#jean is not there but will be there in the middle of the night

[rcmclachlan]

Do y'all ever think about the night Buck and Tommy first had sex and how Tommy slid his briefs down and Buck took one look at his hard wet dick and burst out laughing but Tommy didn't have a chance to feel hurt about it because Buck was wide-eyed and shocked and fascinated like "Oh shit, this is what they mean by monster cock I guess because there's no way I'm going to be able to fit even a quarter of that in my mouth, is this why your jeans are always so loose, I bet my thumb and my middle finger won't even touch when I hold it, how are you still conscious like at least 4/5ths of all the blood in your body has to be in that thing, have you ever knocked shampoo bottles off the side of the shower with it, how much does it weigh, wait I have a tape measure around here somewhere I want circumference numbers don't go anywhere!" while Tommy was standing there absolutely baffled and still turned on for some reason while Buck rummaged around in his little tool kit hard as a rock and babbling about how a dick that big had to noticeably affect Tommy's center of gravity?

[neontiger]

snowglobe

♡ MDNI 18+

♡ jason todd x fem!reader

♡ Bruce may not be able to get revenge for Jason's death, but he can pay for a weekend at a snowy mountain resort for the two of you. Hot tub and a special appearance by Mr. Todd's bag of goodies.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Cold air bites at your exposed cheeks. Bubbling heat engulfs the rest of your body, steam rising from the water's surface as you rest your head back on the pillowed edge of the hot tub. Below a village more deserving of a Christmas card sparkles in the setting sun, cupped in the embrace of snow-peaked mountains. There's not a thought, not a worry, running through your head as you soak in the water. If only this could be real life and not simply a weekend getaway.

None of the other cabins are visible from your perch in the mountains. All is quiet, the only sounds the bubbling of the hot tub and the occasional kiss of the wind. Even with the window to the cabin's master bedroom open, you can't hear Jason snoring - though you know for a fact he is, having passed out nearly as soon as you got here. But you can't really blame him. He needs the sleep.

Still, you'd like a little time with him. In your travel bag was an arsenal of lingerie and toys, and you'd be at least a little disappointed not breaking out some of them. Here, where the walls weren't paper thin and you could make some noise without the neighbors banging on your door. Where Jason couldn't disappear in the middle of the night.

Three whole days with him. You couldn't waste a breath.

New sounds enter your bubble: the creak of the bed, feet meeting the hardwood floor, as Jason finally seems to be stirring from his deserved nap. You keep your eyes closed but ears open as the sliding doors leading to the patio open.

His presence is felt, the weight of him thrusting in your gut before he even places his lips to your forehead. "How dare you start without me?"

You open one eye and squint at him. "You're the one who passed out. You're lucky I didn't leave you here entirely."

"Right. Sure." He's wearing too much, still in his jeans and a thick sweater, hair tousled from good sleep. All of it makes him look softer, more tender, than the man you know in Gotham. It's not a complaint, maybe. Only different.

You sit up enough to expose shoulders missing the telltale bikini straps, alerting him that you were at least topless. Jason's eyebrow cocks in a quick, blink and you'll miss it move, before he clears his throat and leans on the side of the hot tub. The foamy bubbles won't break to give him a peek at below.

"Are you coming in? It's really nice." You slip out of reach, turning to cross your arms on the edge of the tub. The village underneath appears to be falling into a quiet evening step, streetlamps clicking on as open signs are shuttered.

"Are you wearing anything?" Jason asks.

You give him a sideways glare. "Yes, Jason. I've got bottoms on."

"I didn't know. I thought people hung out naked in these things."

"That sounds gross."

He shrugs, gripping the hem of his sweater. It comes off over his head in one slick move. Your attention - half of it, anyway - returns to the village. It feels like a caricature, a fantasy place caught inside a snowglobe. Too perfect to be real.

Water splashes out of the tub as Jason steps in. The bubbles lick his waist as he moves to sit next to you, draping one arm over the edge to watch the scene below.

"What do you think it's like?" There's something unplaceable in his gaze as he drags it over the village. "Living here."

"Nothing like being on vacation here." You turn your head to look at him instead, resting your chin on your arm. His profile is sharp and soft, scarred and still smooth, gentle.

"It's not Gotham," he says.

You shake your head. In the movement, strands of hair wiggle themselves loose from the messy knot you piled them into. You sit up to fix it, dragging wet fingers through your damp hair.

Jason watches, quiet, at the simple way you fix your hair, the stretch of your arms. the concentration in your eyes. Mesmerized.

"It'd be nice, I think." You return to your spot, though a little closer to him now. "Boring."

"I could handle boring."

A tease sits on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back at the last second. "Me too," you say. "We could...be sheep farmers."

He snorts. "They do that here?"

"Maybe. I don't know."

A smile spreads across his face, eyes crinkling under the pressure of it. He reaches his hand to your waist under water to tug you closer. "Sit in my lap. I want to hold you."

"Hold me, or fuck me?"

"One first. Then the other."

Soft and pliant in his arms, you float to his lap and nuzzle his neck, cheek finding home on his shoulder. Another new sound, the distant beat of his heart. Steady pump of blood. Alive, in the now, and safe.

A knot forms in your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow it down. You're not going to think about those things right now, not here, not in this place or moment. Instead you concentrate on the hum of the hot tub's jets, the firmness of his shoulder under your cheek, the circle of his fingertips on your hip bone.

His other hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip. "Don't fall asleep."

You pick your head up. "You get to sleep, but I don't?"

"You had your chance." Jason moves his hand to cup the back of your head. Pupils blown out with want meet yours, the silent question trapped in them to obvious to ignore.

There's no option but to give in. He's impossible to say no to, not when those blue-green eyes are so brazen in their display of need. Lips meet in a soft kiss, part for tongues. Hands brush and slip, tangle and grip, hair, flesh, scars. The water temperature rises another twenty degrees, searing sensitive skin pink. You find your lips drawn to the curve of his neck and wrap them over a patch of skin near a scar faded white.

Red petal-shaped marks bloom everywhere you plant your lips to his skin. His hands grip your waist, pull you closer until you're flush against him. Cup your breasts, tease your nipples under the water with gentle circles and pinches. You let him, lean for him to repay the favors you've painted across his neck and collarbone.

Jason is rougher, always has been, teeth scraping the skin on your throat with the intention of leaving his mark. One hand at your back keeps you from floating away as you arch into his kiss. Thumb and forefinger work your nipple until firm, but it feeds a desperation in you. Need his mouth lower.

You shift higher onto your knees and lift out of the water, only enough to expose your breasts to the cold. Jason is quick to remedy the shiver that runs through your body, making a quick path down to a breast, closing his mouth around a nipple. He's more careful as he sucks, less teeth, but hard enough to twist your core. Your cunt clenches around nothing when he pulls off, a thread of spit connecting his lips to the bud. It breaks as he moves to your other breast to slather it in the same attention.

You cup the back of his head, wet fingers tangled in the dark strands, thigh muscles tensing with want to sink back down and impale yourself on him. But the ask remains caught in your throat, kept in place by his hands and his mouth, busy on your body and too good to quiet with your words.

He hums around your breast trapped in his mouth. The vibrations explode down your arms and back in the form of goosebumps. You tug his hair, not purposefully, but because control is slipping and you're searching for anything on which to ground yourself.

Jason pops free of your nipple and smiles up at you, already looking drunk. His hand disappears under the water and toys with the string of your bikini where it sits on your hip. "Regretting this now, huh?"

You forego an answer in place of kissing him again. His hand brushes up your thigh and under the fabric of your bikini to cup your ass. Possessive, how tight he squeezes. You return the favor with another tug of his hair, this time meaning it when his lips are wrenched from yours.

"Let's take this inside," you whisper.

Jason frowns. "I can't make it that far."

But he lets go when you lift off his lap, watching the jiggle of your ass as you climb out of the hot tub. The chill grabs you first, scrapes nails over now exposed skin. You grab a cold towel from the chair near the tub and rush to dry off as you hurry inside.

Jason is on your heels, as expected, grabbing you by the arm as soon as he's inside and pulling your body to his. Lips crash, teeth clatter, from the cold and the mess of the kiss, uncoordinated and raw as his moves are. Your breath shivers off your tongue, and he takes you into his lungs without pause. The walk to the master bedroom is a stumbled blur, but when you open your eyes you're in his arms above the bed.

You take his bottom lip between your teeth, let it snap back. "You made it. I believed in you, you know?"

He drops you unceremoniously onto the mattress. You don't bother crawling to the pillows before throwing off your bikini bottoms, but he walks away to the armchair under the window where your shared luggage still sits.

"What are you looking for?" You sit up on your elbows and watch him root through his bag. "Can you close the window?"

Jason pushes shut the glass and locks it. Funny, you think, considering you keep yours unlocked just for him. "I brought a couple things," he says, glancing over his shoulder.

It's not really surprising. Maybe you share a brain cell, or at least your vibes run on the same wavelength. You lie back, feet fluttering in the air with excitement as he approaches with a silky black bag in one hand, the other fidgeting with the waistband of his damp boxer briefs, tight enough to expose the entire shape of his cock. It's mouth-watering, literally, but you're quick to wipe away the drool from the corner of your lips before he notices.

The briefs are lost to the floor, and you don't feel an ounce of shame letting your gaze drop immediately to his cock, swollen and flushed with arousal. His hands are busy, but doing what you could care less. You sit up and wrap a hand around him, using your thumb to smear the pre-cum that beads at the tip. He makes a strangled noise and grabs your wrist.

"Calm down." He presses his lips to your ear. "I'll give you what you want, babe, but we're doing it my way."

So much arousal floods your body at the words - at the way they drip with lust like honey, the way they wrap your ear and brush your skin - you're surprised you haven't soaked through the bed. Slowly you release his cock, doe-eyed as you look up at him.

He holds up a vibrator, C-shaped, dual stimulation. Clicks the silicone ends together and smiles. "I want to hear you scream," he says. "Are you going to scream for me? Say yes."

You nod. What are words, anyway? You've forgotten.

"Babe, I said say yes. In fact - yes, sir."

You wet your lips. "Yes, sir. I'll scream all you want, Jay."

That wide grin cracks across his face, betraying the persona he's trying to play off. He clears his throat and reaches into the bag again, this pulling out strips of black satin. "Can I tie you up?" He asks.

You nod. God, your pussy would nod if it could, swollen as it is with fucking need. "Yes, sir."

His chest heaves with deep breaths. "Give me...a safe word. Pick something easy."

Your only thoughts at the moment are: Jason, cock, fuck. But those won't work, keen as you are to scream them out loud the moment he gets his hands on you, and so you scan the room for something, anything. There's a painting on the wall of a goat on a mountainside.

"Goat," you say.

Jason snorts. "No. Really? Okay."

You're not going to use it anyway, you figure. Jason, as tough as he is out on the streets, as dirty as his hands are from the things he's done, is unbelievably soft. Tender. You've known it forever, in the ways he shows his love because he doesn't know how to say it out loud - the way he remembers that you prefer the soft brownies in the center of the pan, or by putting on detective shows before he leaves at night because he knows they help you sleep, or by reading the books he sees on your shelf so he can ask you about them, talk with you about things you like. The love letters you find on your pillow.

When that satin wraps around your wrists, held at your back, it's loose. "Pull on this one," Jason whispers in your ear, brushing fabric in your right hand. "That'll get you out fast."

You purse your lips. He gives you a short kiss before knocking you back over gently.

"Let me see how wet you are." Jason slides a hand over your thigh, urging you to spread them for him. His cock twitches at the sight as you do, pussy glistening with want, his question easily answered with just a look. You jolt when his finger brushes over your clit before sinking into your heat.

He sighs. "Shit. Is this all for me, babe? You need me this bad?"

"Yes, sir." Your hips squirm on their own, trying to take his finger deeper. He pulls free and leaves you achingly empty, though it's not for long, as he presses the thick end of the vibrator against your pussy.

A concentrated look takes over his face as he fits the vibrator's suction end over your clit. "I control it," he says. His eyes flash up to meet yours, to read if there's hesitation in them.

You nod understanding.

He tugs you to the edge of the bed and helps you sit before retrieving the vibrator's remote from the bag. His fingers card through your hair and make to pull out your hair tie - the movement doesn't prove fluid, and he pauses to tug it out gently and fix your hair before pulling your head back. You can't bite back your smile.

"Open your mouth," he orders.

Lips part wide for him. He presses two fingers onto your tongue and pushes them into your mouth. Instinct - or the game - has you closing your lips around them and sucking, almost gagging as he thrusts to your throat.

A jolt slams through your body. You yelp around his fingers - it's not cute, not pretty, but a weird, little dog type yelp. There's no time to contemplate it as the vibrations pick up inside your cunt, right up against that rough patch of pleasure, and the suction on your clit increases.

Jason pulls his fingers from your mouth to hook a thumb at the corner. "I want to cum in your throat," he says through gritted teeth, almost a growl. "You're going to be a good girl, right, babe? Gonna let me cum in your throat?"

You nod, already messy, his thumb keeping you from moving your mouth for a proper yes, sir. It doesn't matter this time; the physical agreement is enough for him. He guides you off the bed and to your knees on the floor, then pauses.

Frowns. Walks around the bed and grabs a pillow for under your knees. "Comfy?"

Your cunt clenches around the vibrator. You're close, the suction infuriating on your clit, rhythmic and pulsing and sucking and fuckfuckfuck. "Yeah," you squeak. "Jay...gonna cum."

"Already? We just started." His fingers scrape through your hair to wrap it around his fist as he smears the head of his cock on your lips. You open for him, take the tip of his length into your mouth. Pre-cum coats your tongue but doesn't help as you struggle to take him deeper. The vibrations inside your cunt echo through your body and make it nearly impossible to concentrate on the task at hand.

You whine, the sound coming out gargled as Jason hooks his thumb into the corner of your mouth again. Spit drips down your chin as he thrusts into your mouth, each one deeper than the last, until you're where he wants you - gagging around him, throat tightening on his cock. A mess, tears already bubbling in the corners of your eyes, thighs clenching together to fight against the inevitable.

Your peak is felt shortly before it bursts, a bubble swelling in your core that explodes through your body in pulsing waves. Jason feels it in the way every muscle in you tenses, including your throat, clamping down on him with another muffled whine. His hand at the back of your head keeps you in place, keeps his cock buried in you, as you ride the pleasure.

Then all at once that pleasure is gone, replaced with the burn of overstimulation. The remote is pressed against your cheek in the hand that remains hooked in your mouth, but he makes no movement to lower the pressure. You lift on your knees, wiggle your hips, like you can run away from it, can stop the burning.

"One more," Jason grunts through gritted teeth. "Give me another, babe, come on."

It's hot, boiling, a painful knot in your core as you're dragged back up to your peak. You try to focus on his cock, tightening the suction around his thick length as he fucks into your mouth, fighting against the gag as he buries inside you. Hairs tickle your nose as he bottoms out and holds you down. You look up at him, tears streaking your cheeks, spit and precum coating your chin. You're on the verge of screaming, another orgasm reaching point, and by the look in his eyes - the haze, the blowout - he's close.

It racks through your body, the release, shudders and burns through every fiber. You choke on his cock and that's all it takes to bring him to a crashing end. His hips give weak, trembling thrusts, an instinctual attempt to be deeper in you as he pulses down your throat. Between the jolt of your own hips and him, it's too much to handle, and you gag on his cock, cum trickling from your lips down your chin, landing on your breasts.

The vibrations finally cease, and Jason pulls free of your mouth. Your chest heaves as you finally manage to catch your breath as he brushes your hair with his fingers.

"Fuck." Jason leans to kiss your forehead, cupping your tear-stained cheeks. "So good, babe. You okay?"

You nod weakly. He doesn't stop kissing you, showering you in them, forehead to cheek to ear.

"I'll get a towel. Ready to stand?" He holds your waist, steadying your balance as you lift back to your feet, and guides you to collapse back on the bed.

"Untie me?" You wiggle your shoulders.

Jason shakes his head. "Not yet."

You turn your head to watch him disappear into the bathroom, leaving you with your arms twisted behind your back and legs hanging off the bed, release dripping down the insides of your thighs. You could pull the knot free, sit up and end this, but there's a new swell in your gut that doesn't want to. He's back a moment later, hotel towel in hand.

"You're not done?" You ask, as he wipes your mouth and chin clean.

"Are you?" He sets the towel aside and leans over you. Two fingers slip into your swollen cunt, and you gasp, their intrusion jostling the vibrator inside. His nose scrunches in concentration as he scissors his fingers apart. "No," he says. "Not until you cum on my cock."

Eagerly, you nod. "Yes, sir."

Jason cups one of your breasts and squeezes roughly before capturing your nipple in his mouth. The blood's already begun rushing to his cock again, stiff as he grinds against your inner thigh while his fingers work to prepare you. Every thrust has the vibrator brushing your clit, but it's not enough to peak again, only to tease.

With a wet squelch, he pulls his fingers free and brings them your mouth. You already know what he wants. Your lips wrap them without hesitation, tasting the sweetness of your release as he watches. Mesmerized. How easy it is to get you to obey.

Jason straightens up, fingers leaving your mouth and breast to grip your hips possessively. His lips part and hang open for a moment, then close again without a word. You squirm lower and nudge him closer with a knock of your heel to his butt.

"Are you gonna fuck me, Mr. Todd?" You blink at him with those big eyes, pupils blown up with lust. "Gonna fuck me with that big cock?"

He grins. "I know what you want, babe. You've got no patience." He leans over you again, one fist holding him up, the other hand reaching for the vibrator remote. You tense at the sight of it.

The spread burns, only a little, as he notches the head of his cock against your entrance. You're wet enough, ready enough, to take him, but with the addition of the vibrator still nestled inside it's a tighter fit than you're used to. You choke on a moan as he bottoms out, his own face screwed up in concentrated pleasure.

Then that jolt, again. That fresh, hot, burning, sucking pressure on your clit, the vibrations against your core, his cock stuffing you full and slamming into your cervix with each long, desperate thrust. He grabs your hips to keep you still as he fucks into you without control; the vibrations are too much for him to handle, and he's not going to last as long as he wanted.

It's too much. Your release swells and pops, ricochets through your body and comes out in the shape of a scream - loud, raw, something that sounds a little like his name, or at least that's what he imagines - and then it burns.

Your legs shake uncontrollably. Jason's arms give out, can't hold him up, and his lips crash on yours in a fiery kiss that you can't reciprocate, too distracted at the burn of being overstimulated, nearly missing the throb of his cock inside you as he cums - you feel that at the very last second, when he slams into you, unable to move as the orgasm rocks his body.

He's quicker this time to shut the vibrator off, before losing all strength and collapsing atop you. Every breath from your lungs trembles, little shocks of pleasure still caught in your nerves. A tear rolls down from the corner of your eye.

"I got you." Jason whispers. He kisses your cheek. "I got you, babe. You did so good. I love you."

Your tongue is gone, replaced with a stretched-out cotton ball. You can only blink and stare at him. Nothing you're thinking comes out: Now? Here? Like this? This moment, when you're a fucked-out mess, is the one he picks to finally say it out loud.

You stare at him - though he avoids meeting said stare - as he straightens up and pulls himself free of your heat. He swallows, still doesn't look up, attention on the the vibrator as he tugs it free. You wince at the sensation, pussy sore from all the abuse.

"Jason," you say. He helps you sit, unties the satin from your wrists, but still refuses eye contact.

He kisses your cheek again instead, rests his forehead against your temple when he asks, "Do you want me to help you in the shower?"

Your shoulders are sore, thighs aching and loose like jelly. Standing sounds like a foreign concept. "Yeah," you say. "Can we talk first?"

He sighs. "I didn't mean it. I mean, I didn't mean to say it right now. I mean it, I just -"

"Kind of a weird time." You lean back on your palms. Your shoulders give a whine of pain, and you quickly readjust by sitting up. He rests his head on your shoulder, clearly still hiding.

"Pretend I didn't say it," he whispers. "And I promise I'll pick a better time."

"Hmm." You wrap your arms around him, prompting him to do the same, nuzzling against your neck. "Nope. You got to own it now, Jay. You really love me, or are you just drunk off me?"

Jason picks up his head. Your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen, heart racing, limbs numb. Hair tangled. Marks he's left cover your neck, shoulders, breasts. He's not in a much better state, neck equally reddened from your lips, sweat beaded on his forehead.

"I love you," he says. "And I mean it. I'm sorry I couldn't say it before when I first felt it, but I promise from now on I'll say it more often."

A wall has crumbled, given you access to him, even though the timing is a little off. You're not sure how to respond. "I love you too," you say, because that at least means something.

The corners of his lips twitch upward, but he looks down at your legs before you can really catch the smile. "Can you walk? I can carry you."

As if you could refuse that offer. You lift your arms into the air. "Carry me, Mr. Todd."

[slutzforbueckers]

dear april- p.b x f!reader

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: angst?

synopsis: what happens when two people— two very different people— meet and fall in love?

a/n: i hope yall like this im not good at angst 😭also i listened to dear april by frank ocean while writing this so its lowk based off that song.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you never wanted the attention to be on you, you never liked the feeling of all eyes being on you. sometimes you felt like a shadow in your own life. moving through the world unnoticed, quiet, an afterthought in every room you stepped into. you never cared for the attention, never fought for the spotlight, never asked to be more than what you were. you never wanted that, at least not until you met paige.

paige buckers, the golden girl, the prodigy, the name whispered on every sports analyst's lips. paige was the type of person who made you believe in fate, in destiny. she shone so brightly that sometimes you wondered if you'd burn just by standing too close.

you met her on a rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky wept for hours, soaking the streets and forcing people to rush from place to place with their heads down. you had just left the library and you were waiting for your uber to take you to your job.

you had been sitting on a bench outside the library, watching the rain fall, your sketchbook balanced on your knees. you had been lost in a drawing, charcoal smudged across your fingertips, when you felt a presence beside you.

"what are you drawing?" a voice had asked, clear despite the heavy downpour of rain.

you looked up to find paige standing in front of you, drenched from the rain, her backpack slung over one shoulder. she was wearing her team hoodie, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. you recognized her instantly, but you pretended you hadn't.

"nothing special." you turned your attention back to your drawing, not wanting to stare for too long. you silently hoped she'd go away, you couldn't figure out why someone like her would bother to stop and talk to you. she didn't go away, instead she took a seat next to you, peering over your shoulder at the sketchbook in your hands.

"can i see?" her voice came out smooth, unlike yours which had a slight shake to it. you hesitated for a moment, then slowly passed it to her. paige looked at you for a second before turning her attention to the paper. it was a sketch of the library in front of you. she ghosted her fingertips over the details, careful not to smudge anything. "that's really good, you must see the world differently."

she handed you the sketchbook back, her eyes meeting yours. you shrugged, your fingers picking at the rips in your jeans. "maybe. i appreciate the beauty in things around me."

paige went quiet for a second before she spoke again, her voice softer and a little less confident. "i like that."

you fell together slowly, then all at once. paige, who spent her life surrounded by noise, found something quiet and steady in you. and you, who had always felt like you were watching life from the sidelines, were suddenly in the game. late night drives, secret kisses in empty gyms, stolen moments before and after paiges practices—it was yours. no one else mattered in those moments, just you and her.

you could remember the first time paige had let her guard down. it was the middle of the night, and you had driven out to the lake just outside of town. paige had been quiet the entire drive, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“talk to me,” you whispered when she finally parked the car. you reached over and ran your fingertips over her clenched jaw, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. paige exhaled slowly, staring out at the reflection of the moon on the water.

“sometimes,” she opened her mouth but shut it, not being able to gather her thoughts enough to speak. you waited patiently, staring at the side of her face until she spoke again. “sometimes i feel like i don’t even belong to myself. like i’m just…existing for other people. coaches, my teammates, my fans. everyone has a version of me that they want me to be— sometimes i forget who i am when i try to be me.”

you reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “and who are you when you’re just you?”

“i don’t know,” paige went silent, her chest closing with vulnerability. she took a deep breath and turned to you. “but when i’m with you, i feel like i can breathe.”

but the world wasn’t kind to love like yours. paige’s career was on the rise, she had cameras in her face, expectations weighing on her shoulders, and a future that didn’t leave room for any hesitation. and you? you were just you. no flashing lights, no one screaming your name, no crowds waiting for you, no bright future carved out in headlines. that didn’t stop you though. you tried— god, you tried.

paige whispered promises into your skin, holding you tight like she could keep you both frozen in time. “you’re the only thing that feels real,” she admitted one night, her voice raw, forehead pressed against yours.

you remembered all the amazing moments you had, moments where everything felt perfect, like you had carved out a piece of the universe just for the two of you.

you had snuck into the school’s basketball court, it was nearly 3 in the morning but neither of you could manage to fall asleep. so you sat on the bleachers, a smile on your face while you watched paige dribble a ball lazily.

“i’ll teach you how to shoot,” she said suddenly, jogging over and tugging you onto your feet. you laughed out a squeal and shook your head.

“i have terrible aim, p.” you caught the ball she bounced at you, rolling it around in your hands.

paige rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. “that’s why i said ill teach you.”

“here,” she stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, guiding your hands into the right position. “i got you.”

in that moment you believed her but reality was cruel. paige couldn’t keep hiding, she couldnt keep her love for you a secret when the world expected you to be someone else. rumors started, people whispered, and paige—paige hesitated. she let go, just for a second. a second was just enough to make you feel like maybe you had imagined it all.

and in the end, that was all it took. just a second.

it had been months since you last saw her. you hadn’t planned on going to the game, you told yourself you wouldn’t. but something pulled you there anyway, the same way the ocean calls back the tide. you sat near the back of the stadium, expecting to be far enough away that you went unnoticed. the noise of the crowd faded into a dull hum as you watched paige move across the court, fluid and effortless, like she was meant to be there.

you thought you could handle it— just watching, just being one of the hundreds of faces in the stands. but then it happened. paige looked up, just for a second, her gaze sweeping the crowd, and her eyes met yours.

you felt your breath catch in your throat. paige froze for just a fraction of a second, barely enough for anyone else to notice, but you did. you saw the paused in her step, the look of familiarity in her eyes, the way her fingers tightened around the ball before she forced herself to move.

for a moment, it felt like the whole work had stilled. like there were no cameras, no roaring fans, no expectations. just the two of you, locking in a moment of memories neither of you had been ready for.

maybe she would find you after the game, maybe she wouldn’t. maybe you had become strangers again, orbiting around each other but never colliding.

or maybe, in another life, in another version of your story, paige wouldn’t have hesitated.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

[almostempty]

clint eats it from the back (clint x f!reader)

wc: 1.9k | other fics | rating: 18+ | 

summary: clint comes home to find you half-naked and half-asleep and eats it from the back and then gives you that dick (as he should)

a/n: @yxtkiwiyxt said ‘clint eats it from the back’ and i thought this might jumpstart the gremlins that have been holding my brain cell hostage so here’s some pwp <3 

tags: pussy eating, backshots, raw creampie (as always), dirty talk (if i wrote it and he isn’t groaning and spewing filth send a medic), spanking (i can’t stop won’t stop), clothed sex (whip it out and stick it in already!), established relationship (they like each other idk i can be a little soft sometimes okay) 

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You’re half-asleep when the front door swings shut.

The blinds in the bedroom tap against the window, making the shadows in the room dance. The soft thud of his boots wakes something in you. Enough to stir but not enough to really move.

Facedown in the middle of the bed, one knee bent and the other leg straight, you're wearing nothing but Clint’s well loved t-shirt. The one that smells like cigarettes and sweat... in a comforting way.

You’d been waiting. Maybe you fell asleep, but you can’t say for sure. You don’t even know what time it is.

He steps into the bedroom, but doesn’t say a word. Traffic and city noise filters in through the window, carried by the sticky summer night breeze.

But all you hear is the sharp breath he takes.

Like he’s been hit in the face with something he didn’t expect—and he’s not usually one for surprises.

You don’t move. Not until the mattress dips beneath his weight.

A big hand slides up your thigh. Slow. Heavy. Possessive.

His rough palm stops at the curve of your ass and squeezes. Hard.

Clint doesn’t ask if he can—he just spreads you, exposing everything before massaging your smooth flesh with a hint of affection.

“You been like this all night?” His voice is low, scraped over pavement. “Laid out like a fuckin’ present for me?”

His thumbs bruise the crease at the top of your thighs, demanding an answer from your hazy mind.

You grumble into the flattened pillow, too tired to be sweet. “You’re late.”

A single sharp smack to your ass jolts you more awake. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to remind you he can.

“I got busy,” he snaps, stern and half-growled. “Didn’t say you could fall asleep.”

You’re shifting toward clarity, but not enough to resist when he grabs your hips and lifts them, dragging you onto your knees with your face still buried in the pillow.

He sighs—heavy, like it’s too much. Like you’re too much. “Fuck me. Look at this fucking pussy.”

Both hands spread you wide, fingers dimpling your flesh. He’s not gentle. Clint palms your ass, squeezing and manipulating you until you squirm.

His stubble scrapes along your delicate skin as he noses closer, breathing you in like he’s been starving. You don’t bother hiding your moan. He likes that.

“So wet for me,” he mutters to himself. His warm breath teases your slick seam, making your thighs tremble faintly and drawing a needy whimper from you.

He laughs. A little mean and a lot indulgent.

“That’s right, baby. My filthy girl. Always dripping for me.”

He stays fully dressed—boots on, jeans still zipped—while he readjusts, sinking between your legs.

Then the wet heat of his mouth makes your brows draw together and your mouth part. With his tongue flat and slow, he licks one long stripe from clit to ass, like he’s claiming every inch. You gasp, hands scrabbling against the mattress.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice thick and muffled between your legs. “Back it up for me.”

You arch instinctively, and his hands flex in response before sliding underneath your legs, wrapping around your hips to hold you against his face.

“Oh, shit,” your voice is barely above a whisper.

His mouth is on you, in you, tongue fucking into you—messy and unrelenting. You can’t help it—rocking back, grinding down, chasing the friction. The wet sounds are obscene, and his hungry groans melt into your skin.

Every time you whimper, he doubles down. He wants it loud.

He bites, nips the soft skin where your thigh meets cunt, just to hear your gasp and feel you tense in his grip. Then soothes it with his tongue, like it never happened.

“Look at you,” he pants, voice thick. “Face down in my bed, moaning into my fuckin’ pillow like a whore. You love this, don’t you?”

You whine something desperate, words half-formed and foggy.

And then he’s sucking on your clit, bringing you right to the edge—everything pulled taut—just to ease up and make out with your pussy until you’re liquid again.

He presses a kiss to your clit. “Tell me. Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“You,” your voice already sounds far away. “Only you.”

“That’s my girl,” he says, proud and rough. “My perfect fuckin’ mess.”

“You’re gonna come like this,” he growls into you. “All bent over for me. Like you should.”

You bite your lip hard. You’re close. He knows it. One hand slips between your legs and spreads you wider. Lewd. Greedy. 

Then he’s nearly overwhelming you entirely.

Lips wrapped around your swollen clit until your thighs are shaking. Then again, with a wide tongue, he uses his whole face. The friction of his facial hair, the pressure of his jaw, the ridge of his nose—like he was divinely created for your pleasure.

Though in this moment, it seems like your pleasure is all his.

You’re soaked, chasing the release he keeps taunting you with. He’s moaning into you, rutting his hips against the bed like he needs it too. He never stops moving, working you closer expertly—like you’re his to control.

And you are.

Your knees give out as you finally break, but his hold on you is so strong it doesn’t matter. Your thighs quake, and you cry out—wrecked and loud. You don’t give a shit if the neighbors can all hear.

He doesn’t let up until you’re twitching from the overstimulation. Then he hums with a satisfaction that would make your face hot if you weren’t already blazing from the whole act.

When he loosens up, you collapse forward, melted and buzzing. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, laced with reverence.

“Not done yet,” his voice is lusty, with a hint of strain in it. “You hear me?”

You nod weakly, hitching a breath when he gives you one more slap.

Behind you, fully dressed and still hard in his jeans, Clint smiles.

You’re still catching your breath when he moves. The bed frame creaks as his weight shifts. You hear him undo his belt. Hear the zip of his jeans.

You don’t even lift your head—just hum softly into the pillow in anticipation.

Clint chuckles once behind you. Not with amusement—but with hunger.

“Too wrecked to talk already?” he murmurs, rubbing a hand down your spine. “Didn’t even need to get my dick out to have you all fucked out.”

You whimper again, hips tilting toward him instinctively.

“Goddamn.” The word falls from his lips like he’s mesmerized. “Layin’ here… legs open, pussy still dripping on my sheets like you don’t have a single thought left in your pretty head.”

You don’t.

Not a coherent thought, anyway.

He pushes the faded t-shirt higher up, bunching it around your ribs, baring every inch of your glowing skin to his greedy eyes. His hands stroke along your back and down your legs.

“You’re so fucking easy for me,” he growls. “One taste and now you’re already begging for cock to fill you up.”

You shake your head, a little desperate now. “Not begging.”

That earns you another slap, right against your throbbing, swollen cunt. You yelp.

“No?” Clint’s voice shifts—something mean bleeding into the edges of it. “You’re soaked, face down, ass up, pushing back on my face like you’re in heat, and you’re gonna tell me you’re not begging?”

His hand wraps around your hip and yanks you back until you’re flush with his crotch. Until you can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

He grinds you against him once, slow and firm, causing you to choke on a moan. The friction is one thing—but it’s the way he maneuvers you with confidence that has your eyes rolling back.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s what I thought.”

He grunts lowly, freeing himself from his jeans and stroking once, twice, and then—

He pushes in with no warning.

You gasp, mouth open, eyelids slamming shut as the stretch steals the breath from your lungs. He’s thick, hot, and rough in just the way you like. He drives in deep, holding you with a bruising grip while you adjust.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “That never gets old.”

He doesn’t give you more time—slides nearly all the way out of you before slamming back in, hard.

He sets a rhythm and creates a debased symphony. The bed knocks against the wall, your skin slaps loudly in the dark room, and your breathy moans are punctuated by his reflexive grunts.

His jeans drag against the backs of your thighs, the rough fabric a constant reminder that he hasn’t even undressed for this. That finding you half-naked in his bed, in his shirt, might as well have been a demand to fuck you stupid on sight.

Clint leans over you, his chest pressing into your back, one big hand curling around the back of your neck—not choking. Just holding.

Just claiming.

Just fucking you the way he wants. Getting more honest with every snap of his hips as he unravels for you.

“This what you wanted, baby?” he growls in your ear. “Want me to use you like a fuckin’ toy? Fill you up nice and deep?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is moans in the shape of unrecognizable words.

He bites your shoulder, sharp. Not enough to break skin, but enough to leave a mark.

“Say it,” he demands. “Say who owns this fuckin’ pussy.”

“You—fuck, Clint—it’s yours,” you gasp.

“Damn right it is.”

His other hand slides down your front, rough fingers finding your clit and circling fast and filthy. You sob—your body already too close, too sensitive. It’s dizzying and sharp.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Come on my cock. Let me feel it.”

“Yes!” you get one word out before your mind liquefies.

It hits hard—sudden and overwhelming—your whole body clenching, pulsing around him as he groans loud and desirous behind you. He fucks you through it, losing the last of his restraint you didn’t know was still in place, escalating with single-minded determination.

“Gonna come,” he growls. “You want that? Want me to fill this pussy up?”

You can’t even speak—you just moan, nodding frantically into the sheets.

“Yeah,” he snarls. “That’s right. Take it. Take all of it.”

He comes with a drawn-out moan, pulling you down onto his dick as he pulses inside you—like you might collapse without him there to steady you.

His hand is still wrapped around your neck, his body draped over yours, and his cock still buried deep inside you.

Then he exhales.

His tone shifts—less urgent. More awed.

“Jesus,” he mutters.

You hum something soft in response, completely boneless under him.

Clint pulls out with a soft groan, and you feel the drip of him between your thighs—warm and shameless and exactly what you wanted.

He leans down to kiss your spine, then rests his forehead there, breathing heavy. For a moment, that’s all you hear.

Then the world starts to seep back in—the low hum of the fan on the dresser, the bass thumping from a house party down the block.

You’re still not sure if you’re fully awake. But if this is a dream, it’s the best one you’ve had in weeks.

Then his hands are moving again, warm and real and right where they belong.

“Hi, baby,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

You smile into the pillow, a whisper of a laugh barely leaving your lips. “Hi.”

And god, he loves coming home to you.

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thank you for reading! pls let me know your thots <3

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@dontlookatme121

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The night is long and torturous. When sleep comes, it's accompanied by the same man that invaded your waking hours. Thor is like a shadow, following you from one plane to the next. You wake in a sweat, disoriented and dull.

What are you going to do? Even if he wasn't a dangerous felon, you're no match for him. He's like if someone made a bear human. Despite how nice he can be, you fear the flip side of the coin.

You force yourself to get up as Andy's voice echoes beneath the thunder of Thor's. Your mom would flip if she found out. And do nothing. It's your problem, you're grown, just don't bring that around your siblings. She's with Andy for a reason; several.

A day off would typically be an occasion for delight. Everything is off. Everything is tainted by the consequences of your stupid action.

The idea of eating makes you want to puke. Getting washed up is a task on its own. You read about Marie Antoinette in her cell and the looming threat of the guillotine. Is this how she felt?

Light blue jeans and a tiered lilac top. It would be cute in any other context.

You don't know when but you know he's coming. He promised. He made many promises and you never took those seriously. Now you know just how committed he is.

It's absurd. He has to see that right? You're too young. You're naive. He needs someone who can relate to him. Someone who isn't terrified.

The doorbell rings as you pace in circles. Shoot. Ugh. You see him on the little smart screen.

You freeze for a minute. Fight or flight has you stuck in the middle. You make yourself move. You have no fight but also nowhere to run.

You open the door and let out a gurgling noise. He's surprised you again. Not as frightfully as that first encounter, but still. Thor wears a tidy button up in a shade of pale blue and navy slacks. His hair is braided along the sides and drawn back into a low pony. He smells like fancy pine cologne. Your eyes go wide.

"My queen," he offers you a tiny gift bag, dwarfed by his large hands.

"Um, hi," you take it by the ribbon handles with a trouble furrow in your brows.

"While you always look stunning, might I ask you to change into something more...than casual?" He smiles sheepishly. "I have many surprises and I would have you in style."

"Oh, uh, yeah, I just... threw this on," you look down.

"It is no trouble. I only thought you would want to match your gift," he gestures to the gift bag.

"Ermmmmm," you drag out the fizzy murmur.

You reach into the bag and take out the ivory box. Your stomach storms furiously. You pull open the lid on the hinges to reveal a ruby necklace. The heart-shaped stone is trimmed in diamonds. You blink and babble.

"It's so... pretty, but I can't--"

"My queen, please, it would be a great honour to have you wear it," he insists. "Might I?"

He opens his large palm. You stare at the deep lines and gulp. You carefully pull the necklace free and hand it over.

You turn and he steps closer to drape it around your neck. It rests along your clavicle as he clasps it. You're no great judge but you think it's real. Did he steal it?

"Thank, er... I'll go find something to go with it," you draw away as he tickles your neck.

"As ever, I shall patiently await my queen," he assures.

The bag crinkles as you face him again, "can I meet you at the truck? I don't want you standing out here that long."

"It is no trouble--"

"Please, I would feel bad," you plead.

He touches his chest, "aw, my queen, you do treat me well. Yes, I shall wait for you there."

You nod and watch him go before you retreat inside. You hurry to the guest room and shove away the bag. You sift through your bag. You didn't really bring anything fancy... Wait.

You trip out of the room and head down to the basement. Your mother holds onto everything. You clamour down to the basement and push through the hangers. It's not your fave and she chose it, but your semi-formal dress hangs amid the forgotten thread. You really don't think it goes with the necklace but it will have to do.

You change quickly and steel some of your mom's shoes and a thin white shawl. You probably don't look any more ready than you feel. As you come out, clutching your purse against your side, you catch your breath. You lock the door and brace yourself.

You come down the walk as Thor stands up straight from leaning on his truck and touches his hair to check that it's in place. Oh gosh, what've you done?

This man is delusional. Sure, you helped build that fantasy, but for him to take it this far? You feel sick.

"My queen," he opens the door.

You smile and let him help you into the truck. The dread settles with you in the seat. He shuts the door gently as you look down at your hands. You busy yourself by buckling the seat belt.

He gets in and you peer down the street with wide eyes. He reaches over to pet your knee, "that colour is wonderful on you. You always are perfect, darling." He leans over and kisses your cheek. He squeezes your knee with his large hand, fingers swirling on the bare skin. He growls. "How I dreamt of this. Of you. When I was locked up. But now I'm free, we are free, and together."

You put your hand on his and squeak, "Thor."

"I understand now. It is new to you. I wish you'd said. But now I can take it slow for you, my kitten."

He kisses your cheek again and rescinds his hand. He grips the wheels and you watch his knuckles pale. Your throat constricts as if his fingers are around your neck.

"Um..." you shrink into the seat, "where are we going?"

He chuckles, "it's a surprise."

You twitch. This is how those true crime shows start. Your lips tremble but you keep your smile in place. He pulls away from the curb.

"Okay, but er, you know, my stepdad is very... strict and I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on the house, so I can't stay out long," you explain as you mash your palms together.

"Your stepdad. Hm. Yes, he seems controlling."

"Well, you know, he's just... particular," you shrug.

"Mm, it makes sense," he nods.

"Makes sense?"

"Yes, why you thought to try to block me. To deny our love," he clucks. "You speak of this man as he is. A dictator. Well, I am your king, he will not keep me from my queen, so you needn't worry for him."

You don't argue. It's a better explanation than you had and if he knew the truth...

"I don't know the man and yet he makes my blood hot. I could throttle any who would stifle you, my queen," he snarls. "As I have sworn to myself to always keep you safe. And close."

You cringe. You remember his long rambling emails. You skimmed a lot of those flowery monologues. You assumed he read a lot of poetry in jail. What else did he have time for?

"Please, be calm, and yourself," he glances over at you. "No need to be scared, my queen. Not ever."

🩷

Your confusion mounts as you watch the grand house rise before you. The property is maintained; trimmed hedges, marble statues, a fountain, a drooping blossom tree akin to some whimsical fantasy movie.

It's unlike anywhere you've ever been. How would Thor know of this place? Are you trespassing?

You peek at him nervously as he pulls his bright red truck in behind the luxurious ivory and gold car. You search around for anyone to come calling intruder. Thor gets out as you're too reluctant to move further. He comes around and opens the door. As you step down, his hand around yours, his name booms in the air.

An older man with white hair marches over in a velvet jacket over a sleep shirt. He's eccentric with his long white hair and bird-headed can.

"Ah, the prodigal son returns," the man proclaims, "and he has brought... fresh meat?"

You squirm as you look between them.

"Father, she is not to be spoken of such," Thor warns.

His father? Your mouth falls open.

"Odin," the man offers his hand. "And you must be wildly out of your mind."

You open and close your lips. He laughs and you finally unclench your hand to shake his. He squeezes firmly and brings your hand up to kiss the back.

"So, has she read the court report yet? Is she aware?" Odin chirps.

"Father, I am reformed," Thor snatches your arm back. "You needn't mock me so. I've done my time. She knows this."

"Does she? She is rather young. How much can she know?"

Your brows rise up and down. You're speechless. This is both awkward and humiliating.

"Come then, your mother has been fussing over breakfast all morning. It is why I had to flee the house. You get your madness from her," Odin mutters as he turns.

He walks airily despite the cane, swinging it more than he uses it. Thor holds your hand as he pulls you along. Maybe your family isn't so weird.

Odin whistles as he swings the door open and enters. Thor squeezes and you fear he might dislocate something. You squirm and he lets up.

"Oh, the love of my life, where are you?" Odin calls out, his voice echoing along the high ceilings.

Your eyes rove around the extravagant decor. Refined but not stuffy. Elegant with subtlety. You could only aspire to be any of those things.

You can't help but wonder how he got locked up. By the looks of it, his family is wealthy. Better off than your own. Your mother is comfortably middle class but she's stingy as heck. Andy is worse.

"In here," a trill sounds through the large doorway with the curling detail over the archway.

Odin strides through and Thor drags you in to see the older man kissing a blond woman on the cheek as she juggles a covered tray. "Oh, you rogue."

He purrs and keeps his arm around her as she sets her armful down. Her eyes brighten as she looks in your direction and they flick between you and Thor.

"Oh, my son! You've brought her!" She claps her oven mitts together. "And she is absolutely stunning."

She sweeps out of her husband's embrace and around the large square island. She brings the warm mitts to your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead. She holds you at arms length and admires you.

"My, my, so lovely," she praises. "And you're with my son?"

Thor grumbles, "mother."

"Well..." she shrugs and pulls away, then wraps her son in a hug. He wraps his arms around her as she turns her ear to his chest. She giggles as her green eyes flash. "His heart is racing. He must be in love."

"Mother," he gently nudges her away. "You're embarrassing me."

"I embarrass myself," she turns to you again, "Frigga, darling, and you?"

You peek up at Thor before you give your name. She repeats it, rolling it over her tongue.

"Just as beautiful as the rest of you," she turns and taps away in her heels. You don't know how a woman her age has so much energy. "Oh, and have you heard from Loki, Odi?"

"You know his excuses. Work. A very busy man," the white-haired patriarch shakes his head.

"My brother," Thor explains in a whisper.

You nod. Does it make much of a difference?

"My son tells me you've been a wonderful support. Gods know he has always been such a handful," Frigga arranges a silver tea pot and porcelain saucers on a tray. "Even after they put him away, oh, it was awful. When I called, they told me he was not permitted to take his calls." She hums in disappointment and sends Thor a sharp look. His shoulders slump. "I didn't raise him like that. I want you to know, I've only ever taught him to respect women and I do hope he treats you as well as you treat him."

"Mother, you know I would never," Thor insists.

"Oh, and you promised you would not go to prison. Yes, I see how that panned out," she sniffs. "Ah, but let us not cling to mistakes. Let us move on." She smiles at you as she lifts the tray. "I know, dear, that you will fix him. From what I hear of you, it cannot be any other way."

Heat crawls up your neck. What has Thor told them? How can you live up to expectations when you don't even know what they are?

"Um, may I help with that?" You offer as you near her.

"Oh, but you are a guest," she chimes.

"Really, it's no problem. All this food smells delicious. It must be a lot of work," you insist. "It's the least I can do."

You take the handles of the tray as she relents. You hold your smile and turn. You don't let the facade fall until you're out of the room. She calls after you that the dining room is left not right. You correct your path and bit the inside of your lip.

You're really not that helpful but you'll take the excuse to get away. If even just a few minutes.

[kenny-the-ken]

South Park Belfast AU

Meet the biggest scumbags in town

Belfast, Northern Ireland, a community divided by religious beliefs and paramilitary organisations that prey on the weak, vulnerable and the downright fucked up.

A group of five lads, from varying backgrounds have been best friends for a very long time. They met through mutual friends in secondary school, and remained close friends after, despite their differences. Some give Belfast a good name, others give it the reputation it's sadly known for.

SO!!! I'm starting this AU, because I cannot for the life of me shake it outta my mind. I'm gonna use some Belfast slang, and I'll put its meanings beside it. But here's the head canons for the boys, and honestly, yall don't gotta vibe with it, but this is my little shithole of the world that not many people know much about, so I'm excited for it.

Kenny McCormick

- 19

- The biggest hood in east Belfast

- North Face tracksuits

- Your neighbourhood drug dealer

- Could've gone to a grammar school, but followed his mates to a regular high school

- Has fucked half of Belfast

- Picks on emos, except for Stan, he is, in Kenny's words, 'Sound'.

- Stinks of cannabis

- Eats ecstasy tablets like they're tictacs

- Are what people describe as a 'hood'

- Has definitely had a punishment beating for selling drugs without paying dues to the paramilitaries.

- Is on the PSNI watchlist, can't go anywhere without getting stop and searched.

- "Stan, listen. I know you're an emo fruit, but you're my mate, and you're sound. Anyone gives you guff, send 'em my way."

Kyle Broflovski

- 20

- Smart arse

- Got into a high end grammar school, and is incredibly intelligent, but still hangs about with his going nowhere friends

- Has a thing for cocaine low key

- "I'm Irish and ginger, the whole package, lads."

- Well dressed, isn't a tracksuit kinda guy, more like jeans and a nice shirt.

- The only one unaffected by the catholic/protestant divide, he's Jewish.

- Drives a Vauxhall Corsa, promises he isn't a nonce.

- Middle class, lives in the BT9 area

- Is banned from having house parties for life after the incident where Kenny poured vodka into his fish tank stating, "The fish needed to be on the sesh too."

- The mother of the group

- Highly strung

- Never been in trouble with police.

Stan Marsh

- 20

- Emo

- City Hall dweller

- Smokes weed, he buys it off Kenny.

- Probably drunk

- Hates the PSNI, just as much as Kenny does

- Chronic whitey victim (He throws up all the time from drinking too much)

- Got arrested for being drunk and disorderly and drinking in a public place

- sobbed in his cell all night till he was released without charge the next morning

- Went to a standard high school, left after finishing his A-Levels

- Bullied for being an emo

- "'Ers wee Marsh, fuckin' emoooo!"

Eric Cartman

- 19

- Gigachad

- Kenny's right hand man and business partner, they're drug dealers.

- Also has a strong hatred for the PSNI

- On electric tag for throwing petrol bombs at the peelers during a riot.

- Religiously goes to the 12th of July, but wears a tricolour on St Paddy's

- Very bad influence

- Has never worked a day in his life, and claims top rate health care benefits.

- Barred from most bars in Belfast City Centre

- Rave whore, may as well live in the Telegraph building.

- Noncommittal, but is a chronic Tinder user

- Definitely a smick

- Calls people slurs online playing FIFA

- Ridiculously street smart

- High school educated but left at 16 after passing his GCSEs to start he and Kenny's 'business venture'

Butters Stoch

- 20

- A good lad

- Lightweight

- Also a chronic whitey victim

- Sent to boarding school for catholic boys

- Fluent in Irish

- professional Irish dancer, and proves it every time he's drunk.

- Politely spoken.

- Bit of a culchie (he's from the country)

- Has a thing for Irish folk music

- Never been in trouble with the PSNI

- Somehow has never been in a physical altercation in his life.

- Doesn't care about the religious politics of the country, and never will.

[gottencents]

Damn Right - Jennie Kim

love hangover masterlist. main masterlist. navi.

pairing. katseye!oc x jennie kim

synopsis. During a Calvin Klein photoshoot, Jennie volunteers to leave kiss marks on Tatum, and when fans later realize there are exactly nine marks

The sun was setting in a wash of orange and pink over the Los Angeles skyline as the Calvin Klein photoshoot crew began setting up. The studio space was minimalist—concrete floors, exposed brick, and floor-to-ceiling windows that cast a dreamy golden light over the white backdrop.

Tatum was sitting on a makeup stool, already dressed in low-rise Calvin Klein jeans and nothing but a black bralette, her toned arms and torso on full display. Her hair was tousled into effortless waves, and her makeup was kept simple—smoky eyes and a nude lip. The concept was clear: raw, intimate, and subtly provocative.

But the creative director had an idea to make it even bolder.

“Alright, Tatum. For the next set, we’re going to add kiss marks along your neck, shoulders, and collarbone. We want it to look like you’ve just come from a… very convincing rendezvous,” the director said with a playful smirk.

Tatum arched a brow, leaning back casually in her chair. “Oh, yeah?” she teased, her voice low and dry. “You need me to get attacked by a lipstick monster or something?”

The stylist chuckled, holding up a tube of deep red lipstick. “Don’t worry, we’ll be gentle.”

But before they could move forward, Jennie Kim, who had been lingering by the corner of the studio, perked up. She was there as part of the campaign, too—the two were collaborating as the new faces of Calvin Klein’s “Beneath the Surface” line. It was already a huge deal, sending fans into a frenzy. But Jennie, dressed in her own denim jeans and an unbuttoned white Calvin Klein shirt, had a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

She crossed the room with deliberate steps, sliding her hands into her pockets as she stopped next to Tatum’s chair. “I could do it,” she offered smoothly, her eyes playful but filled with something undeniably sultry. “I mean, if you want it to look… authentic.”

Tatum blinked once, then twice, before slowly tilting her head toward Jennie, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, you wanna be the one to leave marks on me?” she asked, her voice low with mock suspicion.

Jennie’s lips curved into a devilish smile. She leaned down slightly, her face just inches from Tatum’s. “I’m thorough. And committed. You’d be in good hands.”

The crew laughed lightly at their playful banter, but there was no mistaking the tension between them—the heat that lingered just beneath their words.

The director, sensing the perfect chemistry, clapped his hands together. “Actually… that could work. It would be way more natural.” He turned to Jennie. “You game?”

Jennie grinned. “Completely.”

Tatum’s eyes narrowed playfully at her. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

Jennie just winked, grabbing the lipstick tube from the stylist with a smug little grin.

⸻

Tatum was positioned in the middle of the room, leaning back slightly against a weathered wooden crate. The top button of her jeans was undone, and she looked utterly effortless—like she’d just rolled out of bed after a long night. The crew watched as Jennie walked toward her slowly, turning the lipstick in her hand before uncapping it.

“Don’t move,” Jennie whispered softly as she leaned in, her voice just for Tatum.

The first press of Jennie’s lips was warm and deliberate, right at the base of Tatum’s neck. She kissed the spot firmly, smudging the deep crimson color against Tatum’s skin. Her fingers lightly traced Tatum’s shoulder as she leaned in again, leaving another mark—this time along her collarbone.

Tatum’s eyes fluttered shut briefly at the feel of Jennie’s lips dragging softly against her skin. She could feel Jennie’s breath ghosting over her chest before she placed another slow, deliberate kiss on her shoulder.

Jennie was taking her sweet time, making sure the marks were rich and vivid, but it wasn’t just about the photoshoot anymore—it was the intimacy of it. The way her lips lingered a second too long. The way her hands lightly ran along Tatum’s sides, steadying herself as she knelt down to kiss her lower ribs.

Tatum exhaled softly, her voice a mere whisper. “You sure this is… work, Jen?”

Jennie, kneeling in front of her now, glanced up through her lashes with a teasing smirk. “I’m just… committed to my craft,” she murmured coyly before placing another kiss just below Tatum’s ribcage, leaving a perfectly smudged imprint.

When she pulled back, she stared at her work for a moment—nine perfect kiss marks scattered over Tatum’s skin. Her gaze slowly drifted up to meet Tatum’s, and for a brief moment, neither of them moved. Jennie’s eyes were darker, more intense, and Tatum knew they were dangerously close to forgetting that they were in the middle of a shoot.

“Alright,” the director’s voice cut through the haze. “That was perfect. Tatum, hold that pose—don’t move.”

Jennie’s eyes lingered on Tatum’s just a second longer before she reluctantly stepped back, but the mischievous glint in her eyes never wavered. She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly as she watched Tatum pose, subtly admiring her own handiwork.

⸻

The photos were released a week later, and Twitter—predictably—erupted into absolute chaos.

#TatumCalvinKlein trended within minutes, but the real hysteria began when fans noticed the very specific detail: nine kiss marks.

It didn’t take long for them to put the pieces together. Nine marks. Jennie Kim’s name had nine letters.

“OH. MY. GOD. THERE ARE NINE KISS MARKS. DO YOU REALIZE WHAT THAT MEANS? 😭😭😭”

“The fact that Jennie HERSELF put those marks on her and they made sure it was NINE??? THE GAY IS TOO LOUD.”

“Y’all. Jennie Kim. Nine letters. Nine kiss marks. On Tatum. I’m passing away.”

Memes flooded the timeline—fans zooming in on the photos, circling the marks and pointing out the significance with exaggerated crying emojis.

Someone posted a close-up of Tatum’s collarbone with the caption:

“I just know Jennie was down BAD when she left this one 😭😭.”

Another tweet featured side-by-side photos of Tatum looking utterly wrecked from the shoot with the caption:

“Not even subtle. Jennie is so whipped, it’s actually insane.”

The chaos only amplified when Jennie herself commented on the photos, posting a single cherry emoji 🍒—a wink at their inside joke about leaving ‘cherry kisses’—and everyone collectively lost their minds.

⸻

Later that night, as they lounged on Tatum’s couch, scrolling through the endless stream of tweets, Jennie smirked, clearly proud of herself.

“Fans are so observant,” she said with mock innocence, holding back a smug grin.

Tatum, sprawled out with her head in Jennie’s lap, glanced up at her. “You knew they would catch on. You planned this.”

Jennie ran her fingers lightly through Tatum’s hair, shrugging nonchalantly. “I can’t help it if I’m naturally artistic.” She paused, lowering her voice into a husky whisper. “And thorough.”

Tatum’s eyes narrowed playfully. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

Jennie grinned wickedly, leaning down to brush her lips softly over Tatum’s jawline. “Oh, I know.”

taglist [OPEN] : @multiliker @goofymickeyr @yuyuy90 @hydrardz @wtfisthisnoclueman @reiiaokii @somedaydream @yjiminswallet @inejghafawifesblog @jaythegirlkisser @xochitlisbest @1800hotnfunn @awkwardtoafault @linnnsworld

[especially-obsessed]

Hoodie

Summary: Jeremy gives you his hoodie <3

Pairing: Jeremy Gilbert x reader

Warnings: fluff! a little spicy if you squint at it <3

Word count: 4.4k (whoopsie)

Masterlist | Jeremy Playlist

Tyler Lockwood really didn’t know how to throw a small party.

The mansion was packed — people spilling out into the backyard, the music thumping loud enough to feel in your chest. Fairy lights twinkled from the trees, and the bonfire crackled somewhere in the distance. It would’ve been perfect… if it wasn’t so cold.

You hadn’t exactly dressed for the weather. When you left the house, it had been warm enough for a cute top and jeans, but the night air had turned sharp, and now you were regretting everything. Hugging your arms around yourself, you tried to focus on the party — on the laughter, the music, the people dancing in the grass — but your teeth were on the verge of chattering.

“You okay?”

You looked up, and there was Jeremy, appearing at your side like he always did when you needed him. His dark hair was a little messy, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie and his eyes flicked over you with that familiar mix of concern and softness.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to play it cool even though you were visibly shivering. “Just… you know. Little cold.”

Jeremy didn’t say anything — just raised an eyebrow in that way he did when he wasn’t buying your nonsense. And then, without a word, he pulled his sweatshirt over his head and held it out to you.

“Take it.”

You blinked up at him. “Jeremy, you’ll freeze—”

“I’m not the one who’s turning into an icicle,” he teased, his eyes twinkling. “Come on. Just put it on.”

You hesitated for maybe half a second — and then the wind kicked up again, and you weren’t about to let pride keep you from warmth. You slipped the hoodie over your head, and the second it settled around you, your whole body relaxed.

It was warm. And soft. And it smelled like Jeremy — like pine and soap and something you couldn’t quite place but was undeniably him. The sleeves were so long they fell past your hands, and the hem brushed the middle of your thighs. You tugged the hood up, half to hide the fact that you were blushing and half because you didn’t want to take it off.

Jeremy watched you with a barely hidden smile. “Better?”

“Way better,” you mumbled, tugging the oversized sleeves over your fingers.

He grinned, and you noticed the way his eyes softened when they lingered on you. “Told you.”

For the rest of the night, you didn’t take it off. You stayed close to Jeremy — partly because you were warmer with him next to you, but mostly because… well, you just wanted to.

At some point, you ended up by the bonfire. Jeremy’s arm stretched along the back of the bench behind you, and when the wind kicked up again, you felt him shift closer until his shoulder brushed yours and stayed there. At some point, his hand found its way to yours inside of the hoodie sleeve, sending a rush of butterflies through your chest.

“You know,” you teased, “now you’re the one who’s gonna freeze.”

Jeremy smiled, his dimples showing. “I’ll survive.” His voice dipped softer, the firelight dancing across his face. “Besides… you look better in it than I do.”

Your face went warm, and it wasn’t from the fire. You ducked your head again. “Jeremy—”

“What?” he laughed, his knee bumping against yours. “It’s true.” 

The fire crackled softly in front of you, and the night air was still cold. But with Jeremy’s hoodie wrapped around you and his hand loosely tangled with yours inside the oversized sleeve, you barely noticed.

Neither of you spoke for a while, the music from the party fading into the background. You watched the flames dance, but your mind was fixated on the way his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. Slow and soft. Like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. 

“You’re quiet,” Jeremy said eventually, his voice low and warm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You smiled, though you didn’t look at him. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

You hesitated, because how were you supposed to admit that your thoughts were mostly about him? About the way his hoodie smelled like him, the way his hand fit so perfectly around yours, the way he always noticed when you needed him without you even having to say a word.

“Nothing important,” you teased instead, glancing up at him with a little grin.

Jeremy rolled his eyes, but there was a soft curve to his lips. “Sure.” His gaze dipped down, taking in the sight of you in his sweatshirt, and his smile grew. “Y’know, you could keep it. If you want.”

Your heart skipped. “What, the hoodie?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but there was a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “I kinda like seeing you in it.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Because what were you supposed to say to that? Your face went warm, your fingers tightening around his without thinking.

“You’re blushing,” Jeremy teased, his voice dipping lower.

“Shut up,” you muttered, tugging the hood lower over your face to hide the fact that he was absolutely right.

He laughed softly, and before you could react, his hand let go of yours just so he could tug the hood back, brushing your hair away from your face. “Don’t hide,” he murmured, his voice gentle. “I like looking at you.”

That did nothing to help the whole blushing situation.

You were sure your heart was going to beat right out of your chest. And then, because your brain apparently wasn’t fully functioning, you whispered, “You’re being awfully sweet tonight.”

Jeremy’s smile softened. “Maybe I’ve got a good reason.”

Your breath caught. “Yeah? What’s that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, his fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The air around you felt warmer, like the fire had crept closer, and you were suddenly very aware of how close he was.

“You should wear my stuff more often,” he said softly, his eyes flickering down to the hoodie you were practically swimming in. “Kinda like knowing you’re warm because of me.”

You were definitely not breathing anymore.

And then — because Jeremy Gilbert was apparently trying to kill you with sweetness — he pulled the sleeve of his hoodie back over your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in the process. “There,” he said softly. “All cozy now.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jeremy…”

He smiled — that soft, warm, perfect smile — and his eyes searched yours like he was waiting for something. And maybe you would’ve said something, maybe you would’ve done something…

But then someone called Jeremy’s name from across the yard, and the moment broke. He sighed, his thumb brushing your hand one last time. “I should probably go see what that’s about.” You nodded, trying not to look as disappointed as you felt. But before he stood, Jeremy squeezed your hand. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Okay.”

You watched Jeremy disappear into the crowd, your heart still hammering from the way he had just looked at you, the way his fingers had lingered, the way his voice had turned soft and warm like you were the only person that mattered.

The hoodie still smelled like him. That stupid, wonderful mix of cologne and something distinctly Jeremy. You curled further into it, biting your lip to keep from smiling too much. 

“Hey, you.”

The voice was familiar, slightly slurred, and way too close for comfort. You knew Matt was drunk before he even sat down next to you. He plopped down on the stone bench, his blue eyes glassy and unfocused. The scent of beer clung to him.

“Hey, Matt. What’s up?” You smiled at his state, knowing he didn’t usually get this drunk at parties. He was usually the DD. It was good for him to have some fun once in a while.

“You’re cute, you know that?” he murmured, his breath tinged with booze.

Your stomach twisted. Maybe he was having too much fun.

“Matt, you’re drunk,” you said lightly, shifting away, but his arm wrapped around the back of your shoulders lazily.

“��M not that drunk,” he mumbled, a grin on his face.

Matt wasn’t usually like this. Sure, he could be flirty, but it was always in a friendly, harmless way. But this? The way his knee knocked against yours, the way his arm stretched out behind you, the way his words were just a little too slow and a little too bold? This wasn’t Matt. 

You glanced around, hoping to see someone you knew nearby, but the party was still in full swing, and no one was paying attention. Even the couple across the fire from you were sucking faces. 

“I mean it,” Matt continued, his voice dipping lower. “You look… really good.”

He reached out, tugging lightly at the sleeve of Jeremy’s hoodie. “Even in this thing. What, Gilbert let you steal his clothes now?” He smirked. “Kinda cute, actually.”

You swallowed, resisting the urge to shrink back. “Yeah, well… I was cold.”

Matt chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t need his hoodie. I’d keep you warm if you’d asked.”

This was wrong. You weren’t scared, exactly, but you were uncomfortable. This wasn’t the Matt you knew—this was just the alcohol talking. But that didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

You tensed, every instinct telling you to leave—

And then, suddenly, Matt was gone.

You barely had time to register that Jeremy’s hand was fisted in Matt’s shirt, yanking him off the bench.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeremy’s voice was low but furious.

Matt stumbled, blinking up at him in hazy confusion. “Dude—what?”

Jeremy shoved him back, not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough. “Back off.”

Matt scoffed, swaying slightly. “Relax, man, we were just—”

“No,” Jeremy’s body tensed up immediately. His jaw tightened, and his hands balled into fists, clearly trying to contain himself. His gaze hardened as he stepped forward, eyes locking with Matt's. The tension in the air thickened, and his voice cut through it like a knife when he spoke to Matt. “You’re drunk, getting in her space, and not taking the hint.” His entire body was radiating anger. “So I’ll say it again—back off.”

Matt let out an annoyed huff, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. Whatever.”

Jeremy didn’t move until Matt turned and disappeared into the crowd. Only then did he let out a slow breath, his hands still clenched into fists.

You were still frozen in place, heart racing—not from Matt anymore, but from Jeremy.

The look in his eyes when he turned to you wasn’t just frustration. It was something deeper. Something messy.

“You okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

Jeremy exhaled, scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

“I was fine,” you attempted to reassure him.

Jeremy gave you a look, and you sighed.

“Okay, maybe not totally fine,” you admitted.

His lips pressed into a thin line. He was still pissed—you could see it in the tension in his shoulders, the way he kept flexing his fingers like he was forcing himself to relax.

And yet, beneath all of that, there was something else.

Something that made your stomach flutter.

You tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie, still wrapped around you, trying to ground yourself. Jeremy only shook his head, running a hand over his face. “C’mon,” he muttered, turning toward the edge of the property. “Let’s get out of here.”

The walk away from the party was quiet.

Jeremy still looked tense, his gaze fixed ahead, hands shoved deep into his pockets. You wondered if he was replaying what had happened—if he was still fighting the urge to go back and deck Matt for good measure.

You hesitated, then stepped closer, bumping your arm lightly against his. “You don’t have to be so mad.”

Jeremy let out a breath through his nose but stayed quiet. Your heart did a stupid little flip. You stopped walking, grabbing his wrist to stop him. “Jeremy.”

He sighed, finally looking at you, his expression softer now, but conflicted.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence between you two, stretching out like a wall you’re not sure how to break through. Then, his eyes met yours. There’s a softness in them; a crack in his usually guarded exterior. He opens his mouth, and his voice comes out quieter than you expected, barely above a whisper. “I don’t like seeing guys act like that with you.” The admission, so raw and unguarded, catches you off guard. It’s a side of him you didn’t expect, vulnerable and honest in a way he hadn’t been before.

Jeremy quickly looked away again, staring down at the pavement like he regretted saying anything. 

Silence stretched between you.

You bit your lip, warmth curling in your chest.

“You know,” you mused, voice teasing but gentle, “for someone who keeps trying to hide his feelings, you’re really bad at it.”

Jeremy huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

This time, you definitely caught the faintest hint of a smile before he ducked his head, his ears just barely tinged pink.

“Just shut up and keep walking,” he muttered.

You grinned.

And you did.

The quiet walk away from the party took you back to Jeremy’s house, neither of you speaking much.

Jeremy’s hands were still shoved in his pockets, his jaw tight. But the tension between you hadn’t disappeared. If anything, it had shifted—turning into something heavier. Something unspoken.

By the time you reached the Gilbert house, the air between you was thick with it.

Jeremy pushed open the front door, stepping inside first. The house was dark and silent—Elena must not be home yet.

You hesitated in the doorway, suddenly unsure. “I should probably—”

“Stay.”

Jeremy’s voice was quiet, but firm.

Your heart skipped.

He turned to look at you, his eyes dark, his expression unreadable. “Just for a little while.”

You swallowed, stepping inside. Jeremy shut the door behind you.

The air felt different in here; warmer, heavier. Maybe it was just because the outside chill had faded. Maybe it was because your heart was racing.

Jeremy let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck before looking at you again. His eyes flickered down—just briefly—to where his hoodie still hung loosely on your frame.

You hugged it closer, suddenly hyper-aware of how it smelled like him.

“You want something to drink?” Jeremy asked, his voice rougher than before.

You shook your head. “I’m okay.”

Silence stretched between you again.

You knew you should say something light, something normal, to break the tension, but your brain wasn’t cooperating.

Because Jeremy was looking at you like that again.

Like he was fighting something.

Like he was dangerously close to losing.

Your pulse jumped.

Jeremy exhaled sharply and turned away, running a hand through his hair. “You shouldn’t let guys talk to you like that,” he muttered, his voice tighter than before.

“I didn’t let Matt do anything,” you pointed out, watching him carefully.

Jeremy huffed. “I know. I just…” His shoulders tensed, his hands clenching at his sides. “It pissed me off.”

You swallowed. “Yeah. I noticed.”

Jeremy let out a breath through his nose. “I don’t want guys thinking they can just—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t want him thinking that.”

The air felt impossibly thick.

You took a cautious step closer. “Jeremy.”

He turned, eyes locking onto yours, and that was when you saw it. 

The frustration, the tension, the lingering anger from earlier. But mostly, you saw how much he wanted you.

Something in your chest tightened.

You barely had time to process it before he was suddenly right in front of you, his fingers brushing the hem of his hoodie where it hung loosely over your thighs.

“Looks better on you than it does on me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your pulse quickening. “You said that already.”

His fingers curled into the fabric, his proximity almost overwhelming. You could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the lingering hint of beer from the party.

His eyes flickered down to your lips.

Your breath hitched.

And then—finally—his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t hesitant.

It was heat and frustration, all the pent-up feelings spilling over in an instant.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he pressed you back against the hallway wall. You barely had time to react before he was crowding into your space, his body pressing against yours.

You tangled your fingers into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, as his groan vibrated against your lips. His grip on your waist tightened like he was afraid to let go, his desperation evident.

Maybe he needed to prove something to himself.

Maybe he needed to prove that you were his.

Maybe he was done pretending otherwise.

Your heart hammered, and a warmth bloomed deep in your stomach as you kissed him back, eager, breathless.

Jeremy finally pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His gaze was dark and intense, something dangerous lurking beneath the surface.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, his voice rough.

You swallowed, your breath still unsteady. “About what?”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer.

“About not wanting other guys to think they can have you.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you refused to look away, locking eyes with him as you bit your lip.

“And what if I don’t want them?” you teased, voice barely a whisper, daring him.

His eyes flickered, his fingers tilting your chin upward as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip.

“Then you should probably tell me who you do want,” he murmured.

Your stomach flipped, your heart thudding in your chest as you met his gaze, your voice low, barely a whisper.

“You.”

Jeremy’s eyes darken and his hands move to your waist, lifting you effortlessly. You gasp into the kiss as your feet leave the ground, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. The motion is quick, almost instinctual, and you can't help but wrap your arms around his neck, holding on as he walks toward the stairs. His lips trail down to your jaw, kissing you in soft, heated bursts as he ascends, each step a reminder that this is real, that you’re here in his arms.

The warmth of his body against yours, the feeling of his lips moving against your skin, it makes everything else feel distant, like nothing else matters but the two of you. His lips press against your neck, and the sensation sends a shiver through your spine, your heart pounding in your chest.

By the time you reach the top of the stairs, his lips are back on yours, hungry but still gentle. He turns and kicks the door open to his room with his foot, never breaking the kiss. You feel the soft cotton of his hoodie wrap around you more securely as he carries you over the threshold and toward his bed.

As he reaches the edge of the bed, he gently lowers you onto the soft blankets, his lips lingering against yours for just a moment longer before he pulls back. His hands slide to your waist, making sure you're settled comfortably. The bed creaks slightly under your weight, but you hardly notice, lost in the depth of his gaze as he looks down at you, eyes dark with desire, but softened by something tender.

He hovers above you, his thumb brushing along your cheek as he leans down and kisses you again, slower this time, savoring every moment. His voice is barely a whisper, heavy with emotion, "I’ve wanted this... you, for so long."

His hands slid under the hem of the hoodie he’d given you, brushing the bare skin of your back, sending a shiver down your spine. You barely had time to react before he was kissing you again, slower this time, more deliberate.

Like he wasn’t just proving a point anymore. He was making a promise.

Jeremy’s hands were everywhere, his lips trailing down your jaw, kissing the side of your neck as if he were trying to memorize you, claim you in the most intimate way. Every touch sent a spark through your body, every kiss deepening the hunger you felt, the desire you’d never been able to name.

“Jer,” you breathed, your voice trembling.

Jeremy pulled back slightly. His lips moved down your neck, a trail of heat in their wake, and you shivered under his touch. His hands roamed lower, brushing below the waistline of your jeans, his touch careful, testing how far you were willing to go.

The tension was unbearable, but neither of you wanted to break it.

"Jeremy," you whispered again, your voice a mix of desire and hesitation.

He pulled back slightly, his lips just a breath away from yours. His gaze was dark, his pupils dilated as if he were barely holding on. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice strained.

You met his eyes, heart pounding in your chest. “Are you?” you whispered, grinning up at him.

Something shifted in his expression—a flicker of vulnerability—you both knew there was no turning back.

"Yeah," he breathed, his hands pulling you closer. "I’m sure."

You didn’t want to stop.

The world around you faded away as your lips met his again, desperate, fervent, as if this was the only thing that mattered. The kiss is deeper, pulling you closer as his tongue gently brushes against your lips. You don’t hesitate to respond, your breath mingling with his as his kiss grows more insistent, coaxing you into the moment. His tongue moves slowly, carefully, exploring.

The air between you is thick with desire, charged with something neither of you wanted to deny. Slowly, his shirt tugged up and was pulled over his head, and you could feel the warmth of his chest press against you. He pulled away slightly, his breath heavy as he looked at you—his lips swollen from the intensity of your kiss.

His hands slide up your back, this time pushing the hoodie off your shoulders, and it falls to the floor without either of you acknowledging it. His lips moved back down your neck, each kiss leaving a mark, a promise that you would both carry with you.

"God, you're killing me," Jeremy murmured, his voice strained with barely restrained desire.

Your heart thundered, and you leaned forward, capturing his lips with your own, placing your hands on both sides of his face. 

You could feel the intensity building, each movement more frantic as you tried to pull him closer, your fingers trailing down his chest. Jeremy’s hands roamed lower, his touch teasing, brushing against the waistband of your jeans before his lips moved to your collarbone, kissing with intent, leaving marks.

But then—

You both froze.

The sound of the front door closing downstairs reached you, followed by the muffled sound of voices.

Jeremy tensed immediately, his breath catching in his throat. You pulled back slightly, eyes darting to the door as the voices filtered up the stairs.

“Do you hear that?” Jeremy muttered, his voice thick with frustration.

You nodded, feeling the pressure of the moment slip through your fingers. His hands slowly dropped from your waist, and the tension between you thickened.

“My sister’s home,” he murmured, his voice tight. “I don’t—” He didn’t finish the sentence, but you could feel his hesitation, his conflict.

You stayed silent for a beat, just staring at him, chest still rising and falling with every breath. His gaze flickered between you and the door, but he didn’t move closer. He stayed a respectful distance away, the space between you now thick with unspoken words.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whispered, your hand brushing his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

He glanced down at your hand, then back up at you. “Me either,” he confessed, his voice soft but rough.

But the distance between you both lingered, the moment shifting as reality encroached once again. You smiled softly, your fingers brushing his jaw as you locked eyes with him. 

Jeremy let out a frustrated sigh, resting his forehead against yours for a second before reluctantly pulling away. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands still gripping your waist like he wasn't ready to let go.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lingering ache of want as you tried to sit up. "I should probably go," you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeremy's hand caught yours before you could move. "Wait," he said softly, his fingers tightening around yours. His eyes, still dark with unspoken emotions, searched yours. "Stay. Just for a little while."

You hesitated, heart hammering as you looked at him. His shirt was still off, his hair messily tousled from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses. But beneath all of that, there was something deeper in his gaze, something raw, pleading.

Wordlessly, you nodded.

Jeremy exhaled, as if relieved, and gently pulled you back onto the bed. He wrapped an arm around you, tucking you close against him, his bare skin warm against yours. His heartbeat was steady now, a comforting rhythm beneath your palm as your fingers traced lazy circles over his chest.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

His fingers skimmed up and down your back, slow and soothing, as your body relaxed against him. The tension from before still lingered in the air, but now it was softer, quieter. You felt the weight of his arm drape over your waist, pulling you just a little closer.

Eventually, your breathing evened out, your body melting into his warmth. Jeremy felt it happen, the moment you gave in, the way your grip on him loosened as sleep took over. 

He didn’t move, didn’t dare disturb the moment.

Instead, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head, holding you just a little tighter.

"Just for a little while," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Masterlist | TVD Masterlist | Jeremy playlist

a/n: I literally have so many Jeremy x reader fics drafted! I want to post them all so badly <3

Likes, reblogs, and follows are never expected but greatly appreciated! These let me know I should keep on doing what I’m doing! (:

Taglist: @imanewsoul @s0urw00lf

Let me know if you would like to be added to a taglist <3

[the-shy-skeleton]

[tara-fantastico]

I think a big part of why aftg (the original triology) so often gets referred to as bad writing is because the language is a bit plain. It does have some absolute bangers, but compared to Jean's way with words, a lot of Neil's inner monologue is rather straightforward.

Which is probably largely due to Nora's writing evolving over a decade, but it also works so well inverse.

Given that Neil never was allowed to see the beauty in anything because it was considered dangerous, and was scrutinised by his mother from a very young age to make sure his sole focus was survival, his one track mind makes sense.

Jean, meanwhile, was punished for every little action and behaviour his abusers didn't like while also being told over and over that he himself had no value, but no one ever cared about him enough to warn him of the world. He was not allowed a lot, if any, positive experiences while in the Nest, and he was not allowed to actively want things, but unlke Neil he was never taught to fear pleasure because it itself was a risk, only because he might be punished for it.

Therefore, when they are both free out in the world, it makes sense that Jean is faster to see and express beauty, while Neil takes longer before he can see happiness as anything but bait for a trap.

[mapbottakeamap]

I'm pretty sure consistently not getting a good amount of sleep can like, actually be damaging to your heath. I know Tetsuiji wanted to maximize time on the court but I'm pretty sure having all of this athletes sleep deprived constantly is actually going to make his entire team worse.

[meowyjean]

isaac hugging the book and feeling sparks bc he finally found the words to his feelings!!!! cried my eyes out at 3am! <3

[alifeoffairytales]

Léon Georges Jean-Baptiste Carré (1878 ~ 1942) 1926 illustration for 'The Book of One Thousand and One Nights'

[sygneth]

Am I lost in some addiction? Or just chasing state of mind? We are trapped by my ambitions. I don’t mean to sound unkind. Hurting people, hurt people, I’m really missing you. But I’m feeling disrespected from the screaming that you do.

inspo song | my DE comic

[sondheim-girly]

This whole time zone thing is overrated. So is having a good sleep schedule.

[wyverningx]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau Characters: Catalina Alvarez (All For The Game), Laila Dermott, Renee Walker (All For The Game), Kevin Day, Neil Josten Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Texting, Established Relationship, jerejean, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, tsc spoilers, navigating a new relationship while still experiencing the Horrors, Trauma, jean and his undiagnosed (as of yet) PTSD, Flirting, dating jean moreau is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, Insecure Jeremy Series: Part 2 of bare your soul Summary:

As Jean tries to navigate this fragile, tender thing with Jeremy, insecurities and external obstacles plague them both.