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sehnsuchts-trunken · 7 months ago

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(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.

"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?"

#twisters #twisters 2024 #tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens twisters #x reader

3K notes · View notes

goldfades · 5 months ago

Text

WHO DID THIS TO YOU?──RAFE CAMERON

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine it's crucial that we stand in solidarity with those who need our support. right now, the people of palestine are facing unimaginable hardship, and it's up to all of us to do what we can to help. whether it's raising awareness, donating to relief organizations, or supporting calls for justice and peace, every action counts. we can amplify their voices, shed light on their struggles, and work towards a future where every individual can live with dignity and freedom. your support can make a difference! FREE PALESTINE!

for this request, for my lovely jo! @wanderlusturous

─ summary | you and rafe are consumed by an obsessive love, where their madness is fueled by each other. you find exhilaration in pushing boundaries, testing each other’s limits, and the deeper you fall into your shared insanity, the tighter your bond becomes. when rafe finds you crying in your bedroom one day, he loses his shit and is thrown into a silent rage, seeking revenge. and you don't mind, not one bit.

─ pairing | rafe cameron x fem!reader

─ warnings | oh my god, where do i even begin?? obsessive rafe, like insane but reader reciprocates it. a few kisses but mostly just insane stuff. mention of drugging (not to reader), hacking (?), idk what else but this is lowkey insane...

─ ev's notes | im gonna be honest, i don't know if i like this... but lmk if yall enjoyed it. it's a little too dark-themed for me and i got into it until i reread it and realized that it was lowkey insane but hey!!! whatever!!! anyway, pls lmk if this was too dark.. or if you enjoyed it. also, sorry to any becca's out there, it was just the first name that popped up. any feedback is always very appreciated!

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

The night is suffocating, thick with tension that mirrors the pulse racing in your veins. Every sound, every breath, seems amplified, as if the world knows what’s coming. You stand by the dock, your eyes on the dark water ahead, but your thoughts are elsewhere—on him.

Rafe.

You can already feel him, even when he’s not here. The way your skin hums when you think of him, the way your pulse skips in sync with his name. No one gets you like Rafe does. No one makes you feel like the world is spinning off its axis just by looking at you. He’s chaos, destruction wrapped in a pretty face, and you... you crave it.

The roar of an engine breaks through the night. You don’t turn, but a slow smile curls on your lips. You feel the heat of his presence before you even hear his footsteps.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rafe’s voice is a low drawl, but there’s something manic beneath it, something that sparks against the madness in you.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. There’s that look again. That wild, possessive look that sets your blood on fire. He’s close now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him, feel the tension in the air tighten like a noose around your neck.

“Neither could you,” you reply, your voice low, daring.

He grins, a sharp, dangerous thing. “You’re right. I can’t.”

His fingers brush your arm, just a ghost of a touch, but it’s enough to ignite something violent between you. This—this is what you live for. The thrill. The madness. The way Rafe looks at you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane, and maybe that’s what scares you the most.

Because you’re not sane.

Not anymore.

You can’t even remember why you broke up with him a few months ago, but all you know is that it got overwhelming. There was something suffocating about it—about him. The way he always knew where you were, who you were with, what you were thinking before you even said it. At first, it was intoxicating, the way he could read you like no one else ever could, like you were the only two people on earth and no one else mattered. But then… it was too much. His intensity felt like drowning in quicksand, slow but relentless. And for a moment, just a moment, you thought maybe you needed air.

But standing here now, with the salt stinging your nostrils and the wind howling like some kind of omen, you can’t remember why you ever thought you could leave him.

Because there he is—Rafe Cameron, walking toward you like the world is his and you’re his prize, eyes locked on you in a way that makes your chest tighten, your stomach coil in knots. He’s dangerous in all the ways that matter. Not just because he’s reckless and violent (though God knows he is), but because of how he makes you feel. Alive, in a way that hurts. Like the rush you get standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong step and it’s all over, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward, just to feel the thrill of almost falling.

He doesn’t stop walking until he’s so close you can smell the gasoline and smoke on his clothes, the wild energy pouring off him in waves. He looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters, like you’re the oxygen he’s been deprived of for too long, and suddenly it all makes sense again. The madness. The break-up. The inevitable pull back to him.

“Why’d you leave me?” His voice is low, rough like gravel. His eyes burn with something fierce, and you can feel it sinking into you, clawing its way under your skin. He’s not asking because he doesn’t know. He’s asking because he wants to hear you say it.

You stare at him, heart pounding, pulse thrumming in your ears like a warning. But instead of stepping back, you step forward, closing the small gap between you two. Your breath mingles with his, the night air thick with unsaid things, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something irreversible. Like if you take one more step, there’s no going back.

But isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? The danger. The thrill. The sick, twisted excitement of being so intertwined with him that you forget where he ends and you begin.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, even though that’s not the full truth. You do know. You left because you were scared. Scared of how much you wanted him, needed him, even when it hurt. Scared of the fact that the line between love and obsession blurred so fast with him that you couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His jaw tightens, and his hands, those rough, calloused hands that have touched you in ways no one else ever has, reach out. He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear you can see the wild, unhinged thing lurking just behind his eyes. It’s the same thing you see in yourself when you look in the mirror. The madness that ties you to him, binds you like a curse.

“You do know,” he says, voice dark and demanding. His thumb brushes your bottom lip, slow, like he’s testing how far he can push you before you break. “You just won’t say it.”

A shiver runs down your spine, but it’s not fear. It’s something else, something deeper. Something that feels like surrender and power all at once. You lean into his touch, letting his hand curl around the side of your face, the heat of him soaking into your skin like a drug.

“I couldn’t handle it,” you admit, the words thick and heavy in your throat. “You. Us. It was too much.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smirk, but it’s not a kind one. It’s dark, possessive. “Too much? You know you liked it. You loved it.” His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, just enough for you to feel the edge of his control, like he’s reminding you who he is. What he is. “You loved me because of how fucked up we are. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

You swallow hard, heart thundering in your chest, because deep down, you know he’s right. You’ve never felt more alive than when you were with him, caught up in the madness of it all. The fights, the passion, the way you both pushed each other to the edge and then pulled each other back, only to do it all over again. It was twisted, dangerous, and wrong in every way, but that’s what made it irresistible.

“I did,” you confess, and it’s like a weight lifts off your chest, even as you feel yourself falling back into him, back into the chaos. “I do.”

The smirk fades, replaced by something darker, hungrier. His eyes search yours, looking for any sign of hesitation, any crack in your resolve. But there’s nothing. You’re not the same person who left him. Maybe you never really left at all.

Rafe’s hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until his lips hover just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before you can respond, his mouth crashes into yours, hard and demanding.

It’s not gentle. It’s never been gentle with Rafe. His kiss is all teeth and tongue, like he’s trying to devour you, claim you all over again. And you let him, because deep down, you crave it just as much as he does. The fire, the chaos, the way he makes you feel like you’re spinning out of control but somehow exactly where you’re supposed to be.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your lips swollen, your pulse racing like you’ve just run a marathon. His hands grip your waist now, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the heat of his body searing into yours.

“Tell me,” he says, voice low and dangerous, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you don’t hesitate. “I’m yours.” And you are, completely, utterly, unashamedly his.

And just like that, you’re back where you started.

───MONTHS LATER . . .

“God fucking damn it, if you don't tell me right now, I'm gonna lose my shit!” Rafe shouts, his voice cracking like thunder in the small living room as he throws the beer bottle against the wall.

Glass shatters everywhere, scattering across the floor, but you don’t even flinch. You’ve seen this before. Hell, you’ve lived it. The rage, the temper, the chaos—it's like a script you’ve both memorized by heart.

You lean back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching him like you would a caged animal—wild and unpredictable. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp and erratic, the muscles in his jaw clenched so tightly you wonder if they might snap. His eyes are wild, blue like ice but burning with something untamable, something dangerous. He’s teetering on the edge, that fine line between fury and desperation, and you know it won’t take much to push him over.

But you don’t care. Not right now.

“Rafe, calm the fuck down,” you say, your voice steady, almost bored. You know that’ll get to him. It always does. Nothing makes him crazier than when you don’t give him the reaction he’s fishing for.

His head snaps in your direction, eyes narrowing as he stalks toward you like a predator honing in on prey. He stops just inches away, towering over you, his chest heaving, breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. He’s so close now that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the heat radiating off his skin. But you don’t move. You stand your ground, looking up at him with a calm that borders on defiance.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” he spits, voice laced with venom. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white. “I’m sick of your bullshit! You think you can just stand there like you’re better than me, like you’re not a part of this, but guess what, baby? You are. You always have been.”

You tilt your head slightly, eyes narrowing as a slow smile creeps across your lips. “You’re being dramatic, Rafe,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What, you gonna break something else? Or are you actually gonna say what’s bothering you for once?”

That does it.

He slams his hands down on the counter behind you, trapping you between his arms, his face just inches from yours. His eyes blaze with fury, but beneath it, you see something else—something raw, something that makes your stomach twist in knots.

“Don’t play games with me,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. “I know what you’re doing. You think you can just push me around, mess with my head, and I’ll keep coming back like a fucking dog, huh?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, heart racing in your chest but refusing to show it. You can feel the tension crackling between you like electricity, the air thick with it, suffocating. This is what it always comes down to with Rafe—this toxic push and pull, this need to break each other just to see what’s left after the pieces fall apart.

“You think I’m the one messing with your head?” you say, your voice low, challenging. “Maybe you should take a look in the mirror, Rafe. You’re not exactly innocent in this, are you?”

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, you think he’s going to explode. But instead, he just stares at you, eyes flickering with something dark, something primal. Then, slowly, he leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

“Innocent?” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. “Baby, I’ve never claimed to be innocent. You knew exactly who I was when you got into this.”

You don’t flinch. You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, your lips grazing the corner of his jaw as you whisper back, “Yeah, and that’s why I’m not scared of you.”

His breath hitches, just for a second, and you feel a surge of satisfaction. You’ve always known how to push his buttons, how to throw him off balance, even when he’s at his most dangerous. It’s a game you’ve played a thousand times before, and you both know how it ends—chaotic, messy, with both of you circling back to the same place.

But this time feels different.

There’s something darker in the way he’s looking at you, something that feels more like possession than anger. Like he’s not just mad because you’re fighting—he’s mad because he can’t stand the thought of you slipping away. Because he knows, deep down, that no matter how hard you push him, he’ll always want you. Need you.

“You don’t get to walk away from me,” Rafe says, his voice low, deadly. “Not this time.”

You feel his grip tighten on the counter behind you, his body pressing against yours as if he’s trying to fuse the two of you together, like if he holds on tight enough, you won’t be able to escape. But he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand that you’re already too far gone. That the very thing he’s holding on to is slipping through his fingers, and there’s nothing either of you can do about it.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say softly, a cold smile on your lips. “I can walk away whenever I want. I just choose not to.”

And with that, you duck under his arm, slipping out from between him and the counter. His eyes follow you, wide with disbelief, rage bubbling just beneath the surface. You know he’s about to lose it, to completely unravel. But you don’t turn back. Not yet.

Because this time, you want him to come after you.

And he always does.

Rafe’s eyes darken as you slip past him, and for a moment, the room goes deadly silent. The tension is thick, heavy like a storm cloud waiting to burst. You know exactly what’s coming, and it sends a thrill down your spine. You can almost feel it—the moment he snaps, the second his control shatters. It’s a twisted game, one you’ve played too many times before, and every time, you push him a little harder, a little further, just to see how far he’ll go for you.

You take slow, deliberate steps toward the door, your back turned to him, feeling the heat of his gaze sear into you. You don’t need to look back to know he’s watching, every muscle in his body tensed like a predator stalking its prey. The air feels electric, charged with a violence that’s always been just beneath the surface between you two.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His voice cuts through the silence like a knife, sharp and biting. You stop, but you don’t turn around. Not yet.

“Does it matter?” you ask, voice calm, almost teasing. “I thought I could walk away whenever I wanted, remember?”

The silence that follows is deafening. You know you’ve hit a nerve. He hates when you challenge him, hates when you act like you have the upper hand. But that’s what makes it so addictive—pushing him to his limit, watching him unravel in front of you, knowing that no matter how hard he fights it, he’ll always come back to you.

Because he can’t help it. Neither of you can.

Suddenly, you hear his footsteps behind you, fast and heavy, and before you can react, his hand grips your arm, yanking you back toward him with a force that nearly knocks the breath out of you. He spins you around, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with fury.

“You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightens on your arm, fingers digging into your skin, but the pain only makes your pulse quicken, your breath hitch in your throat. There’s something about the way he looks at you—like he’s on the verge of losing control, like he’s barely holding himself together—that sends a thrill through you.

“Let go of me, Rafe,” you say, your voice daring him, even though you know you don’t really want him to.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer, his other hand gripping the back of your neck, forcing you to look up at him. His chest is heaving, his eyes wild, but there’s something else there, too—something desperate, like he’s terrified of losing you, like he’s clinging to you with everything he has left.

“You think you can just walk away?” he snarls, his breath hot against your face. “After everything? After all the shit we’ve been through? You really think I’m just gonna let you go?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking, your heart racing, but there’s no fear. Not with him. There never is. Instead, you feel the pull again—the twisted, sick need to see how far you can push him, how deep his obsession goes.

“I think you don’t have a choice,” you say, your voice steady, even though your pulse is hammering in your ears.

His grip tightens, his jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscles twitching beneath his skin. For a second, you think he’s going to snap—really snap—but then, just as quickly, something shifts in his expression. The anger doesn’t fade, but it’s joined by something darker, something raw and consuming.

“You’re wrong,” he whispers, his voice barely audible but laced with danger. “You don’t get to decide when this ends. I do.”

Before you can react, his lips crash against yours, rough and demanding, as if he’s trying to prove a point. It’s not a kiss; it’s a claim, a reminder that you belong to him, whether you want to admit it or not. His hands tighten on you, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the tension in his body, the barely restrained violence simmering just beneath the surface.

But instead of pulling away, you kiss him back with just as much fire, matching his intensity. It’s always been like this between you two—this chaotic, messy whirlwind of emotion that neither of you can control. You push, he pulls, and somewhere in the middle of it all, you find something that feels like love, even though you both know it’s something darker, something more dangerous.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard, your lips swollen and bruised. His hand stays on the back of your neck, his thumb brushing against your skin in a way that’s both possessive and tender, like he’s reminding himself that you’re still here, still his.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice rough, eyes blazing as he stares down at you. “You’ve always been mine.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to push him away and run as far as you can. But there’s a bigger part of you, a darker part, that knows he’s right.

You’re his. You always have been.

“Yeah,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m yours.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick and heavy, and for a moment, everything else falls away. The anger, the tension, the broken glass on the floor—it’s all background noise now. All that matters is the two of you, standing here in this twisted, fucked-up mess of a relationship, knowing that no matter how many times you try to break free, you’ll always end up right back here.

With him.

Rafe’s grip on you softens, just slightly, and for the first time in what feels like hours, the intensity in his eyes eases. But it’s still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next time one of you decides to test the limits again. Because there will be a next time. There always is.

“You’re not leaving me again,” he says, his voice softer now, but no less serious. “Not ever.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Because deep down, you know that no matter how much you might want to, no matter how many times you tell yourself you can walk away, you won’t.

You never could.

And Rafe knows it, too.

───

You don’t usually cry. Not ever. Tears are something you’ve learned to bury deep down, hidden under layers of indifference and biting sarcasm. But tonight, they come, hot and angry, streaming down your face as you sit curled up on the edge of the bed, hands trembling in your lap. The weight of the evening presses down on you, your mind reeling from everything that happened.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not tonight.

Your phone buzzes again on the nightstand, but you ignore it. You can’t deal with it right now. You don’t want to see the messages or hear the apologies. You don’t want to relive what just went down.

You wipe at your face roughly, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s no use. The shaky breath you let out only betrays you further, and you feel the tears well up again. You bite your lip to keep from making a sound, not wanting him to hear you.

But, of course, Rafe hears everything.

The door swings open, and Rafe steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway. He looks at you, really looks at you, and in an instant, his expression darkens. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep over you, taking in the tear-streaked face, the hunched shoulders, the way your body is wound tight like a coiled spring, ready to snap. His jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the shift in the air around him.

“What happened?” His voice is low, dangerous, barely restrained. It’s not a question—it’s a demand.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing, Rafe. Just forget it.”

But you know better than to think he’ll let it go. The second you met him, you realized Rafe Cameron isn’t the kind of guy who “forgets” anything.

He moves closer, the tension in his body palpable. He’s not pacing like he usually does when he’s angry. This is different. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s honing in on the source of your pain, ready to eliminate it. He crouches down in front of you, one hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is firm, possessive, but not rough—not yet.

“Tell me what happened,” he says again, his eyes boring into yours. “Who did this to you?”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up. You know how Rafe gets—how he reacts when someone hurts you. And this time, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone close. Someone you thought was your friend.

“It’s—” You start, but your voice cracks, and you quickly bite down, trying to steady yourself. “It was…Becca.”

“Becca?” The name drops like a lead weight between you two, and you can see the recognition flare in his eyes. Becca, your friend for years, the one person outside of him you’ve always trusted. The one person he’s always been wary of.

Rafe’s grip tightens slightly, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that makes your pulse race. His voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper. “What did she do?”

You hesitate, but the words spill out before you can stop them. “She—she said some things. At the party tonight. She called me out in front of everyone, said I was using you, that I only stuck around for the money, the attention. She tried to turn everyone against me, Rafe. She made me look… weak.”

His face hardens instantly, and for a split second, you see something flash in his eyes—something dark and lethal. The kind of rage that makes your breath catch in your throat, even though you know it’s not directed at you.

“She said what?” His voice is so low now, it’s almost a growl.

You nod, swallowing hard, feeling the burn of humiliation all over again. “I don’t know why she did it. I thought she was my friend.”

Rafe lets out a slow breath, and the air around him feels like it’s vibrating with the intensity of his anger. He stands up abruptly, pacing the room, running a hand through his hair as if trying to keep himself from completely losing it. But you know it’s too late for that.

“I’ll fucking kill her,” he mutters under his breath, but you hear every word. “I’ll ruin her life.”

“Rafe—” You start to protest, but he cuts you off with a sharp look.

“No. No one talks to you like that. Not her, not anyone.” His voice is clipped, sharp, like he’s barely holding back the full force of what he’s feeling. “You don’t deserve this shit. Not from her, not from anyone.”

His protectiveness borders on obsession, but you can’t help but feel a strange comfort in it. It’s twisted, but there’s something about the way Rafe reacts to these things—like the whole world can burn as long as you’re safe—that makes you feel… seen. Important.

“I’m going to fix this,” he says, more to himself than to you, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “She thinks she can talk shit about you? In front of everyone? Humiliate you? Nah. She’s going to regret it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“Rafe,” you say softly, trying to reach for him, but he’s too far gone. You can see it in the way his eyes have glazed over, already plotting, already deciding exactly how he’s going to destroy Becca.

And part of you wants to stop him. Part of you knows that this isn’t the answer, that maybe you should handle it differently, like a normal person would.

But you’re not normal. Not anymore.

“I’m serious,” he says, turning to face you again, his expression deadly serious. “No one fucks with you. Ever.”

His intensity washes over you, and for a second, you feel like you can’t breathe. But at the same time, it fills you with a sense of power, knowing that he’s willing to go to these lengths for you. That he’ll protect you at all costs, no matter how destructive it gets.

You stand up slowly, crossing the room until you’re in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. “Just… don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

Rafe’s eyes flicker down to you, and for a brief moment, you see a softness there, a flicker of the boy beneath all the rage and chaos. “I won’t. But I’m not letting this go.”

You nod, knowing there’s no point in arguing with him. This is who he is—who you both are. Twisted, obsessive, reckless. But it works. Somehow, it works. And deep down, you don’t really want him to let it go.

A few months later, and somehow everything goes to shit for Becca.

It starts small—things that could almost pass as bad luck. First, her new car gets keyed, deep scratches across the side that no amount of buffing can fix. Then her social media accounts get hacked, posts disappearing, weird comments being left on other people’s pages, like someone is deliberately screwing with her life piece by piece. She brushes it off at first, because Becca’s tough. She’s the type of girl who bounces back quickly, who doesn’t let things get under her skin.

But then things escalate. Quickly.

She gets benched during a big volleyball game when her coach suddenly pulls her aside and questions her attitude. The team captain claims Becca’s been talking shit about the coach behind her back, stirring up drama with teammates. The problem is, Becca never said any of it. But now, she’s got a reputation, and people are starting to look at her differently.

Still, she fights through it, determined not to let it get to her. Becca’s always had her eye on the prize: her full ride to UC Berkeley, where she’s set to play volleyball at the college level. That’s her future. Her escape. Nothing can touch that.

Until it does.

The call comes one morning, out of nowhere. Becca’s shaking as she listens to the voice on the other end of the line, her heart plummeting as her coach tells her the news.

“We’ve received the results of your recent drug test, Becca,” the coach says, his voice stern but somehow apologetic. “I’m sorry, but you’ve tested positive for a banned substance.”

Becca’s head spins, her mouth going dry. “That’s impossible,” she blurts out, panic rising in her chest. “I don’t do drugs. I don’t—”

“I know this is hard to hear,” the coach cuts her off, his voice firm. “But the results are what they are. This disqualifies you from the scholarship and the team. UC Berkeley has revoked your offer.”

The words hit her like a sledgehammer. She feels the ground tilt beneath her, everything she’s worked for slipping through her fingers in an instant. She argues, pleads, tries to explain, but the decision is final. There’s nothing she can do.

And that’s when she starts to see it, to feel the weight of something much bigger pressing down on her. This isn’t just bad luck. It’s not a coincidence that her life is unraveling at the seams. No, this feels orchestrated, like someone’s been pulling the strings behind the scenes, watching her fall apart.

That someone is Rafe Cameron.

Rafe can be physical—he wouldn’t hesitate to swing on anyone he deems a threat. But Rafe isn’t a dumbass. He knows that not everything should be dealt with by violence. Some things are better handled with precision, with patience, with slow, deliberate destruction. He knew that punching Becca in the face wouldn’t satisfy him, wouldn’t give him the kind of control he wanted over the situation.

So instead, he used his connections, his money, his influence, all of the tools at his disposal to dismantle her life bit by bit. A hacked account here, a few whispers to the right people there. He didn’t need to lay a finger on her to destroy her. He just needed to plant the seeds of doubt, to set off a chain reaction, and then watch it all come crumbling down.

The drug test? Easy. A little slip of something into her drink at a party when she wasn’t paying attention, followed by a tip-off to the testing agency. The rumors about her trash-talking her coach? Carefully spread by a few well-placed texts to her teammates, pretending to be her. Her social media? That was just for fun, a way to throw her off balance and make her feel like her world was spiraling.

And it worked.

You know all of this, of course. Rafe never bothers to hide things from you. In fact, he’s proud of it, proud of the way he’s dismantled Becca’s life without so much as breaking a sweat. He tells you about it one night while you’re lying together, his arm draped lazily over your waist as he whispers in your ear.

“She thought she could fuck with you,” he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. “But now she knows. No one touches what’s mine.”

You should feel guilty. You should feel something for Becca, after all those years of friendship, of thinking she had your back. But all you can feel is a sick sense of satisfaction, like the universe has finally corrected itself. Becca messed with the wrong person, and now she’s paying the price. And as twisted as it is, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at how far Rafe was willing to go for you, how meticulously he destroyed her without you even asking him to.

“You really did all that?” you ask, your voice low, a smirk tugging at your lips.

Rafe shifts beside you, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I told you, baby. No one fucks with you and gets away with it.”

You turn your head to meet his gaze, and there’s something dangerous in the way he looks at you, something possessive and wild. It should scare you, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

Because the truth is, you like it. You like how far he’s willing to go for you, how far he’s willing to take it. There’s something intoxicating about the way he loves you—twisted, obsessive, and all-consuming. It’s not healthy, not normal, but it’s yours. And that’s enough.

You press your lips to his, kissing him fiercely, feeling the heat between you two ignite once again. Rafe kisses you back just as hard, his hands gripping you tightly, like he’s reminding you that you’re his and no one else’s.

As you pull back, your breath ragged, you glance at him, your voice barely above a whisper.

“She won’t come near me again.”

“No,” Rafe says, his eyes gleaming with a dark satisfaction. “She won’t.”

And in that moment, you both know it’s true. Becca’s done.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #obx 4 #outer banks 4

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running-with-kn1ves · 7 months ago

Note

Need you to write more WLW 😫😫😫😫

It’s the only thing keeping me sane!!!!!

A/N: I wrote this based on a random ass scene I saw in The Boys and now...here lies this creation. (Female fitness trainer is nearing completion)

CW: blackmail, manipulation, toxic relationship type beat, controlling behavior, threats, cigarettes

Synopsis: you attempt to break up with your girlfriend-- she's too much. But she was going to keep you, one way or another.

You knew the rough crowd around town was... intense. But this chick was on another level. Kali liked to scare you; with how little you knew about her friends, leering on their motorcycles as she watched from behind a cigarette, your mind swam with scenarios of being abandoned on bloody asphalt behind a dumpster.

The music she blares in her shitty, one-eyed car and the smoke trail she left in bathrooms-- she liked being revered as nothing but trouble. You were doing your best to stay away from any kind of danger, focused on fixing the pieces of your tarnished education as your grades had not been kind to you. But Kali got to you first, ripping away any thoughts of work and reparations to your tuition debt.

So, despite the foggy kisses, lipstick stains on your jaw, and unexpected clinginess she showed to the idea of moving you in with her, you're making an attempt to break up with her.

"You... want to ditch me?"

"What? No! I'm just, I'm extremely worried about this next semester." You put a hand on her square-cut, polished fingers. "If I fail even one class again, my scholarships will drop me. I'm already on probation with the university."

You hope she can see how worried you are in your eyes, squeezing her hand to ease the news. She was going rigid, stiff as a tree with the strength of a waiting titan.

"School, huh."

Kali watched you beneath wispy bangs, looking straight through you. As if you weren't there, heart-pounding and palm-sweating in front of her.

You were glad she balled her hands in fists before you grabbed them, having one too many instances of your fingers crushed in her grip.

"B-but... we can still see each other.. maybe, sometimes on the weekends. I just can't afford any distractions, I've already spent a fortune getting to where I am."

"Is this because I want you to move in with me?" She blurted, straight faced and tight lipped.

Dark, midnight eyes bore into you for the truth.

Her ears perked at the sound of your jaggy sigh, knowing this would come up. "... No, but I have to say that it is still pretty early in, well, "us", to be considering... that."

"Really?" She asked earnestly, cold fingers finding their way around your forearm. "Because I still feel pretty confident about the idea, baby."

You hated how she could call you "baby" so easily, how every "sweetheart" was patronizing or forceful, or could be the most saccharine thing you heard when you first woke up.

her boot tips pressed against the side of your shoes, trapping you in like a snake wrapped around a rat. One hand held yours in a death grip, the other raking shivery nails against your knee from under the coffee table.

"I've got a perfect place for your stuff, work's only ten minutes away; why would there be any little reason to stay at your dusty old apartment?"

"I, I don't think you're hearing me--"

"No, no baby, I think you forgot who's choice this was to make." Your skin was a deep color under her fingers, her strength far outmatched as your clammy, fragile hand was brought to her cheek. She tutted under her breath, tsk'ing in condescention. "What would you do without me? How are you going to survive alone, no car to get to your classes, or the grocery store, unprotected around your peers... I can't imagine it, especially since your landlord never got his money to re-lease your apartment next month..."

From under the table her swift fingers brought a bulging envelope to the table, previously stuffed in your landlord's mailbox.

It wasn't even opened, the cash and tenant forms sealed without a mark.

Your jaw went slack, coffee cup cold in your hands.

"How did you--"

"Try it again, and I'll find it. You'll keep losing money, keep draining chances to come to me lovingly."

Kali sweetly tiptoed her black nails up to your shirt collar, sending shivers down your neck with each gentle, uncharacteristically slow touch.

Without warning, the woman snatched your shirt in her fist and jerked you forward, pulling you tightly against the coffee table. The seething anger she bore hardly made a sound, leaving the fellow cafe attendants nearby unbothered.

Your wince left her apathetic, bear-like eyes relishing in how unnerved and frantic you were becoming.

"I so rarely give out second chances. You, my love, are very lucky to be the exception. Don't make me regret it," your girlfriend was only inches apart, painted lips plump and teasing only breaths away. "I don't like to play dirty, but I will if you run from me. Is that clear, baby?"

You swallowed thickly, letting your gaze run away from hers as she bore into you with intense malice.

"Say yes," She whispered, on edge of twisting your wrist. "So I don't have to show everyone in here who you belong to."

Your cheeks lit up, terrified of the baristas and groups of students who'd look your way if she carried out that threat. Kali was unpredictable, something you found so endearing when you first met. She was always moving, doing something you couldn't expect. Now, it was scaring you.

You nod your head, regretting the idea of trying to break up with her in public. She wasn't afraid to make a scene, unlike you.

"Of course, Kals. There won't... be any need for that."

You hoped the sweetly familiar nickname with a hint of an anxious smile would make you sound casual, as if you weren't sweating behind your jacket and avoiding her blinkless stare like the plague.

"That's right." She whispered, letting go of your collar to pull at your jaw, this time only with the intent of dragging you closer. She was always so rough with her grip, capable or causing pain with its force, or merely leaving you breathless.

The punk's hand from beneath the table took mercy on your thigh with its painful rakes, moving instead to your cheek. Cold rings nicked your skin, her knuckles brushing against your face in a gentle, longing caress. You were hunched over the table now, uncomfortably risen as she sat like a queen in her cushioned chair, your face in her hands and your breath stolen by her.

Her pierced tongue came to graze the inside of your mouth, all-consuming and grinning through her teeth.

She tasted of stale cigarettes and mint gum, her current oral fixation besides the longterm smoking vice she's had since middle school.

You reluctantly kissed back, feeling wrongness in your gut. This isn't how it was supposed to go, you weren't supposed to be sharing hot breaths or hearing her satisfactory groans for capturing you once again. You were supposed to be leaving teary eyed and frightened of what she'd do now that you were no longer on her good side. But this, was far worse. You were walking on ice that was already breaking, the freezing water below beginning to flood the only surface of land you had left.

Kali pulled away, not without a few last kisses to the corner of your mouth and cheek, leaving wet lipstick stains. Your lips were probably about as red as hers were now. Dark lashes heightened by her thick mascara clouded your view, your girlfriend looking up at you through them with a gentle hardness.

She wasn't so scary when you were falling to her whims, like putty in her fingers and teeth.

"Kal..." you mumble, upsettingly conflicted between your failure to carry out what you came for, and your fear of what her threats would do. Her history of breaking into your bedroom window and making herself at home wherever she tracked you left you without a doubt of her potential. It made you all the more anxious of what she would be like if you didn't follow through with what she wanted.

"My friend is out of town for the weekend, said I could use his condo by the beach... a getaway, just for us baby." Her cold thumb smoothed over your bruised lips, an inkling of a smile coming to curl her mouth upward. "You'll be there, tonight. Dressed in that cute little number you wore on our first date. Is that right?"

It wasn't a question, it was a challenge. 'Are you going to let go of this once in a lifetime second chance I'm giving you? ' is what she was asking.

You didn't want to say yes. You didn't want to show up, to spend another agonizing second with her knowing that your failing at everything you hold dear. But her hold on your face brings you to fall back into your comfort zone.

"Yeah, Kals. I'll... I'll be there. But--"

She laid a firm hand on your shoulder, leaning against your ear with wrathful delight.

"Promise you won't bail on me, sweetheart. I don't wanna come looking for you," She let go of your sweet lips to play with a strand of your hair, curling it around her finger. "I really don't enjoy forcing you to obey.."

That was such a lie. She loved it, relished in your mild disobedience at times. But this was a different level of rebellion, one she detested.

You swallowed your protest, frustration bubbling in your stomach in distress and fear.

"I promise, Kal."

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rie-092 · 2 months ago

Text

OURS.

[ yandere! stanley snyder and xeno houston wingfield ]

summary: your good ol' yandere but this time it's a jack of all trades and a mad scientist.

note: ahhhhh! i just finished reading dr. stone and i'm dying to make a yandere headcannon out of this duo! and this is the prompt! i want to add senku here but i decided to make a separate headcannon for him! then i'll do wind breaker next and the manhwas that i read during my christmas vacation and while i'm drowning with my school works then your requests! yeyyyy! (I'm just escaping from the reality, pls don't mind me.)

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

Have you ever wondered what it's like to have a super genius and talented best friends? Like having best friends who excel with everything they do and give you an inferiority complex. Well, you should ask (reader) because that is her everyday life with Xeno and Stanley.

No offense; you really adore both Xeno and Stanley. But sometimes, you couldn't help but be jealous of their talents, brains, and skills. You spend countless nights studying and training to be able to catch up to them. But you always end up falling behind.

While Xeno always ends up getting a perfect mark on every test. You, on the other hand, were in the middle rank at your school. While you tried to follow every training that Stanley was doing, you always ended up with a broken bone, scratches, and bruises.

But you don't have to worry! Xeno and Stanley was always here for you! Do you remember the serial kidnapping case that happened in your school before? And how all of the victims was those people who talk shit about you? Well, you thought it was just a coincidence. But you see, Xeno needs some test subjects for his experiments. And man, Xeno hates hurting animals at all. So why not use humans? Pretty fun, if you ask him. While Stanley who happened to be free during those times did all the physical works in exchange of hearing the desperate pleas and seeing the blood of those people.

Oh, you also don't have to worry! Since those two knew how to hide their traces. Xeno just needs to mix some dangerous drugs and then boom! They can watch how the body dissolves along with the other evidence. A pretty fun sight, to be honest.

Meanwhile, Yandere! Xeno is the total opposite of Stanley. This guy doesn't even hide his tendencies that well. Don't blame him; you're too loveable! He really likes how you always try to catch up to him and Stanley all the time. (It's just a secret, but he really likes it when you cry—it's one of his secret pleasure.)

Anyway! They are both possessive and obsessive. Stanley is overprotective and overbearing, while Xeno is manipulative. Wow, yes! You are stuck in the middle of this mess. But you don't have to worry! Just like the center of the storm, both Xeno and Stanley are always calm and collected when they are around you—but please don't ask why they are practically clinging to you when you are around, please. You are the only thing that keeps them sane.

Oh, are you wondering why Stanley seemed to always know where you were? Ask Xeno. Because that little sly fox planted some tracker on your stuff that he gave to you as a gift. There are some who contain the chips who can measure your heartbeat, temperature, and voice recording so he can be aware of who you are talking to.

Are they a jealous type of yandere? No. Because you see, they are both aware of how dense you were. So aside from them, you unconsciously shut down every advance of your friends, acquaintances, and colleagues. Which is a good thing, according to Xeno.

A few months before graduating in highschool. You made up your mind on becoming a doctor, thanks to Xeno's advice. And the two of them were more than happy to help you.

They both like how you gain the world's attention with your skills and wit. You easily became one of the best doctors in the world. And man, they are so proud. But when you suddenly said that you wanted to go to Japan and become a school doctor—they lost their minds.

Are you going to abandon them? No way in hell. Over their dead gorgeous body, okay?!? Have they done something wrong? No, as far as they remember, they only shower you with love and affection—okay, they are a little overbearing, but—!!!

When you assure them that you will only stay there for five years and will finally move in with them. They finally calmed down. Okay, deal. They will shut up for now. But they swear that they will surely visit you every month!

Spoiler alert, you've got yourself a pretty cute lettucehead student who somewhat recognizes your abilities and follows you around. Okay, sure, he sees you as an older sister—nothing more and nothing less. Sure, he spends his time in the clinic whenever he's not in the lab room, but it doesn't mean anything at all. Sure, he somewhat ends up tearing up the love letters that students leave on your desk and taking the chocolates that they give to you. But it doesn't mean anything at all, okay?

Anyway! When the petrification happened and you were stuck in Japan without your lovely “best friends,“. Let's just say that they became worse after they were de-petrified. You were not there. They don't know what happened to you. What if your body got destroyed into pieces? What if they will not be able to revive you even if they try? What if—

Let's just say this time they won't be as lenient as before. They will make sure that you stay with them this time. Even if it means they have to tie you down with them or lock you up.

“saving the world? no, love. you always comes first. while everything else is secondary.”

“you know that i don't want to hurt you, baby."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere headcanons #platonic yandere x reader #dr stone #xeno #xeno houston wingfield #stanley snyder #tw. violence #tw : blood #tw yandere #tw experimentation #yandere anime #platonic yandere headcannons #yandere headcannons #dr. stone #dr. stone x reader

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aizawas-dryeye · 2 months ago

Text

➭i know (you love me) (toji fushiguro)^^

content: dark content (dubcon, cheating, baby trapping/forced pregnancy), reader has a vagina but no pronouns mentioned, painful sex, blood, doggy, mating press, like One butt stuff, petnames (baby, doll/dolly)

words: 3.4k

kofi

!!MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

a couple days of no sex so you can heal turns Toji into a needy, cheating slut

• • •

"Are you actually fucking serious?"

Toji doesn't even jump at your fiery tone, just looks up at you— seemingly bored— with his dick still buried in the bitch beneath him. She, on the other hand, reacts the same as any sane person would. Squeals and tries to yank the covers over her bare chest, her face paper white at being caught. Your eye twitches when she glances between you and Toji, supposedly putting the pieces together bit by bit. It's not necessarily her fault, you seriously doubt Toji told her about you, but you still wanna beat her fucking face in.

You walk over and shove Toji off of her and rip the covers back. The trashy tattoos on her hipbones make you grimace. "Get the fuck out," you say and she immediately scampers off the bed to gather her clothes, mumbling a slew of apologies that you don't really care to listen to.

"Really?" Toji grumbles, running a hand through his sweaty hair as his guest slams the front door shut hard enough to shake the apartment. He has the balls to be upset with you? Oh, you could fucking kill him right now. You rip the blankets— your blankets, on your bed— off him too, and point to the door.

"You can get out too," you hiss. "I can't do this shit anymore, so take your shit and get out!"

He protests, rolling his dark eyes as he calls you dramatic and crazy, all while you throw his clothes at him and yell at him to leave. He's really pulling out all the stops to try and get his way, but the blood rushing in your ears makes it impossible to hear him. You only snap out of your rage when he grips your wrist to keep you from throwing heavier shit at him.

"Fuckin' watch it," he snaps, dodging your free hand when you go to slap him before gripping it as well. You groan at him to distract from the tears that bubble up in your eyes. You shouldn't be crying, you should be used to this shit by now. Every single time, he swears he'll change and that he loves you, and every single time you stupidly believe him. You can't even defend yourself when your friends hound you for sticking around, because they're right.

"I fucking hate you," you bite out, attempting to jerk away from him, but his grip on your wrists tightens. You make the mistake of glancing down, and see his erection straining beneath the blanket that he haphazardly pulled back over his hips. Toji notices, and cracks a smile when you sniffle, turning your face away to save yourself the embarrassment. He's quick to grab your face in his massive hand, and force you to look right at him. Your pathetic little pout is exacerbated when he digs his fingers into your cheeks, tutting at your expression. Like an angry kitty.

"No you don't. 'S not my fault you put me on a sex ban, what did you expect? Whinin' about that sore pussy. Didn't wanna hurt ya, babe. Did you a favor, didn't I?" he croons, pulling his hand away to lick at the lingering tears on his fingers.

You'd laugh if you weren't so angry right now. A couple days without sex so your pussy can heal from how puffy and raw Toji fucks it is hardly a sex ban. He's just a slut.

Before you try to squirm away, Toji yanks you close so he can bury his face into your neck— where he knows you're weak— letting his breath tickle across your sweet spot.

"Fuck you! You never do anything for me," you fuss, trying to maintain the earlier bite you had, but Toji's scent filling your nose makes your head all foggy. You can even smell the remnants of that girl's perfume and it only makes you dizzier with anger. Makes you sink your nails into him, anywhere you can grab.

Kitty's got claws. Toji chuckles and pulls your wrists behind your back with ease. He turns you and bends you over the bed, curling his massive body over yours to bite at your ear.

"This you sayin' you wanna get hurt?" he taunts. "Want me to fuck this raw lil pussy till it bleeds?" He reaches down and stuffs his hand in your sweatpants to paw at your over sensitive clit. You try to squirm away but he puts his weight onto the forearm pinning your shoulders to the mattress. A shrill squeal leaves your lips when he sinks his teeth into the meaty juncture between your neck and shoulder.

"All you had to do was ask, and I woulda stopped fuckin' those pretty lil things ages ago. You think I was doin' that to hurt you? No, no, baby. I was lettin' you heal, yeah?" Toji's rich, gravelly voice has you melting beneath his touch as he stealthily slips your bottoms down so he can grind against your pretty panties.

"Y-you're lying," you sniffle. Your body jumps like it's been electrocuted when Toji presses his erection against your covered hole, intentionally soaking the pink panties so he can see just how wet you already are. Maybe taunt you about it, call you easy.

Your pussy is beyond sensitive still, and the feeling of him fucking his bulge into you as deep as the panties will let him, almost burns as the cotton aggravates your nerve endings. "Stoooooop," you whine, your voice shaky and laced with that resilient brat attitude. Toji needs to fuck that out of you quick.

He pulls away with a chuckle. Heat spreads across your face when you hear him lewdly running a tight fist up and down his shaft, making you sweat. Thankfully, the gush of air that hits your pussy when he tears your panties off cools your skin, but it doesn't stop the red hot blush from traveling to your ears.

"Y'givin' me mixed signals here, dolly," Toji groans. "First, yer cryin' over some cocksleeve stranger. Now yer cryin' at me to leave this pussy alone. You hate me that much, baby?"

You can hear how wide that cocky fucking grin is as he coos at you. He talks like he can distract you from the uncomfortable burn as he presses his thumb against your hole, growling at how tight and swollen you are.

You hiss when he roughly fucks his thumb into you. Your legs twitch like they want to give out on you, but Toji is faster. He releases his forearm from your shoulders and wraps his arm around your hips, keeping your ass nice and high so he can prep you. It's an almost relieving feeling when his thumb slips from your pussy, only to be replaced with two long fingers. You mewl in discomfort, but an intense wave of pleasure runs down your spine when he curls his fingers inside you, scrapes them right against that spot.

An embarrassingly loud squelching sound fills the bedroom as he scissors his fingers into you, stretching you out painfully. It only makes you whimper out louder, squeeze your eyes shut tighter, from not only the pain but the shame of it all.

"Shhh, shut up... S'talkin' to me," Toji says, hushing you all sweet while he defiles you. "Wanna hear what it has to say, baby... Yeah? Missed me? Mm, I can tell when you make those pretty sounds fer me." He talks to your pussy like it's a complete separate entity from you, and something about that is so deliciously degrading.

Toji keeps on filling you with his fingers until he's got three tucked deep inside your cunt, pumping them in and out. Although the friction borders on tortuous, the wetter you get, the more you forget about being sore. When he feels your pussy start to ease up around his fingers, he's quick to pull them out and push your face into the mattress so he can run his tip against your hot, plush lips. "Gonna help you forget, yeah dolly?" he mumbles before burying his cock as deep as it'll go, which isn't much at first.

"T-Toji! Toji, please— mmph!" Your voice is utterly wrecked, begging him for mercy as he just takes what he needs, all to make a fucking point. Your insides stretch around his cock, pushing deeper and deeper into your warmth like he wants to carve out a space just for him. A guttural sigh fills the room, making you shake and whimper— as if you could do anything else.

Toji's free hand presses against your spine cruelly, forcing you into a painful arch so he can reach that one spot. The special spot tucked neatly in front of your cervix, almost like a little pocket he can push the tip of his dick in to keep himself planted deep inside you. When you feel that pop inside your guts, you keen like you're dying. The pressure of it has your pussy gushing down your thighs like a fucking defense mechanism. It's almost as if your body goes into shock when he slides in. To be fair, you do that every time, but it's not often he essentially knots you like this.

Toji stills his hips, gracing you with a few minutes to adjust. To let the anger subside into mindless want, like it always does when this happens. And the same thing will happen again in the future, and you'll let it, because he has you wrapped completely around his finger. Everything about him makes you weak in the knees, you can't help but perk up like a puppy whenever he gives you attention— good or bad— and he makes sure to use that against you. Keeps you nice and honest, right at his feet.

After an all-too-short pause, Toji sets a rough pace to reduce you to a compliant little mess, nodding along with whatever he says as he fucks you harshly into the mattress.

"That's right, baby. You jus' needed some dick to help you think straight. I'm still yers, right? She meant nothin', dolly. None of 'em did," he purrs against your ear, all husky and low. His hand scrambles to your lower stomach and he presses against your womb. "Y'feel me right here? Deeeep in these fuckin' guts, hah..."

He cants his hips forward, pushes impossibly deeper, and you yelp when his full balls slap your clit. The broken groan you let out is motivation enough for Toji to keep it up, ramming his cock into your cervix like he wants to fuck it.

"T—oji! T-T... oh fuck, fuck! Too much! T-too deep!" you squeak, flailing uselessly beneath your boyfriend. Ex? Fuck it, whatever he is doesn't change the fact that he's the best dick you've ever had. The way he's not afraid to use it, the way you can feel it in the back of your throat when he fucks you. Everything about it— about him— is addicting in the most carnal way.

Your pained little moans turn to annoyed grumbles of protest when Toji yanks your hips up and spits right on your exposed asshole, using his thumb to get it nice and slick before slipping it inside. One of your hands shoots back to bat him away but he quickly pins your arm to your back.

"Too much? Already baby?" Toji coos, curling his body down to growl right in your ear. The sound of his voice drowns out the loud slapping of skin on skin while he drives you into the mattress with deep, powerful thrusts. "No no no... I'll say when it's too much. And it won't be enough until I fuck my cum so deep in this pussy I breed it."

The timbre of his voice shakes you to the core, makes your pussy clench pathetically on his cock in a way that makes him laugh. He presses his thumb deeper in your ass and hooks it so he can feel the outline of his dick through the thin wall of flesh.

"No!" you squeak, the strain in your voice makes your cunt tighten, like all the air in your lungs was squeezed out. "C-can't cum inside— aah! Toji! Y-you fucking a-assho—!"

He's fucking brutal, slows his thrusts to a deep, pounding rhythm and cackles when you sob out, pretty face all covered in tears and snot. Toji can't tell if you're scared or desperate at this point, almost positive he's fucked you stupid. He leans over your body, steadies himself with his free hand and pants right against your ear. "Yeah, yeah, baby lemme hear it. I'm the worst, huh? Gonna make a terrible daddy," he growls. His cock twitches against your womb like a lingering threat.

In some ways, you'd seen this coming a mile away. Toji wasn't exactly a good man, after all. You feel him press his first two fingers into your asshole, his thrusts only quickening like he was intent on bruising that special little spot so you feel him agonizingly for weeks after.

"T-To— oh! Tojii! C-can't, nnno— OW!"

Sharp teeth bite at your neck, hard enough to break skin, no doubt. At least leave a bruise or two. While the pain is nearly sobering, the sharp throbbing of it makes your pussy clench tighter, a fact you try to hide by fighting under him again, trapped by his hands, his cock, his teeth.

Feisty bitch, Toji thinks, breathing out grunts more akin to feral growling when he lets his body take control, chasing his release like it's the only thing keeping him alive. His hands fly to your hips to hold you still while pound you into the mattress, forcing out a wail. Creamy slick coats your thighs and Toji's balls as your body succumbs to the pleasure running through your stomach. Your whimpering moans are the only thing Toji can hear, like his head is stuffed with cotton that gets denser as he gets closer.

"Oh-ho, shit doll. Fuck! Fffuck yeah, s-stay— stay fuckin' still."

Toji hardly registers that he's speaking— babbling— to you as he pushes just a little harder, needing moremoremore. His hips slam flat against your ass and you groan so hard you gag. You try so hard to pull away from the bruising force, but Toji snatches your hips flush against his giving you an ounce of reprieve, even if you're stuffed full. When the cock inside you throbs, you're almost giddy to realize it's a reprieve for Toji too. Before a stupid grin can slide across your face, Toji pulls out (much to your pleasure or dismay), only to flip you on your back.

"S'only appropriate that I fuck you like this, right?" he grins, rough hands pinning your knees to your chest in a mean little mating press, before mounting you again. You can feel him impossibly deeper like this, his cock able to reach each and every sweet spot your pussy has until you're gushing around him. Getting his thighs, and his stomach, and the fucking bed soaked.

You can't fight back like this, much less speak, so you sink your nails into his massive shoulders and let the onslaught of pleasure claw its way through your body. Ever perceptive, Toji gives you a wide grin, looking almost crazed. His cock throbs again.

"That's right, baby— fuck. Tha's fuckin' right," he gasps, pounding you with his entire body weight. It hardly feels like he's pulling his cock back at all, just fucking the tip right against your cervix. He slams a hand against the headboard and the wood creaks as it splinters under the force.

"Fuck! Fuckin' pussy's gonna make me lo-se my mind... Yer right there too, yeah?"

You swear you feel Toji falter, his breath catching in the back of his throat like a whine. What you don't know is, Toji took a glance down and had to sink his teeth in his tongue to keep from blowing his load right then and there. A thin layer of blood coats his cock, mixes with the creamy juices leaking from your pussy to make a sticky, pink ring around his base. Bleeding just for him, how sweet.

He can't help but shove a hand between your thighs to pinch at your clit, like it's your fault he's so fucking close already. Then, you're being crushed when he lets his weight falls to his hands, pinning your knees painfully so he can get real close to your ear. Your neck.

A snarl sends shivers down your spine, only to be chased with red hot blood as he sinks his canines into the skin just below your ear. Your entire body flushes to an almost uncomfortable degree, but the sensation is very quickly overshadowed by Toji's pelvis bumping against your clit. His happy trail is abrasive, but at this point your brain can hardly tell the difference between pain and pleasure. You can't even moan anymore. You honestly can't do anything but choke and whine like a little mouse caught in a trap.

"Fff-uck," you wheeze out, trying to get Toji's attention, to plead with him. For what, you're not entirely sure. "T-To— fuck please! Pleasepleaseplease, gonna c—"

"Oh yeah? I know you are, dolly. Can feel you clampin' down on me like that. God, shit! Fuckin' cock slut," Toji growls, moving to leave stinging bites against your right ear before moving to the left. "Can't help but cum at the thought of me breedin' this pussy, huh?"

Just as your cunt tightens, he shoves two thick fingers between your lips just to feel you gag through your ruthless orgasm. The way your entire body seizes beneath him, the way your hole constricts like a vice around his dick does him in. Toji hisses and grunts through his teeth as he fills up your little womb, enough to surely get the job done. And even if it doesn't work, he's always been a persistent person. If at first you don't succeed, and all that.

The sound you make when he puts his crushing body weight on you is somewhere between a broken squeak and a groan. His skin is uncomfortably sweaty against yours and you wiggle in annoyance to try and give him a fucking hint.

"Give me a minute, brat," he grunts, shamelessly nuzzling into your bare chest. His balls haven't even stopped throbbing yet, have some patience. Slowly, his heart stops pounding against your shoulder blade and his panting calms to steady breathing. It puffs against your ear in a way that once soothed you, now it blows straight through you like a husk.

There's brief relief when he finally pulls his weight from you, softening cock slipping from your stinging hole, only to be replaced by disgust when you feel his cum leaks out onto the sheets. You don't move as the mattress shifts— or maybe you can't. Toji pushes himself up with a groan and pads off to the bathroom. It's oddly sobering as you lay there, face towards the ceiling and a puddle of cum seeping uncomfortably into your skin as you listen to Toji piss and clean himself up. A part of you, the largest part, is disgusted at how pathetic you are. Another, shakes with the anticipation of him coming back to cuddle. Maybe even clean you up.

You curl over and swiftly shut your eyes when he comes back into the room, hoping to convince him you're asleep. He plops onto the bed with an obnoxious sigh and throws an arm over you, clumsily shoving his hand between your thighs as if to inspect his work. He tsks.

"Yer wasting it," he gravels, shoving a cum soaked finger past your puffy lips. You squeal and he snickers, pulling away from you to settle into bed. "Knew you weren't asleep."

"Was trying to ignore you."

"Hardly ignoring me if yer puttin' that sloppy pussy on display."

"Go fuck yourself."

He snorts at you and buries his head deep against the pillows, unsurprisingly leaving you to your own devices. After a minute— or thirty— you peel yourself up from the bed and into the bathroom to run a shower. You take in the sight of you in the big mirror as it slowly fogs up. Eye bags, flushed, sweaty face, tears and drool coating your skin. You look down at your cum covered thighs and feel a lump form in the back of your throat.

Here we fucking go again.

#PLEASEEEE SHES FINALLY DONE #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader smut #tw cheating #tw dubcon #tw baby trapping #tw forced pregnancy

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astoldbysteph · 22 days ago

Text

i feel like people aren't gonna like what i am gonna say but after numerous talks with rp friends, i think it's important to at least yap a little about this.

i know this you don't owe anyone anything girlypop coochie queef purrrrrrr 💅 attitude is seen as the standard to follow not only in rp spaces but pretty much anywhere (especially online) and idk guys, i think this is doing more damage than good. rping is a hobby, yes, but it's a hobby that involves us collaborating with people in order to have fun and sometimes i feel like there's some inherent selfishness and carelessness that along with a severe lack of communication, is slowly eroding the rpc as a whole.

every day i hear a new anecdote about admins failing to take their group off the ground because of flakey members. or people retreating into their shells and not being able to fully enjoy writing with others due to people ghosting them after three hours. i feel like every single person that does the 1x1/indie thing has a story where they plot someone, make a discord server or set up an established thread, and then they never hear from their writing partner ever again. and this ain't cool, guys.

stuff happens! we all got lives and responsibilities like work and school and family life that sometimes prevent us from being as active as we would've like. or some days we just don't feel like writing for whatever reason and that's valid. this ain't a job, but it is a collaborative hobby so i am sorry to tell y'all this, but we do owe at least a lil bit of common courtesy to people who take the time to collab with us.

chats with friends and fellow rpers have me feeling like the rpc as a whole, in my opinion, has a communication problem. group people don't talk to their admins or don't like plotting with other members. 1x1/indie people are used to dropping stuff unannounced and talk even less between each other. roleplayers in general avoid making the first move and prefer letting the other party do the work. like dang y'all, not to be a hag on main but back in my day!!!! there was more of a willingness to talk to others. now everyone is more 'secluded' which i think stems from bad past experiences so we kinda end up stuck in a cycle that messes with everything as a whole.

idk where i am going this but i keep seeing people posting stuff talking about this or sharing similar sentiments or stuff happens to me and i end up making my brain work overtime to try and figure out what happened and what i can do on a personal level to change things and help others stop feeling discouraged and have a better time writing and chilling with people

and also before i forget because my wife reminded me!! it's ok to drop stuff or plots or people and its ok to take ur time to reply. we all got stuff to do or we are tired or sad or obsessively rewatching degrassi or just dont feel like writing and that's so valid. all sane people get it and would be understanding if you hit them up like hey! idt i have muse for this or sorry i took forever! but people don't even do that nowadays and it leads to people quitting, feeling discouraged, OR WORSE, adopting the same mindset. talk to ppl!! rpers are super nice and if you run into a weirdo i will beat them up for u

#rpc #rpt #indie rp #rph #i feel like we all would benefit from trying to put a lil work in and dont always rely on the other party doing everything for us #yap.txt

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angiethewitch · 2 months ago

Text

things I did thinking I was being spiritual but it was actually a severe psychotic episode

to preface i am a pagan but let's be honest here this was straight up a mental health crisis

okay let's go

convinced myself there was a very angry poltergeist in my loft after I found out there was an old bed frame up there and it needed my help to move on but instead I threw salt up there and refused to let anyone walk underneath the loft opening

decided I had mastered the art of astral projection and I was travelling to astral planes and I could fly around the world while I was actually just lying there vividly hallucinating

straight up told people that my spiritual guides were gonna kill them like how did I expect them to do anything but laugh in my face

blood magic. like really dangerous stuff. thought I could bring my dead mother back to life by exchanging my life force for her own. hello?

vividly hallucinated my dead mother talking to me and fully believed she was a trapped spirit but nobody else could hear her and it was up to me to save her. all through her funeral she talked to me, she spoke to me for months. took me nearly a year to start dealing with her death and actually begin the grieving process

decided my husband was cursed and made him stand in the kitchen while I walked in a circle around him boiling herbs. poor bloke has dealt with so much

became convinced if I could just cast the right glamour spell at the right time I could breathe underwater and tested this out in the ocean like a very normal and sane individual

thought the wind was actually terrible forces speaking to me and delivering messages just for me so I became terrified of wind because I would have to sit outside and decipher the words that were clearly just for me

sewed a load of crystals onto a t shirt to protect myself from bad energies and called myself "the high priestess" and got very upset when people couldn't understand my power

understood that my cat was not actually a cat and was in fact the spirit of a 2500 year old druid priest sent to guide me in the form of a cat. Still called him Jinx though

started a journal where I detailed all the signs that the end of the world was coming

Read online that the colour red means angry so I desperately avoided the colour red because that meant the world was angry with me

tried to summon satan to terrorise my neighbour who was mean to me and fully believed it would work

decided I was immortal and imbued with the powers of ancient gods which led to some very risky and dangerous situations which I will obviously not detail here

there are many more examples but these are the most ridiculous ones

if you followed me for the witchcraft posts, im sorry. ive had to take a step back from it all for the sake of my own mental wellbeing. spirituality is a huge trigger for me. I tried practicing in moderation, I tried practicing just a little, but it is too much now. I had to unfollow a lot of witchcraft blogs because 1) they all seemed to collectively devolve into conspiracy theories and 2) i had to remove myself from the online witchcraft space. if you were wondering why I don't post about witchcraft anymore, this is why. I barely practice anymore, and when I do, I keep it private so im not encouraged by online validation.

please practice safely. always consider the mundane explanations first.

#angie talks #witchcraft #witchblr #unreality #unreality tw #schizophrenia #hallucinations tw #delusions tw

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melodic-haze · 9 months ago

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OMG FUCKING AYAKA ABSOLUTELY SENSELESS WITH A STRAP GOT ME LIKE UGHMSGGHRKLSH LIKE IMAGINE EDGING HER MULTIPLE TIMES, SHE WAS BEING SUCH A GOOD GIRL, YET YOU DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT IT AND JUST BE CRUEL TO HER LIKE AGHDSFKKHSJGRHG AGHHHHHH (I am sane)

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Ayaka x dom!afab!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: Reader has a strap, rough sex stuff, BDSM mention ig?

☆ — NOTES: Dude what if I combusted on the spot HELLOOOOOOO GOD I NEED HER (I'm not sane)

I need her to go mental PLEASE

I love the thought that Ayaka's canonically really REALLY pretty but at the same time I KNOW I'd hate it cuz of how she DEFINITELY gets hit on like a lot

She wouldn't be all that clueless of her beauty's reputation but like.......at the same time she kinda is, with the way that she kinda dismisses the attention as basically awe and reverence bc yk. She's in the Yashiro Commission

The attention just. Irks you One Too Many Times 🫶 and it doesn't help her case that she looks soooo utterly delicious, crying bc of you, so you do something about that!!!!!!

Ayaka doesn't know what she's done wrong.

She had sworn she's been behaving like a good girl for you, obeying your every command and being at your beck and call (minus when she's at work for her family's commission, you're not unreasonable), yet she was still faced with such a predicament.

Inazuma's cute little princess was clueless—was it something she said? Or maybe something she had done unconsciously to prompt you to essentially raise torturous hell on her?

She could try to rack her brains, and by archons she did try at first, and yet the only thing that she could even think of at the moment was the severe desperation for release.

The woman could see your borderline sadistic grin grow further as tears streamed down her face, cheeks almost as wet as her gushing pussy that has been mercilessly edged for.. who knows how long, by this point.

"'m sorry," she hiccuped, resisting the urge to buck her hips into your strap because despite everything, she was still your good girl, "I'm so-- mnf, sorryyy-- AH!"

You slapped her ass, pale skin already so red from the previous impacts it's had, before squeezing it roughly as you spoke, "Saying sorry and you don't even know what you're apologising for..."

"B-But I've done everything you asked of me, I--"

"Are you talking back?"

Her mouth clamps shut.

"I said--" and you grab a fistful of her hair to pull her up to your level, your hips moving as if punctuating every pause you make, "--are you.. talking.. back?"

She lets out those pathetic little whimpers of hers as she feels the tip of your faux cock bottom out inside of her in quick, deep thrusts, "I'm sss-- sorry I talked back please--"

"Please what?"

"I need to feel you move please I've been such a good g-- GIRL-- oohhhthankyouthankyou thankyou--"

You had relented to her wishes with an eyeroll, your hips practically slamming into hers as you pulled on her hair as a way to keep her upright. That along with the pain from having her hair pulled in the first place and all that pent-up lust from not being allowed that sweet release had easily helped escalate that impending high.

Ayaka knew that such a state of undress, such an expression on her face, was unbecoming of the graceful White Heron Princess but at this point? The only thing she was concerned about was being your princess, along with what she had been chasing this entire--

She doesn't register it immediately, but when she notices that you've deliberately slipped out of her cunt--

"Funny, how the Kamisato clan's very princess whines like a pathetic bitch."

Another climax absolutely ruined by you, yet she still doesn't know what she did wrong.

But she won't fight back, she won't ever fight back. She was your good girl, and good girls don't only do what they're told.

They take what they're given too, no matter what.

I don't even have much to say after writing that I'm ngl

Just that she's definitely a bit of a masochist lol

God she would just be SO FUN to toy with no matter how hard or soft you go just saying 😜😜😜😜 who knew such a reserved girl was a whore all along

There's a saying for this somewhere you all know what it is guys

Anyway enjoy 🫶

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multifandomslxt · 9 months ago

Note

Hey Krystal! 💎 It's me again 😌

Hope you've been well. 🥰

WayV members as type of rich bfs (sugar daddies) 👀..... Anything and everything within this prompt is most welcome 🤭. Have a great day bye ❤

Hey sweetheart! how are you?

You scared me again with the name ngl lmaoo

but it's all good

ENJOY<333

Way V Members as Sugar Daddies

MDNI

MINORS GO AWAY

Kun

He's a bit hard to get through to at first IMO

When he says sugar daddy he means money in exchange for accompanying him to events

he's so strict with himself that he really doesn't allow it to get past that.

That's all it is for a few months yk?

until you express that it seems a bit weird because you were definitely expecting more...

And Kun like the damn provider he is

gives you just that...more

but definitely explains to you that he's a possessive little shit.

good pu$$y turns a perfectly sane man in to a mad man pt.1

he's mad asf for youuuu

now that s3x is involved this man SPOILSSSSSSS you

way more than he was doing prior

which seems a bit impossible because babyyy you were getting bagsssss

he's so strict too like he makes it clear that you belong to him

period.

istg at some point he graduates from sugar daddy to husband

you want a spontaneous trip to some crazy rich island? ok, no problem

you want a bag that costs way too much money? he'll get you that in the next 2 hours

also...don't let that cute smile fool you, the man is a menace.

"Can't believe I deprived myself of this pretty c*nt" he thrusts inside you so slow...dangerously slow

"That's right baby Daddy's right here to give you everything you need"

Ten

Maam.

he gets right to it. lmaooo

Tells you that he needs you to accompany him to events and asks you if you're ok with other "stuff"

duhhh

first off the chemistry between y'all is AMAZINGGG

We all know this man loves fashion so having the latest designer pieces is a given

what starts off as a lil service after events

blooms into something more

very protective of you

baby he doesn't play about you or the custom diamonds he put around your neck. TRUST!

compared to before the relationship bloomed the s3x between you two was rather respectful?...yh that's the word

now?

LMAOOOOO

he rips that shit off youuu

President of the "I'll just buy you a new one" club

it's rough btw unlike Kun, Ten is rough and occasionally enjoys it when you're on top

hehe

"fuck...I'd choose this pu$$y over diamonds any day"

Winwin

See how pretty this man is?

yeah he's gonna make sure you're even prettier than him

Literally bathes you in expensive shit.

SPOILLS you omggg

it's worrying sometimes

to the point where the bank calls him

asking if he's aware that there is a concerning amount of money leaving his account

From head to toe it's luxuryyyyy

the s3x is good....just good

I'm sure I've said this before but Winiwn strikes me as someone who just gets to it.

not too rough not too gentle yk?

its just right

he does like when you wear that little diamond collar he got you when he's ball deep inside you though

he's strictly sugar daddy btw

I think he'd prefer that

Xiaojun

if you manage to pull him and keep him you're one lucky mf

this man moves through sugar babies like the days of the week

He likes the thrill of it all imo

yes he'll spoil you

but you better make sure the pleasure you give him is worth the 100k he just splurged

"C'mon now princess, Daddy knows you can do way better than that" he whispers teasingly as your body trembles from exhaustion and overstimulation

he likes to be kept on his toes

and you keep surprising him

your bills are paid and you're getting f*cked dumb

and he has the prettiest girl to spoil and break

It's a win-win honestly

Hendery

he's so sweet at first omlll

yes he dotes on you and all that jazz

but you guys actually become friends yk?

he's a whole gentleman

never crossing the line

just kind and attentive

gets you WHATEVER you want

and mean ANYTHING

nothing is out of reach for his baby

he just expects you to behave

but what's the fun in that?

let him catch you trying to buy things with your own money

or some shit like that

you are DONEE

when he f*cks you

he ensures that you merge with the mattress

takes "fuck you into the mattress" literally

ass up face down supremacy

do not play with him like that.

"Move your hand baby, I told you actions have consequences"

Yang Yang

This mf is just horny

lmaooo

very possessive oml

and not in the mature way like Kun or the gentlemanly way like Hendery

but possessive like a damn child

you go to parties together and he doesn't want you talking for anybody else too long

look at him and only him

the fucker got you a carrier bracelet with his name embedded into it

and told you to wear it at all times

for the most part, he's harmless

extremely touchy-feely

controls his urges well though

unless you're fucking around too much

then he has to show you why you should just let him be

it's fast and hard

I'm so serious

This MF can go roundsss

because he's desperate asf

BABY TRAPPING CENTRAL

"Such a fuckin' tease. let's see how much teasing you'll do when I swell you up hm?"

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lunatic-pudge · 11 months ago

Text

Postal Dude SFW and NSFW Headcanons

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

I love Postal Dude. He reminds me a lot of Sniper, so that might not help. These can apply to basically any version of Dude you want, but I tend to use PD2 as the default Dude. Those some things would probably be different for PD1.

So yeah, I got stuff that I need to finish working on. I'm halfway done with this one TF2 ask I got. So Imma try to finish that up ASAP.

And warning for sexual stuff and mentions of violence, but considering that this is Postal, the violence part shouldn't be too much of a bother

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

SFW

-Oh boy oh boy, where do I even begin with my baby boy Dude. Postal was something I always had a slight intrest in but now it hit me full force so here we are. Plus he's got some similarities to Sniper as well so it doesn't help either. I can't control myself anymore. I need this man pregnant and i need it NOW!

-But anyways, Imma start throwing some stuff out there. This poor babe has been through it. He's been through Hell and back, literally. He's gotten better over the years, but there are times where things feel like they're getting worse again. He's gotten better with dealing with it. Though, he's not the best when comforting his partner if they're struggling mentally. He tries his best, but he's just so unsure of what to do. He's good at sitting with you, having an arm wrapped around you as you hold onto him, venting your problems out. It's easy for him to be a listening ear. Any advice from him is probably not good advice. If there's something you want, he'll get it for you. A blanket? Done. Some ice cream? Okay, what flavor. It's the little things

-If you wanna be with this mess of a man, you gotta be semi comfortable with the violence. He's gonna be coming home almost every night covered in blood, acting like he didn't just kill someone over a doughnut. And you gotta be comfortable with his massive collection of weapons. He'll teach you how to use them so you can protect yourself if he isn't around.

-Which leads me to the fact that he WILL kill for you. Whether it'd be to protect you, to prove that he loves you, or even out of jealousy. He can be convinced to not kill someone but it does take some persuasion. He just wants to keep you safe, and he trusts no one but you, especially since the people of Paradise are rather "interesting". Though, he might just wait for you to be out of sight to kill the person you wanted spared... Oops...

-His love language is acts of services and physical touch. Homie won't be able to keep his hands off you. Sexual or not, he NEEDS to feel you. It makes him feel sane to know you're there and real. And if you need help with something, he's there to help you with it. He'd love it if you'd go on errands with him. It'd make things less boring AND it means more time to spend with you

-Also, to be with this man means Champ needs to approve of you first. Champ is his baby, so if Champ doesn't like you then clearly you aren't worth his time. But if Champ approves of you and you love and spoil him, then you might just be marriage material

-He's such a goofball. He'll be constantly teasing you. Not a day goes by where he isn't lovingly tormenting you over something dumb. He does it cause he loves you. He means no harm with it and will let off it if asked. Don't let him know about any sensitive or ticklish spots of yours cause he WILL be using those spots against you

-Very big on being able to laze around with you and doing nothing. Laying together on the bed or couch, alcohol and snacks readily available, and music playing in the background. He's a bully in a sense where he would want his music playing, claiming to have good taste in music. So hopefully, you like the same music as him. So stuff like Tool, Nine Inch Nails, KMFDM, etc. (Though in my own little world, I could see him crying over Mitski, plz don't judge)

-If you're a crafty person and you make something for him, he could cry from how happy it makes him. He loves seeing you work your stuff. Doesn't matter what it is (drawing, painting, sewing, crocheting, etc.) he likes watching. It's calming to him. He'd def cry if you made anything Champ related. If you draw or paint, youre art is getting hung up on the walls. If you sew, knit, or crochet and you make him or Champ something to wear, then they'll be wearing what you made them proudly. Though he won't wear said stuff outside cause he doesn't wanna dirty them. He'd feel bad for ruing all your hard work

-Have I mentioned how spoiled he is yet? Cause he is. He's a very needy baby. Constantly wanting your time, attention, and affection. Almost never giving you a second of privacy cause he needs to be in your personal bubble. Oh, you locked the bathroom door so you could enjoy a bath in peace for once? Too bad, cause Dude's already picked the lock and hanging out with you. And if you don't stop him, he'll join you in the tub, with or without clothes on. He's essentially a cat that will scratch at the door til you let him in. If you're at work or he's running errands, he'll be texting you nonstop. Keeping you updated on the chaos he's causing and spamming you with Champ pics.

-He also has an abundance of photos of you. Some of just you doing whatever (yes even sleeping), you and Champ, you and Dude, and even all three of you together. You may not even know all of the photos he has of you. And yes, he will show you off, proud he has such a baddie and no one else does. But you also need to know that he isn't scared to take some of the worst photos of you. We're talk 0.5x forehead photos that make it look like you got a big ass forehead. He doesn't care. He loves everything about you and nothing will change that.

-Love seeing you wear his clothes. He thinks it's so cute how big his shirts look on you, the smaller you are, the better. He's very encouraging of you wearing his clothes. Sometimes, it gets him a little too excited, especially when you don't wear any pants, may God help you when that happens...

NSFW

-Loves biting you, once he starts he can't stop. He will have you marked up from head to toe by the time he's done with you. He would like it if you did the same to him. He'll ecourage you to leave some extra marks on him and especially his more sensitive areas. Same rules apply for scratching as well. He loves seeing the all the bites, bruises, and scratches you leave on him. And he feels such pride when he sees them on you

-He's the perfect person to have a hand kink for. He's got them long, spidery fingers that can leave goosebumps along your skin. He'd gladly shove his fingers down your throat if you want. His hands do tend to be littered with cuts and burns but don't think that will stop anything. The extra pain adds to the experience for him

-Yeha, he's kind of a masochist. There's just something about the way you inflict pain on him that gets him going. You could come up behind him and bite him and that's all you need to do for him to get the message. He will let you WRECK him however you want

-Does like degraded by only a little bit. He wants to be called a slut and to be told how vile he is for wanting to be used like a toy. But sometimes he has limits. He does need praises though. He could go on for hours praising you, and he would like to be able to be praised as well. He'd rather be praised than degraded. Especially during aftercare. Tell him how much of a good boy he is and how well he did. He'll love you forever if you do

-Is it wrong to say that I can see him having a Mommy kink? This might be from hearing the one line of his but there's just something about him that screams "let me call you Mommy plz". halp

-I've been making him sound like such a total sub but he can be dominant if you want. He tends to be more on the rough side when he doms though so do be prepared for it. He'd love to have you tied up and blindfolded, helpless as to what he's gonna do next. Loves making you beg

-peghimpeghimpeghimpeghimpeghim, do it. Nothing's stopping you. You'll get some of the best noises out of him if you peg him. He's is such a dirty little slut. Peg him and make him beg!

#postal #postal dude #postal dude x reader

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customboytoyz · 1 month ago

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This fr makes me happy as a trans man who is genuinely just sick and tired of nearly all nsft transmasc stuff being the same puppyplay subby whiny cuntboy shit over and over.

I want to be in fucking charge and I am MAKING SURE that happens. No matter how much you try to degrade me into a little puppy I am going to bite and tear through you and take what's rightfully mine to take.

I feel no shame being rough in a female body, I am a man, and I will do as I fucking please.

That being said.. we seriously need more content FOR ftm doms. I don't know why tumblr seems to be so so lacking of it. Also need some knife- and bloodplay to keep myself sane 💪

THANK YOU LIKE HELLOOOO ITS SO DARK IN HERE

#ask

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sgiddings · 5 months ago

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hiiiii, do you have any jossam hcs you've never talked about?? I love your blog btw <3

hello lovely anon! oh, thank you so much! it means the world to me. of course, i've had some headcanons brewing up in the back of my brain for years now;

i don't think josh is a lady's man or what have you by any means possible. i think he has always been a loner whether that be romantic or platonic wise, rami said on josh himself that he's a loner. i think josh has always had a crush on sam from the day he met her, it's always been hard for him to feel anything for anyone else in that regard. has he fooled around a little? sure, but nothing with anyone that ever lasted long. i think further proof on his lack of experience with women or romance in general is the way he talks to chris about ashley. oh boy. he's been whipped for too long, the flings he's had with people would make his skin crawl by the end of it, he didn't want them. he wanted sam.

josh isn't really a massive social media person, he'll only create an account for something if sam asks him to. like instagram, he's really only there for sam (@evildeadgf inspired this headcanon, she has a very cute jossam ig edit) and will only post yearly if at all, but he's always liking a post whenever sam uploads something there. he's not chronically online per se but his presence around his girlfriend is known. back off!!!

speaking of sam's instagram, she's always taking very handsome photos of him and adding them to her stories and her "dump" photos, you know the ones where people will just post a random monthly post with a bunch of different photos from that month, a lot of those photos include josh and her and josh together, and them with their dog.

fairly new headcanon for me inspired by unused audio file of sam talking to her mum. sam's mum would always hound her about chris, sam has no idea where her mum even got this idea from, or how she even thought of it to begin with, but her dad's always had an inkling of what's really going on. he notices the way josh stares at his daughter. sam knows that he knows, and they don't say anything about it, they just have a silent sort of agreement to respect each other's peace. post mountain, josh is one of the first people her dad asks sam about. sam can barely keep it together.

i think to keep himself sane a little more tethered to the world, helping him to wade through his own problems, josh would have to keep his focus on something, maybe starting a new creative project - nothing too out there, could be just to keep his hands busy. making props? who knows, the world is his oyster and he is very intelligent. sam loves to watch him create, she loves the determination in his eyes and the way his brows furrow together whenever he's working at something. josh notices, throws a little "checkin' me out?" joke at her, and she can't help but laugh.

sam wakes up early and josh does not wake up early. sometimes sam will get up around 4 in the morning just to go hiking and take the dog for a walk, and she'll find josh still awake in the living room. "oh c'mon. go to bed." "not tired yet." "you're gonna wake up dead in the afternoon again." "fine with me, gives me more time at night to do what i want." "like what?" "stuff." "what stuff?" "like watch you sleep." "(laugh) okay edward cullen, shut it. i'll go make you some tea before i leave."

#jossam #josh x sam #until dawn #josh washington #sam giddings #otp: i was the only one who understood him #answered #juliatxt #hope you enjoy nonny!

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kit-williams · 8 months ago

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Transactions

Male Lead: Konrad Curze/Solruthis Uadasha/The Night Haunter (Sol being his nickname) Female Lead: Reader/Sorsollia (sun that illuminates) CW: SEX, Obsession, baby trapping, yandere, not exactly dubcon but some sexual boundaries aren't respected Word Count: 2256

Know what the best thing about Dividers are... I can use them when I don't wanna spend time talking about the boring stuff

Again using this for the Nostroman words (I included translations this time)

thanks @squishyowl for the lovely 40k dividers

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

You took to him like flies do to rotting meat and he was pleased with that. Conversations dragged on and beyond what they were meant to as more often then not you would stay in his presence as you worked on the more tedious duties being a scribe brought you. But this allowed you to get closer to him which he wanted.

You paused as he was talking about something and you looked at him. He knew that look, a dark smile passed his lips, "What did you think of me like Lorgar? Unaware of such capricious and often bawdy thoughts and glances of the opposite sex?" He gets up slowly walking over to where you worked, "Or would libidinous fit better?" He leans in watching you get smaller as he enters your space more and more, "Perhaps even concupiscent!" He trills before mouthing the back of your neck and smelling that sharp change in your scent.

"I just... I..." You stutter as you are flustered and squirming as one of his hands comes and cups your breast.

"It's alright if you made that mistake. Unlike you mortals sex isn't as... required to function as most of you need."

"Sol you know its more than that." You say as if stating the obvious.

He grinned into your hair playing dumb as he knew Nostromo was far from normal or sane. Seeing what items you needed to keep yourself sane in the dark ship as your room, like the other non natives, was so much brighter than most. Its why he called you his Sorsollia. "No Sorsollia I do not know. Upon Nostromo sex is a transaction like many things. If I gave you sex either it is because I am after something you have or you are giving me something I want." He explains as she looks up disappointed.

"Surely just love and affection can be a reason to have sex. I really doubt-"

"Perhaps amongst the hill people." He hums softly, "But I smell your desire..." and your fecundity, "Do you want to partake in the transaction?"

You shake your head surprising the Primarch yet again, "Solruthis Uadasha, I don't want anything other than affection and actual I suppose desire and care. I don't like the idea of sex just being a transaction between us... like what do you feel like you owe it to me?" You look up at him bewildered as he continues to have a soft patient smile.

"Slightly." He admits as for him he was indebted to you. You were freely giving him affection and treating him like a human like an untrained whore giving too much and not getting enough money for it. But he was ready to make up for it by paying you back with giving you his baby. How adorable you are looking up at him horrified at that revelation.

"Sol." You say sadly.

He cupped your face, "Easy solution to make me not feel this way... stop being so affectionate." He says knowing you won't do that.

"But... I want to be... can't I just give you this freely."

"You would be called very unflattering things back on Nostromo."

"Well good thing I'm not Nostroman." You said back unflinchingly and as if you didn't have to think about it.

His eyes sparkled with deviant delight. And this was why he adored you and exactly why he had given you sugar pills in place of what you were using for birth control. But his little Sorsollia was a forgetful thing as you weren't using it as often... but that only benefited him.

"I've warned you Sorsollia it's transactional..." He whispers leaning in and kissing you as his hair falls free of the loose tie he had it in the black strands caressing your face, "I just want you to keep treating me like you do." He admits with sincerity.

"Sol... you don't have to do this if you don't want to I'll still give you everything I do." You say continuing to damn yourself to his side... damning yourself to being the object of his love and desire. You damned yourself to being the object of his obsession... to be the object of his gaze... to be the object that would truly be the only good thing he could have as a reference for all the disorder and disgust this universe would have. You would be the one thing he could have that no one else would take from him.

"Sorsollia I will do my best to not see it as... transactional... just-"

"A mutual exchange of flesh?" You try to make it better and you do... you always do.

"Hardly mutual."

"How come?"

"I don't think you realize how big I am." He takes your hand and puts it against his crotch.

"I don't see how..." Your eyes widen and he just smiles.

"I am unaroused right now do you still want to try?" Bless the human spirit as you nod and he just grins as he cups your chin trilling down at you. "It will hardly be mutual as I believe I will be... ruining your body for the next man for a long while."

How cute you looked sticking your tongue out while thinking before those beautiful eyes of yours sparkled and you nodded as he ushered you away to lay with him.

How pretty you looked in the pitch black room eyes darting around wanting some bit of light... the flutter of your singular heart made him feel something delightful. He hands you his shirt and in return, after you fiddle with the buttons of your own, you hand him your own. Little transactions you played up the benign discomfort for not participating in it as he drank the sweetness of your reassurances. Greedy slovenly thing he was taking so much more from this... but he would make up for all the unasked for humanizing of him.

His hands wandered over the contours of your naked body... feeling each curve and pressing against the skin. His fingers dipping into the V between your legs his fingers probing. His mouth presses a kiss into the side of your head as he pushes a finger inside of you as you whimper with pleasure. "Say my name." He growls into your ear.

"Solruthis... Uadasha." You moan as his fingers feel so big... you try to grope him but he keeps himself away.

"Not that one... say the other name."

This causes you to pause as he watches you look up at him, where you think he is, "But you aren't that name."

"I want to hear it from you." He pushes his finger deeper and deeper in and listens to you whimper and moan, "I want to hear you say it with the same care and affection in which you call me Sol."

You pause for a moment as if debating on if he really wants to hear it but your mouth moves in its pleasing shapes, "Konrad... Konrad Curze!" You say with such affection... you say with such adoration and tenderness that is the opposite of the cold impassiveness that name was thrust upon him.

"Oh my Sorsollia!" He moans kissing your neck as you feel weightless and dizzy as soon you are pressed onto the bed his cock pushing against your entrance. "Your songlike voice makes hearing that name so bearable."

You giggle as it was very clear he was using his time with Fulgrim to good use, "How very poetic."

"Gothic is far too plain you need to learn Nostroman then I wouldn't have to speak like Fulgrim." By how he speaks you can imagine his nose wrinkling. You can't help but giggle as Sol... Konrad could be affectionate... in his own way. You wonder in that moment when the last time a man's cock had rubbed against your folds raw. You can't help but close your thighs together. You feel his dark grin press into your skin, "Sorsollia... are you scared to take me?" His tongue pressed into the pulse of her neck feeling the quick fluttering pulse.

"Yes..." You say softly.

"Jasha (Good)" He says biting into your skin as he pushes in. You writhe under him, panic floods your basal brain. He learned quickly you fall back on instinct when pain is applied. You bleating his name as your nails try to dig into his flesh trying to pull away. Seconds bleed together for you till the tightness gives way, "Corshia Sey (Breathe now)" He coos to you as he holds you tightly.

Tears slip from your eyes as you lay there trembling bleating in pain unable to see the malicious grin from your lover above you. The way those black eyes of his fixate on your tears... the way your heart beats quickly... almost the same quick beat of fear. "Shhh Sorsollia Shhh you're okay. You feel so warm so tight." He says to you as you twitch and whimper in pain as he stays so still, "Wont it be nice when you can just handle me easily?"

You whimper out and nod. He runs his hands over your body and seduces you with morbid poetry. His tongue running over your salty skin before darting into your mouth as he finally begins to move. "Sol!" You gasp out causing him to chuckle.

"You can call me Konrad you know." And yet he adores as you try to call him Konrad but slipping into that chant of Sol... Sol... Sol! Sweat rolls down your skin as his warmth overwhelms you. The pained whimpers soon turned to wails of pleasure unlike the wails of screams and the shrieks for mercy as you scream for more. The pain long passed leaving only a heated pleasure in its wake.

You ride him, as best you can, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you down on him as you arch your back, your breasts bouncing as you make your noises, your body going ridgid as your toes curl from an orgasm... he flips you over as your eyes glaze over at the sound of the wet slaps as his cock jackhammers into your body. His nails dig into your flesh as he knows your scent will linger in this room for so long, he hardly uses it, but he might have to if the smell of you is going to stain his bedding.

His mouth moves over the hollow of your throat mouthing it... sucking on it... his spine arching to move his mouth against your flesh. The discomfort worth the way your eyes sparkle as he fucks you dumb... his long tongue pushing into your mouth as you grab a fistful of his hair trying to keep him close. He grins at your boldness... the breakdown of decorum he will allow for now in the darkness of this room after all you tend to be good either way.

He pulls out hearing you whine as he bends you over and fucks you like the animals that you two are. Whining and mewling like a bitch in heat. He once more bites your skin hearing your shriek again causes him to bite down harder for a moment as his completion hits him and he cums deep inside of you. His biting causing you to orgasm as well.

You whimper and bleat out in pain, Konrad can taste blood in his mouth. Konrad rolls his jaw forcing his saliva ducts to work more as he can feel his mouth go numb slightly as he runs his tongue over the bite mark. You flinch and twitch, "It tingles." You say your voice hoarse from screaming.

"That means its working," He slurs slightly explaining how he got his saliva to overproduce the mild anesthetics and painkillers naturally found in human saliva.

"You're just an elevated human." You say with a smile as you feel him tend to your wound. Your eyes closing as you feel so tired after that full body experience. "So... have I shown you that sex doesn't have to be a transaction?"

You can't see the wild smile on his face, the madness in his eyes, the craving inside of him to give you more then the simple mess between your legs as a showing of his affection... perhaps some bone trinkets made from his own bones... but that will be for later for when he can make sure you will be his forever. "It will take more than one encounter like this Sorsollia." He says calmly as he was an expert in hiding his true perverse excitement.

"It's a start." You say with a smile struggling to get up before his large hand pushes you down.

"Rest Sorsollia. I'll clean you up. At least let me take care of you..."

"Is this to make you feel better about the transaction?"

"Yes." He lies as easily as he kills.

You take his hand and gently kiss his knuckles. "Thank you Sol. I just need a little bit after that." As you quickly close your eyes and your breathing shifts

He smiles wickedly at to be in his aura for so long... any primarch aura does things to people. It took you such a long time to no longer feel that unnatural fear. He'll make sure to clean you up... and to make sure that things eventually will take. He contains his giddiness allowing the darkness to hide his emotions from your sun gifted eyes as he vanishes into the dark to collect things.

#tw: sex #tw: smut #tw: baby trapping #tw: obsession #tw: yandere #he messes with her birth control #tw: pain #I have a particular VISION about yandere Konrad #yandere konrad curze #konrad curze #primarch #night lord #warhammer 40k #warhammer 30k #this is set before Konrad goes insane #probably even before he kills that one scribe which starts his descent really #gosh imagine the angst potential if it was her that he nearly kills #because momrad isn't gonna have spouses kill each other

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