the ancients but I didn't like to actually USE him but like. why not just buff him???? Or like they were doing that whole crystal jam thing and I know that was kinda only for the legendaries but like. it's something-)

[katierosefun]

making original characters and watching them grow is so cool and also so funny because i really thought one of my original characters was bisexual but then i realize no. no he’s gay. he’s gay. this other character? i thought that she was straight. she is bisexual now because no straight woman looks at another pretty woman like that. one of my characters has barged into my room and gone, “btw. my mentor figure has a weird ass relationship with the diner owner btw. yeah i think they’re lovers.” and i’m just. “he couldn’t tell me that himself?” and this other character goes, “no. i’m just telling u for him. because you know he won’t tell you himself.” and that’s just. that’s just how it be

[aajjks]

Hot Eve (m)

synopsis. getting fucked raw by your ex boyfriend stuck in an elevator on Christmas Eve.

warnings. 18+, ëxplïçït sêx, ünprôtëçtëd sêx, nønçøn sêx, stälkër ëx böÿfrïënd jk, yn ïs kïndä mørälïtÿ cørrùpt yn, ëlëvåtør sêx, yândërë thëmës, därk smüt.

note. LAST WORK FOR 2024!!!!!! MERRY CHRISTMAS TO MY CHRISTIAN FOLLOWERS! 🎄❤️❤️‍🔥. this year was hard as fuck. I’m not okay but let’s hope I’ll be so much happier starting from next year. enjoy this!!!! share feedback! gif credits to owner, found it on Pinterest.

December, 25th. It’s Christmas.

It’s the favorite time of the year for you, you love it, the cold, the sweetness of the blessings of Christmas. The streets are lit up. Merry atmosphere everywhere.

But all you feel is dread.

he’s near..

Your legs are on fire, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as you sprint down the hallway.

The sound of his boots echoes behind you, heavy and deliberate. He's not running. He doesn't need to.

The elevator is so close-just a few more steps.

You slam your hand against the button, frantic, fingers trembling. The soft ding of the arriving elevator is barely audible over the roar of blood in your ears.

Don't look back. Don't look back.

But you do.

Jungkook is there, closing the distance with that infuriating, unhurried stride, his lips curled into a smirk like he's already won.

His black shirt clings to his muscular chest, and his eyes gleam with something feral, like a predator toying with its prey.

The elevator doors glide open, and you dart inside, stabbing the close door button over and over again. You're muttering under your breath, desperate, “Close, close, please just fucking close-“”

The doors start to slide shut, and relief washes over you. But then you see it-his hand. Thick, veined, and steady as it wedges between the closing doors.

The elevator jerks back open, and your stomach twists into a sick knot of dread.

Jungkook steps inside, slow and casual, like he's got all the time in the world.

There's something deliciously pathetic about the way you shrink back against the wall, like you honestly thought you could get away from him.

It's adorable. Pathetic, but adorable.

He lets the silence hang in the air for a moment, drinking in the sight of you.

Your chest is heaving, your cheeks flushed, and those pretty, wide eyes are staring up at him like you're terrified.

Good.

He steps forward, his boots heavy against the floor, until there's no space left between you and the cold metal wall.

“Really?”

You are so fucking dumb, but so cute.

He drawls, tilting his head as his lips curl into a lazy, mocking smirk. “The elevator? That's the best you could do?”

His voice drops, low and biting. “What were you gonna do, huh Ride it to safety? Maybe hide in your little fucking apartment and pretend I don't exist?"

He chuckles darkly, his tongue sliding over his teeth. “Cute. Stupid as fuck, but cute.”

Your throat is dry, and your legs feel like they're about to give out. He's so close now, the sharp scent of his cologne invading every breath you take, mixing with the heat radiating off his body.

“Jungkook, I'm serious. You need to leave,” you manage to say, though your voice comes out small and shaky, utterly unconvincing.

He laughs at you. A sharp, humorless sound that makes your stomach churn.

“Serious?" he repeats, arching a brow as if the word itself is a joke. “You're fucking hilarious, you know that? Acting all big and bad when you're shaking like a goddamn leaf.”

His hand slams against the wall beside your head, and you flinch hard. He leans in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Tell me to leave again. Go ahead.”

You will never… because you can’t.

“Let's see what happens.”

You're trembling, looking at him with those big, frightened eyes, and it's making his cock ache.

He hates how much he loves this— loves the way you run, the way you fight, like it's anything more than a game to him.

He tilts his head, dragging his gaze over you slowly, deliberately, like he's savoring every inch. You're perfect.

So fucking perfect when you're like this.

“Look at you,” he says, his voice low and sharp.

“Standing there all scared and pretty, like you don't know exactly how this ends.”

“You like this shit, don't you?” His hand trails down your side, possessive and unapologetic, and he smirks when you squirm. “Running away. Making me fucking chase you. You get off on it.”

Yes you do.

You try to push him away, your hands pressing weakly against his chest, but it's useless. He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head in one fluid motion, grinning when you gasp.

“Stop fucking pretending,” he growls, his eyes darkening as they lock with yours. “We both know you like it when I get like this. You fucking love it.”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the words stick in your throat. You hate how strong he is, how easily he can overpower you.

But what you hate more-what terrifies you- is that some part of you does like it.

God, he’s so hot..

“Let me go,” you whisper, though it sounds more like a plea than a command.

His grip on your wrists tightens, and he leans in closer, his breath hot against your lips. "

“Let you go?” he repeats, his voice mocking. “That's cute, baby. Real fucking cute.”

His free hand slides down to your waist, gripping hard enough to make you wince.

“Let's get one thing straight,” he murmurs, his tone dropping to something dark and dangerous. “You're mine. Every fucking inch of you. And I'm not letting you go anywhere.”

He's hard as a rock, the sight of you pinned against the wall, helpless and trembling, driving him wild.

His gaze drops to your lips, parted and soft, and it takes everything in him not to devour you right then and there.

“You can run all you want,” Jungkook says, his voice thick with lust and something darker.

“But you'll never fucking get away from me. Never.”

His fingers dig into your waist, his body pressing against yours, caging you completely. He wants to mark you, to ruin you, to make sure you never even think about leaving him again.

Your entire body feels trapped in a vice, his presence suffocating, overwhelming. You hate how he's looking at you-hungry, like he wants

to devour you whole, like he owns you. And maybe he does.

The words stick in your throat, caught somewhere between fear and something darker, something shameful…

Your cunt feels so damp.

You twist your wrists against his grip, but doesn't even flinch.

it's effortless.

“Jungkook,” you breathe, your voice shaky and thin. “This isn't-“

“This isn't what?” he snaps, cutting you off. His voice is low, rough, teetering between anger and lust. “What you wanted? What you've been fucking asking for this whole time?”

His fingers dig into your waist, and you feel the heat of his body press harder against yours. You can't look at him, can't handle the intensity of his eyes burning into you.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice sharp enough to make you flinch.

You shake your head, keeping your gaze fixed on the wall behind him.

“I said look at me.”

He releases one of your wrists only to grip your chin, forcing your face up until you're staring into those dark, furious eyes.

His pupils are blown wide, and the muscle in his jaw ticks with restraint.

“See this?” he growls, his tone dripping with venom as his free hand grabs your thigh, hitching it against his hip,

“This is what happens when you try to run from me. When you act like you don't fucking belong to me.”

You're trembling under his touch, and it sends a sick, addictive thrill straight through him. He can feel the way your body betrays you, the way your breaths come quicker, the way your thighs press together even though you're still pretending to fight.

“Fucking liar,” he mutters, his lips curling into a sneer. "You say you want me to leave, but you don't mean it. You never fucking mean it.”

Jungkook knows you..

He drags his hand along your thigh, gripping it hard enough to leave marks, his body pressing closer, caging you completely.

You're his, every inch of you, and it pisses him off that you even thought you could get away.

“You think I'm stupid?” he spits, leaning in until his mouth hovers over yours. “You think I don't see the way you look at me yn?”

He mocks, licking his lips, his tongue teasing you.

“Fuck baby… you’re making my cock ache.” He groans, biting his lower lip, his hand leaves your thigh to settle on his own zipper.

Your eyes wide because you know what he’s about to do and you want to stop him, but no words come out of your mouth because your brain has stopped working.

All you can think, feel.. and smell is him.

“Fuck yn… I’ve been warning you for the longest time.. you have no idea how horny I am right now…” the way his eyes are clouded with lust tells you everything you need to know.

He looks like a feral animal.

He unzips his pants, letting it fall down and then he presses a button on the elevator, making it come to a halt. You shudder in fear.

“J-Jungkook..” you manage to slip out his name from your mouth, but before you can say anything else, he crashes his mouth to yours.

His tongue forces itself into your mouth as he uses his other hand to usher his boxers off. You whine in his mouth, trying to stop him but—

God, his tongue feels so hot.

Your pussy clenches as you both kiss. He’s not just kissing but he’s devouring you, his free hand cages you in, making sure you can’t escape.

His hard free dick is pressing against your stomach, his other hand hurriedly goes to your skirt, unzipping it he catches the hem of your underwear, he yanks it down, as his tongue completely dominates your mouth.

You moan helplessly.

But he doesn’t let you break the kiss,, you’re already soaking wet.

His teeth nip at your bottom lip as his tongues go to assault your mouth. Then without a warning he shoves his cock inside your wet right cunt.

A guttural moan escapes his throat as he growls into your mouth like a wounded animal.

He’s finally getting to fuck you after so long.

And your knees go weak, like jelly. It’s too late now.

He starts to pound into you hard and fast, your back slamming continuously against the elevator wall, he pulls you up by your hips and wraps your legs around his waist.

After finally breaking the kiss, his thrusts only her more brutal, you scream in ecstasy and pain, burying your face in his neck as you grip on his shoulders tighten.

“Fu-Fuck yn you’re going to make me fucking cum.”

Again, his hungry mouth finds yours, devouring with desperate kisses as he moves his hips, fast.

“O-Oh J-Jungkook…”

•••

Hours go by. You’re fucked out- he’s sweating, you’re actually paralyzed but he’s not stopping, uoure still stuck in the elevator, thank fully the fan of the machine is keeping you alive but the elevator reeks of sex.

What have you done? Getting fucked by your psychotic ex on Christmas Eve.

And he’s about to cum inside your cunt raw.

And you are going to do nothing about it. Like always.

“Merry fucking Christmas my love.”

[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?"

[absentlyabbie]

i'll tell you what converted me to being all-in on keeping cats indoors only:

living for a year and a half in a rural area with a sudden feral cat colony explosion on the property.

i moved in with my folks for a bit and at that time, one (1) stray cat mama had taken up residence on the property, but was too feral to let my mother anywhere near her. but especially after she brought three kittens around, mom fed her and the kittens in hopes they'd grow trusting enough she could catch for spay and neuter at the minimum. momcat stayed mean and hella wary, but the kittens would hang around a little nearer and play with my mom via long stick, but still wouldn't come close enough to touch or catch.

unfortunately, two of the three kittens were girls and started having kittens of their own before further progress was made, shortly after i moved in. and that was pretty much instant doom.

there were so many kittens. SO MANY. multiple litters. every time we turned around, more kittens.

we fed them. we hunted for and located the kittens every time anywhere on the property and would move them to a repurposed doghouse anytime a mama cat had them somewhere else, so that they could grow up human-socialized and we could spay/neuter them when they were old enough. (also it was a handy tactic to push the issue of the mamas getting more used to/trusting of us themselves. only really worked with one of them, though.)

and we watched them die.

we watched litter after litter of kittens never make it to the age they could be spayed or neutered. the moms stayed, for the longest time, too skittish to more than briefly touch, much less catch and crate for a vet visit.

it sounds like a silly joke to say i have kitten-related ptsd, but i absolutely do.

too many goddamn times i'd walk out of the garage and find the carport and gravel drive strewn with tiny bodies. others simply went missing, never to be found.

one in particular, i wish i hadn't found, and the visual literally haunts me still, almost a decade later.

i saw so many kittens die of snake bite, spider bite, wild dogs, birds of prey, hit by cars, respiratory illness, covered in fleas and eyes crusted with infection.

and we loved them all. scrimped for antibiotics if the vet could be convinced to give it to us despite our being unable to bring them in. bought flea collars and ointments. we cared for them and fed them and petted them and played with them, brushed their fur and cleaned up their little faces, put ice in their water in hot summer, rigged a heating lamp in their house in the winter.

and they died. horribly. that property is pocked with unmarked graves of kittens and cats.

all the best intentions, not enough resources, and it didn't matter anyways because the population went from three to almost twenty (at times, over thirty) in the blink of an eye.

they died and died and died. our hearts broke over and over again. the stress and anxiety wore us down like sandpaper. i think, by the end of it all, we managed to find less than 10 of them all homes, including batman the disabled kitten i found a home across the country through tumblr.

it was carnage and tragedy, frankly. and we were helpless.

it only ended because they started dying faster than they could be born, and because we finally caught the two remaining mom cats in traps and got them spayed.

the points about outdoor cats being invasive predators devastating to local wildlife populations is true and valid and important.

but i know cat people, and cat people who don't know better than to let cats outdoors. what matters to you is the cat itself, generally. the cat being happy and taken care of.

keeping cats outdoors, letting them outdoors, is not taking care of the cats. it's not protecting them. it's not giving them any happiness or invigoration that couldn't be provided to them as indoor-only pets with just a little research and effort.

they die. they get ill. they get hurt. they're at risk of predators, and cars, and disease, and carelessly cruel children and deliberately cruel adults. they're at risk of disappearing on you because someone else saw a cat outdoors and intervened to give it a better, safer life not in conflict with the local environment.

and if that offends and angers you that someone would just take a cat they saw roaming outdoors, even collared, and that it sounds like i'm endorsing that, i am, but not if you intervene and be that person yourself for your own cat.

if what matters to you is doing right by your cat because it's family and a living creature whose happiness and health and safety is important to you,

keep them indoors. not part time. always. exclusively.

edit: since apparently i need to clarify this, i'm saying cats should live inside, that they should not live outdoors, even part time. visiting the outdoors supervised on a leash or in an enclosed catio is not the same as even part-time living outside, and i am certainly not advocating against it.

[skvaderarts]

You guys want to hear something really funny?

I've been slowly showing my almost 80 year old grandma Arcane recently and she absolutely adores Viktor and Jayce, but especially Viktor. She's made me replay the part where Viktor made his speech to Jayce when he stopped him from jumping in season one like 10 times, she loves the "I'm from the undercity" part, she started crying when he ran across that bridge, and she looked physically devastated when she thought he was going to step off that ledge after Sky died and kept quietly repeating "no no honey no" over and over again and looked away from the screen until Jayce showed up and she literally sighed in relief when they started talking. She's actively upset that she can't adopt child Viktor because she said, and I quote "He would have loved Legos" and "has such sad pretty brown eyes". She has started making jokes about the "wait, this isn't my bedroom" line when she goes places in our house (much to my mom's confusion because she hasn't seen the show yet and can clearly tell she's missing out on an inside joke because we keep laughing so hard about it) and every time that Jayce says "partners" she just goes "uh-huh" and laughs a little. It's deeply funny.

Well, tonight I made a joke on a discord call with a friend about Viktor and Jayce and I said "The question isn't IF their fucking it's who's fucking who" and my grandma, in the background, completely unprompted just said "Oh, Viktor is obviously the one taking charge in that situation. Look how he looks at him and touches him. Jayce is a puppy. He's gonna do whatever Viktor wants."

And I don't think I have ever laughed harder at anything she's ever said in my whole goddamn life. I didn't realize she was on team Jayvik THAT HARD LMFAO. My grandma is part of Viktor Nation.

W GRANDMA!

Side note:

She loves the soundtrack. She doesn't understand how music streaming works so I basically had to make a playlist that just plays What Could've Been, The Line, Remember Me, Blood, Sweat, and Tears, and Enemy on loop for her. She likes bass, what can I say lol! She has good taste. I expect nothing less from the woman who wants me to take her to a Hozier concert next year 😭 She also likes What Have They Done To Us and Guns for Hire but said she can't listen to them as often because it makes her too sad lol she's real for that.

... She also loves Isha... She doesn't know yet. She's gonna be so sad.

[personasintro]

A part of Mutual Help series!

pairing: mh!jungkook x reader

warnings: explicit language, Kiko is mentioned (this deserves it's own warning)

genre: fluff

word count: 1.8k+

a/n: Merry Christmas! ♡

Mutual Help Series

.

.

“Oooh, what could be in here?” Taehyung muses, pursing his reddened lips that has gotten its own intense color thanks to the cold weather outside. 

What was he doing outside when you've been at this place for around an hour? Flirting, of course. 

“Knowing you, probably tons of condoms.” you answer, causing Taehyung to stop shaking the present he's just gotten from Jimin. It stops rattling under his grip as he shoots you a glare across the table. 

Unfazed, you reach with your chopsticks for a piece of meat before you put it in your mouth. Next to you, Jungkook cackles under his breath and Jimin looks proud by your little comment. 

“Well, miss I-don't-need-anyone, we all like to have our fun. Maybe you should try it.” Taehyung bites back. Though his tone sounds serious and deep with his thick accent, there's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. 

You know how far you can take it to joke with each of your friends. Taehyung's got a thick skin and there's only so little you could actually say to offend him. Not that you would ever want to. Taehyung loves jokes and fun, he loves teasing and most of the time he's the one who takes it too far but never to actually cause a damage to your friendship. Whatever he says, you know should not be taken to heart literally. Therefore, no matter what he says about your single life – you don't take it as an insult. 

“Hooking up with a bunch of strangers? No thanks.”

He grins, “Maybe you should try it.”

“You offering?” you shoot right back, Jungkook choking on his soda as Jimin laughs out loud.

“You know what? Once you grow up a little, text me.”

You snort, “Stop acting as if I was a child.”

Taehyung shrugs, “No, but you're the baby of our group.”

Groaning, you frown. “Don't call me that.”

“Deny it all you want, Y/L/N but we all know the truth.”

“You guys scare almost every guy that looks at me. It beats the point of having fun.”

“Don't say shit like that, now! I'm all for you exploring and having fun.”

“Our point of fun is slightly different than hers, Tae.” Jimin comments, putting more meat to your plate as you thank him with a grateful smile. For the meat, of course. Although, he's not that off about the entire fun topic. 

“We all know what kind of fun we're talking about.”

“Alright, let's move on, yeah?” Jungkook calls, shaking his head at Taehyung.

“Here we go, protective Jungkook.”

“Why do you always somehow bring up sex in every conversation?” Jungkook scolds him.

Taehyung gasps, feigning offense as he points his finger at you. “First of all, she started talking about condoms!”

Jimin laughs out loud while you shoot him a glare for being too loud. God, you hope the owners won't kick you out. Talking so publicly about sex is often frowned upon. No one who wants to enjoy their meal wants to hear someone talking about sex from the other table. Unless those people are… open like Taehyung. He's always been a bit shameless. 

 Jungkook glances at you upon Taehyung's finger that's directed toward you. You shrug innocently. “So what? You automatically got into it.”

“You know it doesn't take too much for me.”

“That's true.” Jimin nods along with Taehyung's response. 

You laugh, “Just open the goddamn present, Tae.” 

He cracks a grin and starts laughing before he rips the package open. Surprisingly, it's not condoms – you would seriously laugh your ass out if it were – but it's a box of popular male fragrances in smaller versions. You recognize all of them, silently praising Jimin for this year's present. 

You all exchange presents for each other. There was an idea coming from Jimin, you think, last year to pick up a secret Santa for each year. But there's something special and thoughtful about buying everyone a gift. And it makes a slight burden to all your wallets, but nobody said the presents have to be expensive. Yet, they're always meaningful and nobody gives shitty presents here. 

You meet every year before Christmas since all of you spend it with your families. You've decided to make your own and celebrate it together, even if it's beforehand. This year it has to be because you're flying back home sooner than usual. 

They were kind enough to meet no matter what, said it wouldn't be the same if you weren't here. 

After that is done, Jungkook is the one to take you home since Taehyung came to pick you up. There's fog everywhere with snow sitting down and not melting anytime soon. You love when there's snow around Christmas time.

On your way home, it's not that late by the time you arrive. Jungkook helps you with your presents upstairs and accepts a cup of tea you offer him with a stern look. You're quick to shed the layers of clothes and make yourself more comfortable. You bring Jungkook his tea and make a hot chocolate for yourself.

“What you got in there?” you ask, plopping next to him as the warmth and scent of home hugs you. 

“A little something,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

Spotting the same Christmas wrapping paper he has used for all his presents, you give him a knowing look. You're about to protest and scold the shit out of him when he shakes his head with another grin. 

“Stop.”

“No, you stop!” you whine, “You already gave me your present.”

And it was great. Jungkook has given you two tickets to a water park that's located on Jeju Island. That alone tells you it wasn't quite cheap.

“It's not much, I swear.” 

“But why? We all decided on one present.” 

Grateful that he's so thoughtful, you're slightly annoyed that he broke the rule that perhaps never was so serious but it makes you feel bad. 

“Just because.”

“That's not a valid reason.”

“Sounds very valid to me,” he sings out, teasing you a little further as you both giggle. “You'll understand it once you open it.” he finishes it with that, urging you to open it.

Hiding the heat in your cheeks, you playfully roll your eyes and start unboxing the little box he has managed to sneak in his jacket. Curiosity and excitement takes over you because Jungkook's presents are always something else. You rip the package and gasp as soon as you recognize the familiar box.

“Kook!”

“You told me you ran out the other day.”

“Did you–”

“Bought it when Jimin bought Taehyung's present? Yeah.” He answers, already knows what you were about to ask. But you're too stunned to scold him for interrupting you.

You open the box and pull out your favorite perfume. A few weeks ago, you don't even know how that conversation came up but you mentioned to him that your perfume is running out indeed. It wasn't anything intentional of course, more of a whine when you were about to spray a tiny amount as you were about to go out. You thought he was barely listening to you, urging you to rush out your ass outside. His exact words. 

But he's always listening. 

“I think I'm gonna be more careful what I'm about to say in front of you. You're gonna buy me everything I mentioned.” you chuckle, taking a good inhale of your favorite flowery and powdery scent. You mostly use it during warm seasons but it's a good one even in the winter.

It's your staple scent. Everyone knows it. It's special. You were using it back at home and it not only smells incredible, it also holds a certain emotional attachment you have with it. 

“Don't worry about that, you're out of my budget.” 

You kick the side of his thigh as you cross your legs under your butt, carefully placing the bottle on the table next to the ripped wrapping paper. “I wanted to buy it after Christmas.” 

“You don't have to anymore.”

You give him a look, questioning his answer for everything as he simply justifies his thoughtfulness in the most basic manner. He always brushes it like it's nothing. But it's very special to you. He is. 

In seconds, you wrap your arms around him and hug him tightly. He lets out a surprised gasp, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he hugs you back. He's warm, smells like a mixture of his wooden cologne and winter air. 

“Thank you.” you mumble into his shoulder before you slowly pull away. “But seriously, you should stop spending so much money on me. Don't you have a girlfriend to spend money on?”

As far as you know, she's fine with it but who knows. Jungkook isn't the type to let anyone get into your or guys' friendships. But he's also in love and people in love tend to be slightly blind, if you must say so. Not that you speak from your own experiences but well, it's quite known. And Jungkook is definitely in love. 

“Don't worry about Kiko,” he assures you, “She'll get a good amount of presents too.”

“Well, I hope she loves you for you and not for your bank account.”

He scowls, causing you to give him a childish toothy grin that acts innocent. “She's not like that.”

“But I'm serious, you should stop spending so much money on people. Especially on me.”

“I spend my money however I want and you know what?” he asks with a grin, leaning closer to you as you watch him with wide eyes. “It's none of your business.” he flicks your nose with his thumb causing you to cuss him out as you push his forehead to get him away from your proximity. 

“So really, just accept it.”

“You're stubborn.”

“You're telling me?” he laughs out loud as if you just told him the biggest joke.

Rolling your eyes again, you purse your lips. “I wanted to be nice, you moron.”

“Be nice by just accepting it. And the simple thanks is just enough, not needed though. The hug was very nice.”

You slap his arm in a teasing manner which causes him to laugh even more. “I'll hug you for the rest of my life.”

“Promise?” he smirks. 

“I promise.” you giggle, nodding.

“Well, then Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Kook.” you smile, the warmth spreading all over your heart. Even though this year hasn't been all rainbow and sunshine, it's alright as long as you have these people right beside you. 

Who cares about presents? They're nice and show the thoughtfulness behind them by each of your friends. What you need the most is just them. And the special relationship you have with each of them will hopefully last your lifetime. Because if it doesn't, nothing will ever be the same. 

Without them you would feel lost. At the moment, you're anything but lost. You have your second family, hoping this tradition between you never dies and will continue years and years.

[hannya-writes]

When they call you their wife (Genshin Impact Version)

Fandom: Genshin Impact Pairing: Kaeya x reader, Diluc x Reader, Zhongli x Reader, Xiao x Reader Other characters: ehh, I think I mentiones Traveler in Zhongli's part, Diluc is also mentioned in Kaeya's part Category: Romance, scenarios Warnings: There's a little bit of violence in Xiao's part but it's not detailed. I think that's it! Author's note: It's ten days since the beggining of the year, happy new year people! Sorry about the delay, I'm terrible with time so... yeah there's that better late than sorry! Hope you enjoy~

Kaeya

“And this beautiful lady is my dear wife”

This man lives to see people's reactions to what he does and says. So he bets to himself what your reaction will be to every of his crazy ideas, so maybe he teases you a lot and flirts with you shamelessly.

He went to Sumeru to represent Jean since she was very occupied. You, on your part,were assigned to protect him since he was an important diplomat of Mondstadt.

You tried to be as professional as possible but it was hard when Kaeya found every opportunity to flirt with you.

Kaeya is a gentleman around you, treating you like his date rather than his guard.

So he makes you relax, he makes you laugh with his comments. When he hears you were assigned because of your dexterity with the sword he gets interested in your story.

Where did you learn to fight? When did you start? Who was your master? You went to the akademya? You were a Mat, Matra? 

Kaeya gets really invested so you decide to answer his questions only if he answers them too.

And Kaeya is happy to reveal all of his stories and secrets to know you because you are not like most people, you don't get frightened when he says he once woke up a ruin guardian to win a fight.

“It a valid gamble” you say while nodding and Kaeya’s eyes bright like he just heard the most beautiful music of all Teyvat.

When Kaeya finally has to go back to Mondstadt you are informed that you will have the mission to bring him back to the capital of Wind safe and sound.

It was a long and tiring trip, you had to defend yourself and him more than once and Kaeya was more than happy to fight by your side.

There was only one problem in the last part of your journey: a Samachurl Froze your ankle and while you were able to kill it the frostbite was a problem.

Kaeya, ever the gentleman carried you to a safe place, the house of his childhood: Dawn’s Winery

He knocked at the door and was faced with a surprised Adeline, who hurried to get everything needed to help you.

Maybe an hour later Kaeya’s brother appeared and explained your situation, only that he presented you as his wife.

Diluc was taken aback when Kaeya presented you as his wife. He looked at his brother with a specially deep frown, making Kaeya say: “It was love at first drink”

There are three options: one were Diluc apologizes…

 “My apologize, it seems my brother hurt his head and is speaking nonsense”

Another option is if you are someone who is honest and you react nervously, denying his statement, Kaeya will laugh and tells you, in a joking tone, that you don't have to get shy, this is his brother!

The last option is if you act all composed, there's a chance that Diluc will smile and sarcastically play along, as you two chat, ignoring Kaeya who will definitely get touchy at the lack of attention.

If you laugh and play along with him, he will most definitely hug you by the waist and start calling you his wife for every goddamn reason he can think of.

“My wife would like a glass of water” “I can't give that to my wife” “Diluc, she is my wife be polite” Now Kaeya can't stop calling you his wife.

Diluc

“Carefull now, Mr.client, That's my wife you are talking about”

Diluc won't call you his wife if it's not true, so you are married to the Dark knight hero, the thing is: Almost no one knows about you two because Diluc doesn't want to put you in danger.

You two met at the Angel's Share. You were a knight of favonius, he was bartending.

You had gone there to celebrate someone's birthday, only that unlike the rest you didn't ask for an alcoholic beverage, you asked for apple cider.

While everyone got plastered you chatted the night away with Diluc.

Let me tell you, Diluc was happy to talk to someone who wasn't complaining about his life nor was drunk. It was one of the best nights of his life.

So maybe, when you forgot your vision on the bar to go help one of your friends, he didn't say anything, wanting to have a reason to look for you.

Oh, and he looked for you the next day!

Everyone was shitting their pants when they saw Diluc entering the headquarters. Everyone was wondering what he was doing there, if there was a crisis, if… wait, why was he talking to you?

Diluc gave back your vision and since that moment he found the way to get involved with you.

That being said, he proposed after two years of knowing you and the wedding was at the Dawn Winery and was very, very small.

Persons who where at the wedding: Kaeya, Jean, Lisa and Adelinde, besides the nun who officiated the wedding. (I said it was a small wedding!)

I mean, being Mrs. Ragvindir would put you up in the list of people to kidnap in Monstadt, not because of the dark knight hero thing, no, no, no. It's because of the mora.

He only calls you his wife because he has to instill fear in the bones of the man who dared to speak about you

What did the man said? “That Y/n, she has such a pretty ass, have you seen it?... Come on! She looks like such a slut with that skimpy clothes, I would love to spank…”

And Diluc is not going to let anyone talk about his wife, like that in his own bar.

Yes maybe you are a Favonius’ knight and yes it's true your ass is pretty, especially when you use shorts… but no one is allowed to talk about you like that, like you are nothing but an object.

Okay, maybe he can but only when he's alone with you in the middle of some dirty session of love making.

When he say those words, he’s totally saying them to scare the shit out of whoever dared to be disrespectful to you. Because, a menace from him is something to fear, he was the youngest calvary captainof the knights. He was a master swordman.

Diluc knows you can defend yourself, you probably will kick this drunkard ass, but he prefers to instill fear in people than have you getting in trouble with Jean.

Don't get mad at Diluc, he’s a bit overprotective of you because he loves you.

The man suddenly sobers up as soon as his ears registered Diluc words. He looks ashamed and regretful of his choice of words, he offers an apology and leave because it's so damn late!

As soon as Diluc sees you back home, he can't avoid looking at you with adoration only to confess his slip up the moment you two are having dinner.

The only thing you can say is: “It's about time everyone knows”

Zhongli

“Oh, Y/n is my wife, didn't I mentioned it?”

He was 3,000 years old when he met you. You were the prettiest living being he had ever seen. 

A minor Goddess with strong wings that adorned your back. A Goddess enslaved to be a gift to the lord of vortex, send heavily guarded in a caravan that happened to pass near the Guili plains thanks to an accidental detour

You were the goddess of Song and the Dawn, the bringer of peace after a nightmare.

Zhongli could forget even his own name but he would never forget your panicked expression when your eyes landed on him.

He was so damn tall, intimidating and serious that you had thought the Dragon wanted to keep you for himself.

However, Morax had opened the cage and told you in a stern and cold voice that you were free.

You were so afraid that you didn't step out until he got away from you. Then you flew away in the form of a bright and colorful bird.

 You didn't plan to go back to where he was but curiosity got the best of you, so you went back and watched Morax in silence from the distance.

The Adepti tried to scare you away unsure of how to deal with you stalking the prime Adepti. However, you didn't budge. Everyday you appeared in your bird form to sing to Morax and wake him up.

Slowly the adepti accepted your presence, they even started to try and get you to stay a little bit more since Morax started asking about the bird he has been hearing.

Morax one day woke up earlier only to tell you that you could stay for breakfast and since that moment you two started to eat together.

You were grateful to him and looked for forms to let him know, from giving him flowers, act as his messenger to the Yaksha and even sing for him. He had saved you from being a concubine of Osial, there was too much to be grateful.

Between this acts of devotion, Morax started to pay more and more attention to you and even when he didn’t understand his feelings he knew one thing: He wanted to keep you close and keep you safe.

Thousands of years were needed but you two ended up getting married.

Now, in all of this more than 3,000 years of Marriage he has called you Wife, but I really like this time when he forgot to introduce you as his wife because for him is common knowledge. Everyone knows Rex Lapis is married to the goddess of Song and Dawn. Everyone who is important to him knows you.

Those being, the adepti..

But the traveler saw you two eating together one afternoon. And they saw you walking together by the bay while holding hands. Another day he saw you clinging to Zhongli’s arm while he seemed to be explaining something to you.

They assumed you two were dating. They even got to speak to you for a commission, something about a ring made of noctiluose jade.

So Traveler being a little rascal started talking about you with Zhongli and he seemed to be happy to talk about you. 

“When are you gonna ask her to marry you?” Traveler asks mischievously and Zhongli laughs and say the phrase. 

The travelers gets all surprised but then asks how did that happened and Zhongli is proud to explain how he managed to ask for your hand.

Next time traveler meets you, they notice the ring around your finger.

However, they notice thewhole ring is made of Cor lapis.

As you notice their curious gaze you tell him the story about how Rex lapis made Cor lapis only to propose to you.

Which makes sense since Cor lapis literally means “Heart of stone”

Xiao

“Get your hands away from my wife!”

Xiao is not a man of many words, he’s terrible at expressing his feelings to everyone.

And I mean everyone, even with you. 

However, you should know that he will never call you his wife if he isn't married to you.

This is because he once heard Zhongli telling something along the lines of: “Marriage is the most sacred of contracts”

Now listed, you two met because of Zhongli/Morax. You were the first minor Goddess who relinquished your divinity to Morax and was left almost with no power, so Morax asked Xiao to take care of you.

And Xiao, being the obedient Yaksha he is, took care of you during the Archon War, and maybe that’s why you survived to such massacre.

As I have stated before, Xiao is bad with his feelings but it is good that you can basically read his emotions.

Your love story was a very, agonizingly slow burn, however when Xiao understood that you were never going to leave him, that you loved him and there was no way to change that, only then he gave up trying to get away from you… and he asked you to marry him.

For hundreds of years, Xiao called you his wife only when you two were alone. For him it was a term of endearment.

“Wife” oh, he says it with such softness and love, it makes you fall for him again! You don’t even mind that your marriage is practically a secret.

But there’s always a first time for everything. And the first time he called you his wife in public… It was something else. It wasn’t something born from his love and devotion, it was a warning.

For what felt like years he had endured listening to men flirt with you in Wangshu Inn. Every god damn male seemed to have the goal of stealing you from him. There were some female humans trying to catch your attention, but they were more subtle, smarter.

There was a man who pretended to be interested in your life as an adventurer, asking questions all the time.There was another who tried to catch your attention with food. There was a woman who wanted to take pictures of you and always told you, you were perfect. The worst one, was the one who tried to teach you martial arts.

You only accepted out of pure pressure, since he insisted so much. You were already an excellent fighter, only that you used a weapon of your choice.

The worst part was that he always corrected you, pressing his palm in your abdomen or your lower back.

Xiao usually didn’t pay attention since he didn’t felt jealous, he only peaked since you were making that little sound of annoyance you always did. That small “mhhh” 

When he saw that man putting his hands on your hips to “correct” your already perfect posture, he just lost it.

It wasn’t just his anger and frustration, that was his karmic debt taking control. In a second Primordial Jade Winged-Spear was in his hands and he attacked blindly. 

The man let go of you and tried to be a hero, only to be hit and cut by Xiao. Let’s be sincere, if it weren’t for you the “martial art master” would be dead, because Xiao is extremely strong.

Anyway, you fought your dear husband and pinned him to the ground until he calmed down. The “martial art master” ran away half beaten, forgetting about you.

Let’s just say, no one has flirted with you since that day. 

[strayingawayy]

moonlit comfort...

...the one where you're tired. truly, terribly tired. and jisung is there. he's always there. (warning: mentions of meds, being in a depresh)

a soft sigh left your lips as you admired the night sky from your position on the bed. your phone and laptop lay somewhere on your left, empty dishes in the corner of the room, sheets covering your lower half as you hugged your knees tightly. squeezing your eyes shut, you inhale a shaky breath.

it was happening again. you had spent the afternoon with friends, laughing and smiling as you entertained them. none of them would've suspected a thing from your behaviour, you seemed normal, you were fine.

you were tired. you were so goddamn tired. it took every fibre of your being to convince the people around that there was absolutely nothing wrong, that the meds you were on had been working. and while they were, the seemed to bring side effects you couldn't completely explain. they brought about a sense of loneliness that you couldn't laugh off anymore. you didn't have the energy to laugh it off anymore.

your phone buzzed beside you as it lit up with a notification.

noona simp 😒💗: babyyyyyyy! channie hyung is letting me go a little early today so be prepared to be obliterated with snuggles 😤💝

the message made you happy. it really did. but you couldn't smile anymore. not right now. you'd save the energy for when jisung would be home. nevertheless you decided to shoot a message back to prevent him from getting worried.

you: getting the cuddle time playlist ready jagi. also, tell chan i love him <3333

noona simp: you no love me? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

you sighed as you read the message from the notification before putting your phone on the bedside table. to say that you loved han would be an understatement.

you loved every scar that adorned his body and every so called imperfection he came with. you loved him at his lowest and at his best. you loved him when he was drenching your shirt with his tears and you loved him when he was crying tears of laughter at a joke you cracked. you loved him when the sun rose every morning and you loved him when till it came back the next. loving someone was a big risk but as long as it was him, you were reminded that it was worth it. because you loved han jisung. and that was the beginning and end of everything for you. and he knew that. you just couldn't say it right now. and he knew that too.

you bring your hand up to the hoodie you were wearing and take in a breathe. it smelled like him. a little more than usual. he must've sprayed some extra deodrant for you on it. you smiled slightly at that.

suddenly bbama, who was sleeping beside you before, jumped off the bed and rushed out of the room as the two of you heard the front door open.

jisung was finally home.

warmth filled you at the thought as you placed your sock clad feet on the floor and made your way out to greet him. the sight before you however, made your more emotional than you thought it would have.

jisung sat crouched on the floor, puckering his lips at bbama while scratching his ears as the dog licked his hands and wagged his tail excitedly.

upon seeing you, he stands up and mumbles a 'hey jagi' before opening his arms wide.

your breathe speeds up and you run into his arms, wrapping your own around his waist. your vision blurs and your hands begin to shake as they fist the fabric of his hoodie. tears dampen his clothes and a broken sob escapes your lips. you lean your entire weight against him as the two of you slide down onto the floor.

your boyfriend brings his hand up to rub soothing circles against your back and it's enough to make you break. what starts off as a tear of two soon turn into wails you let out against han's chest. you were so happy that he was finally home. what happened? you don't know. you're trying to offer him an explanation, you're trying to apologise but nothing you're saying is coherent and that just makes you want to cry more. you whine in distress and han cups your cheeks before resting his forehead against yours and tells you to breathe with him.

"we'll be okay jagi. you're not alone in this. i'm with you yea? let's take this slowly. small easy breathes ok? come on breathe for me, breathe with me."

he guides you as you inhale from your nose and out from your mouth. and in again, before releasing a shaky breathe. you try to open your mouth again to apologise but he cuts you off by pressing his lips against your own.

"not now, baby. you don't need to apologise to me ever ok? no matter what, i'm here for you."

you're looking at him with wobbly lips as tears threaten to spill again. nobody has ever loved you as much as han jisung.

"and no one ever will." he mumbles as he presses a kiss against your forehead and ushers you to breathe again.

huh? had you really said that out loud?

soon enough, your breathing slows down to normal, your wails tune down to hiccups and han takes that as a sign to pick you up with him, bbama carefully following behind, looking up at you with big, worried eyes. you gave him a small smile to which he wagged his little bum and gave you a small bark of glee.

han layed you down on your shared bed as you made yourself comfortable while he got you a glass of water to help hydrate yourself. he patted your hair tenderly as you gulped the water down. setting the glass down on your bedside table, he slid into the bed with you, gentle arms holding you tight in this seemingly dark night.

he turned back for a moment to draw the curtains open, allowing moonlight to pour into the room, illuminating his skin beautifully. you melted into his touch as he tucked his chin over your head, your ear pressed against his chest, his heartbeat allowing you to relax. bbama settled himself at your feet, ready to fall asleep any second now.

you suddenly felt vibrations from han's chest as he began to hum some made-up tune while his fingers softly massaged your scalp and occasionally brushed through your hair.

you visibly relaxed at that and han smiled to himself as he heard your soft snores moments later.

snuggling himself further into your arms, he planted small kisses against your forehead before sleep took over him as well.

no matter how hard it would get, you knew han jisung would be there with you at the end of the day. and that was enough to keep you going.

...

a/n: i talked to a professional after a really long time today and the only thing i can say is that i'm tired to the bone. to anyone reading this: stay warm, stay with me. the good times will come. we'll wait on them together. if you ever need to talk, i'm here <3

[youaresimplylovely]

Worth - CS 55

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒: 𝖨𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖢𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗈𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖸/𝖭 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗁, 𝗒/𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖢𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗈𝗌. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖢𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗈𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗒? 𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝖢𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗈𝗌 𝖲𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗓 𝗑 𝖦𝖿!𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝖥𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿!! 𝖵𝗏 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 <3 𝖯𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽!! 𝖠/𝖭: 𝖠 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗒 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖨 𝖯𝖱𝖮𝖬𝖨𝖲𝖤 𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖫𝖫𝖸 𝖨 𝖶𝖨𝖫𝖫 𝖴𝖯𝖫𝖮𝖠𝖣 𝖥𝖠𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖮𝖭 𝖭 𝖢𝖠𝖱𝖲 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 𝖲𝖨𝖷 𝖳𝖮𝖬 𝖠𝖫𝖮𝖭𝖦 𝖶𝖨𝖳𝖧 𝖠 𝖫𝖠𝖭𝖣𝖮 𝖥𝖨𝖢 <33 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 >< 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗏𝗏 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 | 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 | (𝗀𝗂𝖻 𝗆𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗀𝗎𝗒𝗌 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 <3) | 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆

Carlos would be lying if he said your outfit didn't looked cute. God, it really was. He loved the mini dress you wore, with ribbons on the straps. What made it perfect was your hair, you clipped a ribbon on the back for a final touch. Carlos loved every part of your outfit.

You and him were in a club along with the other drivers in celebration of Lando's first win, you made sure to look your best.

"Goddamn it, these people don't deserve to see you all dolled up like this." Carlos muttered, pulling you in closer to him and sitting you on his lap. People were looking at you in the club, you couldn't help but laugh at his actions.

"Can you believe what Oscar just said to me?" Lando said, jaw dropped and eyes filled with annoyance as he sat on the couch of the private lounge area of the club you guys were in.

"That you're kid acting like a kid?" Charles laughs hysterically, teasing Lando. He really was the kid of the grid despite others being younger than him.

"You're funny." Lando rolls his eyes at Charles eventually looking at everyone. "He literally said people are worth like 5 dollars. Like I just won and you say I'm worth five freaking dollars." He yaps, his hands spread out as he argues with Oscar who was right next to him with a smug face.

Your eyes widened from the thought, you knew it was a joke but you wanted to know how your boyfriend would react. "You think I'm worth five dollars!?" You playfully slap Carlos' shoulder as you give him a glare.

Carlos' jaw was dropped, eyes wide open and face all dramatic. "Whaaaat?" He prolonged his word with a laugh following along. "I think wait no I know that you're priceless." He smiles sheepishly, playing along with your game. Knowing that he could win, well that's what he thought.

You raise your eyebrow, giving him another playful slap on his shoulder. "So you think I don't have a price?" You pout, eyebrows furrowed. You had a rebuttal in this game. That's what Carlos loved about you.

Carlos definitely didn't expect that, his eyes flicked rapidly. Mouth open, trying to form a sentence. "I'm sorry what now?" He says, staring at you in complete disbelief. Boy were you smart, smarter than him.

"You think I don't have a price!?" You said in a tad higher voice as you glare at him. You weren't gonna let him win. "Well?" You reiterated, waiting for his answer.

After a few moments, Carlos gave you a charming smile. Humming softly as his hands caress your cheek. "You're worth as much as the world is well you're worth as much as the whole universe." He says softly, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You were baffled, despite your defense God how Carlos always won. He knows how to handle you and your attitude, you were his cute little baby doll and you loved it. "Awww, but those are worth gazillions of money." You pout, hugging him tightly.

"Exactly." He mumbles, wrapping his arms around you. His other hand is playing with the ribbon on one of your straps. He loved you so much and your cuteness and you being so coquette and your playfulness. He'd sell his soul just to have that with you every damn day.

"And I'm worth five dollars." Lando says loudly, looking at you and Carlos eventually glaring at Oscar who was laughing at the whole situation.

TAGLIST

@euphoricchills @charlesleclerx @amethyst-bitch @dr4g0ngirl @likedbygaslyy @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bibissparkles @lokideservesahug @hiireadstuff @urfavouriteanon @darleneslane @shelbyteller @spookystitchery @justtprachisblog @xoscar03 @snapeeballsack @silverxxs-world @thearchieves @destinyg237 @juliee4everial @thebasicbiatch @glossiersworld @aadu2173 @honethatty12 @halleest @callsignwidow @evie-119 @exotic-iris13 @dark-night-sky-99 @delululeclerc @eiaaasamantha @hrts4scarr @felicityforyou @sya-skies @hockeyboysarehot @iloveyou3000morgan @sugaspawsmari @aymfsts @khaylin27 @be-your-coffee-pot @yettobedetermined7 @dhanihamidi @formula1simp @lanadelray1989 @petrifying-risotto @erikasurfer @deerieeme @someonewhosfallenapart @charlottef1 @bokutos-babyowl @lillithhs-world @e-nonsense @iliyad @a-beaverhausen @doodlehunz@peachiicherries @amoresdejarrys @youdontknowmeshh

[t-lostinworlds]

Big, Hormonal Heart | Bucky Barnes

》 PAIRING: bucky barnes x pregnant!female!reader

》 TROPE/GENRE: established relationship (marriage), fluff fluff fluff

》 SUMMARY: It'd probably take more than one lifetime for Bucky to list reasons why he was so lucky to call you his wife. He was certain your big heart was one of them. One that grew even more with pregnancy hormones. It was sweet, how you to got so upset when they got his order wrong. Your meal was perfectly fine. But when his wasn't? Oh it was a crime.

》 WARNINGS: pregnancy, a dog named Snow and Alpine the cat, pet names (doll, baby, my love, sweetheart), emotional!r (she cries. like, most of the fic), husband!bucky being the sweetest, domesticity and just overall fluff (pretty tame fic ngl)

》 WORD COUNT: 2.5k+

A/N: this idea was super random. i saw an insta reel of a pregnant woman having mood swings over some food and then everyone was sharing their experiences in the comments and i got inspired so here ya go alksalkss. DISCLAIMER! I'm not pregnant nor have i ever been lol. I did as much research as i could but still, don't count on me to be 100% accurate.

++ ALSO this was written in just a few hours. this isn't my best work. just something i wanted to write as an exercise since i haven't written anything in months. anyways, i hope you enjoy!

📍 BLOG NAVIGATION ✩ B. BARNES MASTERLIST ✩ MAIN MASTERLIST ✩

⊱ ─────.⋅♚ *｡･ﾟ.★. *｡･ﾟ✫*.

Bucky Barnes was one lucky man.

If someone had told him years ago that he was going to live in a quaint home in the suburbs, a lovely backyard space for a dog and a cat to enjoy, and that he'd be married to the absolute love of life, an angel on earth who was now carrying his first child—

He honestly would've stared at them dead in the eye, wondering how someone could make such a cruel joke.

Yet here he was, actually living it, a life that seemed so much like a dream.

Though he was quickly reminded of how real this was as he stood in the nursery, glaring at the manual that came with the crib you two had bought from the furniture store.

It looked simple enough at first—putting together ready-made pieces should be easy, right?

Wrong.

Not when you have countless amounts of screws that more or less looked the same but were actually not because each served a different purpose. 

He was in the middle of figuring out how to install the legs to the main base when you walked into the room with your two bodyguards—Alpine the Cat and Snow the five-year-old Samoyed—in tow.

"How's it going, handsome?" you hummed as you reached his side, arms wrapping around his waist, your warmth immediately easing the frustration he had about this goddamn crib.

"It's…" he sighed, gesturing at the wooden pieces scattered around the floor. "Going."

You laughed at that, kissing his clothed shoulder before standing in front of him.

Bucky held your waist then, pulling you as close as he could given that your baby bump was in the middle of you both.

He honestly couldn't begin to express how much comfort and warmth covered his whole being every time he was met with the absolute love in your eyes.

And Bucky was sure his gaze shined the same.

So many people have pointed it out on numerous occasions, the twinkle in his eyes every time they land on you—his beautiful wife.

"I was thinking," you murmured, resting your hands on his chest, moving up his shoulder and down again in a sweet caress. "How about a quick break while we order some food?"

It was only about an hour after lunch, so Bucky wasn't particularly keen on filling his stomach some more.

But you, on the other hand, were nearing the end of your second trimester. It wasn't out of the norm for you to be hungry at this time, given you were eating for two. Plus, there was an added layer that your little peanut probably had some super soldier serum in their DNA—the baby's appetite could be enhanced for all he knew.

Other than that, the last thing Bucky wanted was an angry and hungry pregnant wife. So it wasn't really a hard decision to make.

"Okay, let's get you something to eat," he said.

Ever the observant person that you were, you quickly noticed his choice of words.

"For me?" you asked, brows furrowed. "You're not hungry?"

Bucky shook his head. "Not really."

Your bottom lip went.

He instantly knew he said the wrong thing.

"But I'm hungry," you murmured, eyes starting to glisten.

He could never explain it even if he tried, but whenever you got upset, your bodyguards always seemed to notice it. The two have always been protective of you and that only grew tenfold when you got pregnant.

Today wasn't an exception.

Snow barked at him, whining his complaints as he put his fifty-pound body between your legs, slightly pushing Bucky back. The furball was well trained though, so his protectiveness never went too far beyond being vocal about it. Alpine, on the other hand, was sitting a foot away, glaring at Bucky—quite the traitor given that she was supposed to be his cat, but he couldn't blame her for loving you, either—as if she knew it was his fault you were upset.

But still, Bucky wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong.

"I know, sweetheart," he said slowly, a little confused, trying to navigate around Snow who was pawing at his leg as if trying to push him further away. "I'll order some food for you."

"But you're not hungry," you repeated, body slumping with sadness.

"I'm not," he agreed, quickly cupping your face when a tear slipped from your eyes. "But hey, hey, that doesn't mean we can't still order food for you, doll."

"No, I know," you sniffled.

"So, what's making you upset, hmm?"

You buried your face in his chest with a shaky breath as you said,

"I don't want to eat alone."

Bucky paused, pressing his lips and swallowing down a laugh because he couldn't have you thinking he was making fun of you. He wasn't. But you were so adorable it made his chest ache.

"Okay, okay," he hummed, kissing the side of your head as he rubbed your back in comfort. "I'll order something for me, too."

•••

A few minutes later, your little family migrated to the living room. You both were sitting on the couch together, the two furballs sprawled at your feet as a random show played on TV. Various take-out bags covered the coffee table, way too many for two people but hey, that's what fridges and microwaves are for.

Fondness filled Bucky's bones as he watched you settle your food on your lap, doing what he called your Cravings Satisfied Wiggle.

He couldn't contain his chuckle.

You looked at him with furrowed brows, words a little muffled with your mouth full. "What?"

"Happy?" he asked, reaching over to wipe the sauce on the corner of your mouth.

"Very much," you giggled, eyes wrinkling at the corners.

Even after all these years, the sight of your pure joy still made his heart stutter, chest growing warmer when you leaned closer with a pout.

Bucky met you halfway for a short yet sweet kiss.

"Thank you," you hummed, even though there was no need for you to thank him for ordering you food.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

Reaching over the table, he took the one and only paper bag that was for him, because again, he wasn't that hungry.

"Oh."

"What's wrong?" You turned to him in concern.

"It's not a big deal," he reassured with a smile, shrugging because it really wasn't. "They got mine wrong."

You frowned. "You didn't get the nuggets?"

"No, they give me the burger meal," he said. "They must've misheard me.

Bucky immediately perked up when your lips started to tremble.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly, cupping your face to wipe away your tears.

"You—" you sniffled. "You didn't get your nuggets."

Bucky pressed his lips to stop a smile.

God you were so fucking cute.

"It's okay, baby," he soothed. "I'm fine with a burger, too."

You cried even harder.

Snow and Alpine quickly stood, all alert and concerned as they nudged your leg.

"You wanted the nuggets, Bucky," you insisted, choking back a sob. "But you didn't get it."

He carefully pulled you closer, rubbing your back in comfort as you laid your head on his shoulder. "I know, but it's okay—"

"No, it's not!" you protested, all teary and frustrated, pulling away to glare at him. "You deserve to get what you want. Y-You deserve all the good things after e-everything."

Bucky might honestly start crying too with how sweet you were being.

"Oh doll, come here," he placated, pulling you in for a hug while trying to navigate the food on your lap.

He could take it away for safety, but he'd already learned his lesson the hard way. Taking food away from a pregnant woman was a death sentence.

"I want you to be happy," you sniffled, burying your face against his neck. "You wanted the nuggets and they disrespected that."

It took so much for him not to let out a chuckle. Because as much as Bucky hated to see you crying and upset, he couldn't deny how adorably funny this whole conversation was.

But you'd always had the biggest heart. Whether that was crying over those rescue animal videos, emotional scenes in movies, to feeling upset over something he was experiencing—your empathy was always high.

What more with the pregnancy hormones in the mix?

"How about I ask them to change it?"

Again, wrong thing to say.

He needed to get better at this.

"But they're probably so stressed and overworked already," you sobbed. "A-And it's about to rain. I don't want the delivery guy to get wet in the rain. T-They already don't get paid enough."

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he hummed, rubbing your back. "Will you look at me, my love?"

You lifted your head then, Bucky's heart aching at the absolute distress on your features—pout in full play, eyes a little bloodshot with tear stains on your skin.

He cupped your cheeks with a soft smile, placing gentle kisses all over your face, unrelenting until you let out a whine of protest. He stopped then, thankful to see that you'd calmed down now.

"I promise you, the burger meal is perfectly fine with me. I'm not mad or upset about it. I don't mind it at all," he said.

You took a calming deep breath and nodded. It only took a second for you to look at him sheepishly.

"Sorry I overreacted," you whispered, embarrassed.

"Hey, none of that," he lightly scolded. "All the emotions you're feeling will always be valid."

You smiled, small yet sweet, leaning in and kissing him with as much gratitude as you could muster.

"Besides, it makes me feel so honored to know that you're willing to fight for my chicken nugget rights."

"Shut up, Barnes."

•••

You and Bucky always had a nightly routine and it usually consisted of the two of you getting ready for bed in your own different ways. They were intertwined, but not exactly the same. Like you'd be doing some skin care in the bathroom while he would be brushing his teeth.

But ever since you got pregnant, your routine became more in sync.

It usually started with a bath that he'd run for you. Most of the time he'd end up joining you, the length of said bath varying since that usually depended on what mood you were in. Bucky was always at the service of meeting his wife's needs, after all.

Recently, now that your bump wasn't particularly easy to navigate, he'd helped you get ready for bed. From getting dressed to your skin care, including rubbing some moisturizer on your stomach. That part was one of his favorite things to do.

Then it was the typical things, getting dressed, brushing your teeth—this one you stopped him from doing it for you even though he was more than willing—and overall just getting ready for bed.

Once you’d settled on the pregnancy pillow that Bucky fluffed up for you, he'd sit near the foot of the bed to give your sore feet a massage while you read a book.

Tonight, right when he was in the middle of doing that, he heard you sniffle.

Bucky looked up in concern, catching you already staring at him with tears already in your eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking you over. "Does something hurt?"

"No, I-I'm okay. I just—" You cut yourself off with a sob.

Bucky quickly moved beside you, pulling you onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your form. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, body shaking as you cried.

"Hey, hey, talk to me," he murmured against your hair. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It's just—" You let out a shaky breath. "You're always taking care of me."

"Of course, sweetheart, you're my wife," he said. "And not only because it's my duty as your husband, but because I love you so much."

That made you cry even harder.

"I l-love you too, so much," you sobbed. "But I haven't been able to take care of you lately and that's not f-fair."

Bucky felt his heart grow as if it wasn't already bursting at the seams.

How could someone be so selfless and sweet?

"You're pregnant, my love," he stated the obvious reason as to why. "Besides, I'm capable of taking care of myself. It's alright."

"No, it's not," you argued, pulling away slightly to face him. "You deserve to be taken care of, too! You deserve to get pampered a-and a break but you're always fussing over me and taking care of me instead. I'm not helping with any of it. I'm just making it harder for you."

"No, absolutely not," he stated firmly, holding your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. "I love taking care of you. It honestly makes me feel so fulfilled and happy when I do."

"Really?" you sniffled.

"Yes. It's the least I could do with everything that you've been going through right now," he said truthfully, adding with a chuckle, "Hell, if I could carry our baby so you wouldn't have to go through all the pain I would."

That earned him a small laugh.

"But I want to take care of you, too," you admitted after a deep breath.

"You already are," he hummed, thumb stroking your cheek lovingly. "You're taking care of our baby and my heart, and those are very important to me."

You scrunched up your nose adorably.

"That was so cheesy."

"But it's true, though."

You smiled, cupping his face. Bucky turned his head to kiss your palm.

"Thank you," you sighed fondly. "For putting up with me and for everything."

"First off, I'm not putting up with anything," he reassured, kissing your other palm before adding, "Second, you never have to thank me for taking care of you. Never."

You nodded, leaning closer to press your lips against his, pouring all your love and gratitude into it. Bucky kissed you back with the same fervor, never needing words to express what you truly feel for each other.

He felt so content—feeling your lips, your fingers tangled in his hair, and your little peanut asking for attention too, kicking the second Bucky rested hand on your bump.

When you let out a soft, needy whine, he was ready to take the kiss even further.

That was until a wet tongue met his cheek.

Bucky groaned in annoyance, pulling away to see Snow giving you a kiss, too. He couldn't be angry at the dog for ruining the moment when your lovely laugh echoed in the air. Alpine jumped on the bed a second later, nudging her head against Bucky's chin before walking over to place a loving paw on your bump.

His smile was as bright as it could be as he watched the scene before him.

A wonderful home, a wholesome family that involved his beautiful, loving wife and two furballs, his family that was only getting bigger in a few months—

Yeah.

Bucky Barnes was one lucky man.

✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ♛ *.

↬ thank you for reading lovely! reblog & leave a comment if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated! ++ consider supporting me on ko-fi if you can!

✉ NO TAGLIST: go follow @t-lostinlibrary​​​​ and turn on notifications to get updated on my works!

© t-lostinworlds, 2023 ✘ I do NOT give any permission to repost, translate, & use any of my works (writings, gifs, dividers, etc.) on any platform, with credit or otherwise. Please respect that. Thank you.

[hencheri]

I can't think of any members but who do you think would like to do daddykink/ddlg from wayv?

a member who loves to take care of their partner in every way and will not care if there is an age difference

18+ minors dni.

pairing: kun/ten/hendery x fem!reader

warnings: age gap, manipulation, humiliation, daddy kink (no ddlg sorry), noncon for dery, loss of virginity.

kun

not mentioning him would be madness, so i'm doing it. he'd love being called gege, and it especially hits different when it's a girl 6-7 years younger than him because he does feel a little guilty for liking it so much. at first, you call him gege because he's your elder but it's never too innocent. what business does kun have for thinking about you — a 21 year old — like that?

but kun gets over the shame pretty fast once he gets a taste of your pussy. one thing he still can't get over is the nickname — which will never not be inappropriate coming out of your whiny little mouth. you're his little princess, his most precious thing in the world. the age doesn't matter, and if he has to be honest, it's what makes it exciting. thrilling. it's what makes his cock so fucking stiff because goddamn, the thought of destroying a tiny, inexperienced cunt like yours will always be his guilty pleasure.

he doesn't expect the others to understand, they have no say in his relationship anyway. if he loves you, what's the problem? he'll care for you, provide and protect, he doesn't need a reason, it's what he's meant to do.

kun maybe has perverted intentions regarding you when he demands to be called gege no matter where you are, manipulating you by saying you should always refer to him as such, he's your elder. "well behaved girls know this, they listen to their older boyfriend and don't refuse them what they want."

ten

ofc ten is on this list. why wouldn't he be? he's the kind to make jokes about it, call himself "ten daddy" until he really can't fuck anyone without being referred as such. "what's my name? no, wrong answer, love," he'd tease you because he loves how flustered you become. he's so incredibly teasing about it and that's probably the aspect he likes the most about being called daddy. him being much older than you, much experienced and mature, he finds it adorable and almost laughable to have you call him daddy.

ten is a dom i just think daddy kink is something he'll dive into naturally. he likes being domineering, and he's a huge tease at the same time, he'd probably make you call him daddy in public in front of everyone just because it makes him laugh. acting oblivious of the small calls of his name, pretending he doesn't hear you until you address him as ten daddy. the others can't help but laugh of course, making you extremely embarrassed, exactly the result ten wanted.

he really doesn't see your relationship the same way kun would, but the age gap he doesn't care about it at all. it's amusing to him to have a younger girlfriend because he just can plant any thoughts he wants in your pretty head and you won't even question it. you're so gullible he finds it sweet and he doesn't even hide how big of a manipulator he is.

hendery

i don't think he would want to be called daddy or have a young girlfriend, however... you would coerce him into it. sorry. "come on, dery, it's only 5 years... what are you so afraid of? i'm a big girl," you'd say to him while literally humping his bulge, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, trying so hard to resist the temptation to fuck the shit out of you.

hendery's dick has a mind of its own, but he still has some morals, rules he can't cross — even though it's becoming very difficult to respect them when he has you grinding on him like a deprived little slut. he can't just indulge in sex with someone like you, you're too damn young, what would the others think? what if he regrets it? what if you regret it? but something tells him you wouldn't. not once.

when you attempt to kiss him once again, expecting him to move him head away, he finally loses it and pins your body down. at this right moment he thinks that young or not, you fucking deserved his cock defiling your stupidly tiny cunt. so when you cry to him you're a virgin does he stop? no. you begged for him, you begged for this exactly, and he didn't imagine any of it. you were dry-humping him and trying to kiss him, so you will own up to the consequences of your actions.

but let's be honest, that's what you wanted and you're more than pleased of the turn of events. "thought you were a big girl. what happened to her, huh?" you're quite proud of the crocodile tears dripping from your eyes, mumbling "i'm sorry," as your pussy is totally creaming hendery's cock. he doesn't stop when "daddy" slips out of your lips, he wants to ignore it the first couple of times you cry it, but the more he hears you calling him daddy, the harder he cums into you.

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 13.

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Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content. It's a kinky writing challenge, so expect anything at this point, (nothing freaky, don't worry) but it's a surprise calendar so I won't spoil it! (Also, English is not my native language) Contains brief reference to Dec.11 (Temptation)

Summary: You and Dean manage to piss off an Amor and in return he "gifts" you with a life-swap with two strangers for the next hours. Not much of a deal for you two, you think. You're hunters after all, so how bad could it be? Oh how wrong you were. Remember one of Dean's biggest fears? Yeah. About that.

Words: 3,100

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Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! And let me know whether you enjoy it so far! <3 A/N: Alrighty, this was a bit of a wild ride.

I really need to write less and yet I end up writing more every time and keep screwing up my sleeping schedule damn it. This is the first time I've written this much dialogue. :') I'm still new to writing fanfics and now I'm a bit anxious about posting it haha. I really hope I got Dean right - I didn't get to proof read it yet, so maybe I'll adjust some small things tomorrow (or rather when I'm awake again in a couple of hours). EDIT: Yeah, I did edit it now. Just a quick heads up. Although I am still not entirely satisfied with it… I might rewrite this one someday but for now I gotta move on to the next prompt.

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13th Dec. - Freaky Friday

"Love is in the air!" The amor chanted before popping off. At that point you didn't know yet that naked bastard meant it quite literally.

Next moment you open your eyes, you're stuck on an airliner with a screaming Dean next to you, in pilot uniform.

“I’m gonna kill that crotch-faced angel!” Dean yells, his face beyond pissed.

“Jesus- What the hell just happened!?” You sputter, blinking at him rapidly. You find yourself clinging to the armrests as your body tries to catch up with the sudden shift of surrounding. One moment you’d been standing in a dining kitchen, next thing you know you’ve been hurled into a cockpit’s seat 30’000 miles in the sky.

“Goddamn sky nudist, that’s what happened,” Dean growls, hands instinctively patting down his new clothings in search of his colt. He grits his teeth with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, “Of course he stripped me of my stuff.” His eyes roam the cockpit, the realization slowly settling in and his stomach twisting into sickening knots, “This gotta be some kinda sick joke.”

“What joke?” A voice startles both of you, Dean even briefly clasps his chest with his hand. You both snap your heads around to face a young, scraggly guy who looks like he’s one sneeze away from lifting off.

“Who invited you to the party?” Dean asks sarcastically, eyebrow arched and eyeing the poor lad with scepticism.

“I- uhm – I’m part of the cabin crew… I’m Bob.” He sputters, his fingers fiddling with his name tag before his eyes dart back and forth between you, curiously. “What party?”

“He’s being sarcastic, Bob.” You crack an amused, lop sided smile.

“Great, we’ve got ourselves another birdbrain. Just without the angel-juice.” Dean quips, rubbing his face in annoyance. “You better buckle up, kid. This’ll be a bumpy ride if it's real.”

“Maybe… it’s just a dream?” You try to reason, although you are pretty positive that this is anything but a dream, “I mean, he’s an angel after all. He wouldn’t put you in charge of 200 passengers, right?“

“660,“ Bob chimes in matter-of-factly, „It’s 660 passengers. Plus 16 cabin crew and that’s-”

“Bob. Not helping.“ You cringe inwardly.

“Including me…” he adds in a small voice.

“And who gave you permission to add your crap?” Dean deadpans at Bob before his head snaps back at you, “And you kiddin’ me? When did angels start to care about any of us?“

“Right - fair enough. Then, uh, let‘s just get the co-pilot. Bob, where‘s the man of the moment?” You turn to glance at the steward again.

“Uh,” Bob mutters with a nervous smile, “That would be you, miss.”

“What?” You look down and notice just now, that indeed, you were wearing a pilot’s uniform. “Really? No stewardess? Well, uh, that’s… refreshing.”

“Fantastic. Just fantastic.” Dean mutters next to you.

„Tell you what — I‘m gonna call Cas,“ Dean fumbles for his phone, „He can shazam us out of this shitshow- Nah! Come on!“ he cuts himself short and throws his hand in the air, “That son of a bitch took my phone as well!“

“Dean - breath - you’re panicking-“ you try to calm him down but get cut short.

“I’m not panicking! I’m peachy as fuck!” he retorts, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just because I‘m a little worried about being stuck up in this flyin’ tin can of death doesn‘t mean I‘m freakin’ out.” Dean defends himself, his eyes narrowed, trying his best to act tough and offended. When in reality his grip on the armrest is close to a breaking point.

You reach out a hand to place it on his arm, when suddenly the plane shudders and Dean’s eyes go as wide as saucers, his grip on the armrest now enough to strangle the life out of a man.

Bob pipes up with recovered confidence, “It‘s just a little bit of turbulence, Captain. I fly this same route every day, it‘s perfectly normal.”

Dean’s head whips around to shoot Bob a deadpan glare, “Yeah, ‘cuz you’re totally unbiased, aren’t ya?” Bob blinks at him, seemingly not understanding a single word he said. “I’m not your Captain, kid.” He clarifies with an exasperated groan.

Bob looks like his face has been hit with a wet towel, “But… you’re wearing a pilot’s uniform.”

Dean shoots you a sarcastic smile. “Oh, bless his heart.”

You sigh, “Thanks for stating the obvious, Bob.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“So... you are pilots.” he concludes.

“Shut up, trolly-boy.” Dean snaps gruffly before he turns back to face the sky in front of them. He runs a frustrated hand down his face, unsure what to say with his usual bravado seemingly dissipated.

“I need a drink,” Dean mutters to himself after a moment of silence, the sweat beading on his forehead.

Bob takes this as his cue and proudly hands him a bottle of water.

“This better be gin.” He grumbles and uncaps the bottle, downing it in one go. He sets the empty bottle down on the ground, his eyes flicking across the dashboard of the cockpit. His hair gets ruffled by a frustrated hand of his, before Dean suddenly pushes himself off the seat, muttering. “I need some fresh air.”

“Sure, let’s just open a window - are you insane??” You shout after him, turning in your seat. Bob shoots you the look of a deer caught in headlights, his face drained of all blood as he watches him walk out on them. You roll your eyes before you get up to rush after Dean.

“Just keep the damn plane in the sky.” You clap him briefly on the shoulder, at which Bob stutters something along the line of ‘this not being part of his job description’. But you cut him short with a mocking smile and a brisk slap to the chest. “It’s your lucky day, pal. You just got promoted. Now just don’t screw the pooch ‘till we’re back.” And off you went, slamming the cockpit door shut behind you. Leaving poor Bob back with nothing less but 10,000 switches, dials and buttons. And an empty water bottle.

***

You hurry after Dean who just disappeared in the lavatory. “Dean, wait-” you get inside as well, already feeling a slight deja-vu of the cooped up situation in here, but choose not to comment on it now. “Look, I know this sucks but… I think I’ve got an idea how we can get out of this.”

Dean tries and fails to pace in the narrow cabin. He’s now running his hand through his hair in a frantic manner instead. “Oh yeah? Please, indulge me.” He says sarcastically, his breath slightly shaky.

“Dean, listen to me,” you pause, your fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, “God… I can’t believe I’m saying this but…” you take a deep breath, fighting the urge to curse out a certain naked love-angel, “The way I see it… Right now, the lives of 676 innocent people depend on your dick.”

“Uh-“ Dean stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, “Are you trying to flirt with me? ‘Cuz that’s one hell of an odd pick up line.” His lips shift into a mischievous smirk, “It’s kinda hot though.”

“DEAN,” You groan in exasperation, “I’m being serious! Lives are at stake here!” You reach over to lock the door with a bit more force than needed. “Including my ass!” You add as you whip around to face him again.

Dean throws his hands up in mock surrender, “Okay, okay! I get it! Just sayin’, it’s a weird thing to say to your boyfriend!” He plops down on the toilet seat behind him, his expression one of mock-seriousness, his lips twitching, “So what’s my dick gotta do with the fate of this plane?”

You sigh and lean back against the door, your knees almost touching his in the narrow lavatory. “Love is in the air.” You state matter-of-factly before you continue, “That’s what the Amor said, remember? It’s a lesson, Dean - we gotta… ya know-” while you speak you make an obscene hand gesture to get your point across, “- do it.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up, nearly disappearing into his hairline, “Whoa, whoa, whoa - slow down there, Squeak. You can’t be serious, you really want us to-”

Before he could finish the sentence, the plane lurched suddenly, causing you both to grab for each other and almost knocking heads. Your eyes lock, realization dawning on you that time’s ticking. Fast.

“No time for explanations,” you blurt out, “You just gotta trust me on this.” You drop to your knees between his legs, your hands working the buckle of his belt. When suddenly Dean pipes up.

“I can’t.”

Your mind just came to a screeching halt at those two words. “What?” You sputter, looking up at him in disbelief.

“I can’t do it.” He repeats in a low voice, clearing his throat this time. And his eyes dart around the lavatory in an attempt to avoid your flabbergasted look.

Silence.

“We literally fucked in a public fitting room the other day and you want to tell me you can’t do this?” You stare at him wide-eyed. This entire situation seemed like a stupid joke to you. Dean’s dismissing a chance to bang you? Ridiculous.

Dean looks taken aback by your argument, his face scrunched up in an offended manner. “Hey! That wasn’t 30’000 miles in the air - s’not the same!-” His voice turns into a little screech when you cup his privates in the middle of his arguing, “Hey, hey- whoa- easy there!” He sputters, his voice a few octaves higher than usual. His fingers wrap around the edge of the toilet seat in a death grip, forcing himself to regain his composure in front of you.

His cheeks flush with a faint pink when his eyes finally meet yours again. “He’s-” he croaks out before he cuts himself short. He clears his throat and forces his voice to its usual confident, gruff tone, “He’s scared. Alright?” His jaw clenches and he looks away again, forcing a sarcastic smile when he scoffs, “Go on, laugh it up.”

Oh. Now it clicked in your head. You suddenly feel bad for snapping at him, but you still can’t help the hint of an amused smile tugging at the corner of your lips. He felt so embarrassed, it was almost endearing. “Well,” you smack your lips, your soft voice carrying a hint of teasing, “Guess I’ll just have to step up my game then.” You push yourself to your feet and before Dean gets to object, you disappear out the door with a quick wink at him. Dean stares at the door in confusion, his eyes occasionally darting down to his half-exposed boxers and its non-existent bulge. His jaw clenches and he curses a silent “Damnit”, already regretting that he told you.

A few minutes later, the door to the lavatory swings open again. And Dean’s breath hitches at the sight in front of him. “I thought you’d like this, Captain Winchester.” You drawl out his name in an extra sultry tone. Your finger playing at the neckline of your tight stewardess outfit. And his attention was effectively drawn to your subtly bobbing breasts whenever the plane shook. It had taken some smooth talking but you had managed to trade clothings with one of the stewardess’. Not without raising a few eyebrows though. But hey, lives are at stake here. And if the Winnichester needs some coaxing then you’ll damn well do so by wearing a super short blue skirt and a tight blouse with your pushed up boobs hanging out halfway. “Damn,” Dean swallows thickly, his voice cracking slightly, “You- uh- you look hot.” He starts to fidget around on the toilet lid, his eyes roaming you up and down with a sudden look of lust.

“So do you, Captain.” You hum, your teeth grazing your lips slowly. The pilot uniform fit him perfectly. Just how you had always imagined him. You secretly always hoped that the day would come where he’d need to wear one for a case, but of course that chance never came. Until now. And damn, the sight made your stomach tingle and the fabrics of your panties dampen.

But the moment is ruined by another strong turbulence, making the plane lurch again, this time stronger. You stumble forward and Dean panics, his hands braced against a wall each, “Oh come on! This can’t be normal!”

You take the chance and with one ‘wrong step’ you land on his thighs, both your knees straddling his hips. Taking the moment back by force. Dean startles for a moment, gasping for air as he’s torn between panicking from the planes sudden alarming noise, or feeling turned on by your bold action.

You shift on his lap, your wetted panties grinding against his covered crotch. Dean’s eyes briefly flutter closed, biting back a groan. Without another word, you lean in and capture his lips in a passionate kiss, which Dean quickly succumbs to. After a moment, you break the kiss again, leaving him breathless and still a bit befuddled.

“You listen to me,” you command in a sultry tone while you cup his cheeks with both hands, holding his gaze, “You will fuck me now as if our lives depend on it. Ya hear me, Dean Winchester? I know you can do it.” Because our lives do depend on it, you add mentally.

Dean swallows thickly, his mouth suddenly going dry. After a moment of silence, despite the unsettling increasing clattering of the cabins and the rattling of the floor beneath them, Dean nods. “Yeah, I hear ya.” He replies huskily.

You can see in his darkened eyes how his fear is slowly dissipating and making room for excitement and lust. His hands slide off the walls to move to your waist and he rolls his hips up against you to show the effect you’re having on him. And indeed, his erection is twitching against the fabrics, begging to be released now. He looks up at you with that cocky smirk of his, finally carrying his usual confidence again. “Ready to be air-boned?”

“Seriously now?” You snort with an amused chuckle, your eyes roaming his pilot uniform, “Come on, Captain,” you playfully swat his thigh and then lean in, your lips grazing his ear, “I’ve always dreamed of gettin’ laid by a pilot. Hard.”

At that Dean’s green eyes glint with eagerness and desire. He raises an eyebrow and chuckles, “That so?” Without a warning, he grabs you by the hips and he pushes off the toilet lid. With a tight grip on you, he whips you around and bends you over the small washbasin. You gasp when you suddenly find yourself shoved into the mirror, your hipbones pressed firmly against the edge.

He leans down next to your ear, whispering gravelly, “Hold on tight,” His fingers dig into your hips to angle them slightly up, making you arch your back. “’m gonna make this so much better than your dream, sweetheart.” You shudder from his touch, the heat already pooling between your legs. He runs his hands up your inner thighs until he reaches your skirt which he slowly nudges upwards until he’s got his eyes on your exposed ass. He bites his lips with a low groan. “Damn, you look so beautiful, baby.” His fingers hook under the hem of your panties pulling them down to your knees in one swift movement. You stifle a moan, your thighs already dripping wet. Dean pulls his boxers down and his hard erection twitches against your ass as he leans down again, his chest firmly pressed against your back as he traps you underneath him. “Gonna fuck you ‘till we touch down. That sound good for you?” He growls with a cheeky smirk, his hot breath tingling your skin.

A low whine escapes your lips, pleading with a “y-yes- please.” You’re begging for him to take you already, to pin you down and fuck you like an animal. Your throbbing clit was aching for relief by now. You pant against the mirror and you feel your mind going hazy. Your head drops forward when you feel his fingers brush against your slick folds with a low groan of his.

“Jesus, you’re killing me sweetheart…” he whispers against the nape of your neck. He hooks his two fingers into your cunt to pull you back with a quick tug. You moan loudly but quickly get muffled by his hand, his middle finger slipping past your lips for you to suck on. And you suck hard, drawing a moan out of him this time.

“You ready to be banged to the heavens?” he asks deeply, his fingers slipping out of you again to part your folds open.

You nod, eagerly, a low muffled moan leaving your jammed mouth. Dean hums satisfied with your response and next moment he pushes his thick cock inside you. Despite his size, you take him with ease by now. But not without a guttural moan and you buckling for a moment. Dean quickly slips one hand underneath to your stomach to hold you in position. He doesn’t hold back long, after a few slow in and outs, he thrusts into you like there’s no tomorrow. Seemingly unloading all the pent-up tension from before. The hand on your stomach dips a bit lower, his finger flicking over your swollen nub, determined to get you there along him. His other hand leaves your mouth to push down on your lower back, pinning you down beneath him while his teeth graze at the skin of your neck. He grunts and groans, slamming into you like an animal. You meanwhile whine and whimper, your legs shaking from the relentless thrusts of his cock getting driven inside you, the turbulences only adding to the sensation. He picks up his pace, deep and rough, just the way he knew you liked it.

It didn’t take long for you both to reach the edge. Equally panting and trembling. When you finally come undone with one last hard thrust, you almost scream his name and your walls clamp him, taking him over the edge with you. Dean collapses on top of you with a shuddering, exhausted groan, but quickly makes sure to not bury you beneath him by propping himself up on his elbows.

After a moment of catching his breath, he whispers softly, “Damn… that was… intense.” his forehead drops to your shoulder and he pants heavily against your back, his damp hair tickling your neck. “You doing good, sunshine?”

You finally manage to flutter your eyes open again and it takes you a second to realize where you are. “Oh my God, Dean.” You exclaim breathlessly. You tip your head back, nudging him with your back-head. Dean slowly raises his head, just enough to look over your head, expecting to see his reflection in the mirror. But instead is faced with a swaying kitchen pan.

“Jesus,” he mutters a bit shocked, “Don’t tell me-” “Yes!” you cut him short while wiggling free from underneath him, “It worked! Love is in the air, baby!”

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Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation

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Tags:

@ariasong11 @deansjacket @literallylexa @lmpala1967 @foxyjwls007 @impala67rollingthroughtown

[ravengards-rogue]

the evening stretch | warm-up series.

ft. the prompts, nsfw / "dinner" / arthur morgan.

✧ tags : afab!reader + fem!reader outdoors sex, oral (f!recieving), reader is an outlaw, established relationship, desperate arthur morgan, 18+

✧ wc : 2.7k

✧ a/n : hello! this is part of a little warm-up series i do on my other blog where i pick three prompts and try to come up with something. i normally do them in a rut. im working on a commission and im super stuck so.

this actually landed on javier four times in a row but im being kind and sparing a friend so. here's mr. morgan.

✧ synopsis : arthur thinks the place between your legs would suit him quite nicely.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

Honest to God, Arthur's never been like this before.

He ain't all that pious to start, so perhaps the sentiment doesn't stretch as far as he would like it too. But it's true, all the same - that in all the lives he's lived, he's never experienced this much bone-deep desire for another human being.

Which is outright ridiculous, since right now you're just making supper. Dinner, you always clarify with that yankee accent. You're going to have dinner together, 'cause Arthur needs to eat. He works hard, according to you.

It's not much, but you're a better cook than Pearson. Even if that's not saying a whole lot. And you're insistent on making the man eat, always on his case about how it's hardly enough for a man his size.

Arthur can chalk it up to being that you love him, as you have told him foolishly many times. He's sure you're not gonna be happy with him in a minute since again - all you're doing is making dinner.

It's just... something. Something about you today. Dammit, he doesn't understand it neither. You've got a job together, and you and Arthur play convincing husband and wife since you practically are anyway. Arthur's been watching you today closely. You lie pretty. Smile with all your teeth, clever with a careful finesse and an honest knack for debauchery and indecency.

You love calling yourself an awful woman. Joking about dying an unweddable spinster given your crudity.

But Arthur likes it in you. Of you. Likes it so much he's done nothing but readjust his pants watching you squirm your way out of every difficult situation and sling the revolver on your hip like a tried-and-true gunslinger.

You're a fine woman to him. A fine one.

The fire crackles as you place a pot over the little flame of the faux stove. You've made a real dinner somehow - with some vegetables and creeping thyme and carefully butchery of meat. It smells good and you seem proud of it, stirring the thing with the sharp end of your knife. Careful not to scrape the pot.

Arthur watches the light glow orange on your face, carefully observing the way it shines on you. You don't look up at all when you speak.

"Gonna stare a hole into me, Morgan."

He feels something warm crawl up his cheeks. He scratches his beard instinctively, tucking his hat over his eyes.

"'m sorry," He says, unsure of how to cover for himself. "Been thinking about some things."

"Don't hurt yourself," You reply, sardonic and dry. Arthur adores you. He laughs to himself and feels warmed by the pleasant smile that seems to give you.

"I'll try. Ain't much used to thinking,"

"Penny for your thoughts, then Mr. Morgan." You reply, carefully moving the pot around so nothing burns. "Might help you clear your mind if you get some of it off your chest."

He's backed himself into a wall. Goddamn him and his big mouth. He hesitates, taking it off this time. Fidgety.

"Yanno, there ain't a lot women like you. Not that I've met at least."

You give him a look. Your lips pressed into a flat line, unimpressed by him.

"Is that so?"

He laughs to himself. "It is indeed. You're a real piece of work. 'Specially going around batting your lashes, making yourself out to be a housewife."

"Aw what, did you like seeing me all doe eyed?" You smile to yourself, teasing but not entirely insincere. "If it helps, since you're the fake husband, I'm only half-acting."

That makes him grin. Though you say it with confidence, the sincerity it makes you flush.

"It ain't that," Arthur says again, looking at your face for the second time in a few minutes. "Just that you're a fine woman to be around. What do they call it...resourceful. That's what I'm thinking of."

"Who taught you such a big word, Morgan?"

"Trelawny, I'd guess."

You laugh, loud and beautiful and Arthur smiles. You look at him from across the fire. "Well, I'm glad you like my company, Mr. Morgan."

"I do more than like it," He hums, offering a reprieve. He nods at you carefully, head tilted. "Come 'ere,"

Your eyes widen at him, but you don't deny him of what he's asking. For that he is awfully grateful. You're more than capable and much less than needy. There's victory in your deliberate desire for him, Arthur thinks. You want him enough to let him chase you.

You come sit by Arthur. You're a little awkward with him still but he don't mind. It adds to whatever he feels for you, sugar-sweet affection and all. You sit on your knees and Arthur turns his head looking at you.

Beautiful. Beautiful thing you are, really. He has a hard time finding the words to tell you.

He reaches up, hand cupping your face. You lean into the touch, palm resting on calloused hand. He adores you.

"And quit with the Mister Morgan nonsense. Drives me crazy."

"Arthur," You say, slow and deliberate. "You know you're looking at me like you wanna eat me."

'"Read my mind, then."

"Arthur," You repeat, scandalized. He would smile if he wasn't so serious. "We're supposed to be eatin' dinner. You got into a whole spat with them Leymone Riders just today. You need to recover,"

His smile widens.

"Lettin' me go down on ya will heal me just fine,"

You look at him exasperated. Arthur leans into your neck, placing chaste kisses down the line of your jaw. He kisses you just there - underneath your earlobe, knows it drives you crazy.

"Lay down, sugar. Help a poor, injured man heal."

You pull away from him with faux exasperation, fond smiling breaking your face.

"You can be such a dog some times, do you know that?"

"I'm afraid I do,"

You give him another unimpressed look, but you listen anyways. Arthur moves so you can lay down on the bedroll - his bedroll. He takes off his coat just before you lay your head, playing it underneath you to get you more comfortable.

"Dinner's gonna burn," You tell him, almost reflexively. He laughs as he looks at you, your hands folded over your stomach and flat. He laughs at you.

"Burn? You feeling warm?"

"Arthur!"

And he laughs again, catching your boot in his hand as you go to kick his chest lightly. He sets it back down as he stares at you. You're quite the sight. Adoration bubbles up into his throat, blooms out into a hum. The sound of crickets and owls and all sorts of night wanderers sound - but none are distracting enough to pry his gaze away.

"You're looking too much," You say, your voice a half tremble. He nods.

"Got too," Arthur hums, leaning forward into your space. You always smell good to him, some cross between soft earth, and sweet liquor and clothes left in the sun. Skin and salt and sweet. "Who knows how long I'll be around."

He presses his lips to yours gentle and you kiss him - but only once before pulling away. Your eyes suddenly serious, warm palm on his cheek.

"Don't say something so morbid. If you go, I go,"

"Sweetheart—"

"No buts." You affirm, pressing your thumb to his lip all serious. Your eyes meet and for a moment - just one minute, all he wants to do is stop time from moving. From stealing him from you in life at all. Even a few seconds, intolerable. "Don't feel to good to hear, does it? So don't say it."

"Alright, alright," He huffs, laughing against your neck. He kisses it again, right against your pulse - quickening under his teeth as he bites and scrapes. He mulls over how much he wants you, and how little time there is to do everything. "Jus' lemme...I dunno."

Now you're cheeky, smiling up at him. Lord above, you do something so terrible to him. "Now that's just not true, baby."

He laughs deep and raspy. It's not true, because he knows exactly what he's after.

Arthur lets his hands plane over your clothed body. He doesn't bother with the ritual of undressing you entirely - since the act doesn't deserve the intimacy. You do, maybe - but Arthur's head feels too foggy to do anything civilized. He has to settle for letting his hands grip the fabric of your skirt and push it until it bunches around your waist.

There's no real delicacy in it, save for the way your breath hitches as Arthur gives himself better access. He moves to lay on his stomach between your thighs. He wishes it were brighter to give him better view. He's seen it plenty but looking at your pretty pussy alone gets him harder than steel.

His hands go underneath every layer of fabric to undo the little tie of your undergarments. You squirm when Arthur takes them off, but you don't pull away.

It's pretty. Even with the dim light of just the moon and fire to let Arthur see it. What entices him mostly though is the scent, after a long day of riding out alone - there's something about the way you smell - sweat and all that makes the back of his mouth ache with want. Makes his teeth hurt just dreaming about it.

He doesn't let his animalistic urges take him yet. He knows you need the build up. His hand is soft as he grips onto your waist. He pulls your legs further apart and lets his lips brush the inside of your thigh. Starts at your knee and works his way up, his mouth burning hot - open kisses. You giggle at the sensation of his beard, but it's tamped down with lust Arthur knows like the back of his hand.

Slow, deliberate, sinful. He knows the way you liked to be touched so exactly, but the pace is set more by his desperation. It grows ten sizes listening to you sigh and huff, feeling your hands come down to touch his hair and play with it.

"Arthur," Your voice calls. Pleading. Wanting him. You're so good at making Arthur loose his composure with so little. It's hard to tease you as your voice clips off into a whine. "Arthur,"

"I've got you," He says, assured. He means it as much as he means anything he's ever said. He ain't a decent man, but this much he can say full ways. "I've got you, sugar. Ease up. Let me take care of you,"

And so you again, breathless - boneless and eager. You let Arthur into your space, and something about that. Something about you. His heart races, blood pumping through his body. It pulses in his ears, head swimming with nothing but praise for you.

You're a fine woman. You're a good girl. The best he knows.

Arthur can feel the way your clit pulses with want before he ever puts his mouth on you. Makes him chuckle, gloved hand resting on your navel. He uses his thumb to pull it back, before using both hands to spread you open. Then, in an act less then gentlemanly, spits on it hard. He watches it land, lewd as it drips between your fold. He laughs to himself.

Another pitchy call of his name and Arthur decides he's had enough fun to get him through the evening.

He kisses your clit first, thinks it's only gentlemanly. When your hips buck up trying to chase the feeling of his mouth - he laughs. His hands dig into your hips. You're soft, skin dimpling from just how tight he holds onto you.

When he finally gets what he wants, his own body lurches forward from want. He nearly slumps into the ground - half-way between relieved and utterly addicted. It's a sense of euphoria unmatched by the finest liquor or cigars money can be.

The taste of you fills his mouth as Arthur eats.

Arthur is not used to playing predator. Not interested in the act of devouring. You often compare him to some sort of herbivore. But there's something too hungry, too visceral, too primal for him to be anything but a coyote. A teethed thing, all screwed up from hunger.

He lets his tongue slip against the seam of your cunt, all the arousal collecting in his mouth. His senses flood with something heady, sweet but bitter and he groans shamelessly as a result. Spoiled by the taste and utterly debauched.

"Oh, god - Arthur, you're—"

Arthur is pleased by the way your words are cut off by your own moan. He slides his tongue back up, wet muscle firm as it lays flat against your clit. There's a slight twitch like it's asking for more attention.

Arthur is all to eager vtoo provide, closing his lips around the twitching bundle of nerves. He knows what you like. Learned over time just the amount of pressure he needs to suck with and the speed he needs to draw his tongue over your clit to get you right at the very edge of your orgasm.

He teases you to that pace. Slow increases in either or, until it's just at that perfect medium. Once he hits that spot, you always moan so pretty.

You shudder, your body lurching up as your hands get tighter in his hair. "Aah, fuck. Ngh, Arthur. Don't do this t'me."

You begging him not too makes him want to do it more. If Arthur were any less aroused, he would. But his brain can barely think up enough to stamina to do that. His own cock is strained against his work pants - hips instinctively rutting into the bedroll just beneath him. Silently seeking friction all while hoping he doesn't get enough to distract him.

It'd be a damn shame, he thinks - letting anything pull him from the taste of your pussy. From the smell of it, from the sight of it, from the feeling of you. Sticky, pulsing strings of arousal coating his tongue and turning all his thoughts to dust.

His cock throbs again as you rut against his mouth. Arthur pins you in place.

"Please," You say. A magic word he ain't much stronger than. "Please make me cum,"

You really are a good girl, the way you know exactly what makes him tick. Arthur moans into your cunt as he sucks and licks and eats. He'd die over it, and he does not mean it lightly. It's the only thing in the world he wants to do in the moment. He laser focuses on finding that sweet spot again.

And he knows he does when you start whimpering. Squirming and holding onto his soft brown locks and pleading for something you don't know about. He can feel how wet your getting - dripping along down his beard and face. Thick strings of your arousal stick and slide down his neck.

He's never been a messy eater, but you've been disproving many of his prior understandings of himself. He supposes it's only natural.

"Oh, baby," You say, not even his name. Arthur knows it's a warning that you're gonna cum. All he can do is encourage you. He hums into your soft, wet cunt and you groan again. "Fuck, Arthur. I'm gonna cum."

Arthur knows better. He doesn't do a thing but keep going. Lets you move and thrash and pull away but keeps you firm in his place and eats your pussy until you can barely think.

He knows the knot is untying before you do because of how much you squirm. When you cum, you cum hard. Your back arches up into a picture perfect curve, toes curling and hands tugging at his roots for purchase.

He can feel every pulse of desire as you finally do let go. You cry out, loud enough to startle any nearby critters. Your fingers grip tight at the base of his hair as the orgasm washes over you. It's just as magnetic as it was the first time.

He's sure that will always be true.

When Arthur pulls away from your pulsing, wet core - he can feel just how much of his lower face is sticky. He's sure you also know, if the way you laugh is anything to go by.

And he's not long to follow after. Not even a few seconds and he can feel something in pants tighten - a mess of white staining the front of the denim in an onset of lust damn near shameful. Is he a teenager again? Lord above.

Breathlessly, you look down at him after you've ridden your high out.

Pulling up Arthur by the collar, you look at him slowly and frown. You look impassioned and a little frustrated.

You kiss him tender after you've come too. Once, then twice, then a another time with your hand still drawn into a fist. Arthur grabs it closed, opening your palms before kissing the palm of your hands until you're no longer mad.

"Hate how good you are at that," You admit, a little drunk of the euphoria of all of it. "Make me feel so crazy."

Arthur beams at you unapologetic.

"It's good to be that with me, sweetheart." Arthur says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Now how about you go and give me one more?"

You laugh breathlessly but don't go to stop him at all.

"Insatiable man."

"Only for you, my girl."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[bubbles0bop]

Hiii! Can we have some Inumaki, Hakari and Nanami bf headcanons? + Anyone you'd like OFC!! :3

Relationship headcanons with the JJK Men

Includes: Nanami, Hakari, Inumaki, Choso

I like this one, you have good taste. Anddd i did take some liberty of adding choso because i've been feeling like writing him as well

Disclaimers: strong language, no gender specified, mention of smoking

Nanami

He's the type of boyfriend that will be spoiling you goddamn rotten

every month is a new bouquet of flowers trimmed and set in a vase on the kitchen counter

same with gifts. you'll come home to see the outfit you liked at the mall but couldn't afford, probably wrapped nicely in a black box

he's very thoughtful and meticulous, especially with dates

he'll plan for a while and make sure it's something you'll love

since he works such terrible hours, he really likes his quality time so he expects to come home to you and do nothing but cuddle or maybe do something like read together

this is random but i feel like he would be a massive critique for no reason

like "sweetie did you notice how tangy this loaf of bread tastes? do you think we should go back there next time?"

or when you're watching a movie it's not uncommon for him to say something like "ugh, this is so unrealistic, she would never fall for that type of trick."

I also think he would accidentally be really into it if you guys watched a kdrama together

Hakari

he's the type of guy that would say "wear what you want, i can fight." period.

he loves to talk- a professional yapper, if you will- but you love it

he talks your ear off about his hobbies (gambling) and some stupid people he may have had to deal with that day

he's pretty nonchalant in general and doesn't try to stress a lot over trivial stuff which means fights wouldn't last long

i get kind of a vibe that he would smoke some herb from time to time but he wouldn't shove it in your face if you don't want him to

he would love to share a coffee with you in the morning, and would probably order you both breakfast

i feel like with dates he's totally going to go with the flow but he loves new things so there's always something for you guys to do together, whether it's movies, or clubs.

Inumaki

your time together can sometimes be... quiet. 😭

i imagine that he's big on physical touch and doesn't care much about PDA (but he won't go too far)

i think his top two love languages are physical touch and acts of service

he's the type of guy that would become your personal nurse if you are sick or get your period

he's also the type where if you were chilling on your phone or reading a book he would do it with you, enjoying some peaceful silence

the jjk fan book mentions that he likes to do Youtube which brings the thought of what would he do on there if he can't exactly talk like the average person?

i'd say he makes cooking videos or posts the pranks that Panda and him do to their friends

he loves to eat with you, it's your thing. he would cook or bring you out to restaurants so you guys could rate the food

you, of course, have also learned his 2nd language over time and unlike megumi, you sometimes respond just like Inumaki does

Choso

honestly if i were to guess, i think he would show his partner love by telling them. very directly.

He's not too much of a cuddler but he'll do it immediately upon your request

He has a dry sense of humor, so dry that no one really knows if it's a joke or not

i think he is more outwardly protective of you than most- so if he catches anyone staring he'll yell at them to 'fuck off!'

I also don't think he would hold his opinions back just to make people happy so if you ask, "how do you think i look in this?" he'll say exactly how he feels- not really in an a insulting way, ever-more truthfully than hurtfully.

he likes to do things that you enjoy, like shopping and he'll help you pick out outfits

he, himself, would probably suggest dates that are calm and intimate, like picnic dates, stargazing, and maybe going out for smoothies/boba

i feel like he would love to try boba after you tell him about it, because he likes sweet things over bitter (like coffee)

i could imagine him being the type to grab your waist from behind while you're busy doing anything

he also really craves your attention when you aren't near him, even if he doesn't say that.