#I just think about them day and night and can’t get the idea of them dating out of my head…

[viperify]

oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ɢʀʏꜰꜰɪɴᴅᴏʀ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

₊˚. 🂼 Losing Game.

Short Summary: being drunk sometimes means making reckless decisions, though agreeing on a bet with Tom Riddle might just top the list.

Warnings: 18+ only! rough oral m!receiving, slight dub con ig, Tom Riddle is a little bitch, no aftercare

A/N: first fic in ten days! finished my thesis and handed it in. SHDFJSKKF

also, this fic is based on this request! tysm for requesting! <3

wordcount: 2,5k

As soon as you saw the exam papers, you knew. 

You’d lose the bet.

A bet that was your idea in the first place.

—

Tom and you have been fierce rivals ever since you started Hogwarts. Always trying to outdo one another, striving for perfection on every single exam and paper you had to hand in.

It’s the day before your Potions exam. You shouldn’t be doing this—getting ready for the party in Slytherin’s common room when you know a late-night study session would be the only way to save you from embarrassment the next day.

Yet, you couldn’t miss out on a fun night with your friends, the ones that keep telling you to stop worrying about your grades so much, to finally take a day off studying.

If they only knew.

After you finish, you take a look in the mirror—neat makeup, hair perfectly styled, tall black heels, burgundy dress, short, maybe too short—you don’t care. Tonight is about having fun and hopefully forgetting about your studies for a few hours.

Flickering green lights and the heavy beat of the music wrap around you as you enter the room, immediately engulfing you in the party’s atmosphere, the smell of alcohol and spilled drinks heavy in the air. Your eyes dart around the place in an attempt to find your friends, but before you get the chance to do so, you spot another familiar face. Familiar in an unpleasant way.

He’s casually leaning against the wall, one hand tucked in his pocket while the other lifts his drink—firewhisky, you assume—to his lips. And he sees you too—a smug grin playing on his lips as his eyes shamelessly drop lower, wandering over your exposed skin before he returns them to your now flushed face.

Tom Riddle—head boy, former prefect, know-it-all. House rivals. He’s always tried to get under your skin with anything he could think of. If he outscored you by more than five points, you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

Merlin, how you despised him.

You silently curse him under your breath, shaking your head as you continue making your way through the crowd. Your skin tingles with the memory of his lingering gaze, already regretting your choice to put on your shortest dress.

As the night goes on, you almost forget about him, your friends keeping you busy with conversations and games. It’s not until after midnight that you see him again—coincidentally just after your friends left your side to get new drinks.

You don’t even realise it’s him until he’s standing in front of you, until you feel his eyes on your skin yet again. You look up at him, meeting his amused expression.

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” He asks, lifting an eyebrow as he gently sways his drink in his hand.

“Unlike you, I have a life, Riddle. I don’t bury myself in books all day.”

“Judging by your grades, that’s what you should be doing. Instead of…” he pauses, eyes roaming over your cleavage to your thighs and back up. “Going to a party in that dress.”

A scoff leaves your lips. That idiot.

“Yeah? Seems like you can’t get enough of it, hm?”

His eyes darken at your words, and merely the fact that he doesn’t have a smug comeback ready tells you you’ve hit a nerve. You are right. He was checking you out.

A satisfied grin forms on your lips as he turns around to leave without saying another word. However, overconfident with the buzz of alcohol rushing through your veins, an idea comes to your mind.

“Riddle,” you call out, voice barely audible above the loud music, and he stops in his tracks. “I bet I will outscore you tomorrow.”

The usual arrogant smirk returns, decorating his face as he retraces his steps, stopping right in front of where you are sitting on the couch, hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers.

“The alcohol is clearly getting to your head if you think you could beat me in any Potions exam.”

You scoff, but deep down you know he isn’t wrong. Potions isn’t your best subject by any means, while Tom seemingly had every potion perfected before you even discussed it in class. Maybe that was exactly what excited you in that moment.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Riddle. Even your ego can take a loss, I am sure of it.”

He nods then. “Fine. Although I expect an adequate prize. What that will be, I choose.”

“That won’t be necessary.” You shoot him a smile, and you don’t catch the last part of what he’s said until it’s too late.

“Good luck. You’ll need it.” He adds, before disappearing into the crowd, and you don’t see him again that night.

What that will be, I choose. His words keep repeating in your head when you are finally in bed, trying your hardest to fall asleep. Slowly sobering up, you can’t believe what you have done. You would never be able to even come close to him tomorrow—not with last bits of alcohol in your system, not with two hours of sleep, surely not with how much you have studied.

Fuck.

And of course, the inevitable happens. The exam is way too difficult, your mind still clouded, ears ringing as a result of your loud surroundings last night. You can’t concentrate no matter how hard you try, and finally decide to hand in early, before anyone else. 

You take one last look around the classroom before you leave, and immediately, your eyes lock with his. 

Tom has been watching your struggle with pleasure, knowing exactly what it meant—what he’d choose as his prize. From the second you initiated the bet, it’s been as clear as daylight what he’d want. .

A week later, and as expected, he has outscored you. In fact, he received the best grade possible on his exam. And you—you failed. Failed. You had never failed an exam before.

So, you have been waiting. Waiting for him to come to you and tell you what he’d want. But the moment hasn’t come—not even days later. 

The following weekend you find yourself at another party. You have expected him to talk to you there, preparing yourself with all sorts of drinks. Whatever he wants from you—and you fully expect it to be something humiliating—will be easier to endure with the courage you gain when you are slightly tipsy.

He’s there, you have seen him, but it doesn’t happen. He gives you that same arrogant smirk each time you see him, yet he never seeks a conversation. He might have forgotten. You hope he has forgotten.

The next day, after your final lesson of the day, you pack your belongings and leave the classroom. The corridors are empty at this hour as you make your way to the Gryffindor dormitories. You sigh as you turn the corner leading you out of the dungeons, ready to head to bed early after an exhausting day.

However, that plan shatters as a pair of strong arms shove you into an empty classroom, hand clamping over your mouth, muffling your attempts to scream.

The familiar scent of potion ingredients and old wood floods your senses as the door shuts behind you, quickly locked with a spell. And then, you finally see who has dragged you in here.

“Riddle, what the hell?” You whisper-yell, looking around you, scared someone has seen or heard you.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me.” He retorts smugly, not yet facing you, instead casting a silencing spell on the room. “And I am here to collect my prize.”

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning against a bookshelf behind you. “What do you want?

Tom turns around then, looking at you for a second before he speaks.

“You. On your knees for me.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You wish he was joking, but the tone of his voice tells you differently. He’s a hundred percent serious about this.

“There is no way I am doing that.”

“Oh but you will. You lost, I get my prize. It’s only fair.”

A sharp exhale leaves your lips, rolling your eyes. “Could have done this when I was drunk. Wouldn’t have been as humiliating.”

“I don’t take advantage of drunk girls. Also,” a grin tugs at the corner of his lips as he guides you towards the wall, forcing you on your knees so that you are facing him. “Makes me enjoy it more.”

You shake your head slightly, looking up at him. “You are sick, I hope you are aware.”

“Get to work,” he orders, disregarding what you just said. He takes a step closer, fingertips brushing over your cheek, thumb softly tracing along your lips. The strain on the fabric of his trousers is evident as your shaky hands make work of his belt, carelessly dropping the leather on the floor with a low thud. He doesn’t bother stepping out of his clothes, leaving them to pool around his ankles.

You swallow as you take in his size, hesitantly reaching out. With your thumb, you softly swipe over his already with precum glistenting tip, looking up at him through your lashes. Your hand wraps around his length before you give him a few soft strokes, earning a low groan of approval from the brunette.

His patience snaps when you trace along a prominent vein on the underside of his cock, forcefully tilting your head back as his fingers tangle in your hair, having you meet his gaze.

“Can’t take a little bit of teasing, Riddle? That desperate for me?” You say smugly, eyes never leaving his as your grip around him tightens, speeding up.

“Thought I’d go easy on you, but turns out you don’t want me to.” He hisses, guiding your head towards him. Your lips wrap around him then, tongue swirling over his sensitive tip before you take him as deep as you can, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as he hits the back of your throat.

It’s not long before his grip on your hair tightens, stilling your movements before he thrusts himself inside of you, deeper than you had taken him. You obey, laying your tongue flat in your mouth as his length slips further, holding you there until you gag around him.

Focusing on breathing through your nose, you relax your muscles, making space for all of him, his eyes shutting in pleasure each time your throat constricts, squeezing him even tighter.

“Look at you,” he rasps, a ragged breath leaving his lips as his dark eyes now stare down at you again, watching his cock disappear in your mouth with every snap of his hips. “So eager to please me. Knew you were nothing but a pathetic slut behind that facade you try to put up. Smart— fuck—  always trying to impress— but in reality, this is the only thing you are actually good at, hm?”

With his hands’ tight grip on your hair, holding you in place as he uses your mouth, you find yourself unable to give a proper response other than a muffled sound of agreement—something he doesn’t seem to be quite satisfied with.

You gasp, taking in a deep breath as Tom yanks your head back, pulling you off his length, now coated in your spit. A string of saliva connects his tip to your swollen, reddened lips, blinking away your tears.

“Answer me.”

“Fuck— yes, Riddle.”

He shakes his head slightly, tilting your head even further back so you are met with his strict gaze. “What’s my name?”

“Tom,” you whisper, “yes, Tom.”

“Good girl,” he purrs, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. “Remember it.”

Only a second later he is back inside of your warm mouth, holding onto your hair as leverage as he buries himself to the hilt, groaning as he feels you struggle for air, your hands holding onto his thighs for support.

You shouldn’t like this, shouldn’t like how he is using you to get off, and yet, his soft gasps and groans as he gets closer to his release have you clenching your thighs together, desperately trying to ease the ache in your lower stomach.

“Hate to admit you were right. Can’t fucking get enough of you.” He grunts as you feel him twitch inside of you, spluttering around his cock as his thrusts grow harsher, tears running down your cheek as you try your best to take what he is giving you.

“Fuck— Show me—“ Tom breathes, hips stuttering, “show me whose good girl you are and swallow for me.” He barely gets the words out before he stills inside of you, the taste of his release flooding your senses as he empties himself inside of you—deep enough that swallowing is in fact the only option.

Still, he keeps your head pressed against his lower abdomen until he feels you swallow around him, only then pulling out of you.

Tom lets go of your hair then, and you sink against the cold brick wall behind you, utterly spent, jaw sore. You watch him getting dressed, mind still hazy when he walks towards you, looking like nothing happened—on the contrary to you.

“Look even prettier when you cry for me,” he remarks, taking in your state, wiping your tear-soaked cheeks with the back of his hand before he uses a spell to clean your chin and blouse.

And you let him do it, too tired and worn out to complain.

“I guess I have finally found a way to silence that bratty mouth of yours,” he mumbles when he is done, gently wiping a strand of hair from your face.

You look up at him then, hoarsely whispering a soft “Fuck you, Riddle.”

He offers you no other reply than his signature grin whenever he gets something he wants, his eyes fixated on you while he adjusts his robes.

“Tutoring for Potions every Thursday at 7 pm in the library. Don’t be late.” He says, exiting the classroom before you even get the chance to process his words.

You run out of curses to use for him by the time you reach your dorm, exhaustedly collapsing onto your bed. You tell yourself that no, you wouldn’t go because who does he think he is—yet it’s an offer you can’t decline.

So, every Thursday from then on, you find yourself studying for Potions under his guidance. It’s tough at first, but after just a few shared lessons, you realise he might not be that bad after all.

And soon enough, the next bet is made.

—

“If I outscore you tomorrow, I get to fuck you—properly.”

“You are delusional, Riddle.”

Naturally, you lose the bet.

The only difference: This time, you lose on purpose.

[wendichester]

I absolutely love your work! Could I request something where the reader is not the most active person, like... She doesn't like running, she's not fit, she's terrible at fighting. She maybe does research, but that's all. But she's good at picking clothes, she always makes sure Sam and Dean look professional/appropriate to what they'll be doing. And she makes absolutely AMAZING apple pie, and she cooks, and all - just helps "passively", not "actively". So one day she decides that "alright, that's enough, I'm only causing trouble" and leaves - and at first the boys don't care, since she "wasn't too useful" - but after like a week or two they notice that they miss the apple pie, they miss someone who could help them with looking better, especially Sam, who realizes how deep in love with her he is? And maybe she comes back?

I'm sorry if it's too specific, or too much details, or anything😅😅

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ all the little things,

summary. when you start to think just how replaceable you are, sam shows you exactly otherwise

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester

wordcount. 681

notes. honestly, this is just a heartwarming idea! thank you for requesting lovely 🩷

The motel room is quiet when you slip out.

Your bag is packed, everything neat and folded because, well—of course it is. You aren’t a mess. You don’t do things hastily or without thinking. But you’ve thought about this—leaving—long and hard, and the conclusion is always the same.

You aren’t useful.

Sure, you help. You make sure Dean’s FBI suit isn’t wrinkled and that Sam has something other than plaid to wear when interviewing victims. You keep the bunker stocked, and you make damn good apple pie.

But you can’t run. You can’t fight. You can barely hold a gun without it shaking in your hands.

And you’re tired of feeling like dead weight.

So you leave.

No note, no big speech—just a quiet exit in the middle of the night, the way you’re sure they’ll forget you.

Because you? You’re replaceable.

Right?

At first, the boys don’t notice.

They wake up, see that your things are gone, and shrug it off. Maybe you got tired of the life. Maybe you found something better.

They don’t talk about it.

They just move on.

Then things start feeling off.

Not all at once—just little things.

Like how Dean’s shirts are suddenly wrinkled as hell, and his ties are never quite right. Or how Sam keeps losing his laptop charger because you’re not there to remind him to bring it.

And the food? Absolute garbage.

Dean burns everything. Sam tries to cook and nearly poisons them both. They eat diner food three times a day, and after two weeks, Dean stares blankly at the menu and mutters, “God, I miss pie.”

Sam’s fork pauses mid-air.

It’s the first time either of them has said it out loud.

Dean catches himself, scowls, and shoves a bite of pancakes into his mouth. But the damage is done.

They do miss you.

The bunker feels wrong without you.

Your room is empty, hollow in a way Sam can’t stand. He stops by more often than he wants to admit, staring at the bed like it might hold answers, like it might tell him why you left without a word.

At first, he assumed it didn’t matter. But now—now it’s everywhere.

It’s in the little things.

Like how there’s no warm light from the kitchen in the morning, no soft hum of music while you bake. No one teasing Dean about his terrible diet or fixing Sam’s collar before an interview.

No one who makes them feel like they have a home.

It takes Sam longer than he’d like to admit to realize what it means.

He doesn’t just miss you.

He loves you.

And he needs you back.

Finding you takes time.

Sam spends hours searching, fingers flying over the keyboard until—finally—he gets a hit.

Dean doesn’t argue when Sam says, “Let’s go.”

Because he misses you too.

You stare at them when they show up at your new apartment.

“...What are you doing here?”

Sam takes a slow breath. “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms, trying to hold your ground. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Dean scoffs. “Bullshit.”

Sam shoots him a look, then turns back to you, softer. “We didn’t realize how much we needed you,” he admits. “Not just for the small stuff—for everything.”

You blink, and Sam steps closer, voice steady.

“You make us better. You make us feel like we’re more than just hunters. More than just the job.”

You swallow hard. “I—I thought I was just in the way.”

Sam shakes his head. “You were never in the way.”

Dean chimes in. “Look, we’re idiots, okay? We should’ve said something when you left.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But the truth is—we suck without you.”

Your throat tightens.

Then Sam says, quietly—earnestly,

“I love you.”

Your breath catches.

Dean smirks. “Took him long enough to admit it.”

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away from you. His hand finds yours, warm and solid.

“So,” he says. “Come home?”

You hesitate—only for a second.

Then you nod.

And just like that, everything is right again.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

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[slightly-knot-insane]

Gentleman's Cage (part 1)

Monstertober 2024 - day 29 [ Caged Beast ] by @/ozzgin

[ m!werewolf x fem!reader ]

a/n: some regency smut, my first one so please be gentle! i was greatly inspired by @regency-monster-love and they were so kind to help me out too! thank you, dear! content: slightly nsfw

He can’t calm down. He knows you will be there, and he is getting very impatient to see you. Especially since you told him you find his courting very pleasing. It took him a while to reveal that he is a werewolf. But instead of running away screaming, you smiled and touched his hand. You even looked excited.

Just reminiscing about those few minutes put a smile on his face, his sharp canines showing underneath his lips. But thinking about you too much is also dangerous. His body - his lower body, to be more precise - reacts to the mere idea of you as if you're right next to him. Naked.

He groans, feeling his erection pushing against the fabric of his finest trousers. Being born with werewolf blood is both a blessing and a curse. He is aware that people will notice; anyone with eyes will notice the hardness alongside his inner thigh. That's why he hopes his little metal tool will help him. Or else, the scandal will follow him wherever he goes.

***

The fancy gathering is as lovely as he expects. People dance, eat and drink, and converse on various topics that barely interest him. He is looking for you with every sense he has - but they find nothing. He wants to ask someone, but even a mere question would raise suspicion. He doesn’t want anyone to know, not yet, that he fancies you rather intensely.

But he shouldn't think about you too much! He shifts his legs a little bit to position the metal contraption between his legs in a more comfortable way. Cock cage, they called it. Even while flaccid, it was hard to push his manhood inside. But he managed to lock his desire in - physically, at least. Mentally - not so much.

Finally, he catches a whiff of your sweat. You aren’t just fashionably late, you are very late so you were probably rushing down the path and up the stairs. Perhaps you were frustrated and nervous about some mishap, furiously fanning yourself in your carriage. And perhaps - only perhaps - you were thinking of him. Thinking about his eyes and teeth and tall frame. Perhaps you held your knuckle between your lush lips while the fingers of your other hand secretly wandered underneath your skirt and—

The painful jolt underneath his belt wakes him up from his daydreaming. Stop it, you fool! He curses internally and immediately turns toward the window, pretending to observe the night sky. He forces himself to think about what to eat for breakfast and what letters need answering, and then - just as his erection is starting to deflate - he hears your voice:

"Hello, Mr. Werewolf! Lovely evening, isn't it?"

And there is another strong pulse between his legs. While he would love to jump through the window and run, it would be improper and rude not to greet you. With a disturbing mental image of his grandfather bathing in his mind to cool him down, he turns to greet you: "Indeed, and you are..."

But he trails off. You've never looked as beautiful, so elegant. The cut on your dress is so deep he can enjoy your every curve and birthmark. He hopes he will be able to memorize all of them, like constellations. And your skin is so flushed and glowy he can barely stop himself from touching your cheeks, shoulders, or... He swallows hard.

You notice his terrified expression and can't help but giggle a bit. He, on the other hand, is not entertained even the slightest. "I apologize, my lady, I must... get a breath of fresh air!" And he hastily leaves you.

You hide your smile behind your fan and follow his trail carefully.

***

He has to do something! The cage... It's too tight! As he hides inside the hedge maze, he runs to the fountain that was standing just around the corner, hoping that the rush of water will hide his torture. He unbuttons his trousers and is not surprised to see his manhood swollen and pulsating between the metal sheets. The pain is mixed with a strange dose of pleasure edged with anticipation. Even though some other time he might've enjoyed exploring this sensation, now is definitely not a good moment. He needs to get rid of this self-imposed prison before he hurts himself more, but... he left the key... at home.

An exasperated sigh is all he can do right now. And thinking about dead puppies to somehow reduce the painful swelling. 

Just as his mental torture is starting to work, he smells something. Something sweet, potent, and familiar. So familiar. His erection re-emerges. Desperately, he turns around, attempting to hide his shame, and pushes himself (and the cage) into the hedges. He must look absolutely ridiculous.

"Oh my, you're here. Are you well?"

It is you. You followed him here. He takes a deep breath and smiles over his shoulder. "Y-yes, perfectly fine. I just needed some fresh air."

You approach his long tail, admiring his broad back and inhuman muscles. He is very tense - and you think you know why. "I'm sure the air will smell a lot fresher outside those hedges."

The tension struck his spine like lightning - he stands upright, not breathing. He knows he can't keep hiding. Hoping - praying - his shame is not so obvious.

He turns toward you, with a stiff and awkward smile, holding one of his huge hands over his crotch, trying to look relaxed. "Indeed... It's a lot f-fresher."

You can't actually look down since your curiosity would be too obvious then. Luckily, he is towering over you so his abdomen is leveled with your face, and it takes only a deep curtsy to see what you have been curious about since the day you met him. Only to not see what you expected. But you're sure his hand is hiding something scandalous? And delicious.

"Did your claws grow?" you ask him innocently.

The naïve werewolf lifts his hands to check them, uncovering his crotch. There is definitely an interesting and twitching bulge there.

"I don't think so. Are you... worried?" His yellow eyes grow in worry. "I would never lay a finger on you!"

You hum as if you are terribly bored. "Oh. That's a shame."

The beast in front of you looks entirely confused, the poor thing. "Shame?"

You approach him slowly, like you're dancing, and his eyes don't leave your figure. "I would love a bit more than a finger on me. Perhaps an entire hand." You cup his heavy, hairy hand. You feel exceptionally bold - there won't be many opportunities like this in your future. Only a boring life awaits you - if you allow that. "All over me, in fact."

[arbitrarykiwi]

Etched in Ink

Nam-gyu x TattooArtist!Pierced!Fem! Reader Smut Fic

Summary: when Nam-gyu decides it’s time for a tattoo, he asks his best friend, Thanos, where he goes. Thanos raves about his tattoo artist and urges Nam-gyu to schedule an appointment with you. Nam-gyu could not prepare himself for the fact this highly praised tattoo artist is so fucking hot.

Warnings: smut (18+) , reader is described as being tattooed , reader has piercings (tongue, nipple, clit) , oral (f receiving) , p in v sex , creampie , name calling (i think whore like once) , dirty talk , read at your own risk

When Thanos told him that he knows a “fucking crazy good” tattoo artist, he was intrigued.

Nam-gyu had his fair share of ink, multiple pieces littering his skin in intricate vibrant lines. But, he got all the ones he had from some shady underground parlor or even someone’s basement. With the new desire to have the tattoo needle against his skin again, this time with an idea for something much larger than what he gotten before- he decided it was time to find someone a bit more reputable.

So he asked Thanos- the purple hair rapper having a large tattoo of his name down his back, the lines are crisp, the black ink rich and even- simple as the design was, Nam-gyu couldn’t lie, the attention to detail and the skill of the artist was apparent.

Thanos was quick to boast about his tattoo and the artist he got it from, telling Nam-gyu he just had to take him to the place he goes to, to see the specific artist he went to. And hell, with how serious Thanos seemed about his holy grail of a tattoo artist- he agreed.

So he made an appointment on your website. It was easy enough, you had quick availability. So he set a date, paid the deposit and waited (not so) patiently for the tattoo day to arrive. It was late appointment, 8pm. Which was something Nam-gyu appreciated, as an insomniac he preferred to do stuff during the night- and a late night tattoo session sounded like just what he needed.

Thanos had brought him, claiming he just wanted to see you anyway, despite not getting a tattoo himself. Sure, Nam-gyu thought that was odd, he didn’t see why Thanos would want to go out of his way to see a tattoo artist for no reason, but he thought it had to be you were just a chill dude.

But when he walked into the shop with Thanos, and you came up to greet them. He was floored.

You were obviously a female…very obviously. You wore a black tank top, hemmed with lace. It’s tight fitting and low cut, he can’t help but stare at your cleavage and the chest tattoos that litter your skin. He thinks they accentuate one another in the most perfect way.

Your hair was pulled back and you were drying off your hands. He could see tattoos along your arms and hands, spaced out and each eye catching in their own right. He assumed your legs must be the same even though he couldn’t see them due to your pants.

“Hey! You must be Nam-gyu.” You say with a smile. Thanos looks over to Nam-gyu, eyes saying everything. ‘See this is what I was talking about’

Not only were you a good tattoo artist, you were so fucking hot. Nam-gyu gathers himself, nodding his head slowly, “Y-yeah.” He says clearing his throat, a pathetic attempt to hide his surprise and dry mouth.

“Perfect! I’m actually so excited, I really like the ideas you sent me.” You say waving the both of them over to your station. He finds it endearing the way you talk so excitedly about his tattoo. He sent you various pictures of what he wanted, a sharp, detailed, abstract line style tattoo that was planned to start on his arm, go up his shoulder and to his chest.

Your voice and kind tone is such a drastic contrast from your physical appearance- a vixen. You were dangerous. Such a kind sweet face and voice with a body that was straight sin.

He starts to think that Thanos set him up. He knew you were this hot, and knew Nam-gyu wanted a chest piece, now he has to deal with you touching on his chest. Fucking great. He’s bringing his hand up to his mouth, silently laughing in a sardonic manner to himself. He was so fucked.

You’re so short compared to him, looking up at him as you talk, gesturing to the tattoo chair for him to sit down. He follows your orders. You sit down across from him on a circular stool, grabbing your iPad to show him the design you came up with.

“You need me to get you a seat, Thanos?” You call over your shoulder, not even looking up from your tablet. Nam-gyu looks over to Thanos who is not so subtly checking you out. It was like Thanos was undressing you with his eyes. Nam-gyu couldn’t blame him.

“Nah I’m good cutie, just came to drop him off.” Thanos says, you laugh and stick your tongue out playfully. Nam-gyu thinks all the blood he was fighting not to rush to his cock was a fight he was not going to win. On your pink tongue was a silver ball- you had a tongue ring. Jesus Christ, you were going to kill him before you even got the stencil on.

“Alright then get going, don’t need you just standing there. He’s a big boy, got some tattoos before. He’ll be fine. I’m not gonna bite.” You say turning back to Nam-gyu and winking. He sucks in a deep breath and nervously chuckles, shifting in the seat to hopefully conceal the growing erection in his pants.

“Mhm…” Thanos says, finally pulling his eyes away from the view of your back and the red lace thing that was peeking out from your jeans. “Don’t fuck him up too bad, he’s still gotta pay his rent tomorrow.” Thanos says with a teasing grin, looking to Nam-Gyu with a devious grin. He definitely knew what he was doing bringing Nam-Gyu here.

“I won’t mess him up…too bad…” You tease as you begin to put on your gloves. Nam-gyu inwardly groans, even your gloves are pink. You’re like a cute princess in the body of a succubus…he was not going to make it through this session. He’s looking up to the ceiling, saying a silent prayer to himself to try and calm down the erection that’s threatening to become obvious. “I’ll take real good care of him.”

Nam-gyu kisses his teeth, sucking in a shuddering breath he’s thankful you don’t hear. His mind is spinning, he swears he heard a purr in your words, like you’re insinuating the same idea that he’s trying to wipe from his mind. He can stop thinking about how you’d look with his cock shoved in your mouth or how you’d look as he fills you to the brim- sinking his cock deep into your pussy. He bets you have the prettiest moans.

He hates his mind- he really does. He never claimed to be a good person but he normally wasn’t this debauched. You’re just a tattoo artist trying to make a living, having friendly banter with clients and here he was thinking about fucking you stupid….yeah great person he was. He thinks that he completely imagined the purr in your voice, he’s just too horny and imagined it.

But when he looks back to Thanos, and sees his expression. Nam-Gyu realizes he didn’t make it up. You did have a distinct tone to your words that even Thanos caught on to. Thanos has an eyebrow raised, like he’s picked up on your words insinuation. His grin widens and he’s winking at Nam-Gyu. “Well then, I’ll take your word for it..” Thanos says in a teasing sing-song voice as he’s crossing the floor and leaving the tattoo shop. “Have fun you two!” The purple haired rapper calls out, like a father seeing off his son and date to prom.

Nam-gyu hears the bell on the shop door ring as it’s opened and closed. Now you two are truly alone. His body feels oh so hot, his pants are uncomfortable and his eyes have not left the ceiling since Thanos walked out. He fears that if he looks at you he might just cum in his pants. He is praising and cursing Thanos simultaneously. Why did Thanos wait so long to show him the work of art personified that was you?! Why did Thanos set him up deliberately?! He couldn’t decide which pissed him off more, the fact Thanos was harboring you like a secret for years or the fact that Thanos deliberately kept you a secret to get Nam-Gyu flustered when all he wanted was a tattoo.

“You want this on your chest and upper arm right?” You say, it brings him out of his trance but he doesn’t look at you. “Mhm.” He says simply, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. His eyes nearly roll back into his skull when you giggle and scoot your chair closer to the seat he was laid back on. “You’re gonna need to take this off.” Your fingers pinch his shirt and pull it up teasingly.

Nam-gyu thinks he’s being tested. All the shitty things he’s done in life have led up to this and now he’s put on trial. Forced to act normal when he can’t get over how incredibly sexy you were. It was a real tragedy. He sits up at bit, pulling his shit over his head and balling it up in his lap.

You couldn’t help yourself as your eyes wander over his bare torso. He was fit, not too muscular, not too thin. He was sculpted like some Greek god. You swallow thickly, trying to remain professional as you grab the tattoo stencil.

You scoot your chair close to the bench he’s laid back on. “Just gotta prep the area.” You smile sweetly, leaning over him. He nods, not able to form words as your gloved hands touch his bare chest. You do the prep work, shaving the area and wiping it down. You don’t miss the way his chest shutters with each breath he takes. Anytime your hands come into contact with his chest you can feel how his heartbeat is practically jumping out of his chest.

When you put the stencil down and run your hand along the expanse of his shoulder and chest he is praying you didn’t realize how his eyes rolled into the back of his head. You definitely did, but you didn’t say anything about it.

“Let me know how that looks.” You chirp, bringing him out of the trance you had put him in. He clears his throat and nods, sitting up and hopping off the bench to the walk over to the mirror in your studio. He admires the stencil, it’s an intricate abstract design that spans across his shoulder to his chest. It’s kickass, not only were you built like straight sin, you were a great artist. He sent you many images for inspiration but somehow the design you came up with is even better than any image online he could find.

“Looks good.” He manages to get out, catching your eyes in the mirror. You roll your eyes and raise an eyebrow playfully. “C’mon if there’s anything you wanna change I can fix it. Is the design what you wanted? The placement alright?” You say, he thinks it’s cute how serious you get about your work- wanting to make sure he really likes the ink you’re about to place into his skin. He laughs, as hard and as flustered as you make him; you were so easy to talk to. You had an air of confidence around you that just drew him to you. You were funny, your voice was so sweet, and you were dedicated as a tattooer. Would it be too forward to say fuck the tattoo and just take you on a date now??

He looks at the tattoo again, really looks at it, and he still doesn’t see anything that needs to be changed. “It looks so fucking good. You really did great with the design.” He says genuinely, admiring the blue ink of the stencil that litters his chest. His eyes look back to catch your face in the mirror again, your smile is wide, proud and you’re dancing excitedly in your chair. “Perfect! Sit back down n’ we can get started!” You say oh so happily, it’s such an endearing tone Nam-Gyu thinks he’s going insane. He’s never wanted someone as much as he wanted you.

He follows your orders and settles back down into the seat, it’s slightly leaned back allowing him to sit comfortably and you to have all the room you need to tattoo. He can’t help but to stare shamelessly as you work with the materials in your small corner of the studio, grabbing the ink and needles. You work so effortlessly, he knows you’ve probably done this hundreds of times but you’re so in the zone he feels like he’s watching a movie about a hot tattoo artist. And it’s all a private viewing just for him to see.

You scoot the chair back up next to where he’s sat, tattoo gun in your hand. “Ready?” You ask and he nods, “mhm.” He can’t bring himself to say much else, he’s trying to think about how he’s going to make it through the next couple hours as you’re oh so close to him and touching on his chest. “Yay! Let me know if you need a break or anything.” You say excitedly, he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face at your cute display of excitement.

When he feels the first sing of the needle in his skin he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It’s a pain that he’s come to love, a way of feeling something when he’s not on drugs. The drawn out bite of the needle for hours on end almost lulls him to sleep most the times he’s gotten tattooed. Each tattoo he gets he thinks adds something to him that he can’t quite place. He would love nothing more than to be sung to sleep by the hum of the tattoo gun and the sting of the needle, but he can’t even focus on that when he feels your hands gliding across his skin so slowly and meticulously.

He adjusts his arms slightly, letting his palms fall into his lap and cup over the bulge that he knows is beginning to form in his pants. Part of him feels guilty, you’re just trying to do your job and here he is acting like a dog in heat. He can’t help it, you are so fucking sexy. It’s not even the ‘sexy’ that he would attribute to pornstars, no not at all. You’re a salacious deity, effortlessly attractive in every minuscule thing you do, a lustrous vixen that’s built out of straight sin. To top it all off, he thinks you don’t even realize it. You exude an innocence that contradicts your seductive appearance. Fuck, you were perfect.

Throughout the tattoo Nam-Gyu thinks he falls harder. You ask him about himself, maybe you were just being cordial and trying to pass the time but with each answer he gives you follow it up with an happy answer and a follow up question. You inquire about his job and when you find out he’s a club promoter you ask where. When you find out he works at Club Pentagon you gasp, “No way! That’s dope as hell! Thanos actually was telling me all about that club, raving about it. So me and my friends went the other week.” You stop tattooing a second to turn back to the tray you had and pick up more ink, “I can’t believe I didn’t see you!” You finish, turning back to him with the cutest pout he’s ever seen.

“When did you go?” He inquires, a smile on his face as he sees your pout turn into a grin. “It was a Thursday, I know, not the best day to go to the club.” You say, already defending yourself playfully. “Well ya’ gotta come on the weekends, hell even Monday’s. ‘S when I work.” Nam-gyu says, it takes so much to work himself up to say it- would it be too forward? Would you think he was weird?

“Well now I’ll only ever go on weekends and Mondays if it means I get to see you.” You muse, immediately going back to tattooing, he can hardly register your words. You were flirting, right?? “Yeah? I can put you on the list, get you VIP.” He hums, eyes trained in the ceiling, trying to slow his heartbeat down because he knows you can feel it. “Oh really?? Would it get us a private room, too?”

You were definitely flirting.

He draws in a sharp breath, one of many since he’s met you, hoping it comes off as just him breathing through a tough spot in the tattoo. “Y-yeah I can arrange that.” He looks down for once, looking at you as you tattoo. You were so focused, your nose scrunching every so often, your tongue poking out in concentration giving him a nice view of the silver tongue ring you had on your pretty pink tongue. God, his cock was so hard.

He tries to think of anything else to get his mind off the lewd things he was thinking. He wasn’t a saint by any means, he would even call himself sleazy. But you weren’t like the other women he’s gotten with, you are so professional and dedicated to your work- probably just flirting to get an extra tip, being friendly- and here he was thinking about bending you over and fucking you dumb.

He has no idea you’re thinking the same thoughts. How could you not?! He was oh so attractive and your hands are moving along his toned pecks. You can see the other tattoos that stain his skin, only adding to his appeal. You also weren’t oblivious- you could see the way his hands are clasped over his crotch, trying to hide the erection that’s definitely in his pants.

As you work you’re squeezing your thighs together, trying to get all the sinful images you have playing in your mind to stop so you can do what you need to- tattoo him. But there’s something about the way that, now, your art is on him. The design that you made is permanently etched into his skin like a brand. The thought makes you dizzy.

It’s a large tattoo, so it takes a long while, the whole time the tension keeps thickening between you two. The more you work, the further into his chest it is, the further you have to lean over him. You’re practically on top of him, thumb damn near brushing over his nipple as you work on a particular line. He can feel your breath fanning his skin as you lean even closer to make sure your work is perfect. He can smell your perfume and shampoo, every sense he has is overwhelmed by you.

The hours pass and you two talk and talk, learning little things about each other, laughing at jokes that fly between sentences. It’s like you have known each other forever. He learns that you’ve been tattooing for years, starting in the underground tattooing world- even apprenticing under one of the guys who did his old tattoos. Small world!

Finally, he hears your voice chirp excitedly, “And you’re all done!” You’re pulling away and setting your tattoo gun down. You come back with a cool wet paper towel, wiping the excess ink off his chest. He doesn’t miss the way your hand moves extra slow, like it’s lingering against him. “Stand up n check it out!” You say, he is obsessed with the way your hands nearly shake with how ecstatic you seem to be, wanting him to see the work you did. “Alright, alright!” He chuckles, slowly sitting up, “Gotta give me a second, I’ve been sitting in the same position for hours.” He says, getting up and making a show of groaning as he gets up.

“Awh! So now you’re complainin’?” You tease, “you sat so well the whole time, were being sooo good f’me and now you’re complaining.”

He doesn’t miss the way you have a slight purr to your voice or the way your eyes linger on his bare back from the mirror. Did you just want him to bend you over and fuck you stupid in the studio?! (The answer was absolutely).

He laughs off the way that simple sentence makes him flustered and he shakes his head, “Not complain’, sweetheart. Just being honest.” He says, throwing his own little bit of flirting in the ring. The pet name makes your throat go dry, it rolls off his tongue so smoothly that it seems like he thinks nothing of it. You wave him off and turn around to take your gloves off, hiding your bashful expression. When you gather yourself you stand up and meet him at the mirror.

“Sooo what do ya think?!” You say in a sing song voice as you rock on your heels. He admires your work in the mirror- your work was fucking incredible. The lines were crisp, the black was opaque, and the subtle shading you added around the expanse of the tattoo made it so much better. “Holy fuck this is so awesome…” he laughs out in disbelief, all attempt at sounding suave and flirty out the window as he sees it finished for the first time. He’s eve leaning closer to the mirror to look at it in awe.

Your smile widens exponentially when you see how happy he was with your work, you’re even clapping softly. “Yay! I’m so glad you like it, it was genuinely so fun to do.” You say, catching his eyes in the mirror from where you stand behind him. “It looks really good with your other tattoos too!” You point out. He nods in agreement and turns back to you. “I guess I gotta just keep coming here…I don’t think anyone could compare to your work.”

You can’t help the blush that rises to your face, the praise from him boosting your confidence. You make a show of doing courtesy, giggling as you do it. “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.”

He laughs turning back around to face you fully, you’re a couple feet apart. He’s so much taller than you, you nearly have to crane your neck upwards to look at him. You two stand there with goofy smiles on your faces, each standing idle in the thick cloud of sexual tension that hangs around the two of you.

“Do you want to go on a date?”

“Can I have your number?”

You both speak at the same time, words fumbling from lips in a hasty nervous attempt at trying to meet up again- to do anything to ease the ache that is in both of your lower stomachs. Your laughter echos Nam-gyu’s as the overlapping sentences break the silence. You’re both nodding in response to the others question.

“Yeah, we can go on a date.” He says as he smiles down at you, your eyes cant stop drifting down to stare at his bare chest. “Then…yes you can have my number.” You answer, still giggling. You catch his eyes falling to your chest, eyes tracing over your tattoos and then settling on your cleavage.

You take a slow step towards him, he follows, his hand reaching out to hook a finger around one loops of your jeans and pulls you all the way into him. Your hands find purchase on his chest, careful not to touch the raw skin where you just tattooed. With how he pulled you into him, you can feel his erection press into your lower stomach. “You were hard the entire tattoo, huh?” You ask bluntly, smirking up at him.

Nam-gyu falters a bit, covering it up with a laugh, “A pretty girl like you touching on my chest for hours…c-can’t really help it.” He says a bit bashfully. You bite your lip, finger tracing shapes on his stomach, watching as he tenses up under your touch. “We could do something to help that…” you mutter, your voice low as you bat your eyelashes up at him.

He can’t take it anymore, he brings his hands up to hold either side of your neck and jaw, leaning down to connect his lips with yours. It’s raw and primal. Hours of built up sexual tension pouring out as your lips move together. You giggle a bit when you hear him let out a soft whine into the kiss when he feels your pierced tongue run along his bottom lip. He regains his composure and greedily sucks your tongue into his mouth. It’s hypnotizing truly, your kind going blank as your mouth is filled with the taste of him.

Nam-gyu pulls away, connected to you my a string of spit. You’re panting, trying to catch your breath. It’s not easy when he’s tilting your head up and running his nose down your neck, inhaling the scent of the perfume that has been overwhelming him this whole time. Your hands reach to his hair, pulling the long black locks as you sigh out blissfully. He leaves open mouthed kisses along your skin, teeth biting into your skin every so often. “Had me so fucking hard the entire time…” he mumbles against your skin, pulling back to lock eyes with you once more.

You bite your lip, fingers tightening their grip in his hair and tugging. A low rumble, resembling a growl escapes his lips as he grinds his painfully hard cock against your lower stomach, like he’s trying to further prove his words. “Bet you were thinkin’ of all the dirty things you wanted to do to me, huh?” You tease, tilting your head mockingly. He huffs, obviously not too enthralled by your mocking, he can’t deny the way it makes his dick jump in his boxers, though.

He pulls you back into him, lips crashing on yours. This time it’s much more frantic, it’s fast paced and full of spit and teeth. It’s messy, filthy even. As his lips wor against yours, his hands are dripping from your jaw to your hips. He’s wasting no time, his hands moving to hastily unbutton your jeans and pull down the zipper. You’re helplessly whining into his mouth, greedily sucking his tongue into your mouth as he’s guiding you backwards.

Your back hits the leather fabric of the seat you were just tattooing him in. His fingers grip at the loops of your pants pulling them down your thighs. He’s groaning into your mouth when he feels his fingers brush against the soft expanse of your thighs. He has to be dreaming.

His large hands work your jeans down to your knees. He’s pulling back from the kiss, spit still connecting your lips together. He grabs at your hips, mumbling a breathless “jump” before he’s helping you up to sit on the chair.

When you’re sat all pretty up on your bench he’s slotting himself between your legs and reconnecting his lips with yours with a desperation that makes your mind spin. He kisses you like you’re a hit of the strongest, rarest drug he’s tried. One taste and he’s addicted to you.

He clumsily pulls your jeans off your legs entirely. Fumbling even more to pull them over your shoes. You’re giggling into the kiss at his eagerness, his hands throwing your jeans to the floor of the studio and reattaching themselves to your bare thighs, grasping at the doughy flesh and moaning into your mouth as he does.

“G-god fuck-“ Nam-Gyu begins to mumble against your lips, “so. Fuckin’. pretty.” He hisses out between kisses. He thinks he’s the luckiest man in the world, there’s no fucking way he’s got you writhing against him, biting on his lips like some fucking she-devil. Your hips roll against his torso, ass grinding against the leather seat under you.

In a breathless motion, he’s pulling away and dipping his head to your neck, placing open mouthed kisses along your pulse point. There’s no true technique to it, it’s like he’s trying to just taste you. And he is. Maybe you’re wearing some pheromone perfume or something, he doesn’t know, but every time he runs his tongue along your skin, your taste flooding his taste buds, his cock is twitching in his pants- wet spot most certainly forming in his underwear.

He pulls away for a moment to simply admire you, trying to imprint the image of you into his mind just in case this is the only time he gets a chance like this. Your thighs are splayed out so nicely, the plush skin widening with how you’re sat. The slit of your sweet cunt practically hidden by your thighs, giving him the most delicious preview of what’s to come. And what is that…no fucking way….oh he’s already planning his next tattoo appointment just to make sure he sees you.

Nipple rings.

He could see the hardened outline of your nipples and the bars that went through them. Jesus Christ, you were going to actually send him to an early grave. He’s back on you, mouth back on your neck and hands coming to cup your tits over your shirt, thumbs brushing against the fabric of your shirt, massaging your nipples with feather light touches that have you jumping in his hold. Your arms find purchase on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck and gripping at the hair at the back of his neck, pulling his head further into you.

“N-nam-gyu…” his name falls from your lips in a nearly silent whine when his teeth dig a little too hard into your skin, the sharp bite of his teeth sending a wave of pleasure throughout your body. He pulls away from your neck, trailing his tongue down to the sweep of your breasts, “say it again.” He mumbles tersely against your skin, lips tickling you. “Say my name like that again.” His thumb and pointer finger pinching the hard peaks and pulling the slightest bit, the black fabric of your tank top stretching with the pull.

“F-fuck! Nam-gyu, p-please.” You’re ashamed you’re already pleading with him, but the throbbing in your cunt has become almost unbearable at this point. You can feel the grin that twists against his lips as he releases your skin from his mouth. He pulls back to admire his work, his thumb moving up from your nipple to brush over the red and purple marks that begin to blossom across the top of your breasts.

“Mhm…that’s it…” he hums, nodding his head slowly, his eyes never leaving your chest, the image of your skin littered with marks made by him had his cock throbbing. So fucking pretty, he thinks. His eyes flicker up to your face, taking in your flushed cheeks, your kiss swollen lips, the way your skin is stained with the imprints of his teeth and red splotches that span over the tattoos that are inked into your flesh. It’s like some macabre renaissance painting.

He can’t wait any longer. He’s dropping to his knees and pulling you by the hips towards the edge of the chair. Your skin squeaks against the leather and you squeak out, almost afraid you’ll fall. Your hands grip the edge of the seat, your eyes are wide as you look down at him. “‘M not gonna let you fall, I got’cha princess.” He breathes out as he throws your legs over his shoulders, spreading you open finally.

You watch as he stares at your cunt, his pupils as big as saucers as he takes in your pussy. “O-oh my fucking god…” he laughs out in disbelief, not only do you have the prettiest cunt he thinks he’s ever seen, the hood of your clit is pierced. He’s spreading your lips apart to get a better look, thumbs massaging the sides of your pussy as he takes in the perfect sight before him. He looks back up to you, his face nearly as red as yours, “where the fuck have you been all this time.” He’s chuckling and looking back down to your dripping pussy.

He rests his head on your thigh, his thumb starting to trace feather light circles on your clit, thumb running over the little piercing. You jump into his touch, breath catching in your throat. “B-been here the whole time..” you whine out, hips trying to shift to meet his mouth but he’s too far away, “…t-tattooing T-thanos- ahh!” Your words are abruptly cut off by Nam-gyu delving into your pussy.

He doesn’t start slow or work you up, no, he did it to shut you up. His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks, hard, tongue rolling over your throbbing clit in figure eights. You cry out, hand flying to his hair and fisting it into your hands. It’s so much at once, but it’s so good.

“Don’t fuckin’ say his name when I got my face near your cunt..” he growls, lips dancing along your puffy folds as he speaks. He licks a flat stripe up the entirety of your pussy, drenching his tastebuds in your saccharine taste. “Only wanna hear my name.” His words are once again punctuated by his tongue flicking deviously against the silver jewelry adorning your clit. Your hips are pathetically rutting down onto his mouth, urging him to give you more.

But he’s fired up now. Years of being Thanos’ shadow, having to watch as the purple haired rapper got all the girls and left him for nothing. This was his time. His chance. He was the one getting to fuck you, not Thanos. “I’m the one who got you spread out like a whore in your lil’ tattoo studio, right?” Nam-Gyu hisses out, eyes catching yours as he waits for you to answer. You’re sucking in a shaky breath, hand tightening its grip in his hair, nodding.

His change in tone makes your cunt flutter around nothing. “Mhm…y-yeah, jus’ you.” You slur out, hips rolling to try and meet his mouth, every time he backs away so he’d be just out of reach. The corners of his lips curl up when he hears how your voice is higher, words wavering and breath heaving. He’s the one doing this to you. It feels surreal to him. He accepts your answer it seems because he’s diving back in.

His tongue is working messily along your folds. Mapping out every crevice and corner, his dark eyes never leaving your face. Nam-Gyu is watching intently, taking in every reaction you give him. Every twitch of your brow, every time you bite your lip, the way your chest heaves and stomach clenches, he’s spinning. He’s on his knees devouring your cunt, worshipping you like a goddess. He’s not shy about his noises, he’s slurping and lapping up every drop of arousal that pours out your clenching pussy.

“Taste shoo fuckin’ good.” Nam-gyu’s words are slurred by your puffy folds, tongue mapping out every inch of your throbbing pussy. He makes a whole show of dropping his jaw wide open so you can see the slick that drops down his pink tongue and coats his face. He’s so messy, paying no mind to how wet his face has become, how your thighs are painted in your own arousal. Your chest is heaving, your nails are hitting into the leather on the edge of the tattoo seat.

“So fuckin’ pretty too, y’know that?” He hums, his dark eyes trained on your cunt as he pulls back just slightly to take in the beautiful sight before him, “such a pretty fuckin’ cunt.” When he finishes his sentence you have no time to utter a response because he’s diving nose deep into your cunt, tongue circling your sopping entrance as the bridge of his nose rubs so deliciously against your clit.

“N-nam-gyu!” His name falling from your lips is a sound that makes his ears ring and his head fill with static. It’s such a high pitched creaky, pleading whine that’s so different from your voice it shocks him in the best way. One of his hands removes itself from your hip to fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans. His cock is so painfully hard he had to free it from his boxers. When his hefty cock springs free as he pulls his jeans and underwear down just enough, he’s growling into your pussy.

His tongue flattens and he licks a fat drag up the entirety of your cunt, slurping down your thick arousal greedily. “‘M I making you feel good?” He murmurs, eyes watching your every reaction even though your head is tipped back in ecstasy. You nod frantically, eyes screwed shut as he licks up and down, up and down in slow, deliberate drags. “Tell me. Wanna hear it.”

When you open your mouth to speak moans cascade from your lips, it takes a moment for you to even think straight enough to form a coherent thought. One of your hands flies to his hair, pulling the strands back out of his face and fisting the soft strands into your fists. Your head falls back forward, a weak gasp catching in your throat when you immediately catch his eyes, “Mhm, s-so fucking g-good. T-tongue feels so good!”

You can feel the way his lips widen into a smile, satisfied with your words. He nods a bit, his head shaking in your pussy, he’s practically glued. The taste of your cunt is something that not even the best high could compare to. His hands run up your hips and torso, grabbing at the top of your tank top and pulling it down. Your breasts spill out of the fabric giving him the angelic view of your bare tits. Tattoos line your chest, almost like arrows that guide his eyes directly to your pert nipples accessorized so prettily with barbells that have little hearts on either side- framing your nipples so perfectly.

His eyes are fluttering and rolling back at the sight, moaning into the depths of your cunt as he slurps up every possible ounce of your arousal. He can’t help it, he has to remove one of his hands off of your body to reach down to jerk his cock. You writhe and choke out a moan at the sight, his wrist twists around his thick length, smearing the pre-cum that bubbles out of his red tip, smearing it along his throbbing cock. Your hips grind down even harder into his face, his nose grinding so perfectly against your clit as his tongue licks greedily at your insides.

Babbles of his name are lost between wanton moans and pleas for him to continue. Every time he pulls his mouth back the slightest bit you get the most perfect view of his face, absolutely drenched in a milky-white sheen of you. It drips down his adam’s apple tantalizingly, wetting his neck- and he doesn’t care, if he does it only makes him more excited because he’s diving right back in, nose deep to fuck his tongue back into your twitching cunt.

“Ohmygod!” The babbled cry is ripped from your lungs, your hand gripping at his hair harder- nails biting into his scalp. His tongue pulls out of your entrance to lick a fat stripe back up to the hood of your clit, dancing around that pretty little piercing you have, “I’m- fuck! ‘M gonna cum!” You sob out, eyebrows upturning.

As much as Nam-Gyu wants to taste your cum pour down his throat- that would have to wait. He’s so painfully hard, he wants, no, needs to feel you cum on his cock. He’s pulling away, nearly cumming when he hears your whine, so desperate and needy, begging to cum. He stands back up, leaning forward and gripping your face, capturing you in a kiss.

It’s so messy. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue. The wetness that was left along his face is smeared across your skin. You’re moaning into his mouth at your own taste, your hands reaching to wrap around each of his wrists as you lean further into him. His taste, although mixed with yours, was something you know you’d forever be addicted to now.

Nam-gyu pulls away breathless, “‘m sorry pretty, I really need to feel you cum on my cock.” He apologizes against your lips, “I’ll make you cum, I promise…” as he speaks, one of his hands snakes down to tap at your clit. He laughs against your pillowy lips when your whole body jolts with each wet tap of his finger pad against your clit.

You nod, hips rolling against his hand, “P-please… Nam-Gyu I-I need to cum. ” You pant out. And how could Nam-Gyu say no to you. He grabs at your hips and pulls you off the bench. Your knees are weak nearly giving out but his grip on you keeps you up right. He’s spinning you around and pushing at your lower back- bending you over the tattoo bench you were just sat on. You whine when you feel your own wetness as you’re laid over the leather, now dirtying your stomach.

Nam-gyu’s hands run up and down your back, pushing up your tank top so he can see the tattoos that are inked on your back. His thick cock is slotted between the valley of your ass, rocking back and forth. You’re shivering, hips shaking left and right to try and urge him to put it in. “Be patient…” he hums, “lemme admire you.”

His hands dance along your skin, taking in all of you, feeling you under his palms. When his hands land on your waist he lets out a low growl. His hands are so large, engulfing your waist. It’s such a sinful sight, if he had an image of it he’d put it as the lockscreen of his phone. He wants to tease you more, draw this out longer, but the throbbing in his cock is painful at this point. He has to be inside you.

Nam-gyu shifts backwards, gripping the base of his dick and swiping it up and down your sopping cunt. Moans echo through the studio as you feel his fat cock head drag through your folds, catching your clit with each slow drag. When he feels the softness of your pussy along his tip he is also moaning, the hand still on you grabbing tighter at the fat of your hips.

When he’s coated his cock in your arousal he lines up with your entrance. When he makes the first push into your tight heat, both of you are letting out blissful sighs. He’s hardly in and you just know he’s going to fill you so well. Ever so slowly, he pushes in deeper. When his fat cock head is fully inside you, your cunt lets out a sickening wet ‘pop’. The high pitched, creaky moan of his name that you let out makes something particularly superior bloom deep inside him.

“Oh fuuckk…” it’s a long drawn out growl, his hands gripping the globes of your ass, the grip only tightening the further he sinks into your tight cunt. It’s so slow it’s nearly killing you, inch after agonizing inch his cock is stretching your pussy impossibly wide over his thick girth. You can feel the engorged, throbbing veins run along your walls, only serving to make the whole thing feel so much better. “P-please put it in! A-all the way.” You cry out, looking back over your shoulder at him. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth and his eyebrows are knitted together as he traces every tattoo that litters your back to memorize them. Especially that little tramp stamp you had…that was real cute.

“E-easy…” he hisses out, “You’re so t-tight, sweets. Ya gotta relax if ya want me to go faster.”

His hand reaches around to splay itself across your pubic bone, his deft fingers running along the edges of your cunt where you’re split on his dick to collect your arousal. Traveling back upwards, his fingers meet your clit to rub slow circles into the throbbing bud. You must have loosened up because he’s groaning and sinking in deeper, “Fuucckk yeah, there we go, stretching so pretty around me.”

His words have you moaning, your head falling forward, forehead resting on the leather of the chair. With one final push he’s sinking balls deep inside you. A whine is ripped from your lips, your back arches pushing your hips even further back against him. He’s keeling over you, hunching over and letting out a shuddering breath when he feels the whole length of his cock wrapped in the gooey warmth that was your cunt.

You’re already gushing around him, the force of his cock stretching you out forced a cascade of your arousal down his balls. “Fucking h-hell, so tight. Can feel you clenchin��� around me.” Nam-gyu huffs, his fingers still working on your clit, making your hips roll against him, trying to get him to move. He can’t move right now though, he just knows the second he moves he is going to blow his load deep in your cunt. He tilts his head up and a smirk spreads on his face, a perfect distraction was in front of him.

He leans over you, once of his hands running up your spine, tracing a line of your tattoo, crawling up your neck and grabbing a fistful of your hair. He pulls your head off the bench and you’re met face to face with your own reflection. The same mirror that he used to check his tattoo was now continently placed right in front of you. Your face was flushed, kiss swollen lips hanging agape as you pant. “Look at youuu…” Nam-gyu coos, using his grip on your hair to wiggle your head around to further mock your state.

You look so fucked out, it’s embarrassing, your eyes screw shut trying to hide away from the sight. “Not gonna move until you open your eyes.” The sentence is uttered through clenched teeth, coming out in a hiss. You don’t obey, your eyes are still shut. Your hips try to circle back against him but a desperate cry is ripped from your lungs as he draws his cock back, pulling nearly all the way out until just his heavy tip rests in the tight ring of your cunt.

“I know you can hear me, c’mon.” Nam-Gyu growls, jerking your head back and forth once more by your hair to really get your attention. Weakly, your eyes pry themselves open to look at your reflection in the mirror. You look up and you see his smile widening his black hair falling forward in front of his face like some scandalous curtain. When he knows you’re going to keep your eyes open, his hips are surging forward. When he sinks his cock into you again, a loud ‘squelch’ comes from your pussy, echoing throughout the tattoo studio.

“Good girl, y-you’re so pretty, ya gotta look…can’t waste a view like this.” He praises, his words shuttering every so often when he feels your cunt pulsate around him. It’s an addicting feeling, so tight, so warm. A soft, drawn out whine comes from your throat as you feel his thick length sink so deep into you, you swear you can feel him in your stomach. His fingers are still dancing along your clit, sending wave after wave of exhilarating pleasure throughout your body.

“God you feel so good, so fucking wet…” Nam-gyu huffs out, beginning to piston his hips into your ass, drawing in and out of your sopping heat in dizzying strokes. “Making such a- fucking hell- a fucking mess on my dick.” You watch the way his eyes are focused downwards, where you two are connected. Watching as the frothy white ring that forms around the base of his cock grows with each devious plap, plap, plap of his hips.

“S-so fucking big, sooo deeep.” You whine, your words slurred and drawn out, bouncing in time with each forward drive of his hips. His ego swells even bigger, your fucked out tone and babbled speech just makes him speed his thrusts up, a rumble reverberating in his chest when he sees the plush fat of your ass recoil and jiggle against his pelvis.

He releases his grip on your hair, your head falling forward, cheek resting on the leather of the chair, moth lolling open in silent gasps. His hands grip at the soft flesh of your ass, nails biting into the flesh as he rocks your ass back harder against him, slamming you back onto his cock so anytime he drives balls deep into your gushing cunt, the fat tip of his dick is pressing against your cervix in a way that’s making you delirious. “Yeah? Feels good? Tell me how good it feels.”

You’re drooling at this point, hands gripping helpless at the fabric of the bench. “Mhmm!!! So fucking good!” You cry out, “o-oh my god, so, so good!” One of your hands reaches backwards, gripping at the wrist of one of his arms desperately. “Thaaattss it…” he murmurs, his chest heaving, hips never letting up.

“Fuck yourself back against me, lemme see it.” You waste no time in following his orders, rocking your hips back to meet his thrusts. He expects you to go slow and work up to a faster speed…but no- you’re slamming your hips back against him with a violence that rivals his thrusts. You need to cum.

Nam-gyu thinks he’s in heaven, every time your ass meets his thighs he’s diving impossibly deep into you, stuffing you oh-so-full and stretching you incredibly wide. Anytime you pull away, you can feel the wetness that dirties his thighs and your ass string you two together in some macabre, pornographic connection.

It’s raw and carnal, Nam-gyu’s head tips back in pure bliss as your cunt greedily sucks him in. With each wet slap of your ass against his pelvis you’re driven further and further to your climax. Every time your hips piston backwards his fat cock is bulling itself against your g-spot. “R-right there!!” You cry out desperately, you need to cum.

“Yeah? Right there? That’s the spot?” Nam-Gyu huffs out, his hands digging even harder into the flesh of your ass, hips pile driving into you meeting every one of your backwards thrusts. He angles himself upwards the slightest bit, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you like a target. Your head shakes up and down in a frantic ‘yes’, babbled praises falling from your lips trying to spur him on.

He drives his hips meticulously into that spot over and over. It’s raw and carnal, each thrust is harder than the last and has you moaning out for him like the prettiest song. The tattoos etched into your lower back and hips ripple and stretch each time your ass recoils against him. “Fuck, look at you…” He coos, one of his hands releasing your hip to run back down to your cunt. His fingers run along your puffy folds, feeling the way you’re stretched so wide around him. “Taking it so well, just like I knew you would.”

Nam-gyu’s words go straight to your cunt, you knew he was hard while you were tattooing him but the verbal confirmation that he was thinking about fucking you that whole time just confirms it in the best way. “O-oh fuck, i-i think I’m g-gonna-“ your words are creaky and so broken up by moans, you can’t even finish what you wanted to say because it just feels too fucking good.

“Fuck, yes.” Nam-Gyu growls, his fingers moving up to your swollen clit and dancing along the pulsating bud in mind blowing circles. His tone is one that resonates deep within your mind, igniting every one of your nerves on fire. It was like those words were the ones he’s been dying to hear this whole night. “C’mon pretty girl, I need to f-feel…fuck! I need to feel you make a mess on my dick.”

Your eyes screw shut and you’re helplessly fucking yourself back on his cock, meeting each one of his mean thrusts to drive his cock so deep inside you. His fingers work deft circles on your clit, making even more of a mess of your pussy. You can feel of sloppy you’ve become, your arousal has dropped down your thighs and started to coat the tile below the two of you.

His thrusts are mean and deliberate, speeding up and driving into that sweet spot over and over her needs to feel you cum around him. Moan after moan falls from your lips, each one becoming more higher pitched than the last. You’re clenching around him tighter, spasming in a rhythm that nearly traps him inside your cunt. “F-fuck!! ‘m cumming! Ohmygodohmygod Nam-gyu!” It’s a babbled mess of his name and gasps of pleasure, your back arching even more, your hips shuddering in sloppy thrusts backwards until they stop completely.

Your orgasm makes your vision blurry, your ears ring, and your mind fill with static. When you cum, you cum so hard. Harder than you think you ever have. You’re gushing around him, sobbing out as your body shakes against him. Nam-gyu’s head is tipped back, eyes rolled so far back into his head that he swears he could see his skull. The vice like grip you had on his cock is hurling him towards his own end.

“F-fuck!” Nam-gyu nearly yells out, hips and fingers working you through your orgasm in sloppy movements. “W-where do you want it? F-fuck ya gotta tell me, ‘m so close.”

You can hardly make the words out to respond, but you need it badly, so after inhaling a large, heaving breath and answering him. “I-inside, w-want to feel it..hah!..p-please!” The words are slurred and damn near incoherent- but he hears them perfectly.

With a few more rough thrusts, he’s driving his hips flush with your ass, pushing his cock balls deep into you and cumming deep in your tight heat. You can feel every thick rope filling you up, prolonging your orgasm to the point where you can hardly breathe. His hips rock shallowly into you, making sure every last drop of his cum is pulled from his cock and painting your walls.

You both still, sweaty and breathless, bodies feeling like jelly. “Y-you came so much…” you whine, hips rolling against his mindlessly. Nam-gyu hisses, over sensitive, hand pulling away from your clit so he can hold both of your hips, stilling you. “Mhm…” he hums out, catching his breath, “couldn’t help it, pussy felt too fucking good.”

You smile dumbly, letting out a weak giggle and slumping against the leather bench. With every giggle you let out, your pussy clenches around him like a vice. Nam-Gyu slowly pulls out, his whole body shivering as he slides out of your cunt. He keeps his hands on your ass, spreading you open so he can watch as his cum seeps out of you in thigh globs that drop to the floor and mix with the mess you’ve already made.

His thumb glides over your pussy, smearing the mess as he admires it. “Now that’s a fuckin’ sight..” he hums out, chuckling slightly as you shake anytime his thumb runs over your overstimulated clit. Nam-gyu slides his hands back up your body as he leans down, placing a line of kisses across the back of your shoulder.

You smile when you feel the comforting weight of him over you, trapping you against the chair. You turn your face to try and look back at him, a blissed out smile on your lips. He meets you halfway, booking his face over your shoulder to capture your lips in a slow kiss. It’s languid and full of tongue. You can still taste yourself on his tongue.

“Aren’t we supposed to fuck after the first date?” You mutter against his lips, giggling softly. “Mmm…yeah I guess…but seems like we do things differently.” Nam-gyu says as he pulls away from the kiss, one of his hands is brushing hair out of your face. The next moment he’s holding his phone in your face open to a new contact screen. “Gotta give me your number so we can plan that date.” He says laughing, placing a kiss on your temple.

You can help but laugh, taking his phone and beginning to type in your contact information. Even adding a cute selfie of your fucked out face with makeup smeared and all to the contact as the photo- after your date and the many dates to come he could change it when he had more photos of you (or not).

You didn’t plan to get fucked stupid on your tattoo chair but you weren’t complaining at all, you were so glad he had made an appointment.

I hope you guys liked this one, it was on the back burner for a long while and I really wanted to finish it! I promise I’m still working hard at requests 🙏🙏 thank you all for your support!! Let me know what ya think of this one!! love yew guys!! - <3 kiwi

[meinii]

"hoodie thief"

summary: Sylus' hoodies have been disappearing lately... the thief was closer than he thought •⩊•

content: fluffy fluff, Luke and Kieran cameo

                      ୨୧·。。·♡·∴·♡·。。·୨୧

Sylus was no fool

at first, he didn’t think much of it—one or two hoodies missing wasn’t a big deal. he probably left them somewhere, maybe in his office or tossed over one of the chairs in Onychinus. but as the days passed, his wardrobe slowly dwindled. hoodies, sweatshirts, even his thicker, oversized ones—all mysteriously gone

and there was only one person who had the audacity to steal from him

you.

Sylus narrowed his eyes. he had seen you wearing his hoodies a few times, the fabric swallowing your frame, the sleeves dangling past your hands. and each time, you acted as if it was no big deal. like it wasn’t a crime against the very fabric of his empire.

the moment you walked into his office that evening, wrapped in yet another one of his hoodies, he just stared

you blinked "what?"

he leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk, a slow smirk tugging at his lips "you’re awfully comfortable stealing from me, aren’t you?"

you feigned innocence, glancing down at the hoodie draped over you "oh… this? I—uh—found it"

"found it?" he repeated, amused

"yeah. just lying around"

"in your house?"

"…maybe"

Sylus exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. he could force you to return them—could pin you down and strip it right off your body if he really wanted to—but he let it slide, for now

because, truthfully, he liked seeing you in his hoodies.

that might’ve been the end of it—except Luke and Kieran, the ever-loyal informants, decided to stick their noses in where it did not belong

"boss, we have a report on your missing items"

Sylus looked up from his paperwork, giving Luke and Kieran a deadpan stare "You actually investigated?"

Luke grinned "of course. you seemed so troubled about it, after all"

Sylus rolled his eyes "go on, then"

Kieran pulled out a small tablet, tapping the screen "after some thorough research—which included some discreet surveillance—we have identified the culprit" he turned the screen toward Sylus

it was you, sneaking out of his penthouse with an armful of his hoodies, stuffing them into a bag like a professional thief

Sylus let out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief "she really had the audacity to smuggle them out?"

Luke smirked "oh, she’s been planning this. we even found a whole stash at her place"

Sylus raised an eyebrow "a stash?"

"mm-hm. neatly folded, stacked in her closet. she’s treating them like trophies, boss"

Sylus chuckled, tilting his head back in amusement. the fact that you collected them, carefully keeping them all together—it was both ridiculous and insanely endearing

"and here’s the best part," Kieran continued, clearly enjoying himself "we confronted her about it. wanna know what she said?"

Sylus smirked "let’s hear it"

Luke cleared his throat dramatically "'tell Sylus I have no idea what he’s talking about. those are legally mine now. he can’t do anything about it.'"

Sylus burst out laughing, dragging a hand down his face "legally hers?"

"she made a contract in her head, boss. if she wears it enough times, it’s hers now."

Sylus shook his head, amused beyond belief "She really is impossible"

Luke grinned "so? what’s the plan? gonna storm her place and reclaim your lost belongings?"

Sylus smirked "no, no… let her have them"

Kieran raised an eyebrow "really?"

"oh, yeah" Sylus leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with mischief "I want to see how long she thinks she can get away with this"

that night, you were comfortably curled up on your couch, wearing yet another hoodie of Sylus'. t smelled like him—faint hints of cedarwood, spice, and something unmistakably him. it was oversized, the sleeves pooling over your hands, the warmth of the fabric making you feel safe

you had no regrets. none at all.

until your phone buzzed

Sylus: I know everything

you stared at the message, heart stopping for a second

you hesitated before replying

You: everything about what? Sylus: you’re a terrible liar.

you swallowed, typing as nonchalantly as possible

You: I think you’re mistaken. I am simply a humble citizen living her best life. Sylus: living your best life with my entire wardrobe?

okay. he knew. he definitely knew.

you considered your options

1) play dumb 2) flee the country 3) beg for forgiveness

before you could type a response, there was a knock on your door

your stomach dropped

slowly, cautiously, you opened the door—only to find Sylus leaning against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp with amusement

"you," he drawled "are the worst thief I’ve ever seen."

you cleared your throat, shifting slightly "what brings you here, oh great ruler of Onychinus?"

he smirked "oh, just checking in on my beloved hoodie thief."

You knew Luke and Kieran had snitched. those little traitors.

Sylus stepped forward, towering over you, his fingers tugging lightly at the hem of the hoodie you were wearing

"you didn’t even bother returning one," he mused, tilting his head "you just kept all of them"

you pouted "well… they’re cozy"

his eyes flickered with amusement "and that means they belong to you?"

"yes," you said shamelessly "finders keepers"

Sylus let out a low chuckle, shaking his head "unbelievable"

"you’re not mad, though," you pointed out, a slow grin spreading across your lips "you like seeing me in them."

he exhaled, a smirk playing on his lips "you’re lucky I do"

his fingers brushed against your cheek, tilting your chin up slightly. his voice lowered, warm and teasing

"if you wanted to keep something of mine so badly… all you had to do was ask"

your face grew warm at the implication "I—"

"shh" he leaned down, his lips barely an inch from yours "enjoy your little collection while it lasts. I might just take one back… personally"

your heart definitely skipped a beat

Sylus grinned at your expression, clearly enjoying himself

"sweet dreams, hoodie thief"

and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away—leaving you flustered, warm, and absolutely unwilling to give back a single hoodie

[ninyard]

a thought that's been spinning around in my head is what if jeremy did relapse? like what could drive him to that and how he would move forward considering the whole self hatred of "i'd rather die than be that person again" and shame in asking for help bc "ill never forgive you if you backslide"

OKAY so i’ve been sitting on this just thinking about it for a few days and although it’s not a theory that i believe would/will happen, it’s one of the few ideas i can come up with as to what could cause him to backslide

(i do believe him when he says he won’t. but god, for my own selfish reasons, do i want to see him crash out monumentally)

SO

Jeremy’s mom/stepdad stop allowing him to stay over at Laila/Jean’s place because of what happened to Bryson, how dangerous they think it could be, and how dangerous they think Jean is. Everything that has happened has made their control over Jeremy a thousand times worse. It’s torture for him, his final year, commuting to and from the university every single day for practices and that’s it; no parties, no free time, just practice, and classes, and then home. He’s forced into isolation, almost, but he still talks to the guys on video calls, and lies about having practices that don’t exist just so he can see them. But it’s few and far between. For him, mentally, it takes a huge toll. He hasn’t felt depression like this in a long time, if ever, really. It’s not good - He’s stuck with Bryson far more often that he’d like, and the only solace is those few hours a day where he gets to relax with Jean, Cat, Laila, and the few trojans he gets a chance to see outside of practice.

The guys notice this heaviness in him; Laila in particular gets worried to a point where she shows up at his house a handful of times just to make sure he’s okay, but the Wilshire household is a hostile place for her to be, and Jeremy hates her being around them if it at all can be avoided. Even the diplomats daughter excuse fails Mathilde and Warren: Jeremy has to focus on his LSATs, and he can’t afford outside distractions stealing his attention.

Jeremy pushes sitting the exam further out, and further out. He comes up with all the excuses he possibly can until he’s exhausted every single one, and with Bryson’s threats, he fails the first exam he sits. and it makes everything so much worse.

His phone is taken away from him at night, he’s not allowed to go for runs when he’s unaccompanied or without sharing his location the entire time. Everything the same as it’s been, but amplified, so much more suffocating than what’s healthy.

While all this is going on, the Trojans are doing well. They make it through to the Spring championships as expected, and one night Mathilde allows him to stay at Jean’s place, with the condition that he’s home by 10am the next morning. Its supposed to be a night of relief, a well deserved day off, but he cries in his friends arms and tells them that his family is destroying his life, and he doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know what to do. Laila only looks at him with mild dissatisfaction as he spends most of the night sitting on the balcony, or out the front of the building, with cigarette after cigarette between his lips. They try to come up with a million ways to get him out of there but he knows none of them will work - he’s trapped, and there’s really nothing he can do.

Bryson corners Jeremy again, when he learns that he’s finally taking a resit exam, and tells him he has to fail this one too. Jeremy almost accepts the consequences of not doing what he says, that some planted coke or pills would be far less of a punishment than living in this prison is, but he takes the test, and he fails. It’s only half intentional, too. His mental health is in the gutter, because he’s a social butterfly, and he needs people around him to feel like himself. how can he focus on studying when he’s spending most of his days bored and resisting the temptation of the escape promised to him all those years ago?

The Trojans qualify for the semi finals, and then they qualify for the finals. It’s the Trojans V Penn State, or by another miracle, it’s the Foxes again. The date has been set. It’s a Friday, the same time of year that it usually is. It’s hard to enjoy the well earned chance at victory when he’s spent most of the year just trying to survive that big house with all its empty rooms and ghosts that walk the halls.

Warren has had enough of his failures, of course he has, the silly achievements of college sports irrelevant on his tall ladder of expectation. Jeremy spends a full night being berated, and belittled, called every name under the sun, full of vitriol and hatred for the disappointment of a son who refused the name of success and landed himself in such a position. Twice? He’d slammed Jeremy’s poor results on the table in front of him. Are you stupid, or do you faggots just get off on being embarrassments?

That night he texts his old dealer from high school, but when the response dings into his inbox, Jeremy deletes the message. He can’t. He thinks about Noah, and he thinks about everything riding on his sobriety. He can’t. He can’t do it.

But he wants to, so badly, and after that, he spends every waking second trying to prevent himself from asking again.

A morning or two later, Mathilde neatly sticks a sticky note to the top of the LSAT guides Jeremy has been pretending to study.

“What is that?” he asks, a date and time scribbled in her fancy scrawl across the green paper.

“It’s your exam, because you insist on avoiding it.” She says, turning around to do something else, like this was unimportant and meaningless to her. “I took the liberty of booking it for you. You aren’t going to fail this one.”

Jeremy picks up the piece of paper and stares at it. “I can’t do that date.”

“That’s too bad,” She almost laughs, sickly sweet. “It’s the only one they had this side of the month.”

“No, mom, I can’t do this date.” Jeremy’s head is in his hands already. This can’t be happening, and he doesn’t have the energy to argue anymore. “We’re flying out to Pennsylvania the night before. We play that evening. It’s the finals.”

She shrugs like that meant nothing to her, and Jeremy isn’t stupid enough to be surprised.

“Well,” She puts a hand on his head and endearingly rubs a thumb over his forehead. “You should have thought about that before failing the other two, Jeremy.”

He calls Cat as soon as he manages to pull his head out of the clouds of disbelief. It’s not long before the other two are on the other end of the line begging Jeremy to just leave, and they’ll figure it out later.

But he thinks of his life, that rides on a good relationship with the Wilshire empire, his reputation, and the Wilshire’s ability to ruin any potential recruitments he might have dreamt about in the future. One leaked document and every pro team in the country will know about Jeremy’s past, and his multiple run ins with the law. He thinks of his documents hidden under floorboards he’ll never find or safety deposit boxes he’ll never have access to. For a moment he wishes David Wymack had spent his time coaching a pro team, so maybe then he’d have a chance. He spends all his time agonising, trying to find a way, but everything in his life feels like it’s falling apart. He’s drinking so much coffee that he feels like his heart is going to burst. He’s barely even able to focus on playing anymore. He’s just about failing ceramics, for gods sake, and he’s not sure about most other classes - he has barely attended more than a lecture or two in weeks.

He spends hours, days, begging his mom to understand that this can’t be negotiable, it can’t be. He can’t let the team down at this point. Even Rhemann attempts to talk Mathilde down from her high pedestal, but Warren’s strong hand on her shoulder stops her from backing down. Jeremy’s dad stops answering his calls, not interested in being interrupted in the middle of the night to listen to the son he never cared about’s woes.

So the night before the championship finals comes, and Jeremy texts his teammates to have a safe flight, and he calls his dealer. They can’t meet anywhere suspicious, so he asks him to join him on the route he’s forced to run on. He knows his mom watches his every move when he leaves the house for even a second these days - he can’t stay still for too long either.

It’s not long later before he’s running home, with too much cocaine in his pocket, too many tears running down his face at what a disappointment he’d become. Noah would hate him for this; To be let down again, a promise broken, again, looking down from heaven at enough white powder to trigger a heart attack beforeJeremy even gets the chance to sit the exam.

He doesn’t take any of it that night; he knows he can’t fail again. The temptation is incredible, though, and it’s a very difficult thing to resist. He settles for some adderall he stole from Bryson’s room, and crams as much as his frazzled mind can take it.

He cries as much as he studies, every now and again just looking at the clear baggie that he hid in his wallet, heart racing every time he remembers that rush, that feeling.

The exam goes about as well as he expected, but he manages to find an hour somewhere afterwards before he’s expected to be home. he turns his phone and location off, and finds the nearest booty call to him in his contact list.

The coke goes down much easier than he was expecting it to, as if being out of practice would have made it different, but by the time his pupils are tiny and his heart is pumping, he’s at the front door of a bad idea. He doesn’t even feel able to question himself, unable to spend a half a second in his body to remember how much he’s destroying his life all over again, in that moment, because his brain and body are in seperate places. He doesn’t remember driving home, if his hookup kinda drove his car and got a cab back, or if he’d drove high out of his mind for the tedious 45 minutes that it takes. He hoped it was the former, but knew it was the latter. He just hoped he hadn’t caused an accident somewhere on the way.

His mom doesn’t stop him to ask how it went before he’s shutting his bedroom door behind him. He has a few hours to kill before the game, so he spends his time wisely between putting his nose in the bag, or smoking out of his bedroom window like a teenager afraid to be caught. By the time the game starts his paranoia has set in, an old and unwelcoming friend, and he hides his cigarettes deep in his closet for fear the tabloids would leak a photo of him smoking 10 cigarettes in an hour.

He cries when Jean takes to the court. He almost snaps his phone in half when Cat gets injured. When Derrick steps back from a fight, when Cody calls a timeout for an injury, all he feels is this hollow, empty pit in his stomach. When the Trojans lose, he can’t keep it in, and he feels his world start to crumble.

He wonders if this is how Noah felt before he made that decision to jump. He wonders if he’s high enough off the ground for it to work.

Laila calls him an hour or two later, and her face drops at the sight of Jeremy. When she asks him to hold the phone up to his eyes he smiles, an empty smile, obliging before she starts to cry. She hangs up, not out of anger, or rage at his decision to relapse, but sheer heartbreak at seeing him in such a state, alone, alone, alone, not able to do a single thing to stop it.

Cat calls him back minutes later, and he doesn’t feel heartened by how her voice cracks when she asks him what he’s taken. He’s angry, he thinks, a ball in his stomach and a voice in his head saying, “how dare they make this about them?”

She tells him to call his sponsor. She begs him to think this through. She knows she lost him when he’s half lucid and forgets he’s on a video call, dipping his head down to his bedside locker to snort a line he’d lay out earlier.

There’s an ending here, somewhere, a happy one, maybe, a complete one more likely. He said it himself; he can’t live with himself if he gets high again. He’d rather die than feel like that again. So maybe that’s just how it goes.

[katsfixationcorner]

Sleepless Nights

tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

Chapter One

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is struggling to put his life together after the Blip. Free from HYDRA’s control, he now has the freedom of choosing how he lives his life but he has no idea how. He’s somehow managed to maintain moderate normalcy but his constant nightmares serve as a reminder that he could never be anything more than a killer. Before he can truly heal, he needs to deal with his lack of sleep, which proves difficult until a chance encounter intertwines his life with that of his neighbor across the hall.

Warnings: Slice of Life, Canon-divergent, Slow-burn, Friends to Lovers, Neighbors Trope, Depictions of trauma, No use of Y/N, Possible future smut (this chapter is safe)

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I’m not a mental health professional. All trauma/mental illness depictions are based on my personal knowledge/experience. If any depictions are incorrect or misrepresented, kindly educate me.

This is my first fic! I hope you enjoy~

I do NOT consent to have my work copied, translated, or run through AI.

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

Change makes James ‘Bucky’ Barnes uncomfortable. He’s trying his best to be okay with it but he still has a very lengthy list of things he’s trying to work through. Dealing with change isn’t exactly at the top.

When things change, bad things happen. It always starts with the small things normal people don’t notice: a mailbox gets left open, a neighbor’s doormat gets skewed, the subway train he takes to his therapist appointments is five minutes late.

Then it escalates. It always escalates.

Instead of random instances, it manifests in the people around him: the neighbor’s dog barks at a late hour, a nondescript van parks on the street outside his apartment complex, a stranger gives him a second glance at the grocery store. It’s always the things that other people don’t think twice about that Bucky can’t ignore. When he ignores them -when things slip by his radar- people around him get hurt or disappear.

Now when you live in an apartment building people disappear all the time. People move out frequently. Just this month alone Bucky has already noticed several people he doesn’t recognize walking to and from his building.

It’s unnerving.

Unsettling.

Bucky likes to keep tabs on those around him. When he can’t, bad thoughts flood his mind like a running faucet filling a bathtub. Who are they? What do they do? How long will they be around? Or worse things like: Do they know who he is -who he was? Do they know which unit he lives in? Has he bolted the front door? What about the windows? If he has to make a run for it, could he make the jump to the building next door?

Sometimes the bathtub overflows, spilling his thoughts out of his head and into his bloodstream. When that happens, he freezes, unable to do anything more than sit with his back to a wall and his eyes glued to his front door. His small apartment becomes enemy territory. Every sound -no matter how mundane- explodes in his ears and triggers violent involuntary tremors. His entire body goes into lock-down mode as he prepares to defend against a non-existent threat. It often takes hours for Bucky to recover the ability to move let alone care for himself.

He doesn’t go anywhere on those days, even if they happen to interfere with his schedule.

Bucky likes his schedule: morning workouts, grocery shopping every other Monday, lunch with a friend on Wednesdays, therapy on Thursdays. It isn’t much but it makes him feel normal, like he’s a regular person who isn’t still trying to heal from a lifetime of trauma. Every other day, Bucky stays at home trying to catch up on things he’s missed and doing his damndest to get through the day without losing it.

Not even the promise of sleep offers him any sort of respite. The night only gives way to new terrors, the kind he can’t escape no matter how good a day he’s had. Nightmares -flashes of blood, pain, and an innocent person’s pleas- overtake him every time he beds down for the night.

Nothing helps - and he’s tried everything. Thanks to the serum, his body devours medication, alcohol, and other nasty habits he’s given into too quickly to feel any effect. The TV -though helpful at first- has become more annoying than useful. Leaving a window open to let in the city ambience isn’t an option, and the thin apartment walls won’t mask any music he has on for long. At least not at the volume needed to make any meaningful impact in his sleep schedule.

He doesn’t even have a stereo.

Most nights the nightmares wake him violently, bolting him upright so suddenly his torso jerks forward and his breath gets caught in his chest.

Tonight is no different.

After a particularly distressing one, Bucky finds himself woken by his own choking gasps. As he struggles to regain control of the air flowing into his lungs, Bucky presses his hands against the floor underneath him. The blanket between him and the wood is thin and scratchy. In an effort to still his breaths, Bucky slides his flesh hand across the fabric, picking absently at the tiny lint balls dotted along the blanket folds. The soothing action is safe enough to direct his mind towards; it carries no weight nor threatens to trigger any locked memory.

With every passing minute, Bucky’s breathing becomes less strained and more manageable. He tries to turn his attention to the room around him. The living room is dark, the moonlight streaming through the thin blinds being the only source of light in the room. From what he can see into the kitchen, nothing seems off or disturbed. Both areas are bare with only the essential furniture. There’s no dining table, though there is one barstool in the kitchen. The sofa, coffee table, bookshelf, and TV are all in their usual locations.

Taking note of his surroundings starts to help Bucky regulate his breathing. Just as he was regaining composure, Bucky’s body flinches suddenly as he catches movement out of the corner of his eye. He tenses, pulling his knees up to his chest as he prepares to roll out of the way of an attack. Though as his eyes adjust, the silent assassins morph into shadows dancing across the kitchen counters.

He lets out a breath and leans against the cool leather of the sofa. Bucky does his best to redirect his mind to the room. He can see the front door now. It’s still dead-bolted. Good. Maybe he can actually get through the night with only this mild incident.

But as his panic turns from a roaring fire into simmering embers, the memories begin to seep into his mind threatening to reignite the blaze.

The wall suddenly seems way too close. Screams and gunfire begin trickling into the stillness of the dark apartment. The sound starts at a low hum in the back of his mind. But before long it grows into a roaring avalanche threatening to bury him under the weight of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky groans out a swear as he drags his hands down his face. He grips his head tightly as if he can keep the torment at bay with pressure. It doesn’t help. The panic threatens to return, forcing Bucky to make a decision: either try to relax and go back to sleep or do something about it.

After barely a second of thought, Bucky concludes there’s no way he can sit still. Before he pushes himself off his makeshift bed, he extends his legs so they burn from the stretch, grimacing at the stiffness caused by sitting still for a while. He eventually detangles himself from the bed sheet then manages to pull himself up.

Without thinking about it, Bucky wanders in the direction of the bathroom. The cramped enclosed space provides a more secure environment than the living room. Bucky feels like he can breathe a bit better in here. The screams that followed him, however, won’t let him rest.

With his body still on autopilot, Bucky pulls back the shower curtain and turns the water on, not caring about what temperature it’s been set to. As the screams get muffled by the running water, Bucky stumbles his way to the sink, gripping the edges tightly as he leans into it. He lets a minute pass before he forces himself to look up at his reflection.

Bucky looks awful. The dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and unkempt stubble make how little he’s been sleeping obvious. Even his eyes -usually a cool steely blue- are muted and grey. Scars litter his shoulders and torso, evidence of a tortured past etched into his skin. Even if -by some miracle- he came across someone who wasn’t aware of what he’s done, they’d know the second they saw how destroyed his body is.

He can only stomach a few seconds of glaring before his gaze drops to the dog tags around his neck. He doesn’t like who he sees. It’s been such a long time since he has that he’s not even sure he ever thought differently. When he looks at himself, all he ever sees is a man broken beyond repair - the shattered remnants of a soldier HYDRA ripped apart.

The rushing water pulls Bucky out of a new set of spiraling thoughts. He makes an attempt to shake them away before straightening up to peel off his sweat soaked boxers. They get tossed into a corner as Bucky steps into the shower.

Bucky doesn’t spend a lot of time under the water. He doesn’t even wash much, only enough to get rid of the layer of sweat on his skin. Once it’s gone, he feels a bit better. The water becomes cold rather quickly (not that it was very warm to begin with). By the time Bucky decides to get out, his teeth are chattering and his body trembles from the low temperature.

Bucky’s always cold. He always has been. At least since…it doesn’t matter. The discomfort of being chilled to the bone is something he’s used to, something normal, something he deserves. He doesn’t even notice it anymore. The fact that the room never even steamed up leaving him to get hit with a rush of cold air when he opens the shower curtain doesn’t even phase him.

Bucky shakes the intruding thoughts away then tugs a towel free from the wall rack like he does every day and pulls it across his body carelessly. It’s only when his skin is rubbed raw that he stops, realizing now that he’s been dry for a couple minutes. A small exhale leaves his lips as he returns the now-damp towel to its place

Bucky isn’t quite sure what to do now. The screams have dulled and he’s left with the quietness of his apartment. The silence never helps with the storm brewing in his mind. Bucky knows it’s only a matter of time before he can’t continue pushing his memories away.

Though he isn’t sure what to make of the thoughts seeping in and out of his consciousness, he does know one thing: he’s sure as hell not going back to sleep.

With a sigh, Bucky retrieves his boxers from the floor then walks into his bedroom. Like the rest of his apartment, it’s sparsely decorated. The dresser by the door is practically brand new and rarely used. It’s where he keeps his comfortable clothes -underwear, socks, one pair of sweatpants, and some t-shirts Sam forced on him- while the items he wears more frequently are folded in neat piles on the edge of the bed. The bed, which is just a mattress on the floor, is only made with a fitted sheet and a singular pillow. Several small boxes containing various pieces of his life Steve put together for him cover the surface.

Bucky went through them once. When he came across a collection of old photographs, he dropped them back into the box then closed the lid. He couldn’t bring himself to look through the pictures, especially when most of them contain the face of someone he loved, someone he doesn’t have anymore.

He hasn’t touched the boxes since. It’s easier to ignore them, but he can’t bring himself to hide them away in a closet. So there they sit, taking up space on a mattress he never uses.

Bucky doesn’t even notice them anymore. He drops his boxers onto a clear spot on the mattress then pulls on the first things he grabs: a pair of worn jeans and a simple long sleeved shirt. As he gets dressed, his gaze wanders past the boxes, stopping on a plastic hamper at the foot of the bed. It’s practically empty but Bucky takes it anyway. He spends the next few minutes tossing anything he can find into the basket. He doesn’t care what’s fresh and what isn’t; he just needs to do something.

When he returns to the living room, Bucky bunches the sweat stained blankets together then shoves them into the hamper. He walks around the room once -grabbing his shoes, keys, detergent, and several dollars worth of quarters- before exiting the apartment, locking the door, and making the descent to the complex’s laundry room.

The laundry room is probably the only place outside of his apartment where Bucky feels relatively safe. It’s in the basement so it has no windows and only one entrance, and it’s never quiet. The machines are old and rumble whenever they’re in use.

It’s perfect.

When Bucky pushes the door open, a wave of hot air bursts free and hits him in the face. Bucky takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs. The stale warm air helps relax his muscles. After half a minute of standing in the doorway absorbing the heat, most of the tension leaves Bucky’s shoulders. He takes another deep breath, exhaling slowly, before finally stepping into the room.

None of the machines are in use so Bucky gets to pick whichever ones he wants. He makes his way to the far end of the room, depositing the hamper and detergent on top of the last washer. He takes his time filling the machine, ensuring every piece of clothing is right side out before tossing it in.

Bucky doesn’t mind the monotony of the chore. If anything it gives him something else to focus on. Thankfully the machines are pretty simple. Of all the things he’s had to learn lately, using these laundry machines has been the easiest by far. Press a few buttons, give it the amount of money it asks for, then wait for the timer to beep. Easy.

As the washer roars to life, Bucky leans back against one of the dryers and crosses his arms over his chest. He watches the machine rattle while trying not to pay attention to the time on the display.

Thirty minutes.

He could easily head back upstairs and take a few laps of his apartment before the machine goes off, but he can’t seem to make himself move. The thought of leaving his things here unsupervised leaves a knot in the pit of his stomach.

No, he won’t leave, only so the odd feeling goes away. Besides, he doesn’t mind standing for long periods of time. Lord knows he doesn’t have anything better to be doing.

By the time Bucky’s machine reaches fifteen minutes, his mind has been efficiently distracted. He no longer lingers on the terrifying thoughts in the back of his mind. They’ll eventually force themselves back to the front, but it’s manageable for the moment. That is until any calming thought he has is ripped away by the sound of the door opening.

Bucky’s eyes snap up to the intruder - a young woman carrying a wicker hamper with a plastic bag hanging from her wrist. She stops in her tracks when their eyes meet. A look of surprise and hesitation crosses her features before it shifts into a polite mask of neutrality. She gives Bucky a nod then continues forward as if she never stopped at all, unloading her own laundry into a machine near the doorway.

Bucky watches her cautiously. He’s never seen her before and that could be dangerous.

Sure he’s down here doing laundry at- Wait, how late is it?

When she pauses to place her phone on the machine, his gaze flickers from her back to the analog clock that hangs over the middle-most washer.

Would a normal person do their laundry at a quarter to three in the morning or is she here because he’s here?

His eyes narrow when the thought presents itself. He redirects his gaze back to her and continues assessing the situation. She could just be going about her own business, but Bucky doesn’t know that.

He needs to be sure.

He scans the stranger while she closes the machine, eyeing all of her movements with suspicion. Her hair is tied up and messy - she must just be up at this hour normally. If she came from somewhere, Bucky muses, she might have been more put together. Her shirt has no pockets nor do her pants. They’re tight, hugging her form comfortably, so Bucky decides it’s unlikely she’s concealing any weapons. Though he knows that means very little when his own body is practically a weapon.

Plastic rustles as she digs through her bag in search of her detergent. Once she’s finished, she ties the bag and places it on top of the machine along with her hamper. She groans quietly, leaning forward to input the settings she wants then picks up her phone. Bucky can’t see what she’s doing from where he’s standing, but when her machine turns on he realizes she was just paying wirelessly - something he hasn’t learned to do nor does he wish to.

Unlike Bucky, the woman feels safe enough to leave her belongings unsupervised. She doesn’t pay him any mind - as if he isn’t a threat - when she turns to leave, leaving her bag and hamper on her machine. Bucky watches her walk away until the closing door blocks his view.

He really shouldn’t bother, he thinks to himself - though his mind decides otherwise. She’s in the same building he lives in, using the same machines he is at the same time he happens to be here. None of that can be a coincidence. He’s never seen anyone down here this late, and he unfortunately has a habit of doing laundry in the small hours of the morning. He also happens to know just about everyone in the building (at least their face), and he doesn’t know her.

He needs to be sure.

It’s difficult - even for him - to catch the sound of the stranger’s footsteps through the rumbling of the machines. By the time her faint steps reach his ears, he’s already moving towards the door. He stalks quietly through the hall, catching up to her just as she rounds a corner. She doesn’t seem to notice him at all, barely looking behind her as she climbs up the stairs towards the first floor. Bucky waits at the foot of the stairs, pressed against the wall listening for any disturbance. Only when he hears her reach the landing above him does he make a move, taking two stairs at a time while remaining silent and light on his feet.

This dance of theirs continues until the stranger breaks her pattern and opens the door leading to the third floor hall.

His floor.

Cursing under his breath, Bucky bounds up the stairs, managing to catch the door with the tip of his foot before it closes. Before she has a chance to notice anything, Bucky slides his foot free then closes it carefully, holding it open enough to see through yet in a way that it doesn’t look open. He waits for a second to pass, ensuring she isn’t paying any attention to her surroundings, before glancing through the crack between the door and the wall.

True to Bucky’s suspicions, the stranger walks down the hall only to pause in front of his door. Bucky’s breath gets caught in his chest. His eyes never leave her, fully expecting her to make an attempt to break into his home, and preparing to interfere. To his surprise she doesn’t pay his door any mind. Instead, she turns to the right and reaches for the door across from his. In less than a second, the stranger -who Bucky was absolutely sure was after him- disappears from his sight, retreating into the privacy of her own apartment.

It’s only when Bucky hears the click of a lock does he realize the tightness in his chest has eased. He’s been so careful up until this point and yet one woman manages to get past him - and she lives directly across from him.

Bucky comes to a conclusion rather quickly: he needs to figure out who she is. It’s not for him, he reasons as he retreats to the laundry room. If she happens to be an ex-HYDRA agent or some form of secret service, he as well as everyone else could be compromised.

That’s what he tells himself, at least, as he glances into the bag the woman left on her washing machine. Nothing but detergent and dryer sheets. Bucky scoffs to himself then returns to his own machine, leaning on the wall this time so he can watch the door.

It’ll take a bit of time and effort to find out everything he needs to know. It took him a couple months to clear everyone else on his floor. Maybe the nightmares will leave him alone if he can prove that no one near him is out to get him.

Besides, he’s got nothing but time.

[xoxochb]

dated february 28

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

this has been the most uneventful and boring and stupid week of my life.

I’ve been sick since saturday with the flu and while it is for the most part gone it’s still there faintly.

but at least I get to be babied by percy. or really that’s until I start complaining and complaining and then he ignores me. I pull his hair and that gets him talking. kinda like a children’s toy !

I think he’s been doing something differently because he’s looked extra nice this week. maybe he’s pregnant and that’s why he’s glowing. he told me once that female seahorses get the males pregnant because they have a pouch which can carry the eggs.

I asked him once if he’d like to be seahorses with me so I could get him pregnant. he said “no thank you” but offered to impregnate me instead. unsurprisingly, I said “no thank you” and to wait until we’re older. that made him happy so I was happy too.

but I seriously think he’s doing something though. or maybe it’s just because summer is on the horizon. I can’t wait until it’s hot outside and I get to see him shirtless every day. though I do during winter too anyways…

on that thought, I do everyday. but you get the point, it’s still nice.

he convinced mr. d to let him take a week long trip to see his family. which I’m happy for him because I know he misses them. but I’m going to miss him too! maybe even more! :(

but luckily I’ve prepared myself for this moment! I took a couple of his clothes back to my cabin so he can’t find them so when he leaves, his clothes will still smell like him so I can wear them. and cry in my bed maybe possibly probably.

percy asked me not to cry while he leaves but it’s hard not to because we’re together 99% of our lives and when he’s gone it’s kinda boring.

and it’s sad because I’ll miss him.

but I won’t think about this until the time comes.

today I made a playlist for us. it’s songs I like that remind me of percy and some of him and me both. I almost let him help me find the perfect songs but I knew he’d end up making it just a bunch of led zeppelin songs so I decided against that idea.

but I did make him sit through the entire playlist and rate each song. he said it was a 10/10 playlist because I made it. I guess that’s progress!

percy told me he was going to make a playlist himself for me so I’m kinda excited to see what he’s putting on it. and kind of nervous you never know with him.

he’s kind of suffocating me right now. he passed out after we shared a bowl of ice cream but I presume that any minute he’ll be up and bouncing off the walls. by then I would become sleepy. that’s a later problem though…

for right now I’ll just enjoy watching his peaceful state. I like watching him sleep it’s nice. he’s very pretty and I like his hair. and his eyes, sea green is my favorite color. but his eyes are closed right now. I’ll take a look later.

I think I should go to sleep before he wakes up so well actually get around to sleeping tonight because most nights we don’t sleep and stay up until, like, three in the morning and that’s usually when he crashes.

then we miss breakfast and he cooks me something for brunch. today he made me heart shaped pancakes and they even had chocolate chips!!!!!! I gave him a large kiss in return. he asked for more since he had even taken it upon himself to add powdered sugar. I told him tonight.

and that idiot remembered. so as he asked, I granted.

but I just keep talking….. I should rest my eyes and my wrist before it falls off.

xoxo, sweet girl <3

[blurry-lock]

Writer writer more shidou please :3 (i love your fanfics sm they give me hope for the shidou tag)

Tysm anon!! That’s so sweet 🥺🫶 recently i’ve been inspired by a lot of songs so i’ll try to write more!! this time I decided to write a little bit of angst >:)

ROBBERS

“But if you just take off your mask, you'd find out everything's gone wrong…”

What you need to know: based on the mv of robbers by the 1975, established relationship, shidou and reader are criminals and troublemakers, blood, gun and wound mentions, angst, cursing, gn reader, slightly suggestive

Wrd count: 2k

He had a face straight out of a magazine. That’s what you thought every time you saw Shidou, even when he was beating someone or when you ran from the cops, it was the kind of love that everyone would bet it’ll end up wrong. You loved each other madly, you found beauty in the chaos Shidou was capable of, the same chaos that would end up destroying you eventually. You and Shidou were both runaways, living in an abandoned house with 2 other runaways, Aiku and Sae that became your friends in no time. You were all living based on deals, gambling and sometimes even stealing, to this day none of you faced any repercussions making you not afraid of anything.

But living this life sometimes got you thinking at night about what if things turned out different for you? Being a troublemaker knowing you do bad things and feel no remorse until recently was getting surprisingly tiring, ever since you started thinking about a dream that kept nudging you from the back of your head.

“What if we formed a band? A real one.” You blurted out as you were lost in thought. The three of them stared at you with widened eyes as you were sitting on the living room talking about random stuff.

It wasn’t a crazy idea, you sometimes pretended you were in a band and played with some robbed instruments you had. Aiku had a bass, Sae an electric guitar and your boyfriend, Shidou had drums (stealing the drums was a crazy experience you almost got caught) and your singing skills were not that bad actually.

“Oh? That’s honestly a good idea, sweetheart~” Shidou chuckled, putting his arm over your shoulders.

“Sounds nice, a lot of girls and guys would give me attention.” Aiku chuckled and smirked at the thought.

“And how? With what money? People will eventually found out what we do…” Sae raised an eyebrow, although internally he liked the idea.

“I… I want to stop having this life, that’s why I suggested the idea of making a band.” You looked down, afraid of their reactions.

“That won’t be easy hun.” Aiku chuckled. “But… I admit I like the idea of starting a new life”

“But doing this is so easy and fun…” Shidou winced and pouted softly, but when he looked at you and seeing your slight frown at his words his heart ached slightly. He was a criminal and a very problematic one, but before any of that he was your boyfriend and he would do anything for you with no objections.

He sighed and smirked at you. “But being with you is more fun, can’t deny I like that idea so count me in~”

You three turned your heads to Sae, waiting for his response.

“Ugh… fine” Sae rolled his eyes, but a subtle smile could be seen on his lips.

Shidou stood up on the coffee table and looked at the three of you. “Let’s do a final robbery, we’ll get some money and with that we can form the band.”

“Are you sure?” You looked at him with unease, you didn’t know why but you had a weird feeling in your gut about this.

Shidou looked at you fondly, a look that always made you weak along with his signature smirk as he leaned closer to you, he held your chin and you could feels his lips brushing against yours as he spoke in a low and soft tone.“You trust me?”

Your breath hitched, you still felt uneasy but you trusted Shidou with your life so you nodded, he nodded back and pecked your lips.

“Oh my god get a room.” Sae rolled his eyes which caused you to chuckle and pull away.

“So, are you in?” Shidou turned to look at Aiku and Sae.

Everyone agreed and for the next days you proceeded to form a plan for your final robbery. The plan was simple, going to the convenience store that was in the outskirts of the city, empty the cash register and ATM. You done this multiple times, but for some reason this time felt different.

“Hey sweets, look!” Shidou entered your shared bedroom and sat on the bed while you were laying down. It was the night prior to your robbery and for the first time you were anxious.

You slightly lifted your head to look and widened your eyes when you saw what he was holding. “WHAT THE FU- Shidou Ryusei!” You slightly lowered your voice as the other two were probably asleep in the other rooms.

“The full name? Not even babe or love?” Shidou pouted, slightly teasing you.

“Why do you have that? We are just taking some money, not killing someone!” You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Just in case, ya know?” He teased again, looking down at you and toying with the revolver.

“Shidou.” You sat on the bed and glared at him. Yeah, you were a troublemaker but this was beyond your limits specially now that you were trying to pursue your dream of forming the band and you also didn’t want him doing anything stupid.

Shidou slightly widened his eyes, this was the first time he saw you being so serious about something and the fact you called his last name was enough for him to understand you weren’t playing. He stared at you for a few seconds before sighing.

“It’s not even loaded see?” He showed it to you and then placed it on the nightstand. “It would make things easier, just to scare them.” He looked at you like a scolded student and buried his head on your neck, breathing in your scent.

You sighed and your gaze softened as your hand instinctively started caressing his hair. “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay?” You mumbled, the weird feeling still lingering on your gut.

“Fine, fine…” he hummed and nuzzled his head in your neck, letting out a content sigh at the feeling of your hand in his hair.

“And promise me something…” You slightly tugged his hair, gaining a soft wince from him. “After the robbery, you’ll get rid of that thing, okay?”

“Promised.” He nodded and planted a soft kiss on your neck.

You nodded back and lay down on your bed again, looking at the ceiling followed by Shidou who straddled your lap and looked down at you, raising an eyebrow. “I may be stupid sometimes, but you definitely have something.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” You looked up at him, trying to mask your uneasiness.

“Okay i’m not that stupid sweets, something’s on your mind, I know ya!” He crossed his arms and stared down at you. Shidou was right, he knew you too well to not notice, to the point you sometimes thought he even knew you better than yourself.

You sighed and extended your arms, just wanting a hug from him right now and he more than gladly hugged you, all his weight on top of you as he did, not that you minded, you were used to it by now.

“Everything is gonna be fine, kay?” He spoke softly as he left soft kisses all over your neck until he got too excited and bit you.

“Ryusei!” You groaned slightly as you tried to pull him away obviously to no avail.

“Hm? You don’t complain when we are-“ He couldn’t finish the sentence when you slightly tugged his hair. “O-okay I get it! Why you always mess with my hair damn…” You chuckled softly and caressed the spot you tugged.

He lifted his head and stared at you with a half-lidded gaze, making you squirm every time he looked at you with those pretty pink eyes he looked so cool.

“You’re probably thinking i look very cool and handsome, right?” He teased you as he flashed his usual lazy smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully and smiled softly at him, you still feel slightly uneasy but Shidou always made you feel better, even with his nonstop teasing.

—

The day finally arrived, Shidou and you were leaning against your getaway car. Aiku on the wheel and Sae besides him watching out for any cops.

“Ready sweets?” Shidou looked at you with his usual laidback expression and as he lowered his gaze to your hands he noticed they were slightly trembling. He took your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand gently. “Hey, look at me.”

You looked at him and nodded letting out a shaky sigh, he ruffled your hair with his free hand and kissed the hand he was holding. “I’ll protect you even it’s the last thing I do.”

Your gaze softened and you pecked his lips before covering your face with a mask. “Ready”

Shido smiled and did the same, still holding your hand as you both ran and got in the convenience store. Meanwhile the other two were waiting outside a little impatiently, Aiku drummed with his fingers the steering wheel and Sae looked out the window, both silent.

After a minute or two they heard a shot, which made them both turn their heads to the store.

“Didn’t Shidou say his weapon wasn’t loaded?” Aiku furrowed his eyebrows as he stared at the store nervously.

The store door opened as the both of you got out, the sight making Aiku and Sae’s stomach drop.

There you were struggling to carry Shidou as you try to make it to the car, bloody hands as he pressed them onto his stomach. Once you made it in the car you turned your head to Aiku and Sae with fear.

“W-what the fuck just happened?!” Aiku said as he drove away as fast as he could.

“S-shidou pulled out the gun to scare the cashier but-“ You contained a sob as a crazy amount of tears rolled down your cheeks. “T-the cashier… he had a gun too…”

“You need to drive to the hospital” Sae looked at Aiku, shocked and desperate.

“N-no… we can’t-“ Shidou hissed in pain as his hand kept pressing the wound, useless as the blood didn’t stop from coming out. “Just… drive to the house and we’ll see what we can do.” He panted and rested his head on the window.

“Shit. This isn’t right…” Aiku mumbled nervously but listened to his petition.

“R-ryu…” You rested your head in his chest. This couldn’t happen, not now that you were about to pursue your dream.

You should’ve listened to your gut.

“Don’t worry sweets, am still here” He weakly smirked as his breath came out in sharp pants.

He wasn’t going to last long, you all knew it as he already lost a lot of blood and the place were he was shot was dangerous, there was nothing you could do. The rest of the ride was silent, only the sharp breathing of Shidou and your soft sobs filled the air.

Once you were at your house, with Shidou laying on his back in your bedroom with you besides him, hugging him tight as you sobbed, staining his shirt more than it already was. You were both a bloody mess, not that you cared now.

“Please don’t leave me… not like this.” You mumbled multiple times as you nuzzled your head on his chest. “We still have a lot to do…. P-please…”

Shidou’s gaze was blurry and he could feel his breath getting weaker and weaker as the seconds passed. With a shaky hand, he gently massaged your head.

“Shidou Ryusei I love you!” You sobbed, tightening the grip you had on him.

“I know… I’ll always love you too.” He struggled to talk as he felt his voice becoming weak.

“J-just stay… please stay…” You kept begging and sobbing. After all, he was the only person you had left, the only person you made a real connection with, the one that cared when nobody else did.

“Hey sweets…” An almost inaudible mumble came out of him.

You slightly lifted your head, red and swollen eyes meeting his gaze. Despite him almost feeling he was going to fall asleep, he looked at you fondly and not loosing his lazy smirk.

“You look so cool to me, even if you’re crying.” He weakly chuckled.

All you could was let out a sad chuckle before staring at him and crashing your lips against his in a kiss full of emotions and pure love until you felt he eventually fell asleep…

Hey!! This time i decided to write some angst, hopefully it wasn’t too bad or too heavy 😥 Hope you like it!!

Masterlist here

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

little izuku & cg katsuki headcanons !!

— requested by anon —

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

🌱 - izuku struggles a lot to regress. he’s a chronic over thinker and can’t get out of his head long enough to settle down. he’s shrouded in constant shame towards his headspace because there are things he could be doing, things he should be doing, and instead of doing them, he sits paralyzed and unable to regress. the only exception is katsuki— who somehow makes izuku small without even trying. all he does is stand too close and izuku is many years smaller, trying to stop himself from leaning in for affection. something about the way he’s constantly so confident that everything will be okay has izuku regressing immediately, as if reminded of why he used to think katsuki was so cool and heroic in the first place.

💥 - katsuki, meanwhile, is very aware of this fact and never knows what to do with it. on one hand, he doesn’t want to further break things he’s already cracked and, on the other, he has no idea how to reciprocate. so, he does what he always does when he’s anxious about friendships— he throws a bunch of stuff at the person he’s friends with and hopes that his actions speak louder than words. for a long time, little izuku survived off the baked sweets katsuki learned how to make from satou and personalized dinners clearly decorated for a child and delivered straight to him (even when he wasn’t small).

🌱 - izuku starts out without any little gear because he hardly managed to regress anyways and he never had the money for it. part of him thought about telling his mom and asking her for things, but he’d always chicken out before he could. it left him with nothing except for his all might merch, which worked well enough. then, katsuki found out and used a ton of his loose spending money on things that izuku could use. he refuses to be unprepared (specifically, he says he “refuses to be caught with his pants down” about it) and keeps a bunch of random things stashed in both their dorm rooms. izuku thinks it’s overkill and gets so embarrassed about it but he does relish in having supplies. there truly is nothing better than plushies and bottles.

💥 - katsuki doesn’t really care for rules as a caregiver but there are three that are absolutely non-negotiable. one, izuku has to eat. it doesn’t matter how busy he is pretending like he can study while half-regressed or spiraling under the pressure of the world, he has to eat something and katsuki will spoon feed him if he has to (he’s done it before and every time, it just leaves him with a whiney baby /affectionate).

two, when katsuki goes to bed, so does izuku. he doesn’t enforce this one when izuku isn’t regressed for obvious reasons, but as much as he loves the kid, he’s not child-rearing past ten pm and he’s not waking up any earlier than 5 am (unless it’s important like a nightmare or accident). izuku doesn’t love this rule so the compromise is that it’s fine if izuku is awake and cuddling katsuki, as long as he’s in bed and not constantly waking him up because he can’t keep still (I headcanon that izuku moves constantly in his sleep and he takes up so much room that katsuki never knows peace when they spend the night together).

three, izuku has to tell him when he’s feeling small or otherwise not good. there have been too many times where izuku bottled things up only to have a massive meltdown that his three year old brain couldn’t handle (it is a little funny that katsuki is so strict about this one because,,, pot meet kettle. he’s just as bad about bottling things up until he crashes out). it’s a very casual system— meaning that izuku will just randomly text katsuki throughout the day that he’s feeling anxious, spacey, weird, etc. and, every time, katsuki will ask if izuku needs him and if he says no, katsuki sends a thumbs up and says to tell him if that changes. if he says yes, however, katsuki will literally drop everything and take off to find him without a single explanation to those he’s around. it’s the same every time, like clockwork, and as much as izuku hates feeling like a burden, he likes routine and he likes knowing what to expect so he stopped shying away from this rule quite early on.

not that there’s really any punishments for breaking the rules, anyways. katsuki is afraid of being too harsh and izuku will cry if he even thinks katsuki is upset with him, so it’s mostly just a lot of katsuki barking (like the least threatening shih tzu ever) at him for not taking care of himself. that said, izuku does become a troublesome toddler in his ‘older’ ages and is an absolute monster to handle because he’s constantly getting into things, running around, and actively trying to give katsuki a heart attack. one time, he decided he wanted to fly around and act like all might, and that’s how katsuki implemented rule four: no goddamn quirks while small.

🌱 - izuku regresses young, usually 1-3, and its like something directly out of katsuki’s memories. izuku has a lot of the same mannerisms, he’s just far more shy than he used to be (and katsuki can’t help thinking that might be his fault). it’s not usually an issue because katsuki, for as abrasive as he can be, is actually pretty good with little kids. but izuku also struggles with being big in a school environment. once he started regressing somewhat regularly, it was like the floodgates opened and he was left with a headspace constantly on the brink of tipping over. school is a very sore subject for him, both because of his history of bullying and isolation, and because he just doesn’t really enjoy it. he likes learning heroics, but everything else just stresses him out because he’s smart but he’s not actually that good at academics (the classic tune of autistic kid meets classes that aren’t about his special interest). he just finds it difficult and that discomfort always pushes him towards regressing in his least favorite classes.

it, of course, stresses katsuki out in turn because he can’t focus on his work if he’s busy worrying about izuku (who is usually fine, by the way. katsuki is very prone to overreacting and mother henning him about everything. at worst, izuku usually just won’t be able to listen to the lesson and, instead, spends the whole time kicking his feet in boredom). the solution is that they pass notes back and forth since they sit in front of each other and it’s mostly izuku doodling things and assuring katsuki that he’s fine. aizawa pretends not to notice on the rare occasions it happens in his classes because he refuses to reprimand them for bettering their relationship after the hell that was the beginning of first year, especially since they aren’t actually disturbing anyone.

💥 - katsuki doesn’t really like it when people touch him, but izuku is always the exception. katsuki runs really warm and izuku likes snuggling with him while watching cartoons with his thumb in his mouth. more often than katsuki (or big izuku) would necessarily like, izuku will trap katsuki on the couches in the commons or will cling to him in the kitchen when he’s trying to help make dinner. in general, little izuku is just really clingy and he hates being cooped up in his dorm so he’s just constantly hovering around katsuki, trying to hang off his arm whenever possible. it’s not that katsuki actually cares that much (unlike big izuku who is mortified by it), it’s more just that it’s hard to juggle keeping tabs on izuku while explaining that no, this doesn’t suddenly mean katsuki wants hugs from everyone else. it takes a couple attempts but, eventually, katsuki’s friends learn that izuku is just the exception because he always is (and they think it’s very sweet, even if they are a little jealous since they want katsuki cuddles too).

[fluemsiie]

our family [ j. ackles ]

synopsis. you need jensen to come back home. notes. 1.3k words, breastfeeding, depression, mentions of ppd, not proof read, happy birthday jensen <3 — comments & rbs appreciated.

jensen’s been filming for a while, and by a while, you mean for freakin’ months. he can’t catch a break and so you did what any sane person does— you moved to vancouver all the way from texas just to be close to him. it took a lot of planning, and way too much money, but you weren’t letting your husband stay at a different country alone anymore, it was taking a toll on both your mental health and your relationship.

not to mention your daughter always asking for daddy, where he is, can she go out with him; it’s breaking your heart as much as it is his and so you decided to settle for a smaller apartment near where they were filming.

you’d say it helped your mental health but that would be a lie. ever since you had your daughter you knew something had been seriously wrong. you’re unmotivated to move out of bed, you try to do everything you need to in your room, hardly go out to see anyone but her. anything you need to go do, you have delivered. if the whole ‘not moving’ thing wasn’t hurting you, then the fact that you let your body go a little is fucking breaking you.

you don’t think anything has ever been so wrong in your life, nothing goes the way it should and it seems like you can’t fix it no matter what you do which is disappointing considering you’re a mother now. a mother. you’re supposed to know everything and have all the answers.

and despite moving to be closer to him, leaving behind your own family, something not a lot of people would do, he still spends some nights at jared’s (because gen is still in texas, like you should be).

except there’s also another thing jensen has no idea about; you got diagnosed with depression shortly before you made the move, it’s a big reason why you did the move in the first place. you thought it was past partum but you made sure to actually get diagnosed before telling jen and since you won’t be harming yourself or your baby girl, you decided he didn’t need to know.

he’s been so busy since he decided to start directing too and you’re insanely proud of him, even if you’re having a hard time. but you don’t wanna risk it so here you are, alone in a city you’ve visited only a handful of times with your two year old daughter.

but today’s by far one of your worst days. you tried taking some pills, just pain killers, you aren’t comfortable taking pills for whatever’s wrong with you, you can’t risk hurting any future babies. it isn’t like you don’t believe in them— you’re a nurse, of course you do, but you also know they could hurt you long term, it’s not worth it.

some days it seems like it’s just not worth it. you pick up your phone to call jensen. it takes a few rings but then he responds and you sigh in relief. you honestly thought he wouldn’t pick up, “hey.”

“what’s wrong? are you okay?” it catches you by surprise but when you recover you tell him you and rhyme are great. “i mean you, sweetheart. you sound off.”

you don’t sound that off. definitely not enough for him to pick it up the second you greet him. not that you’re complaining, maybe if he knows what’s wrong he’ll get home faster. jensen’s always helped you in ways he wouldn’t even believe— he’s your life force at times and you’re not sure what you’d do without him, especially now when you need him.

and he’s not neglectful, he took your first four months off from filming and had his sister stay with you for the other two. he’s always put your needs in front of filming but you don’t want to be overbearing.

“when are you getting home? i’m making your favorite.”

“yeah? ‘m not too sure. twelve-thirty, give or take.” which is code for ‘don’t wait up’ so you wake up and find out he never made it home, just crashed on set or at jay’s

“okay.” you can’t bring yourself to ask him to come home even if you don’t doubt he will. jen’s working because he loves his job, sure, but it’s also to provide for you, he wouldn’t want to hurt you over something he’s doing for you in the first place. and you know all that, you just wish you’d always be logical enough to remember it. 

“is that it?” god, this is conflicting. you know you need him right now, you just can’t get the words out. “sweetheart?”

“yeah.” 

It’s a beat before he responds. “i’m coming home at twelve with dinner. don’t cook anything.” he ends the call and you’re smiling. it’s no surprise he figured you needed him, but you couldn’t be happier to have someone that cares enough to come when you call, despite your call being ominous and downright needy.

+

it’s the third time you’ve started frozen because rhyme doesn’t understand that when a movie ends you start a new one, all while breastfeeding her. it’s gotten significantly easier as she nears two years old, she just sits next to you instead of you having to kill your back, and she honestly does it for ten minutes maximum before she gets bored.

and at this point she’s tried everything from lamb to mashed fruit, milk is hardly a full meal to her. but your doctor said it’s best to try and breastfeed her until she hits the 22 month mark. she’s nearing 20 months now.

when she’s done, and else is singing ‘let it go’ with rhyme as her background vocalist, you get up to get started on dinner. jensen said to not make anything which means he’s ordering take out himself but you should probably make sure the counter is clean and that there’s a salad to go with the food.

just as you’re done cleaning the table, the front door opens and your shoulder fall in relief. you didn’t even know you were raising them. you hear his footsteps all the way to the living room, where rhyme runs into her dads arms and lifts her up effortlessly. 

he turns to you, sees you standing in your open kitchen and walks over to kiss your hair softly. “hey, baby girl.” 

rhyme laughs and hugs him tighter. well, the endearment is yours as much as it is hers, you’re both his girls. 

“thanks for coming home, jen.”

“don’t do that, don’t thank me for that. i should’ve known it bothered you— and you should’ve told me earlier.”

“it doesn’t always! just when i need you and then i wake up and i just don’t find you.” days where the depression is just, god, it’s horrible. days when you can’t take rhyme crying because you can’t find the toy she lost or when she’s hungry and you’ve only slept two hours, waiting for his text to confirm he’s safe and at home. 

“baby, i can’t always read your mind, sometimes you gotta help me out.” you nod quickly and he kisses his daughter before putting her down. 

“foor?” food. he nods, placing the bag onto the table. you’ve been teaching her german so she confuses d’s for r’s. you’re not too sure how that came to be but you don’t question it because she’s been saying words in german.

the smell hits you all at once, and your heart practically squeezes itself. jensen drove to your favourite restaurant thirty minutes away. it makes your home country’s food the most authentically and you’ve always loved feeling at home. 

“jensen, seriously?” he smiles and you’re the one who throws yourself into his arms this time, his little girl, not quite understanding, joins in. and you’re not sure how you would’ve gotten through today without him coming back home to his girls.

[seventh-district]

“Why’s he call you Darlin’?”

on my knees begging my brain to stop trying to associate this song with Sam

[idksjdhshdhd]

Maybe in an alternate universe, where Jake was nice and Will wasn’t in love with Mike…

[mossangelll]

arcane characters as sugar mommies/daddies ˚₊‧꒰ა $ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

been thinking about mel as a sugar mommy and decided to spread the joy to other characters >:)

haven’t proofread but i was obsessed with the idea and needed to get my thoughts out, hope you enjoy ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

part 2.5

cw: don’t think gender is specified but i had a fem reader in mind so that might show, smut, degrading language used in a consensual manner, minors dni, 18+ only

Vi

the alluring one

you’re trying to buy a round of drinks when your card declines and just as you’re about to die from embarrassment, her warm hand settles on your shoulder as her scarred lip smirks down at you

she pays for multiple rounds of drinks and before you know it, you’re making out in the alleyway

the rest is history

you never thought you’d be in an arrangement like this but she had her ways of convincing you otherwise

has a bunch of different girls on her roster that she maybeeee doesn’t tell you about

don’t worry, you’re the only sugar baby she pays this much for

when you find out you can’t even be that mad about it - she’s so hot you’d let her get away with anything

you’re smart enough to be pouty around her and take advantage of the situation - get ready for the greatest apology of your life

she invites you to her place just for you to find thousands of roses in the foyer and a gift box with your name on the table

she has you follow a trail of clues until you end up in her bedroom, still juggling an armful of gifts, where vi is waiting for you with a hopeful look

she rushes over to take the boxes from you and smothers your face in feather light kisses before apologising for making you feel shitty

her apology doesn’t stop there though and carries on well into the night

you complain about your bus being late? she’s already sent an uber black to your location

you don’t know which gaming console you want? she’s got it covered - multiple packages with every console you mentioned are arriving by the next day

you’re at a party but you’re feeling needy? she’s already dragging you to a storage cupboard, crowd be damned, and eating you out with such fervour you think you might see heaven

pays for your gym membership at a place like equinox and makes sure you two take full advantage of the sauna - it might be warm in there, but you come out sweaty for a whole other reason

has a garage full of vintage motorbikes that cost a fortune and only she can touch

pays you your days salary (and then some) so you can take time off work just so you can visit her at her home gym

she uses you to show off her impressive strength by lifting you as if you weigh nothing in her arms

getting used as her personal gym equipment is a major turn on

lives to impress you with her physique, she gets so pleased with herself when she notices your eyes darken as they wander over her toned body

she definitely has mirror ceilings and she definitely makes you stare at yourself as she fucks you stupid underneath them

Jinx

the mischevious one

she’s the rich artsy kind and you’re her muse

this means she needs you around 24/7 in case creativity strikes her - naturally, this leads to her paying for your company

has you come over to the studio all the time

one time, she set down a canvas on the floor, told you to strip, covered you two in paint and fucked you right there and then

the rolling around, teeth bared, guttural moan, primal kind of fucking; she relished in the bruises that bloomed on your neck and chest as she sucked on your most sensitive spots

the resulting painting was quite impressive to look at, even if thinking about its creation made you more flustered than you’ve ever been

her hands aren’t only good for creating art pieces it seems

she’s one of the sugar mommy’s that pays you the most since she views your company as priceless when it comes to her work

you get anything you ask for, seriously

you’re decked head to toe and all of it is something jinx either gifted you or gave you the money to buy

if it’s something not available to buy, she buys luxurious materials that cost more than your salary just to craft it for you

takes you to the kind of stiff, fancy places she hates just to have you wear vibrating underwear which she has the controls for

sometimes it’s even the opening night of her art gallery

she makes it a challenge: how long can you go without drawing attention to yourself due to your moans - the longer, the more money you get

it’s downright obscene, the way she knowingly glances at you with subdued glee , your slight whimpers echoing as you try your best to muffle the sounds, tears welling up in your eyes

she goes back to chatting up art collectors and investors as she secretly turns up the power of the vibrations hitting you right to the core

she calls you her “sweet thing” when you get back to her penthouse and she makes it up to you by giving you her bank card

she likes to make you laugh during sex too, she doesn’t like if you try to make it too “dour”

Caitlyn

the inexperienced one

cait’s been single for a while and it’s obvious it’s taking its toll

her friends encourage her to go out and meet someone new but she’s too focused on work to waste time on someone she probably won’t like

one day she stumbles upon a sugar baby site and says fuck it

the first date is pretty awkward but after a couple drinks, you manage to loosen her up so she’s more free with you

she has no clue what her role in this kind of arrangement is so she goes all out from the get-go; she loves spending money on you to the point it’s a bit insane even if she tells you not to worry

has to ask her friends for advice on the group chat constantly (she has a history of fumbling attractive people and she’s not letting it happen again)

adds you to her country club membership so you two can play tennis on the weekends

this place is fancyyyyyy but she makes sure you feel comfortable

gets you a instructor if you don’t know how to play

this obviously means she buys you about ten different outfits with tennis bracelets to match each

buys you a penthouse in the best part of town, close to where she lives of course so she has easy access to you

you two christen every single room in your new place, no stone left unturned

scissoring in the large bedroom, head on the lavish kitchen countertops, taking turns fucking with the strap on the balcony with a breathtaking view, fingering in the living room - everything and anything you can think of

her job isn’t done until the two of you are exhausted and wailing loud enough that the neighbours 20 floors down are complaining

she is insatiable when it comes to you, it’s like you lit a fire within her that she can’t put out no matter how hard she tries

completely adores how cute you act when you try to deny her pricey gifts

even more so when she gifts you a first edition book and your demeanour turns more panicked by the second

really though, she’s freaking out more than you are although she doesn’t show it often

her biggest fear is gifting you something you hate which leads to you ending everything

you’ve never had a sugar mommy treat you like this

she gives her assistant special instructions to let you into her office at any time, a privilege only you’re blessed with

you manage to distract her and before she knows it, she’s forced to make herself look presentable in only five minutes despite having a smudge-proof lipstick mark on her cheek she can’t get off for the life of her

doesn’t want to admit that she wants more than a purely transactional relationship with you

Silco

the generous one

gives you an exorbitant amount of money every time you see him

like, a CRAZY amount

it barely registers for him though, he has more money than should be possible

he goes as far as to give you his black card even if you didn’t ask for it

goads you to max it out and somehow, despite spending so much, you’ve barely dented the thing which makes him laugh

he expects you to spend most of the money he gives you on luxuries you wouldn’t normal buy and asks you to do a haul and model it all for him in his office

behind the scenes, he’s busy paying off your any debts you might have, setting up a trust fund for you, looking for houses you would like

wants you to be set up for life

showers you in decadent lingerie that fits you perfectly from boutiques like la perla, agent provocateur and honey birdette - only the best for his girl

has to replace your lingerie quite often though, he goes feral when he sees you all dolled up just for him

even more so if you were good and listened to his demands, buying the exact lingerie he wanted to see you in

has you sign a detailed contract before the arrangement begins since he wants to make sure you’re comfortable with everything

also wants to make sure you follow his rules

wants you to only refer to him using “sir” when it’s just the two of you

i see him as the kind of sugar daddy that does expect some sugar in return

he’s very abrasive in bed, and calls you all types of degrading names which only serves to turn you both on further

has some…curious interests that he pays you more for indulging in - he is a gentleman after all

“my money hungry slut” and “little whore” are his favourites

takes you on shopping sprees for aftercare (and maybe he does cuddle too but you can’t let anyone else know that) - he doesn’t want you to think he views you a less than just because of the life path you’ve chosen

his idea of pillow talk is giving you tips on the stock market and trading

Sevika

the brusque one

she has commitment issues, is afraid of vulnerability and has a high sex drive

this has led her romantic relationships to fail in one way or another, which is where you come in

she sees it as a simple business transaction - nothing more, nothing less

she likes having you around but don’t get confused: she doesn’t want a real relationship with you

doesn’t sugar coat her words around you and while it might make anyone else run for the hills, you appreciate her honesty

having someone as gorgeous as you coo and hang onto her every word does inflate her ego

everyone wants you, eyes appraising you up and down, but they can’t have you - only she can

so punctual with her payments that it genuinely feels like any other regular job

she looks down on those so called sugar mommies that skimp out of paying a fair rate - you don’t need to worry with her, you’ll be getting more than you ever really needed

despite presenting a stoic image, she can’t help but give in to your every whim

all you have to do is glance at a display window with even a hint of longing and she’s immediately rolling her eyes, dragging you into the shop to buy it for you

if you get tired walking around and ask her to carry you she will huff and puff but that doesn’t stop her from scooping you up anyway

she has a strap on AND it’s the kind that ejaculates too

you two go to luxury toy makers and get straps custom made to tailor to both of your wants and desires

she perhaps gets attachments for her mechanical arm too…

she doesn’t skimp out on the good stuff when it comes to you

her hot grunts ring in your ears as she grinds into you, her body seemingly encompassing your entire body and mind

creampies you every time and fucks the cum back inside of your dripping hole just to watch it leak back out and repeat the cycle again until you’re begging out for her

you’re in a daze for a good ten minutes after and she can’t help but snort at the faces you make

maybe this isn’t just a simple transaction to her

Vander

the hesitant one

vander feels icky about the relationship he has with you at the start

he’s much older than you and you’re still in university, it makes him feel like such a bad person who’s preying on your vulnerability

you make sure to always remind him that he’s single-handedly paying for your tuition

you love what he does for you!

once he gets past that hurdle though, god have mercy on your soul, you will be ruined for other people

he basically acts as your mentor just with some extra benefits on the side

loves to hear you yap about any projects you’re working on and does his best to help with any issues at university

he’s the type to text you good morning and good night every single day without fail

even gives you a bigger allowance if you wake up early and reply to his good morning texts quickly

what? it’s an incentive to get you to attend your lectures

likes to be called daddy even if it does make him blush intensely

he gets off on the idea of being your protector and the only one to provide for you

cockwarms you when you’re working on assignments and it turns your brain to mush every time

spanks you when you stop paying attention

honestly it feels like he’s working against you whenever he does this

also gets jealous when you talk about dates you had with other people

he never made the relationship an official one, but that doesn’t stop him from fucking you hard, his hand prints left on your hips to mark his territory

definitely can’t walk the next day and he’s so smug

down BAD

Ambessa

the teasing one

ambessa has play things in every city; you name a place, odds are she’s got a hook up there

you’re no exception of course

in fact, you’re her favourite out of them all

whenever ambessa calls, you run to be at her service

L O A D E D

exposes you to experiences you never even knew existed, i’m talking about things only the upper 1% can do

she’s the kind of sugar mommy that likes to hear about your day over a glass of wine

the mundanity helps her calm down from her hectic life

she will hold the things she does for you over your head

it’s mean but she views it as her right considering all the luxuries she gives you access to

jokes she’s going to go to a perfumer and get the scent of your sex turned into a perfume

when you accept a surprise gift from her, it turns out it was not a joke - you should’ve known something was up the second her wicked smile made an appearance

actually doesn’t smell too bad

has you use it every single time you’re around her and only then

she’s a FREAK what can i say

whisks you off to couple spa days; you both deserve a little rest and relaxation every now and then

speaking of spa days, she often asks you to massage her which usually ends with your large hands pawing all over your body

she likes receiving more than giving but she still prioritises giving you plenty of orgasms through the night

what kind of sugar mommy would she be without ensuring you’re also satisfied with your arrangement?

you’re worn out from what she considers foreplay

still, you need to make sure you’re being as thoughtful as she is otherwise you’re getting kicked down the rungs of her sugar baby ladder

Mel

the cunning one

mel is the best sugar mommy around i know it

doesn’t do it often - she tries to limit herself to one sugar baby every once in a while

she sees them as worthwhile investments

if you want to be her sugar baby, you need to bring something useful to the table

she meets you at a science exhibition and is thoroughly impressed with your work

you need funding to complete your research and she needs relief from her stressful life as a counsellor

a win-win situation if you ask her

you don’t see her often, she’s too busy solving problems with the council, but when you do, she makes sure it’s worth your time

expensive dinner dates, surprise weekend get-aways, opera concerts - anything you ask for, it’s yours

not only is she funding all of your research, she takes you to galas where you can mingle with the elites you need to win over to achieve more exposure for your research

she usually sends boxes full of clothes and shoes to your house for you to wear to these outings, and picks you up fancy black car with a chauffeur and bottles of wine in coolers

she has her hand on your leg the entire journey there, a faint smirk on her lips when she notices how hot and bothered you are

in a relationship like this, she likes to be the dominant one in bed

she doesn’t expect anything sexual in return but if you’re willing she’s more than happy to fulfill those needs too

leans towards being sensual and romantic but that doesn’t mean she won’t make sure to fuck you thoroughly

heavy on foreplay to the point you think you’re going to pass out from the pent up energy in you

has lots of toys she likes to use on you, she’s very experimental and wants to test which one you respond to the most

also likes you to use the toys on her too and when she sees you suck her wetness off the toy you just used on her, she melts into a puddle

yeah, you’re getting an instant increase on your allowance and you’re getting a new custom wardrobe

Jayce

the proud one

jayce comes from a relatively well-off family, but his inventions launched him into stardom and left him with more money than he knew what to do with

he decides the best thing he can do is spread the love

he finds you on a site for this kind of stuff, something he would rather die than admit, and knew he had to get you on a date with him

makes you custom jewellery set with the most unique stones you’ve ever seen and loves when you wear them out on dates with him

you probably have the entire gdp of a small country just on your wrist alone

wants a play-by-play of all the things you bought that week, he’s lowkey into hearing how much of his money you spent on treating yourself

he wants you to buy even more things with his money than you already do which flusters you but you give in every time

he’s another one that wants a fashion show where you try on everything you bought

he just likes to sit and clap with a smile as you twirl for him

loves to show you off at all the balls and galas he’s invited to

takes you on late night drives in his alpine a110 r-turini and he always has one arm, big with straining muscles, around your headrest which never fails to make your heart flutter

oh i can see him being into role play

maybe he’s your boss and you’re the maid he just caught stealing from him lmao

he loves to get sloppy head from you and offers you all sorts of gifts in return

talking, or helplessly groaning in this situation, about all the ways you can drain his money is his form of dirty talk, “yeah, just like that babe. you want me to buy that new phone don’t you? well, take me like the good girl i know you are and work for it.”

he’s so whipped for you it borders on quite cute imo

Viktor

the cocky one

viktor came into new money after selling the patent for one of his inventions

he is well aware that he’s an attractive guy and could have pretty much anyone he wants, but his long work hours aren’t conducive to healthy relationships

so he takes it upon himself to get a sugar baby, no strings attached

has you stay with him in his lab to keep him company - he loves listening to your idle chatter about things he has no interest in

but when it’s you talking about them he’s captivated by every word

likes to call you his “cute lab assistant” and tries to hide how much he likes it when you call him your “handsome scientist”

he fails obviously

he explains extremely complicated topics in a very contrived way, even when he knows he can simplify it for the average person, because seeing the dumbfounded look on your face gets him going

closes down a whole shopping mall just so you can frolic about and shop to your hearts content; oh, don’t worry about all those bags, he has a guy to carry them all so you two can focus on having a nice date ^^

gonna be real, he’s the kind of guy to fuck you against the wall of the changing room, not caring that the bashful shop assistants can hear every single clap of skin slapping against each other and the strangled moans you both let out

buys all the clothes you tried on, you’re too fucked out to notice the looks you get from the workers, and the fact that the clothes might be a bit…dirty 😭

at least he tips them enough to make up for it

sprays his designer cologne on your gifts so you remember who you belong to

playfully suggests you give him a lap dance so he gets his money worth but you both know it was anything but a joke

good thing you love putting on a show for him!

this guy is such a troll, he literally throws money on you and slips bills in between the straps of your underwear as you sensually dance for him in the lingerie he paid for

has to control himself from pouncing on you then and there

he really enjoys the way you can both tease each other and not take things too seriously

masterlist

[phiniusandjelly]

Vaguely inspired by that one post where Danny gets summoned by the JL and keeps throwing his shoes and stuff at them bc HE might not be able to leave the summoning circle but his clothes sure can!

I think the twist for that was that the circle doesnt effect him at all because hes a halfa and he was just goofing with the JL.

But imagine if the summoning and containment WORKED.

Like, he gets summoned and its startling, but once he realizes hes been summoned hes mostly annoyed.

Its a school night! He has work to do! Sure he wasnt DOING it, but it was still a possibility!

And hes trying to banter with the JL. Which for him just means being vaguely-obnoxious-but-somewhat-charming.

But then he tries to leave.

Maybe hes worried about his friends reaction to seeing him disappear.

Maybe the JL are saying some anti ghost/demon/whatever they think he is nonsense.

Maybe he changed his mind about doing that homework.

But either way, it doesnt work.

He drags his hand along the edge of the spell. It doesnt give, and he realizes hes not sure what this spell is supposed to do.

Its all along the floor beneth him, he cant fly through the floor.

He tries to get away from the walls and floor, worried whatever spell makes up the container can be triggered to hurt him or brainwash him or SOMETHING.

Its not his best guest, but he has never been summoned before, at least not with this type of barrier, and he doesnt know what to expect.

He barely gets a few feet off the ground when he hits the spells invisible roof.

And he is trapped.

And now this fourteen year old child is caged in a room with clearly dangerous adult strangers.

After hes been more or less kidnapped.

He’s suddenly regretting insulting them.

And its not his first time beimg kidnapped. Or his first time being in danger in general (obviously).

but its usually some ghost! Or Vlad “Loser, I hardly know her!” Masters!

Both of whom explain literally everything they plan in long ass evil monologues! It usually takes danny five minutes tops to learn their entire life story Dr Doofenshmirtz style!

He knows most of them personally! They hang out sometimes! Heck! even the local ghost hunters are either literally related to him or someone he’s dated!

He knows their powersets, their strengths, their weaknesses.

Most importantly, he knows their goals

But now hes trapped. In a room of clearly superpowerd strangers. With magical abilities strong enough to trap him for real.

And has no idea what they want

And Danny just freezes up

This could be super angsty if the JL were told that he was evil and think his panic + young features are only done to manipulate them.

You can also add angst with a language barrier/translation issue

I imagine the JL would be trying to get information about ghosts/ are trying to get someone to fight a villain they can’t defeat

Its going to scare the shit out of Danny either way- like imagine fourteen year old you gets kidnapped by strangers and they start asking you about your weaknesses or say they will only let you out if you agree to fight this monster.

And if Danny doesnt know this villain or how tf hes going to fight them he might feel like hes being sent off to get his ass kicked.

I can just imagine Danny being told he has to fight this supervillain and being like “…if i like..die…trying to fight this guy…what are you going to do with my body? Like will you send me home? Cause my family will freak if my corpse is teleported into the living room”

JL would not be happy about any of his responses.

Im begging someone to write this please have a nice day

[robinsgrl]

rafe with a weird and clingy girl pt. 2 y’all i have a lot of these you don’t even know how weird of a gf i can be.

weird girl masterlist

main masterlist

it’s not just cute aggression. although that is a main factor. you need to be touching him at aalllll times. like all the time.

you’re both in bed, the night a cold one for the outer banks. he’s on his side of the bed reading a lame book that you can’t care for. and despite being under the same blanket as him, he feels warmer.

you place your cold hands on his abs and he lets out a tiny yelp and shoves you away. “god, why are you so cold?”

“as my boyfriend it’s your job to warm me up!”

“no way, then i quit”

you put your hands back on him and despite how he tenses from the cold, he doesn’t push you away again. this gives you to the idea to trail your hand down and put them in his shorts.

“what the hell are you doing?”

“that’s the warmest part of you”

“what?”

“it’s like when i put my hands in my bra cause it’s really warm”

“you put your hands in your bra?”

“shut up, you put your hands in my bra all the time”

“to cop a feel not to get warm”

“don’t move my hands!” because he’s trying to get your hands out of his shorts

“baby, you cant grip on me because you want to warm up”

“okay then pretend im coping a feel!”

“get off of me weirdo!” he laughs, attention now on you as you practically wrestle

you like to slap his ass. it’s hard not to. he’s so tantalizing. even when he isn’t trying. you go to the gym with him once and he’s lifting weights as you drool behind him. up and down. up and down. You let out a wolf whistle as you watch him and he tries and hold back his smile.

“just like that” you coo

“you sound like a pervert”

“im a pervert for you”

“that’s not as romantic as you think it is”

“what would you do if i squished a cheek right now?”

this alarms him and he drops the weights, giving you a scolding look. “you can’t squish a guys cheek while he’s lifting”

“im not going to.” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him. you were definitely going to.

he gives you a careful side eye, making sure you’re on your best behavior. a few minutes later and he’s back at his task. you sit, bored, still just watching him. you sigh loudly as you get up off the machine you were sitting on. “you’re boring. im leaving”

“wait for me, angel, im almost—“

you giggle and run away as you send a smack to his ass, “sorry! i had to!”

“jesus, you’re an animal!” he calls out after you.

you don’t even stop at family events. cameron events are usually stuffy. you hate them. but you do what you can for rafe. it’s the end of the awkward dinner and you two are washing dishes. “surprised you didn’t make the help do this”

“we gave him the day off”

“spoiled brat” you tease him as he rinses a dish under the water. you finish drying off the plate and put it in the cabinet, eyes trailing over him. his ass looks good in his dress pants.

with a hop to your step, you stand behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. “what are you up to?”

you scoff, “can’t a girl hug her man?”

“you’re hugging me like a broke boyfriend. you only do that when you’re up to something”

“would it surprise you if i said im trying to cop a feel?”

“nothing about you surprises me anymore”

“so you won’t be mad?”

“i’ll be pissed.”

“too late” you bring your hands behind him and give his ass a squeeze. he tenses at this, pushing himself forward to get away from you.

“you’re perverted!”

“you have cake! i can’t help it!”

“cake? god, you gross me out”

“stop running away!”

he’s threatening you with a wet hand towel but you dodge him as you keep chasing after him. dinners at this house are always the worst but not as the two of you run around the kitchen, laughter filling the air.

“uh, what’s happening?” wheezie’s voice cuts the two of you off.

rafe’s got you draped on his shoulder, your hands on his ass from the upside down angle you’re in. you both pause. “we’re touching butts.”

“jesus, baby, don’t tell my sister that”