#or stop your payment for a month... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heeluvv · 2 months ago

Text

˗ˏˋ 01. NEW CONTENT DROPPED

warningsᝰ.ᐟ masturbation, unprotected sex, soft praise kink, noona kink, light crying, degradation kink, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

statusᝰ.ᐟ 1/9 completed!

taglistᝰ.ᐟ @starry-eyed-bimbo @vixialuvs @justaquarium @dark-moon-light02 @deobitifull @minjeong28 @wonzzziezzzz @wonsohl @psychicyouthfox @honeyfever @strayy-kidz @bloomiize @tunafishyfishylike @jaehaki @ihearteatingxo @songbyeonkim @sol3chu @mo0neng3ne @strxwbloody @hii01mii @merwdusa @dorrissakurada @lycxee @frequentlykit @heeenha6484 @sjakewrld @stwrlightt @parkjjongswifey @haneulhee @fr34k4c1dr41n @cozyre @vwricky @nyxtwixx @nuggets4lifers @yunkiconico @mynameis-rosie1 @leeknowslefteyebrow @babygguk98 @noiiny @horijiro

──

you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until the number on the page blurs in front of your eyes. the red ink bleeds through the letter like it’s been branded there on purpose, like it’s taunting you. bold, underlined, and cruel: payment past due. the amount is higher than you thought. higher than last month. higher than what’s sitting in your checking account—and your savings? nonexistent. your fingers twitch around the edges of the paper, and you stare at it for a few seconds longer, as if maybe if you look hard enough, the numbers will shrink, change, disappear entirely.

but they don’t.

your hands move slowly, almost disconnected, as you place the letter down on the edge of the kitchen counter. the paper crinkles beneath your fingertips, the sound sharp in the quiet of the apartment. you rake your fingers through your hair, dragging your nails gently across your scalp, trying to ground yourself—trying not to panic. it’s not working.

you don’t have time for this. not now. not with finals looming, two shifts left this weekend, and rent due in five days.

the sound of approaching footsteps makes you flinch.

“everything okay?” nari’s voice is soft, cautious, like she already knows the answer. she probably does. she always does.

you don’t look at her. not yet. you feel her presence behind you, hovering by the counter, hesitating. she picks up the letter carefully, and you hear her breath catch as her eyes scan the contents. there’s a beat of silence before she speaks.

“it’s more than last month,” she says, barely above a whisper.

you nod, still not meeting her eyes. your throat feels dry, your heart pounding behind your ribs like it’s trying to escape. the shame tastes bitter in your mouth.

“i can’t pay it,” you finally say, voice flat. “i barely made it through last month’s bill. and now they’ve added more fees.”

it’s not new. this has been happening every few months. random charges. late penalties. service increases you never agreed to. and no matter how many hours you work or how much sleep you lose, it never seems to be enough. you thought you were managing. thought maybe you were finally getting ahead, even just a little. but here it is—proof that you’re still drowning.

nari places the letter back down and moves to stand beside you. she doesn’t speak right away. her eyes flick toward you, soft with concern. she’s been your roommate for over a year now—someone you met through a shared thread on social media venting about overpriced meal plans and the bullshit cost of dorm laundry. back then, you were both strangers trying to navigate the mess of college life with nothing but broken bank accounts and coffee-stained syllabi.

now, she feels like family.

you’ve always admired how gentle she is, how thoughtful. she worries without smothering, helps without asking, gives even when she barely has enough for herself. you hate how easily she sees through you.

“i’m so sorry, y/n,” she says gently. “let me help. i mean it. just this once.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. you’ve had this conversation before. more than once. every time the bills show up with too many zeroes or your bank app sends another low balance alert, she offers. she always offers. and you always refuse.

because this is your responsibility. your education. your choice.

you never wanted to drag her into the mess you made just trying to survive.

“nari, no. it’s fine,” you say, brushing it off the same way you always do, even though nothing about this feels fine. “i’ll figure it out. i’ll… find another job or something.”

another job. the words sound ridiculous even as they leave your mouth. you’re already balancing two. your body aches at the thought of adding a third, your schedule stretched so thin it feels like one missed alarm could unravel everything.

nari doesn’t argue. she just stands there, looking at you with wide, worried eyes that say more than her words ever could.

you turn away.

you don’t want to see that look. don’t want to see the guilt in her expression or the way her lips part like she’s about to say something she knows you won’t let her finish. instead, you press your palms flat to the cool countertop and try to slow your breathing.

you can’t keep doing this. living check to check. sacrificing sleep, time, your sanity—only to still come up short.

“let me help find you one, y/n. at least let me do that…” her voice was quiet but firm, laced with the kind of gentle urgency that made it hard to ignore. she pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down beside you, her knees bumping yours softly as she reached for your hands.

her fingers curled around yours without hesitation—warm, grounding, comforting in a way that made your chest ache.

“you’ll get out of this before you know it,” she said, her thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “just hang on a little longer.”

the words should’ve felt like encouragement. to someone else, maybe they would have. but to you, they barely registered. her voice echoed distantly in your ears, dulled by the weight pressing down on your shoulders. you wanted to believe her. you really did. but there was only so much hope could do when your brain felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

you were tired.

not just physically—though that part never seemed to go away—but mentally, emotionally, in a way that left you hollow at the edges. your thoughts were messy. loud. overwhelmed with numbers and due dates and rejection emails you didn’t have the energy to open.

you’d always wanted more for yourself. a degree. a real future. stability. success. the version of adulthood that didn’t involve counting coins at the bottom of your purse to buy groceries. being able to chase something you loved without sacrificing everything just to survive.

and yet… here you were. still stuck. still drowning.

“i’ll talk to my friends,” nari added, her voice picking up as she stood again. “i’ll ask around, see if any of their jobs are hiring. you don’t have to do this alone, okay?”

you blinked up at her, too tired to protest, too drained to offer anything back. you barely nodded.

she didn’t wait for an answer. instead, she gently tugged you to your feet and led you toward your room, her hands guiding you like muscle memory.

“just hurry,” she said over her shoulder, already halfway down the hall. “get ready before you’re late.”

you let the door close behind you, the soft click echoing in the quiet space, and leaned back against it for a second too long—breathing in slow, like maybe it would help ease the burning behind your eyes.

but it didn’t.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you can’t hear yourself think anymore. the noise presses in from every direction—muffled conversation, the beep of the register, shoes skidding across tile, the mechanical whirring of the blender as it screams through another drink. the scent of syrup, espresso, and sweat mixes into something you’re far too familiar with by now. it clings to your clothes, seeps into your hair, follows you home every night and lingers even after you’ve scrubbed your skin raw.

your apron feels too tight around your waist. the name tag keeps flipping over, catching on your shirt. your hands ache from repetition. your back stings from bending, twisting, reaching for things without stopping. your legs burn, but you keep standing. because if you stop—just for a second—you don’t know if you’ll start again.

you’ve lost count of how many customers you’ve helped. they blur together—faces that don’t really look at you, names that repeat too often, voices that never say please. someone spilled a drink ten minutes ago and just stared at you like it was your fault. someone else snapped when you misunderstood their order and then smiled like it never happened. you’re used to it. too used to it.

the blender screams again, and you find yourself zoning out, eyes on the flashing light of the machine, ears ringing. you place a sweaty cup down on the counter just as your coworker brushes past you, muttering something, her voice barely registers.

“we’re out of cold brew, can you let the manager know?” she says, breathless.

you nod without thinking and duck into the back, weaving past crates of milk and mop buckets that haven’t been moved since your last shift. you find her—your manager—hovering near the inventory shelf, tablet in hand, expression unreadable. she looks up when she hears you but doesn’t say anything. just waits.

“we’re out of cold brew again,” you say softly.

her sigh is immediate. clipped. already annoyed. “i told the morning crew to prep more.”

“they didn’t,” you reply, just as soft.

she exhales again and gives you a glance that feels like a warning. “make a new batch. and try to keep the line moving—we’re backed up out there.”

you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot, unsure if now’s a good time. but you don’t have a choice. not really.

“hey,” you begin, voice lighter than you feel, “i was wondering… if you had any extra shifts next week? i could take one. or two. anything that opens up, i’ll take it.”

you see it the moment her expression changes. not enough to be obvious, but enough that you feel it in your gut. she blinks at you once, slow. “you already have four shifts on the schedule.”

“i know,” you say quickly. “i just… if anyone drops or calls out—”

“i’ll let you know if something comes up,” she interrupts, sharper now. “but we’re fully staffed right now. you’re already lucky to have the hours you do.”

lucky.

that one stings.

you nod like it doesn’t bother you. “okay. thanks anyway.”

you turn back toward the front before she can see the heat crawl up your neck. the shame, the frustration, the quiet burn of helplessness that never seems to leave you alone. it coils tight in your chest as you slide back behind the counter, the overwhelming noise greeting you like a wave to the face.

you move through the orders on autopilot—pour, cap, swipe, pass. your body knows the motions. it always does. even when your brain doesn’t catch up. your arms are heavy. your thoughts are too loud.

your phone buzzes in your apron pocket.

technically, you’re not supposed to check it during a shift. but you do anyway, slipping your hand inside just enough to pull it out, eyes flicking to the screen beneath the counter.

nari: i have something to tell you.

you pause.

your breath catches in your throat.

the message is short. way too short. there are no emojis, no dramatics, no little additions she usually throws in to make you laugh. it’s clean. intentional. unsettling.

you type back fast.

you okay? what’s up?

your fingers hover over the screen, waiting. no immediate reply. no typing bubbles. just silence.

you slip your phone back into your apron, heart racing now—not from caffeine or exhaustion but from something else. dread, maybe. anxiety. it curls low in your stomach and spreads like smoke, slow and sickly.

the hours bleed together until they don’t feel real anymore. it’s like you blinked and suddenly the sky was dark, the register was silent, and your shift was over. you don’t even remember clocking out. your body moves on instinct as you grab your things, slinging your bag over one shoulder, feet dragging slightly with every step. you’re too tired to even complain out loud. exhaustion sits heavy on your shoulders, weighing down every bone like bricks. every joint aches. your eyes sting from the fluorescent lights. your muscles are tight, sore, stretched too far. and the worst part is knowing you’ll have to do it all again tomorrow.

the walk home is a blur. you barely register the passing cars or the hum of traffic. your legs are on autopilot, your thoughts too noisy to settle into anything coherent. by the time you reach your building, your fingers fumble with the key from how badly they’re shaking—whether from fatigue or stress, you’re not sure.

the moment the front door swings open, you’re greeted by a sudden, high-pitched sound that makes you flinch.

“oh my god, y/n!”

nari’s voice rings out before you even step fully inside. she appears from around the corner, practically bouncing on her feet as she rushes toward you with wide eyes and a wild grin.

“i think i’ve secured something for you!” she announces proudly, reaching to help you with your things without waiting for permission. your bag slides off your shoulder with her help, and she carefully sets it down on the couch before turning to face you again.

you blink at her, too tired to match her energy, voice low and worn. “how so?”

the contrast between your tone and hers is stark—hers bright and excited, yours soft, raspy, touched with exhaustion that even you can hear.

“okay, so,” she starts, already walking toward the kitchen like she’s been waiting all day to spill this. “i was talking to one of my classmates earlier—casual stuff, whatever—and she would not shut up about this app she’s using and this guy she’s obsessed with on it.”

you follow her slowly, the smell of something warm and savory pulling you forward. dinner is already set out, steam curling up from the bowls on the counter. she’s cooked again. you don’t even have the energy to thank her properly, but it sits in your chest like a quiet comfort.

“she said it’s this platform where you can post content—videos, mostly—and people follow you, tip you, subscribe to see more. apparently, it’s easy money if you know how to catch attention,” nari continues, grabbing utensils and placing them gently next to your bowl.

you lean against the counter, brows slightly furrowed as you try to keep up.

“what kind of videos?” you ask slowly.

and that’s when she pauses.

her hands still for a second, and you notice the subtle way her eyes flick to the side—toward the fridge, the floor, anywhere but you. she busies herself wiping down a clean countertop, her mouth tight, like she’s carefully choosing what not to say.

the silence stretches just a little too long.

you narrow your eyes. “nari?”

she still doesn’t look at you, her fingers now fiddling with the corner of a napkin that doesn’t need adjusting.

and that’s when you know—whatever she’s about to suggest, it’s not exactly a regular part-time job.

you don’t say anything. not at first.

you just watch her fidget—her hands smoothing the same wrinkle over and over again, her mouth parting like she wants to say something but can’t figure out where to start. her excitement from earlier has dimmed slightly, not completely gone, just… more careful now. the shift is subtle but it’s there, and you feel it tighten something in your chest.

your voice is quieter this time. gentler. “what kind of videos, nari?”

she glances up at you for a split second, then looks away again, reaching to stir a pot that isn’t even on the stove. she’s stalling.

finally, she exhales, turning back to you with both palms pressed to the counter.

“okay, so… don’t freak out.”

you stare at her.

“it’s… kind of a subscription thing,” she says, slow and cautious. “like, you post content—just whatever you’re comfortable with—and people tip you for it. sometimes a lot.”

you don’t speak. not yet. you just let her keep going.

“my classmate told me she made almost five hundred dollars in one weekend. literally just from one post. and this guy she follows? apparently he makes thousands. like, thousands. maybe even millions.”

your mouth is dry.

“what kind of content?” you repeat, even though you already know the answer.

nari bites her lip. her eyes finally meet yours. “sexy stuff,” she admits. “but it doesn’t have to be all out. it can be suggestive. artistic. faceless, even.”

you blink at her. once. twice.

the silence between you stretches until it’s not silence anymore—it’s tension. thick and heavy, sitting right in the center of the kitchen with both of you tiptoeing around it.

“it’s not as intense as it sounds,” she adds quickly. “she said she started small. built her page up over time. and no one from school found out. not even her roommates.”you sink into one of the kitchen chairs, your arms resting limply in your lap. you don’t say anything yet. you’re not even sure what you feel.

nari’s eyes soften as she watches you. “i know it sounds… out there. but i just thought—i don’t know, maybe it’s something you could look into. just to hold you over until things get better.”

you nod, but it’s slow. not agreement—just acknowledgment.

you’re too tired to argue. too drained to pretend the idea isn’t already crawling under your skin, planting itself somewhere dangerous.

because the truth is, you’ve heard of it. everyone has. whispered about in late-night dorm conversations, on private stories, in anonymous confessions posted on spam accounts. girls making rent money in a weekend. boys going viral for being faceless and filthy and addictive.

you never imagined doing it yourself.

but then again… you never imagined being this broke, either.

you stare at your untouched bowl of food, heart thudding softly in your chest.

you’re not disgusted. not even shocked.

you’re just… thinking.

and that scares you more than anything else.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

you tell yourself you’re just looking.

that’s it.

just a little more scrolling. just a few more profiles. you’re not doing anything. you haven’t made an account. you haven’t posted. you haven’t committed to anything except curiosity, and that—well, that’s harmless, right?

you open your laptop again. it’s sometime past midnight. your room is dim, the only light coming from your screen and the soft amber glow of the lamp tucked in the corner of your desk. it casts everything in that moody, late-night hue that makes the whole world feel quieter. heavier.

you pull your knees up to your chest, the blanket draped loosely over your shoulders as the homepage loads. it’s different now. you’re not looking aimlessly anymore. you know what to search for. you type top creators, and a list appears almost instantly.

you click one.

@heefreakshow. verified. 5.2 million subscribers.

his profile loads, and it’s exactly what you expect. polished, but not too polished. his display photo is somewhat dark and grainy, a half-lit frame of his bare chest, chin tilted up just enough to be teasing without giving anything away. the banner across the top reads: “i don’t just talk dirty. i make you feel it.”

his content is locked, but the previews aren’t.

you hover for a moment, your thumb pausing above one of the thumbnails before tapping it without thinking. the video opens in a small window, looped, muted at first, but it doesn’t matter—what pulls you in is the way he fills the frame. it starts with a soft hum of music, low and bassy, vibrating faintly through your speakers as the camera tilts upward from a dark-lit bed.

his chest appears first—broad, smooth, glowing faintly under the moody blue light. he’s shirtless, his skin flushed, breathing slow but deep. the camera dips, revealing his thighs spread wide and relaxed, and the hard, unmistakable bulge straining through his pants. your breath catches. the fabric looks tight—too tight—like it’s fighting to contain him. you can almost feel the pressure through the screen.

his hands trail over his torso, slow and lazy, fingers dragging along the curves of his stomach, tracing the line of muscle before resting on the waistband of his pants. his face isn’t fully visible—just the faintest shadow of his jaw, a teasing sliver of his bottom lip. the only thing clearly captured is his hair: pink, messy, soft-looking and slightly damp, like he’s just run his hands through it too many times.

and then he moves.

his fingers slip down, unbuttoning his pants with quick, practiced ease. the zipper lowers with a soft click, and he pushes the fabric down just enough for his cock to spring free, already hard, tip flushed and leaking as it rests against his abdomen. his breath stutters slightly, chest rising as he wraps his hand around himself, stroking slow—deliberate, like he’s savoring it. he tilts his hips toward the camera, giving you a better view, and you swear he’s looking straight at you even though you can’t see his eyes.

his voice comes in a beat later—low, raspy, thick with arousal.

“i couldn’t help myself, baby…”

you feel something warm twist in your stomach. the words feel too direct, too personal. his pace quickens as precum beads at the tip, slicking over his fingers as he groans, deep and breathy, like it’s pulled straight from his chest.

his other hand rises, trailing over his stomach until it reaches his chest, fingers pinching at one nipple as his hips twitch upward. the reaction is instant—a quiet moan spilling from his mouth as his head tilts back slightly, lips parted in pleasure.

“fuck…” he breathes out, barely audible between sharp inhales. “i want you here with me, baby…”

you freeze, the weight of the moment crawling down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

you scroll down to the next name on the list.

@jayafterhours. verified. 5.3 million subscribers.

his banner is simple—black background, sharp white font. his bio reads: “don’t waste my time unless you can take it.”

you don’t hesitate. you click.

the video loads instantly, and the difference between him and the last profile is immediate. there’s nothing soft about it. no slow lighting, no teasing buildup. it opens straight into a scene already mid-motion—loud moans echoing through your speakers, fast and desperate, though none of them are coming from him.

the camera is perfectly framed, clearly placed on a desk, angled to capture everything without obstruction. a woman lies flat on her front, arms outstretched as her fingers curl over the edge of the wood. her legs tremble slightly, back arched, skin damp with sweat. behind her, jay moves with sharp, brutal rhythm—his hands gripping her hips like he owns them, fingers pressing deep into the flesh as he drives into her hard enough to rock the table beneath them.

“such a fucking slut, aren’t you?” he grits out, his voice low and full of gravel, each syllable landing like a slap.

his hand comes down suddenly to grip her ass, squeezing tight before delivering a sharp slap that makes her body jolt. the sound of skin meeting skin cracks through the room. she lets out a choked moan, broken and messy.

“d-don’t stop—j-jay!” she cries, voice high, shaking as her nails drag along the desk surface for something to hold on to.

but you barely register her.

your eyes stay on him.

he doesn’t look at the camera—not directly—but the angle captures enough. his head is tilted back slightly, the veins in his neck prominent, his jaw clenched. his lips are caught between his teeth, biting down like he’s holding something back. there’s a faint flush along his collarbone, sweat trailing down the side of his throat.

he isn’t shirtless.

somehow, that makes it worse.

he’s dressed in a crisp white button-down, slightly wrinkled now, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. a black tie hangs loosely around his neck, the knot crooked like it was tugged halfway through the scene. it swings gently with the movement of his hips, adding to the rhythm, the sound, the image of him fully in control without even needing to try.

there’s something terrifyingly composed about him. like he’s done this a thousand times. like nothing surprises him anymore. like the entire scene is unfolding exactly how he planned it.

and yet, despite the chaos, the noise, the cries echoing off the walls—you can’t stop looking at him.

you don’t hesitate when your eyes land on the next name.

@jakeoncam. verified. 5.5 million subscribers.

simple bio: “i like being watched.”

your heart skips slightly as you click on the preview, already familiar with the routine by now. and yet, nothing about this feels repetitive—each creator you've looked at so far has had their own way of pulling you in, but jake’s feels… different.

the screen fades in slowly, no music, no buildup. just the soft creak of bedsheets and the low, wet sound of friction. he’s fully on display, his body stretched across a dark comforter, shirtless, skin glowing with a light sheen of sweat. the camera is placed at a low angle, perfectly capturing the curve of his back as he grinds down onto a pillow with messy, desperate rhythm.

his blonde hair sticks to his forehead in damp strands, a few pieces plastered to his cheek. his eyes are shut tight, brows drawn in deep concentration, lips parted as he pants softly into the mattress. his hips roll in tight, fluid motions, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he presses himself down harder into the cushion.

“fuck… i’m gonna cum… fuck, baby…”

his voice is breathless—higher, whinier than the others—and it hits you unexpectedly. it’s not performance. it sounds real. wrecked. like he’s been holding back for too long and is just now letting go.

he gasps softly, his pace stuttering, body tensing as the pressure builds—but the clip cuts off just before the release, leaving you blinking at your screen with your chest tight and your legs shifting.

you don’t realize how long you’ve been holding your breath until it escapes you all at once.

and you don’t stop there.

you move onto the next one almost instinctively, driven more by something primal now. not even out of curiosity anymore—need. something about each of them feels increasingly personal, like they’re not just performers, but something else. something closer.

@hoononrepeat. verified. 5.3 million subscribers. “if it’s not messy, i don’t want it.”

you click, the motion smooth and practiced now. part of you knows you’re getting too deep, that this is becoming more than just research, but you don’t stop.

his video starts mid-motion.

the frame is tight, focused completely on him—sunghoon’s hand gripping his cock, already soaked and shining with cum, sliding along the length with slow, deliberate strokes. his chest is heaving, his abs flexing with each movement. the lighting is dark, moody, barely enough to cast definition over his frame, and yet it still highlights every shift of muscle.

a silhouette appears at the bottom of the screen—a woman, faceless, mouth parted and positioned perfectly beneath him. her head bobs forward as he pushes his cock into her mouth without hesitation.

he groans, long and drawn out, his voice rough like it’s scraped from the bottom of his throat.

“fucking hell…”

his hand buries in her hair, fingers curling tight as he guides her down, hips jerking forward sharply. the wet sound of it echoes faintly, almost drowned out by his ragged breathing. she gags softly, hands pressing at his thighs, but he doesn’t let up.

he’s focused. lost. unrelenting.

“take it,” he mutters, jaw clenched. “take all of it, princess…”

the words hit hard. not because of what he says, but how he says it—low, commanding, almost personal. like he knows you’re watching. like the words aren’t meant for her at all.

you feel your pulse thud somewhere low in your stomach. your fingers curl tighter around the edge of your laptop.

you should stop.

but you don’t.

@watchmesunoo. verified. 5.4 million subscribers.

his page is simple—light pastel banner, soft text, almost misleading at first glance. but when the preview loads, there’s nothing soft about it. it starts mid-action, no intro, no setup—just raw, unfiltered need. his body fills the screen, the lighting harsh enough to highlight the tension in his muscles, the sweat slicking down his chest in messy trails.

his hand holds a small vibrator—slim, silver, and humming at a steady pace as he presses it along the length of his cock. it’s already hard, flushed dark and leaking, twitching visibly each time the buzzing toy runs over his slit. he slides it slowly, teasingly, from the base to the tip, circling it around the head before dragging it back down again. his hips jerk, his thighs tightening under the pressure.

his face is in view. fully.

his cheeks are red, tear-streaked, lips trembling with every breath. wet hair clings to his forehead in dark strands, and his eyes are glassy—shiny with desperation, the kind that makes your chest tighten just watching. he looks completely wrecked. beautiful in a way that shouldn’t feel this intimate, like you’ve caught him in something far too private.

“fuck… noona…” he whines, voice high and broken as his fingers curl tight around the bed sheets. “let me cum… please—noona…”

his hand trembles slightly as he lowers the vibrator, pressing it to the base of his cock as his other hand slides upward, two fingers dragging through the mess that’s already smeared across the head. he rubs the tip quickly, desperately, almost like he’s punishing himself for how close he is. his back arches sharply, the line of his throat exposed, jaw slack as more tears spill freely down his cheeks.

“f-fuckkk—i’m cumming!” he cries out, voice cracking as his body jerks violently, hips lifting off the mattress.

you can’t look away.

his cock twitches hard in his hand, and a thick wave of cum spills over his fingers, dripping down in messy strands that coat his palm and smear over his abdomen. his chest heaves. his thighs shake. he doesn’t stop moving until his hand is completely soaked and his voice has faded into soft, hiccuping breaths.

you’re still staring, eyes wide, mouth parted slightly. the screen is glowing in the dark of your room, and all you can do is sit there, frozen, pulse pounding behind your ribs as the clip loops quietly again.

@wonsodirty. verified. 5.2 million subscribers.

his profile surprises you even more.

the name alone already catches your eye—bold, a little cheeky, a little misleading. you expect something bratty, maybe cocky, something playful or reckless. but when the preview loads, it’s none of that.

it’s quiet. intimate.

the camera is placed at a low angle, steady, fixed on soft bedsheets that shift with every subtle movement. the lighting is warm and dim, the kind that wraps everything in a golden hue and makes skin look like silk. there’s a soft rustling in the background, the sound of him breathing, uneven and slightly hitched.

he comes into frame slowly—first his legs, then his thighs, spread slightly apart as he settles against the headboard. he’s not doing much at first. just breathing. just existing. but even that feels heavy with tension, like something just below the surface is about to break.

he’s shirtless. not in a performative way. just bare. his chest rises and falls in shallow motions, skin flushed with heat, the faintest sheen of sweat glinting under the soft light. his hand moves slowly at first, fingers wrapped tight around the base of his cock, stroking with careful precision. it’s already hard, already leaking at the tip, the kind of arousal that’s been building for far too long.

you watch as he closes his eyes, biting down on his bottom lip, his brows knitting together like he’s trying not to fall apart too quickly.

then, he whispers something—so soft you almost miss it.

“feels so good…”

his voice is high, sweet, breathy in the most fragile way. and it’s real. not loud. not dirty. just pure and cracked with something raw.

his strokes stay slow, almost too slow, like he’s punishing himself for how sensitive he is. his hips twitch every time he passes over the tip, precum smearing down the shaft and making his hand glisten as he continues.

you can’t help but watch his face—how red his ears are, how hard he’s trying to keep his composure. you notice how his legs tense, thighs flexing every time he lets out one of those quiet, needy sounds.

his strokes get faster, hips starting to lift slightly off the bed, his thighs trembling beneath him. he looks like he’s trying to hold back. like he’s afraid of what’ll happen if he lets go too soon.

“i can’t… i c-can’t hold it, please…”

he cries out as his hand jerks up once, twice, and then his entire body stutters. his back arches just slightly, his mouth dropping open in a silent gasp as ropes of cum spill over his fist, painting across his stomach in messy spurts.

his breathing turns shaky. his head tilts back against the pillow, eyes fluttering, lips parted as a tiny, breathless whimper escapes him.

the clip ends with his fingers still curled tightly around himself, his chest rising fast, his body twitching as he comes down—wrecked and glowing and silent.

you move onto the last profile.

@nikiuncensored. verified. 5.6 million subscribers.

the name alone already tells you everything you need to know. it feels reckless. raw. unapologetically bold in a way that makes your pulse skip without warning. you hesitate only for a second before clicking on the preview.

the video starts without ceremony—no soft intro, no teasing buildup. just action. the camera is low, placed somewhere near the base of the woman’s stomach. you can’t see her face, not even her chest—just the lower curve of her abdomen rising and falling with every sharp breath she takes. her thighs tremble faintly at the edges of the frame, knees slightly parted, twitching every time his mouth presses in.

but she’s the background.

your eyes go straight to him.

ni-ki comes into view slowly—his shoulders first, broad and tense, then his head, tipped slightly as his mouth lowers between her legs. his tongue flicks upward in tight, rhythmic strokes, wet and steady, circling over the clit with agonizing precision. the movement is deliberate. practiced. his lips part to suck softly, then flatten again as he switches pace, building her up in waves.

his fingers move with the same energy—two of them disappearing inside her only to pull out again, slick and glistening before they’re thrust back in with a soft squelch that echoes in the low hum of the room. the air is heavy. the lighting is dim, warm enough to cast shadows over the sharp line of his jaw, the flushed curve of his cheeks.

“fuck…” he breathes, voice strained with something between amusement and awe, “you’re so fucking wet…”

he groans as he presses in harder, his mouth practically consuming her now, lips wrapped fully around her clit as he sucks with loud, messy slurps. the sound is obscene, echoing in the quiet room—wet and desperate and hungry.

his eyes flutter shut, like he’s savoring the taste. like he could stay there all night and never come up for air. his free hand curls around the outside of her thigh, gripping tight, keeping her in place as his tongue works mercilessly. her moans are loud, cracked and high-pitched, but you barely register them. all you can hear is him—groaning, gasping, devouring.

he moves his head side to side slightly, mouth still latched to her clit, and the slurping sound becomes louder, wetter. his fingers curl up inside her and she screams, hips jerking toward his face, but he doesn’t back off. if anything, he doubles down.

he growls, low in his throat, sending vibrations straight into her core as his grip tightens.

and you’re stuck there—watching the way his mouth works, the way his muscles flex with every movement, the way he loses himself in it like it’s the only thing that matters.

the preview cuts off just as his lips part again, tongue dragging in a long, slow lick up her slit like he’s far from done.

and god—you believe it.

you’re completely breathless.

your chest rises and falls in slow, uneven waves, lungs struggling to catch up with the flood of emotions coursing through your system. your skin is warm, flushed, your fingers twitching faintly from where they rest on your thighs. everything inside you feels electric. overstimulated. wired with something you can’t quite name—but it’s there.

now, finally, you understand.

you understand why this app—the one you opened on a whim—could stir something so heavy inside you. why it’s been sitting in the back of your mind like a spark waiting for oxygen. it’s not just sex. it’s not just content. it’s control. attention. power.

you shift slightly where you sit, the damp heat between your thighs impossible to ignore. your panties are soaked, your breath shallow, and despite the way your body aches, you force yourself to sit up straighter. you push the thoughts down, shake your head, blink yourself back into focus.

you’ve battled with yourself long enough.

without giving yourself the space to overthink it, your finger moves. you press the button—create account—and watch the screen change, your heart racing with each small confirmation box that pops up in front of you.

you type quickly. no hesitation now. @babydollx0.

the name feels soft. flirty. safe.

but the next part isn’t so easy.

you hesitate when it asks for a profile photo. you scroll through your gallery—old pictures, half-deleted mirror selfies, nothing that feels right. nothing that says what you want it to say. nothing that matches the version of yourself you’re about to become.

you toss your phone onto the bed and push off the covers, the sheets falling away from your legs in soft folds as you rise to your feet. your room is still quiet, dimly lit by the lamp in the corner, casting soft golden shadows across your walls.

you move quickly.

your drawer slides open with a soft clatter as you dig through the scattered mess inside—tangled bras, folded shorts, tucked-away lace. your fingers pause when they find it: a tiny, black thong. the skimpiest one you own. barely fabric at all.

you strip out of your shirt first, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. the cool air hits your bare chest, making your nipples pebble instantly. there’s no hesitation now. no shame. just movement.

you tug the thong on slowly, adjusting it at your hips, letting the waistband hug your curves as you step in front of the mirror.

you pose without overthinking it—back facing the mirror, head turned slightly over your shoulder, your front angled just enough to tease without revealing everything. the lighting does the rest. it casts your silhouette in soft shadows, highlighting the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your hips. everything else remains hidden—blurred in the low glow of the lamp.

it’s just enough to make someone want more.

you lift your phone, frame the shot, and for the first time in a long time…you feel powerful.

you set your phone carefully on the edge of your desk, adjusting the angle until it captures only what you want it to—the lower half of your body, your thighs parted slightly, your stomach rising with shallow breaths. your face is out of view. there’s no light beyond the soft glow of your desk lamp, and the shadows cast across your skin make everything look muted, quiet, secretive.

your thumb hovers over the record button, trembling slightly. you're not nervous because you don’t know what you’re doing. you’re nervous because you do.

your mind is cluttered with noise. doubt swims through you in thick waves, crashing hard against the edges of your resolve. your chest feels tight. you can feel the fear circling in your gut, whispering things like what if you regret it? what if someone finds out? what if you can't take it back?

but the fear isn't loud enough to drown out the truth.

you think of the letter on the counter, the rent due in less than a week, the account notifications warning you that your balance is low—too low. you think of the long shifts, the missed hours, the denial from your manager. you think about how you’re out of options.

and then you press the button.

the recording begins. the red icon glows faintly in the corner of your screen. it’s happening now. you’ve officially started.

your breath catches as your hands move instinctively, dragging down the curve of your stomach with a slow, deliberate rhythm. you let your fingers tease the hem of your thong, playing with the waistband, pulling it slightly before letting it snap back into place. you don’t say a word. there’s no script for this. you let the action speak for itself.

you shift in your seat, angling your body just enough for the camera to catch the soft curve of your ass, arching your back to deepen the shadow and leave the details to the imagination. it’s subtle. sensual. controlled.

then, after a pause that makes your heart pound harder, you bring your fingers to the front of your thong. with one smooth motion, you pull the fabric aside.

just enough to reveal yourself.

your folds glisten, slick already gathered between them from the buildup of watching, waiting, and wanting all night. you’d been trying to ignore it. trying to focus on the mechanics of the process. but your body never really forgot. not after what you’d seen. not after the way they sounded.

your fingers move without hesitation now, sliding between your folds and gathering the wetness. you exhale slowly, letting the feeling settle, letting the camera keep rolling. your touch is gentle at first—small, slow circles around your clit, nothing too fast. you don’t want to rush. you want it to look natural. sensual. you want it to feel good.

and it does.

your body shifts. your back arches slightly. your thighs tense. your fingers grow bolder, faster. not by much—just enough to feel it start to build. your breathing grows uneven. soft, audible. you hold back the sound in your throat, biting your lip hard enough to feel the pressure.

and then you think of them.

the teasing smirk from the one who never broke eye contact. the groans that scraped low and rough from behind clenched teeth. the soft, desperate whimpers that bled through clenched fists and sweat-slick sheets. the sharp snap of a hand against skin. the steady rhythm of fingers soaked to the knuckle.

you remember the flushed cheeks. the breathless pleas. the soaked mouth of someone who looked ruined just from giving. the thighs that trembled under the weight of restraint. the tongue that moved with unshakable precision, curling into someone’s heat like it was instinct—like it was art.

your fingers speed up.

your hips jerk slightly, your body reacting without permission. you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut as your clit pulses beneath your touch.

“fuck…”

the word leaves you in a low, broken whisper. it’s almost inaudible. almost too quiet to catch. but it’s there.

your chest rises with effort as you force yourself to stay quiet—to stay in control. nari is just a few feet away, asleep or scrolling in the room next door. you can’t let her hear. you can’t risk that. so you press your lips together tightly and breathe through your nose, letting your hand do the talking.

your fingers move in tighter circles. your stomach contracts. your legs pull in slightly as the pleasure curls deeper inside you, hot and electric. you don’t stop. you can’t stop. not now.

you don’t need to speak. the way your body moves is enough.

the video keeps recording, and for a second, everything else disappears—your exhaustion, your guilt, your fear. all of it fades into the rhythm of your own breathing, the slick sound of your fingers working between your thighs, and the realization that this isn’t just a performance.

it’s power.

and for the first time in a long time… it’s yours.

your fingers work faster now, soaked and steady, slipping in and out of your cunt with a rhythm that’s grown almost frantic. the sound of it—slick, wet, obscene—echoes low in the quiet room, barely masked by the rapid stutter of your breath. your body moves with instinct, hips rising to meet your hand, legs spread wide as you chase the heat that’s been coiling deep in your core since the moment the video started.

you start with two fingers, curling them up just right to press against the spot that makes your stomach tighten. your lips press into a thin, trembling line as you try to keep quiet, forcing yourself to muffle the moans that threaten to spill out with every thrust. your walls clench tightly around your fingers, greedy, hot, desperate for more.

and you give it to yourself.

you let out a ragged breath as you push in a third finger, the stretch making your thighs tremble. the pressure is overwhelming now—blinding, almost painful in the best possible way. you shift in your chair, back arching as you press your heels into the floor, legs falling open wider to give yourself more space. your body is flushed and burning, skin damp with sweat, nipples tight from the brush of cool air and lingering adrenaline.

your chest heaves as you move faster, harder, fingers curling deep into yourself as the pleasure builds fast and sharp like a scream stuck in your throat. your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut, and for a split second, you forget about the camera. you forget about the fear. you forget about everything but the feeling—

“fuck… oh my god…”

the words tear from your throat, broken and low, muffled by the force of your own clenched jaw. your legs start to shake, your body twitching with the effort to stay upright as your orgasm rushes up and crashes through you.

“fuckkk—i’m gonna cum… shit…”

your voice is higher now, cracked at the edges, as your hips jerk forward and your muscles seize. the pressure bursts all at once, your cunt clenching around your fingers as you gush hard, soaking your hand and the inside of your thighs. the release is hot, messy, completely overwhelming—wave after wave rolling through your body until you’re panting, twitching, slumped over the desk with your mouth open in a silent gasp.

your other hand scrambles toward your phone, shaking as you fumble to tap the screen. the camera is still recording—still capturing every shudder, every twitch, the flushed glow of your skin and the shine slicked over your thighs.

you end the video with one shaky movement, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath.

your hand is drenched. your skin is burning. your thoughts are scrambled.

and you don’t hesitate.

you upload it raw, unfiltered, untouched.

you don’t trim the edges. you don’t add a caption. you don’t even blink before pressing the button.

you want it to speak for itself.

you want them to wonder.

you watch the screen as the upload bar slowly completes, your profile still blank, still new, still waiting to be discovered.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

the soft chirp of birds cuts through the stillness of morning, gentle and rhythmic, floating in through the cracks of your half-open window. golden sunlight pours across your sheets, casting long shadows along your floor, warm and soft against your bare legs. your body is sprawled out lazily across the mattress, limbs tangled in the fabric as your eyes flutter open slowly, blinking away the blur of sleep.

your room is quiet except for the persistent buzz of your phone vibrating on the nightstand beside you. it hums every few seconds, faint but constant, like it's trying to get your attention. you glance at it, brows furrowing slightly, but you don’t reach for it. not yet. your body still feels heavy with sleep and something else—something deeper.

you push the covers off your legs, the cotton sheets rustling as you sit up and stretch, your spine arching with a soft crack. you move slowly, stepping onto the cool floorboards and making your way toward the bathroom, your legs stiff, your joints still waking up with you.

just as you reach the door, nari’s voice floats out from the hallway, warm and familiar.

“good morning, girl,” she calls casually, emerging from her room with a yawn, her hair tied up messily and hoodie falling off one shoulder. she looks at you for barely a second before launching into what’s clearly been sitting on her mind.

“so,” she says, tone direct, “are you planning on making an account?”

you pause.

the words land heavier than you expect, and for a second, the hallway feels too quiet—like her question has taken up all the space. the thought hadn’t left your mind, not really. it was still there, tucked into the corner of your chest like something that needed to be dealt with eventually. she had brought it up before. multiple times. her voice always hopeful. her offers always kind. and you always deflected.

your throat tightens. not painfully—but just enough to make you hesitate.

you turn to look at her, your expression unreadable. the memory of last night creeps back in, vivid and electric. the video. your fingers. the way your breath had caught in your throat when you hit upload. the warmth that still lingered between your thighs. the weight of what it meant.

“i’ll look into it,” you say, voice hoarse. “but i don’t know, nari… does it really even work?”

she crosses her arms gently, leaning her shoulder against the wall. her gaze softens as she watches you.

“i can’t really speak from experience,” she says slowly, “but from what i’ve heard… it’s definitely something you should consider. especially with how much you’ve been struggling. i know it’s not what you’re used to. i know it’s different. but y/n… it’s real money. quick money. and you wouldn’t have to break your back for it.”

her voice stays gentle, but her words hit hard. your shoulders drop slightly, and her eyes flick down to your expression, reading you the way only she can.

“just think about it, okay?” she continues, her tone still light. “i’m heading out in a bit, but whatever you decide, just let me know. i can look around for other stuff too, if you don’t want to go that route.”

your chest tightens again—this time from emotion.

you don’t say anything. you just step forward and wrap your arms around her, pulling her in tight. the words rise up in your throat before you can stop them.

“thank you so much, nari,” you whisper. “what the fuck would i have done without you…”

your voice cracks on the last word. you bury your face in her shoulder and hold her a little tighter, your body warm against hers.

you don’t thank her enough.

not for the rent reminders. not for the quiet way she pretends not to notice when you come home late and fall asleep in your work clothes. not for the soft leftovers she always leaves out with a sticky note. not for the way she never once judged you when you admitted you were coming up short again.

she just showed up. over and over.

and you couldn’t be more grateful.

“i’ll always be here for you, y/n,” she murmurs, her arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

when you finally pull back, there’s a single tear running down your cheek. you wipe it away quickly, hoping she doesn’t notice—but she does. she always does. she doesn’t say anything this time, just gives you a gentle look before stepping away.

you clear your throat, trying to shake the emotion from your voice.

“you can go ahead,” you tell her softly. “i… i just have something to check really quick.”

she nods, disappearing into her room.

you stand there for a moment, your feet unmoving, the silence returning like a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. you exhale through your nose and turn around slowly, walking back into your room and closing the door behind you.

your phone is still buzzing on the nightstand.

and you’re finally ready to see what it has to say.

you close the door behind you and pause for a moment, letting your fingers linger against the wood. your room is quiet again, but it’s not the same kind of quiet as before. it’s weighted now—thicker, charged with something unspoken. your steps back to the bed feel heavier than they should. your body isn’t sore in the traditional sense, but there’s something beneath your skin that hasn’t left you since last night. like your muscles remember what you did. like your skin is still humming from the heat of it.

you sit on the edge of your bed, your blanket half-pulled down, the air cool against your bare legs. your phone is where you left it—face down on your nightstand, completely still. the buzzing that had filled the room earlier has stopped, like it’s holding its breath. waiting for you to be ready.

you reach for it slowly, with both hands, like you’re afraid you’ll drop it if you don’t steady yourself. the moment your fingertips brush across the screen, it lights up.

and everything changes.

1,462 new notifications. tips: +$1,951.76. new subscribers: +863.

you sit there, frozen, as the likes roll in by the second, stacking in waves across the screen. every few seconds, another tip comes in. ten dollars. twenty. fifty. a hundred. your balance is growing so fast it doesn’t feel real.

you open the comments, and the words hit you all at once.

“this is art. actual art.” “i’m obsessed.” “i came without even touching myself. that’s how real this felt.”

you read them with wide eyes, your thumb scrolling slowly, like dragging through honey. it’s too much to take in all at once. too many voices. too many people who’ve seen you now—really seen you—and want more.

you click over to your inbox. there are dozens of messages, all timestamped from the early hours of the morning. most of them are praises, offers, begging. a few are bold. graphic. unfiltered. and buried among them—at the very top, a verified profile—is the one that makes your entire body still.

@heefreakshow.

you’re completely taken off guard.

nothing could have prepared you for this—none of it. not the flood of attention. not the numbers still rising. and especially not him. not the quiet, effortless way one of the creators you watched last night—half in awe, half with your hand buried between your thighs—has now turned his gaze on you. messaged you. noticed you.

you stare at the notification like it might disappear. like maybe your phone glitched and it’s not really him. your thumb hovers just inches above the message, heartbeat loud in your ears, the weight of everything that’s happened pressing down on your chest.

and then—before you can overthink it—you press.

the message expands across your screen in one clean, perfect line.

god, you were so fucking hot. why don’t you let me see what more you’re capable of doing?

you go still.

your throat tightens. your lips part, but no sound comes out. your entire body feels like it’s pulsing—heat rising from your neck, crawling down your spine, settling low in your stomach. your eyes read the words once. then again. then again.

you’re speechless.

not because it’s crude—though it is. not because it’s confident—because of course it is. but because it’s him.

you sit there, phone trembling slightly in your grip, and all you can think about is how none of this would’ve happened if nari hadn’t pushed you. if she hadn’t looked you in the eyes and told you she believed in you. if she hadn’t said the words you were too afraid to say out loud.

you owe her everything.

because now? now you’re more than okay. you’re not just surviving—you’re starting. you’re in it.

and you have absolutely no plans of stopping.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ first episode is done! honestly i'm excited to see how this will play out because a lot more is coming, i hope you all enjoyed!

3K notes · View notes

httpsserene · 5 months ago

Text

1-800-HELP-ME-PARK — 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔 charles leclerc x fem!bipoc!reader smau (ignore dates on tweets pls). fluff, humor & probably crack adjacent. explicit language. two or three uses of "y/n." charles’ canonically questionable parking. reader goes undercover on f1twt. charles gets cyberbullied /jk. big thx to the twt girlies who had threads of charles' bad parking photos ;p

synopsis: fans notice that charles’ cars are suddenly being parked perfectly. come to find out, his (secret) girlfriend has been parking his ferrari like butter.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚ this is like mid-level charles leclerc stan knowledge. bro put all of his skill points into racepace and forgot about parking his daily cars😭 enjoy reading, my loves xxx

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

instagram • f1fanpagemonaco

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

f1fanpagemonaco the planets must be in alignment because charles leclerc has perfectly parked his ferrari this afternoon 😱

tagged charles_leclerc

view comments

user1 i-i can't believe my eyes 😧

user2 it's only taken him a decade to learn how to parallel park LOL

user3 monaco native here! can confirm- his cars have decreased cosplaying as road obstructions for about three months :)

user4 THREE MONTHS ??!!? how is this the first time i'm hearing about this ???

user5 i don't believe this. did anybody SEE him park the car 🤨🤨🤨

user6 we're going to find out this photo was ai generated in a couple weeks haha

user7 take this down !!! we're supposed to keep this on the dl to avoid jinxing ourselves 🤬

user8 fr, i thought every monegasque was in agreement about staying hushed :(

user9 after almost flying over the hood of his cars TWICE on my bicycle- i'm glad that he's improving his parking skills ☺️

user9 HIS BROTHERS AND FRIENDS IN THE LIKES IS EVEN CRAZIER??! CHARLES STAND UP FOR YOURSELF ⁉️⁉️

user8 didn't you just say that you almost crashed into his (badly) parked car in the comment above ? user9 i fail to see how that's relevant rn

user10 charles woke up saying "i understand it now" and performed the best parallel parking known to man

user11 y'all are getting ahead of yourselves. there's a very high chance that it was valet parking 🙄

user5 this is what i'm saying!!! user12 lol what if he decided to hire a private driver 🤣 user13 charles would neverrrrr—remember how he acted on the start-stop challenge we Carlos 👀 user14 he DOES NOT serve passenger princess ☠️

twitter

imessage • charles -> yn

twitter • @ cl16sleftnipple -> yn's undercover fan acct

imessage • yn -> charles

igstory • charles_leclerc has uploaded !

[caption; she accepts watching sunsets on a yacht as a form of payment 😉]

this story is unavailable. get notifications when charles_leclerc shares a story.

igstory • yninstagram has uploaded to their close friends story !

[caption; if anyone is looking for a chauffeur call me at 1-800-HELP-ME-PARK 😅]

franciscacgomes u have to take me on a joyride the next time i'm in monaco !!!

yninstagram yes! we'll ditch the boys for the day and collect some speeding tickets with the stradale ;p

yourfriend do you do weddings 👀

yninstagram weddings, birthdays, bachelor & bachelorette parties, etc. yourfriend how much do you charge? yninstagram 4 cheeseburger

charles_leclerc i thought i hired you for your exclusivity 😑

yninstagram shh mon amour you'll always be my favorite client xoxo

olliebearman if i get him for secret santa next year, i'm gifting him parking lessons 😆

yninstagram you'd be my favorite child if you did 🛐 olliebearman :DDD

instagram • f1fanpagemonaco

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

f1fanpagemonaco charles leclerc posts and deletes a photo of an unknown woman to his instagram story in the midst of a rampant discussion of his suddenly improved parking! it's captioned: "she accepts watching sunsets on a yacht as a form of payment." was this an accidental post of the rumored chauffeur that's behind the perfect parking of his vehicles?

tagged charles_leclerc

view comments

user17 the winky face emoji is making me think she's more than just his chauffeur 👀👀👀

user18 we really do need to open the schools :/

user19 bc how do you read the caption and not see that it's blatant confirmation that he's hired a driver?

user20 i don't even have to see behind that champagne flute to know that she's a baddie 😮‍💨

user21 now that i think about it, i think i saw a woman with this exact outfit walking a dachshund that could’ve been leo!!! wish we could see more of her face to confirm ☹️

user22 does anybody else think that this was just meant to distract us from the original issue of charles being unable to park a car???

user23 talk about it!!! user24 i mean it doesn't really matter if he can park anymore now that he's paying somebody to do it for him 🤷‍♀️

twitter • @ cl16sleftnipple -> yn's undercover fan acct

imessage • yn -> charles

instagram • f1fanpagemonaco

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

f1fanpagemonaco the plot thickens 😱 the woman rumored to be charles leclerc's chauffer was caught parking his car and taking a photo afterward! this confirms her chauffeur status AND leads many to think that she's also the woman behind @/cl16sleftnipple on twitter. our discord members have hunted down what may be her instagram account too 🧐

view comments

user25 why do i feel so violated!!! his chauffeur has been a double agent the entire time 🤯

user26 tbh charles better be paying her beautifully !!!

user27 iktr bc i would not try to convince everybody on the internet that he can park when it's really me doing all the work!

user28 i think i'm in love with her

user29 who is this diva 💜

user30 next thing you know we're gonna find out she has a tumblr for f1 ff's 😭😭😭

user31 i think somebody is leaking the plot to the next trending netflix original movie 👄

user32 lwk i think i could convince her to drive me around in my prius 🤥

user33 you forget how to speak around hot women and only have $12.32 in your checking acct—you couldn't even convince her to breathe the same air as you bestie 😘 user32 i know you like to think that calling me bestie after reading me to filth will make up for it, but it just makes me want to strangle you even more :)

instagram • charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

charles_leclerc if you're going to reveal who cl16sleftnipple is, at least get her job title correct 😠 she's not my chauffeur, she's my girlfriend and parking princess 👸🏾🤗😘🥰🤭🤤😚

view comments

yninstagram can you believe that he doesn't like when i drive but he BEGS me to park ??? make it make sense 😅

charles_leclerc ma chérie you REFUSE to use the break pedal!!! yninstagram break pedals are 4 losers (i am speed 🏎)

user35 GIRLFRIEND???!!! 😵‍💫😵👻

user36 when you say girlfriend, do you mean that she's a friend who happens to be a girl orrrrrrrrrr?

charles_leclerc orrrrr girlfriend meaning l'amour de ma vie 🥰🥰🥰

user37 two pretty people in a happy relationship? 2025 isn't so bad 😌

user36 maybe the world is healing 🥹 user37 maybe charles leclerc wdc 2025 🫣 yninstagram pls don't jinx it 😩 go knock on wood rn 🫵🏾

user38 why did she go with "cl16sleftnipple" as her username???

yninstagram because it's my favorite one obv 😇 charles_leclerc what's wrong with my right nipple :(((( yninstagram idk it just looks at me weird sometimes... user38 how does a body part look at you weirdly 😀

user39 oh, this baddie is weird? say less, i'm sending her my credit card information rn

user40 charles leclerc core LMFAOOO

user41 waiiiiitttt does this mean she's not gonna use her fan acct anymore :(

user42 aw man i didn't even think about that; i was constantly on twt just to see what funny shit she was saying lol yninstagram if the people want more of cl16sleftnipple who am i to deny them 😌👐🏾

instagram • yninstagram

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

yninstagram AITA for saving the citizens of monaco by parking my (25 F) boyfriend's (27 M) cars for him because he's incapable of fitting within two lines without being a road hazard?

comments on this post have been limited

yourfriend TLDR: she lost the plot by starting a fan twt to try and save her bf's reputation (who's notoriously known for his shit parking) it backfired bc everybody thought she was his chauffeur

yourfriend (cont.) now charles has to suffer with the world knowing that he has his gf position his cars AND that he still can't park charles_leclerc this wasn't necessary 😒 yourfriend is that what you said when it was time to learn how to parallel park ☠️

lilymhe reminds me of the time charles blocked traffic picking you up from brunch last year 😆

franciscacgomes i remember when the honks started and yn was like "oh, that probably means charles is here!" lilyzneimer first brunch i went to with the wags and i left with tinnitus from the sound of car horns blaring 🥲 yninstagram sorry little lily! next meet up will be honk free :) yninstagram ...was v embarrassing to get into the car that's blocking traffic 🫠

oscarpiastri NTA 👍🏻

oscarpiastri is now a good time to say that charles almost backed his car into me before padel yesterday? charles_leclerc NO IT WILL NEVER BE A GOOD TIME TO SAY THAT yninstagram mb the electric scooter wasn't such a bad idea…

maxverstappen1 NTA 😹😹😹

lando thinking about how much money charles loses to parking fines 🤣

olliebearman not to pray on his downfall but

olliebearman when his license gets suspended can i get the spider 🥺 arthurleclerc NUH UH 🙅🏻‍♂️ i get the spider and you get the sf90 oscarpiastri i'll take the daytona then 👍🏻 pierregasly i think i can make room for the roma 😌 charles_leclerc yeah this isn't praying, it's PLANNING on my downfall 😒😒😒

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unluckiestmember · 1 year ago

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Arcane x Ransom! Reader

Summary: How would the Arcane characters react if the reader was held for ransom?

Characters: Jinx/Powder, Violet "Vi", Caitlyn Kiramman, Viktor, Jayce Talis, Sevika, Silco and Licker (mention).

Warning: Slight cursing and suggestive themes/implied sexual themes.

A/N: I literally got the idea for this request from Helluva Boss, particular episode 6 of season 2. I hope you all enjoy this though, I know I did!

Powder/Jinx

“You have who?! Where are they?!… You want me to pay you for them? Oh I’ll pay you alright!”

Jinx doesn’t take the idea of you getting hurt lightly. She already is super overprotective of her little trinket, so when she heard that you were being held for a price, she wasted no time grabbing Pow-Pow, Zapper and a bunch of chompers to aid her in her “heroic rescue” for her princess/prince. As soon as she is where you are held, you don’t have to see her to know she’s there for you. Don’t expect any talking, just laughter and hollers followed by gunfire, screams for mercy and explosions.

Before you know it, the Loose Cannon is standing in front of you, pulling you into the tightest hug ever and dressing your face with kisses. She will ask you countless questions while freaking out, beating herself up over you being in such a position. But when she feels you touch her and assure her you’re okay, she’s on cloud nine. As soon as she laces the area with bombs to blow it to kingdom come, she’s back at her hideout, being super affectionate and touchy the entire night. Don’t expect anyone to be touching you for months unless they want their head blown off.

Violet “Vi”

“… What?… You… You just pissed off the wrong woman.”

First word that you were kidnapped, Vi wasted no time hunting your captors down and beating them to a bloody pulp. The woman is like a bull seeing red knowing you were somewhere cold and scared away from home and her arms. So until you were back to her, anyone was able to get a personal greeting from the pink haired fighter. Vi is pretty merciful, but in situations like this, she isn’t afraid to push the envelope by giving life threatening injuries to the bastards that hurt you.

When she found you, she didn’t bother asking any questions or giving any money to your kidnappers, unless they counted a mouthful of fists and kicks as payment enough. When she’s done with her punishment, she’ll immediately scoop you into her arms and take the both of you back home, where she checks you for injuries and asks if you are okay. Please comfort her. She may act all tough and cool, but the situation scared her due to thinking she lost you just like everyone else. As soon as she knows you are alright, she’ll promise no one will ever do that to you again.

Caitlyn Kiramman

“You kidnapped Y/N? Why would- Who do you think you are? You better let them go right now!”

Caitlyn was used to people being kidnapped on the job, having to save them or negotiate with criminals for their safety. But she would have never imagined such a thing happening to you of all people. When she was told you were being held for ransom, she understandably panicked before taking deep breaths and thinking of how to get you back to her. The enforcer can easily scrounge up the money for you to be freed, because you were more important than any coin that reaches her pockets.

So when she arranges a meeting with your kidnappers and finds you so scared, she finds it hard to stop herself from grabbing you and making a run for it. If the kidnappers pull a fast one on her though, all bets are off and bullets are flying. When she has you back, she will watch you like a hawk and be on the defensive for a while. But if you assure her enough that you are okay, she will lighten up. On the bright side, after the incident she’s more romantic and spends more time with you in and out of work.

Viktor

“Look, I’m sure we can talk about this. I’ll get you the money, just. Please don’t hurt them…”

Viktor beat himself up when he heard you were taken away from him for monetary purposes. He just doesn’t understand how he would let this happen- How he would let someone easily take you under his nose and put you in harm’s way?! He could’ve waddled in his sorrows, but he couldn’t. He had to save you and he had to act fast! It would hurt him, but he would ask for assistance from Jayce and the council if he can. And if they can’t help him? Well. Maybe it was time to break out those so-called dangerous machines Heimerdinger warned him against using.

When he finds you, he’s wasting no time trying to negotiate a way around matters so you could be freed. And if those negotiations don’t go according to plan, then he’ll use his machinery and his brain to outsmart the criminals into freeing you. When you are back together, he’ll just. Hold you. Like you are a precious gemstone. He’ll promise you this will never happen again. No one will ever lay their hands on you again…

Jayce Talis

“Is this supposed to scare me? If anything, you should be the one scared- Do you know who I am?!”

Jayce does not take threats lightly, especially when it comes to his family, friends and his loved ones. As soon as he was told you were held for Ransom, he let his anger and determination to get you back fuel him to do anything to send a message and bring you back to safety. You will immediately know your boyfriend got the message because in a matter of hours, enforcers are barging into the area you were held like they were entering a war, shooting, punching and slamming anyone who got in their way from their goal; You.

And Jayce is in the middle of it all, swinging his hammer without remorse before running to your rescue as your knight in shining armor. As soon as you grab his hand, he’s walking you back to his place casually through the enforcers destroying everything in their sights and leaving a message for the assholes that took you; Never. Ever. Touch the councilman’s lover. Don’t expect to go anywhere without guards following you if Jayce isn’t, whether you want to or not. Jayce just can’t take the chance for you to be taken again. Is it extreme? Yes. But it was worth it.

Sevika

“Ransom? Seriously? Please, that’s nothing. And I’m about to show you why.”

When it comes to ransom, Sevika wasn’t new to having her friends or past lovers be kidnapped for money. So when she heard you were being held hostage, she casually grabbed her poncho, fixed her arm for a brawl and headed outside to round her co-workers up. When she found you and the ones that took you, she wasted no time kicking in the doors and sicking her co-workers on everyone before she made her way towards you after knocking some skulls in. She’ll ask if you are okay and especially check you for any injuries before grabbing you and joking how you found yourself in this predicament.

The fight rages on as soon as she places you outside for safety. Saving you wasn’t enough. No, she needed everyone to know that when someone messes with you, they have to deal with her and the rest of Zaun. When everything is over and done, Sevika will take you both back home and treat any injuries you want before kissing your cheek and simply talking as if you weren’t kidnapped to begin with. If you think she doesn’t care, then hoo boy. The way she’ll treat you that night in bed will make you think otherwise.

Silco

“Hmm… If I were you, I’d beg for mercy when I get there…”

Silco is never one to be threatened because he’s always the one making the threats. Hearing about you being held for Ransom made him immediately go on the move to round up Sevika to follow him in bringing you back to him. If he gets there and doesn’t find you anywhere, he will deliver a silent signal to bring the house down. But if you are present, then he won’t need violence to be delivered by his Right Hand. He’ll just need to put the fear of gods into your kidnapper.

He’ll paint them a picture of how he’ll find their families and let them listen to the melody of their bones breaking. How he’ll have Licker carve paintings into their bodies and let them choke on their own blood as they beg for mercy. What do they think of that? They wouldn’t like that at all. As a matter of fact, they would hate it so much that they would release you and fade from existence right there. As soon as you are back to Silco, he’s going to take you back home as if this was only a minor inconvenience. But as soon as you two are behind closed doors, he can’t help from keeping his hands to himself and make promises against your skin.

If you have any requests for Arcane, X-Men '97 or Blue Eye Samurai, send them my way!

Likes and retweets are always appreciated! I love you all, stay safe, stay hydrated and have a good day!

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quarterlifekitty · 6 months ago

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That Price coming home to his missus with a baby thing was delicious, absolutely divine. Do you think for the other boys and Nik it'd be something similar or would they have wildly different reactions? Btw I absolutely love your writing, I check your blog daily for your new stuff, the way you write is delicious, thank you <3

I’ll give you a little something for Ghost since you made me blush and teehee

Also uhhhh I might’ve fucked up the timing a little on infant development milestones but you’re gonna have to forgive me on that

cw: suspicions of infidelity

Ghost is bouncing his leg the whole time he spends in evac. The heli ride, the plane back to base, the car back to his flat— as soon as he was released from the mind frame of the mission it was like all of that anxiety over you he’d built up over the past year and half came crashing on his head.

You’d’ve left him. You must have. He wasn’t really anything he’d call worth sticking around for. That was the plain and honest truth. He’s thinking of the quickest way he can find you and get on his knees for you once he’s scraped all of the blood and dirt off. It was easy to nod and go along with a sudden job Price called about, back when he was under the impression that it would be a few months tops.

He sees a light on in the window of your shared flat. Fuck, hopefully that you and not some new tenant— that somehow his automatic payments had fucked up while he was away and he got evicted. For a split second he debates whether sprinting up the stairs would be faster than waiting for this god-forsaken lift.

He pauses at the door when he hears your laughter. Thank fucking god. His relief is palpable, he’s thanking you and god and whoever else will listen, he’ll never ask for anything again—

“When did you get so cute, huh?”

No.

You wouldn’t.

Not in the flat you two shared, where you fucked and loved each other and cried together, the world couldn’t possibly be so cruel that you’d—

He gets as far as bursting through the door after he manages to find the right key before he’s stopped in his tracks. You look to the door like a deer in headlights, your eyes wide and with a little spoon of sweet potato puree in your hand. Your hair is a mess and—

There’s a baby looking at him. Looking where mommy is looking. The fat little thing is in a high chair, a mess on its face. The name “Lydia” is embroidered in big, swirly letters on her bib. It was a name he’d talked about, his one decent childhood memory, his aunt—

He drops his duffel and rips off the mask. The baby has these whisps of hair that are undeniably yours, eyes that he’s only seen in the mirror.

“Simon— is it really you?” You almost whisper in disbelief. Like you’d dreamed him coming through the door before. Makes his heart fucking ache. The words come out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Yeah, mama. S’me.”

#writing #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #secret baby #cod #cw suspected cheating

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sakurai96 · 21 days ago

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Please, don’t let them deport my siblings back to Gaza. Please share this !!

Please don’t let them send my sisters back to Gaza, simply because we can’t afford a piece of paper.

Hello everyone, As some of you may know, my name is Amal. I’m an architect from Gaza, currently living in Berlin. I came here before the war on a work contract, but I was fired as soon as the war started because of my Palestinian identity.

With a heavy heart, I launched this fundraiser to help my family. Thanks to your generous donations, I was able to evacuate them from certain death in Gaza to Egypt. But they fled with nothing — no home, no income, no future. And for those who remember, I was also scammed out of $20,000 during my desperate attempts to save them.

After I got my family to safety, I felt I had already asked for too much. So I stopped posting for 9 months. I didn’t want to burden anyone. I tried to carry everything on my own, working 3 exhausting jobs, barely sleeping. But now, I’m drained. I took on three jobs in Berlin and kept going, hoping I could carry this weight alone. But the truth is: I can’t anymore.

I’m supporting five people on my own. I don’t sleep. I’m drained — physically, emotionally, financially. Rent in both Berlin and Cairo is crushing me. I cover every single expense for my family — food, shelter, medicine — and still, it’s not enough.

Every step a Palestinian takes in Egypt costs a fortune.

Now I’m being asked to send my sister out of Egypt just so she can come back and reapply for residency, meaning I need to buy her plane tickets. They also asked us to pay $2,500 just to activate her student residency. On top of that, $3,000 is required for her next semester.

My other sister, Abeer, has just graduated from medical school after 7 years of studying in Egypt, but she’s not allowed to receive her diploma unless we pay $9,000 in overdue fees from the past 3 years. We couldn’t afford the last 3 years because of the war.

I’ve attached proof of this payment demand.

I honestly talk to myself in the street out of exhaustion. I’ve been quiet because I felt guilty asking for more. But I can’t do this anymore. I’m just one person trying to carry a mountain.

Please help me. Please share my story. I am just a human. I am breaking.

Please don’t let them send my sisters back to Gaza, simply because we can’t afford a piece of paper.

Here is the GoFundMe link Any donation or share could save their future. Thank you for reading.

This campaign is vetted, listed under Line 24 -Amal Abushammala's family- in the Vetted Gaza Fundraiser List.

Vetted by @riding-with-the-wild-hunt

Vetted by @nabulsi

Vetted by @el-shab-hussein

Vetted by @northgazaupdates2

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star-crossed-sluts · 1 year ago

Text

Matt Murdock X Chubby!Fem!Reader

Contents: 2.2k words, love confession/discussion, cheeky reader, giggly sex, chubby female reader, slight insecure reader but that's quickly solved, mentions of bullying regarding weight though very brief

Minors DNI

You are responsible for your own media consumption

You've dealt with strange looks all your life. It wasn't surprising their whispers had infiltrated your mind. Often you managed to catch yourself, stopping the thoughts that weren't quite yours. When you first met Matt, the most frequent one was, of course, you could only get a blind man to like you. It was cruel, and you tried to chase it away every time, but there was a small part of you that thought, if only I can keep him from touching me, we can go on like this.

Because you were a fool.

He always grabs your hips first, almost a warning of the devil to come.

“What’re you doing up,” he rumbled against your neck, voice thick with sleep. You're half-sure he’s subconsciously tracking how long you've been away from his arms every night, waking himself when the timer passes your usual bathroom breaks’ duration.

His hands push even further, rubbing your sides until he's gripped two handfuls of your soft stomach. Bare chest plastered against your back, his grip manhandling your hips back to meet his. You used to shy away from his touch, wanting to keep the you from reality separate from the you he's crafted in his mind's eye.

Little hard to feel ashamed of your body when he was rocking his hard-on against your ass.

“You're insatiable, Matthew.”

His groan was pained, like you were terribly twisting his arm instead of letting him fondle you in the kitchenette. “Don't call me Matthew,” he griped, one hand searching for the bottom of your nightshirt. “Reminds me of my priest.”

You leaned into him, a fond smile playing on your lips as he found the edge of your panties, starting to leave open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Because you’re such an altar boy,” you joked as his fingers trailed the hem, outlining the curve where your leg met your mound. You know the moment he thinks of a retort, because his lips twitch against your pulse.

“Well, I do seem to spend a lot of time on my knees-” He burst into laughter as your elbow came back at him, letting you attack his ribs to distract you from the way his hand explored your upper thigh. “Abuse,” he accused, “attacking a blind man!”

“It’s alright, I know a great lawyer.”

Matt chuckled against the thrumming vein in your neck, his grip on your stomach pulling you tighter against him. “Yeah? You know, my rates are pretty steep, but I think we can come up with some alternative payment.”

“I was talking about Foggy.”

His laugh flew out of him, taken completely off guard, and sent you into manic giggles right along with him, throwing yourself back against his chest to hold you upright. “You're terrible,” he cackled, tugging you to shuffle backwards to the bedroom with him. “Come back to bed, trouble.”

“Oh, don't you start with me,” you faux-threatened, but still gave in and helped him navigate the living room. “You're so much more trouble than I am.”

He pretended to mull it over, hmm-ing and mmm-ing between soft kisses on your neck. “Alright,” he decided, “I'll let you have that one. Y'know, since you obviously need a win right now.”

You hit the mattress, helping each other climb into bed like you hadn't been in months, as opposed to the twenty minutes it took you to make and drink your sleep aid. Only when you were wrapped in each other's arms again did you gush, “oh, yes, obviously. How can I thank you, Matty?”

Who could ever think you were anything but beautiful - that he thought you were anything but stunning - when he got such an eager, bashful grin at the suggestion. When his entire face lit up with a pink hue, as if he hasn't helped himself to your body any chance he got. How long have you lived together, and he still got that cute crinkle in the corners of his eyes with the force of his beaming as he dove for your lips.

“Y'know,” he murmured into your mouth, “I was disappointed when I woke up and you were gone.”

You dragged your hands down his bare back, snapping his waistband with a grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he emphasized, like he was offended by the teasing tone you took with him, snapping your underwear. A warning that he was ready to give as good as he got. “It's not nice to leave your boyfriend all alone in bed.”

You hummed, pretending to really consider that as you let him pull you to straddle his hips. He helped you out of your night shirt, tossing the thin fabric aside and letting out a pleased groan as you plastered your chest to his. You dragged your lips softly over his jaw, a smile twitching into place as he chased you, trying to catch a kiss. “Are you saying you think I should make it up to you?”

“I'm saying it's been entirely too long since you've sat on my face.”

A laugh burst from you at that, even as Matt peeled your underwear down your thighs. “Oh, yes, it's already been several days!”

“Exactly: it's been days,” he groaned, offering his hands for you to balance as you tossed around to escape the cotton around your knees, working them down one leg, then the other.

“Next time,” you promised with a soft kiss, nimble fingers working the strings on his pants. “I drank my-”

“Your sleepy girl mocktail?” He grinned like he could feel your embarrassed glare, kissing the pout off your lips. “Can taste it. You added honey tonight?”

“I needed something to make it sweeter,” you huffed. A tap on his hip and he lifted them for you, helping you work his pants off. You couldn't help a smile as his dick slapped his stomach, leaving a smudge of pearly precum on his smooth skin. “You're such an evil man,” you accused, wrapping your fingers around his base to watch the way his hips jerked into your palm. A stroke with your thumb along that thick vein and he leaked another stream, dripping down the side of him and onto your hand. “You're this hard when you've been teasing your poor girlfriend?”

Your hips moved on their own when he slid two thick fingers between his lips, grinding against him as he laved his tongue over the digits. That smug grin you hated to love spread across his face as his wet fingers fit themselves to your slit, one rubbing soft shapes into your clit while the other pressed inside you. “My poor girlfriend,” he mused, “who never gets off on teasing me?”

You shut him up with a kiss, trying to smother his chuckles that told you he knew exactly what you were doing. Still, it didn't stop him from taking advantage, pressing his tongue into your mouth, tasting every inch of you. The bitterness of the tart cherry juice and the sweetness of the honey from your drink dancing on his tongue, disappointingly hiding the taste of you that he's begun to crave. If he pushed deeper, he could almost imagine he found it again, in the back of your throat where nothing could reach but him. Somehow it felt even more intimate than the way you worked each other up with your hands: being the only one to know what you taste like behind the toothpaste and soda you cycled through daily.

Matt's no idiot. He hears the comments you get, feels the stares - sometimes even more than you do. He wished he could find a way to tell you how wrong they were, but how would he even begin? How do you tell someone that when you wake up alone, the first thing you do is listen for where your girlfriend’s gone? That you could sculpt her exactly from how much you touch her, desperate to commit her to memory. How do you tell someone that even without your sight, your every sense is devoted to her?

He supposed he could settle for making you see stars while he figured it out.

You grinned against Matt's lips, a slight giggle falling out, as he rolled you onto your back. You were always tempted to make fun of him for his favorite position, but there was nothing Catholic about the way he took you.

Your hands kept working his cock as he arranged you - hooking your knees over the crooks of his elbows so he could feel your thick thighs pressed against him - to hear him curse under his breath. “Careful,” he warned, kissing his way down the side of your neck, “or we'll be up all night,”

“Mm, is that supposed to discourage me?”

A strained laugh against your tender skin as you gave a particularly harsh tug. “You think you're so cute,” he managed out, trying to sound anything other than reverent.

You shared a chaste kiss as you guided him between your thighs. “I'm adorable,”

“Yes, you are. Arms around my neck, angel.”

You always ended up the same way when one or the other needed some love. Nose to nose, lips glancing off each other like you were shy teenagers again. Your legs over Matt's arms gave him the feeling of holding you completely, letting his hands wander to feel every reaction your body gave him. Your arms around his neck, letting you claw up his back or card through his soft hair, pull his mouth wherever you wanted it.

A match made in heaven.

Matt had long since broken you of your bad habit to muffle yourself, the breathy moan falling unhindered from your lips as he pressed into you like coming home. Your voice rang in the empty bedroom, more beautiful than any song, perfectly accompanied by the slick sounds from your cunt as he started a slow, grinding pace. Your hands clenched and unclenched, scratching the base of his neck as you lost yourselves in each other. Lips connected in passing swipes, sharing a deep kiss and almost separating before diving back in. His fingers traced every curve, dip and fold of your soft skin, reveling in your body the way only a man truly in love could.

The word haunted him until he told you. “Love you,” he managed through heaving breaths, soft and quiet in the privacy of the bed you shared. Then, as if afraid you hadn’t heard him, he said it louder. “I’m in love with you, y’know that?”

“Matty,”

A great big grin spread over his face when you whined, ankles locking together behind him like you thought he’d stop talking if he fucked you deeper. “Why so shy,” he hummed, stealing another wet kiss. “You didn’t know that? I don’t tell you enough?” He felt your feet kick and your lips turn into a pout, laughing at your mini fit.

“‘S different,” you insisted, dragging him back to your lips, only to pull him back once you’ve thought of a defense. “In love is bigger than love.”

It’s a conversation you had in the early stages, when friendship was just barely turning into something more, when you were both stuck dropping hints, hoping the other would make the leap. You didn’t think he remembered until he managed to quote you with his hips pressed into yours. “‘Love is a feeling you can’t control, being in love is a choice- a commitment,’ I know.” He plunged into you as deeply as he could, bringing your lips to his with his palms cupping your round cheeks. He only pulled back when you were both struggling to breathe, searching each other’s air for anything you could get from it. “I,” he enunciated carefully, making sure he left no room for misinterpretation, “am hopelessly in love with you, darling. I choose you every hour of the day. I would choose you in a room of women, I would choose you if you were a worm, and in every other ridiculous scenario that you let keep you up at night.” He heard your lips part as your jaw went slack, smelled the salt of your budding tears as he ranted to you. He pressed a chaste kiss to your parted lips. “I know it’s bigger, and you don’t have-”

“I’m in love with you.”

He felt his heart thump in his chest, beating its way out as you dragged him down to your level, smacking a hundred split-second kisses to every inch of his face. “I love you, I am in love with you, I would pick you- I love you so much, Matty!”

He pulled your hips up higher on his lap so he could get closer to you, arms wrapped around your waist pulling you into his chest until there wasn’t a breath of air between you. His firm body pressing into your soft one like he could make a home in your chest, let you surround him until you would never have to be apart.

“I hope you realize we’ll definitely be up all night now,”

“I’m not the one who has court tomorrow,”

A giddy laugh smothered in the crook of your neck as his hips started pumping into you again. “You are trouble,”

You pressed your lips to his temple. “Perfect match for you, then.”

“Yes, you are.”

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xvysarene · 11 months ago

Text

𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕝

Pairing: Sylus x Fem!Reader Words: ~3.1k Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Eventual fluff Notice: Y/N is not MC, Profanities, Mentions of wounds Summary: There was a connection between you and Sylus that went beyond the typical boss & his right-hand woman dynamic. When you finally had enough of his recent behaviour since his return, you decided it was time to quit.

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

“We agree to your terms, and as soon as we finish the down payment, we expect to see the firearms—”

Before you could even finish, the heavy double doors swung open with a crash. Sylus strode in, a dark aura clinging to him, and you knew that nothing good would come out of it.

“The deal is off.”

You gasped. “You can’t be fucking serious.”

“Ms. Y/N, I thought you said you could handle this deal solo?” Marcel—that cunning eel of a man—drawled lazily. “Looks like Mr. Sylus here still doubts your ability, even after all this time.”

On any other day, you would have knocked the smug grin off Marcel’s face. But your attention was fixed on your boss, Sylus, whose expression was a cold, impenetrable mask of indifference.

“I’ve worked on this for months. Alone. When you were gone chasing shadows,” you hissed, “You have no right to dictate me.”

Crimson eyes met your gaze with a fire of his own as he stepped closer. “And do I need to remind you who’s the leader of this organisation?”

How dare he!

It took a while for the others in the N109 Zone to stop belittling you, to finally trust you as Onychinus’s indispensable weapon who could hold her own ground, even entrusted to run the organisation in his absence.

And he knew this.

“I don’t meddle in your affairs, so stay out of mine.”

He exactly knew what, or who, you were talking about.

Somehow, this conversation was no longer about the deal; it was about something else that had been creating a rift between you both.

“You don’t understand—”

“You have no idea what I understand!” you snapped, jabbing a finger at his firm chest.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Luke entering the room to usher Marcel out.

“If you’re looking for a new job, my organisation is always open for a pretty little thing, buttercup.” He threw a mischievous wink your way.

The man was clearly not uncomfortable with the commotion; it was satisfying to see Onychinus crumbling before his own eyes.

Kieran cautiously stepped forward. “Boss, Y/N, let’s take a moment—”

“You think I wouldn't find out about your little escapade with ‘Miss Hunter’?”

That struck a nerve; Sylus’s eyes narrowed.

“What?” you continued, your tone dripping with sarcasm, “Mephisto accidentally charged your card with millions just to buy every single protocore in the auction?”

Any heartfelt emotion you held for him was swallowed by fury and disappointment that had been building for some time. This was the last straw, a volcano ready to erupt.

“I’ve warned you before, Sylus.”

Ever since he came back from doing who knew what, he had been distracted. Physically, he was there—but he wasn't present.

Conversations that once flowed easily between you were now peppered by half-hearted responses.

As a last resort, you decided to prepare dinner for him and the twins that one night, something you periodically did when the mood struck, in the hopes of getting him to come around.

Luke and Kieran were happily munching on the lasagna and sipping wine from Sylus’s favourite bottle, their lively chatter filling up the dining room.

But the man who was supposed to be the centre of it all took only a single bite before abandoning it for his phone.

“Sylus, could you please put your phone down and enjoy the dinner?”

The twins froze, eyes flickering between the two of you, sensing the impending storm.

Yet Sylus didn’t even acknowledge you, his attention firmly fixed on the screen in his hand. Somehow, it was more important than the company around him.

“Sylus—”

“Can you get off my back for once?” Red eyes snapped to yours, flashing with irritation.

“You are losing me,” you repeated the words you had uttered that night. The tremble in your voice was a blend of rage and a deeper, more vulnerable feeling.

Sylus's eyes flashed, revealing the first hint of emotion that you recognised—a wounded look, perhaps, or something else that you didn’t dare to think about.

Kieran, determined to defuse the tension, squared his shoulders. “We all should take a breather and approach this with clearer heads.”

Eyes still fixed on your boss’s handsome face, the words came out with unwavering finality, “I quit.”

Ripping the brooch from where it rested just above your heart, you hurled it with such force that it bounced off his chest before skidding across the floor.

The sharp, unmistakable crack echoed throughout the silent room.

Sylus's jaw tightened, a muscle ticking in his cheek. “Fine.”

And that was it. There were no apologies, not even a 'thank you' for your dedication to Onychinus all this time.

“Please, don't do this. We need you,” Kieran’s voice had a note of desperation in it.

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “Your boss has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t need me anymore. Apparently, he has more pressing matters than ensuring the organisation's interest.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his voice cutting like a cold knife. “If you're going to leave, then leave. We don't have time for theatrics.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Luke, having just returned from escorting Marcel out, caught sight of the unexpectedly angry tears in your eyes and called out your name as you rushed down the hallway.

What you didn’t expect from quitting was the depth of void it created in your life. You missed the twins’ oddball humour and even found yourself longing for Mephisto’s often irritating caws.

It felt strange not to see the black bird outside of your bedroom window or atop the lamppost, as it normally would.

Despite the financial cushion provided by Onychinus’s paycheck, restlessness drove you back to the N109 Zone before long.

“Thought that we’d never see you again, missy.”

The familiar surroundings of Elysium provided a soothing balm to the loneliness gnawing inside you—the rich scent of aged booze mingled with the sound of rolling dice filling your senses.

“You’re not the only one surprised,” you muttered lowly, sitting down on one of the stools.

“Guess you are more used to staying here than Linkon now,” the young woman behind the bar chuckled. “Many might see it as a slum, but the N109 Zone has its charm.”

During Sylus’s absence, you had called the base as a second home. Staying there made it easier for you to manage the daily operation, sparing you the hassle of travelling back and forth to Linkon.

“What would you like to drink? It’s on the house.” Before you could answer, the woman beat you to it. “Rum and lemonade?”

A sudden feeling of yearning washed over you. It was Sylus who had first introduced you to this concoction right here, you had even questioned his taste at the time, but it had since become one of your favourite drinks.

You gulped the emotion down. “Yes, please.”

She sent you a sympathetic smile, obviously understanding what crossed your mind.

The burn of the rum started to warm your body as the second glass went down easily. Each sip brought back memories of standing side by side in battles and conversations shared in quieter moments, a foolish longing that settled deep within your chest.

As you set it aside, you felt someone slid on the vacant stool beside you, encroaching on your personal space.

“What’s a pretty girl doing here all alone?”

“Leave me alone.” You didn’t even look at his direction.

Funnily enough, though you normally no longer felt the weight of the brooch—a symbol of your affiliation with Sylus and Onychinus—you now felt its absence vividly, like a phantom heaviness above your left breast.

With it, no one ever truly dared to come near you, wary of crossing paths with Sylus.

Without it, however, meant you were no longer under Sylus’s protection.

The man sidled closer, clearly not taking the hint. “Still playing hard to get even without Sylus behind you? You should have seen him dragged out of the raid like a ragdoll by his pair of thugs. It was pathetic.”

Your heart stuttered, finally looking at the man beside you. “What did you say?”

Sylus, hurt? It was unthinkable. You had seen first-hand how his wound healed quickly.

“Heh, you really don’t know, do you?” His smile widened, revealing yellowed teeth. “The idiot went to finish Marcel off by himself last night. Imagine taking down dozens of Marcel’s men alone, with all their weapons.”

He daringly placed a hand on your thigh, fingers digging in. “So bitch, you’d better get off your damn high horse and listen. Without Sylus, you’re just another pretty face.”

In a quick manoeuvre, you slammed his head on the bar. His painful howl was cut short as you drew your concealed gun, the barrel pressed firmly against the back of his skull. “Touch me one more time and I’ll paint this bar with your brains.”

The barkeeper approached, her expression impassive as she took in the sight of your gun pressing against the man's head. However, when she noticed the colour draining from your face, a look of surprise crossed her features.

“You didn’t know?” she asked, her tone softer than you expected. “I thought that was the reason you came back here.”

Ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons, you stormed out of the bar, the weight of fear heavy on your shoulders.

The city's familiar streets blurred past as you made your way to the base, and you thought you heard familiar caws in the distance.

You didn't spare a second thought as the electronic lock still buzzed with recognision when your palm and iris scans were verified. The reinforced doors opened, granting you access just like usual.

Luke and Kieran met you in the hallway, no doubt alerted to your arrival. Whether by Mephisto or the security alert, you weren’t sure.

Even with their masks on, their surprised body language was unmistakable.

“How did you find out? Boss made sure that none of us tips you off,” Luke asked.

“It’s true?” you demanded, your voice was tight with anxiety. “About Sylus?”

The twins exchanged silent glances. “He’s in his quarters,” Kieran said slowly. “But be warned, he is in a foul mood.”

As you moved swiftly down the familiar corridors, your heart pounded in your chest. The smell of antiseptic hit your senses as you slid the door open, revealing the dimly lit room.

Sylus was seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he changed his bandages. “I told you guys to leave me alone. I’m fine,” his voice gruff.

You took a steadying breath. “Sylus.”

His silhouette tensed, and the set of his shoulders turned rigid. Slowly, he turned to look at you.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was rough.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat. The sight of bandages covering his injuries made it difficult to articulate your thoughts. “Why did you go after Marcel?”

“This isn’t a place for someone like you right now.”

That comment was odd, but you dismissed it as you crossed the room, closing the gap between you. Up close, you could see the bruises and wounds peppering his body—dark, angry splotches that marred his skin, evidence of the brutality inflicted by Marcel’s men.

While the healing process was slower than usual, it was still significantly faster than it would be for an ordinary person.

You had been working with him for quite some time yet you had never before seen him in such a state.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, catching your concerned gaze.

“You don’t look fine,” you said firmly. “I’m not going anywhere until you explain what happened.”

Sylus shifted on the bed, wincing slightly as he rested his back on the headboard. After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, “Marcel was the one behind the bombing of the hunter’s grandma’s house.”

As much as you felt sorry for the UNICORN hunter, you couldn’t understand why he would put his life on the line for her.

Was it because of the connection they had with the Aether Core? Or was it something else?

Unconsciously, your steps faltered backwards. The anxiety for his well-being took a backseat as the grip of jealousy clawed at you.

It was stupid to feel this way.

Suddenly, you felt rooted to the spot, your body freezing in place. The unexpected use of his Evol caught you off guard.

“You came all the way here, so you’d better damn well listen to me before jumping to any conclusions.”

Even in his weakened state, he managed to pull you back to the edge of the bed and keep you seated there. He wasn’t close enough to touch, but not so far that you couldn’t see the fatigue etched into his features.

“I kept her around because she was useful. Marcel had been trying to frame Onychinus for the bombing.” His fists clenched, knuckles white. “But that wasn’t what set me off, that scumbag had been running his mouth about you, spreading lies of your incompetence, claiming that you’re nothing more than an empty shell.”

You looked at his injuries pointedly. “You took on his entire army because he taunted me?”

He sighed deeply, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration. “Don’t you see? I was the one feeding him that narrative. He had the front seat to everything that happened that day. I’m the one who unravelled the respect you worked so hard to earn.”

Was that a hint of guilt you heard in his voice?

“He’d been saying that you’d be better suited working in a whorehouse.”

Well, that explained the man's aggressiveness back at the bar, you thought.

“I’m not your responsibility anymore, you don’t need to protect me.”

Sylus looked away. Despite his rough edges, there was a glint of raw, exposed emotion that he struggled to conceal.

“It’s not just about responsibility,” his voice low, “Some things... they’re not as simple as just walking away.”

This was the Sylus you recognised—the same man who, in fleeting moments, had looked at you with an intensity or a softness that spoke of unfulfilled longing.

Everything had shifted since that one kiss, an impulsive act born from an evening of too much drink and unspoken feelings. A kiss that, in its haze, blurred the lines between what was accepted and what was desired.

Yet, every subtle brush of his hands, every act of ensuring your safety, was a quiet rebellion against the boundaries he had set from the start—this was not a place where work and pleasure were meant to mingle.

“That was the reason you called the deal off that day.” You fit the puzzles together.

He nodded. “I had a feeling that he was up to something.”

“And yet, I still don’t understand why you had to go behind my back with the hunter. This”—you gestured to his injuries and the distance between you—“could’ve been prevented.”

You tried to mask the hurt. “I thought you trusted me.”

Sylus shifted closer, and even though you felt that his Evol no longer held you in place, you allowed him.

“It wasn’t about trust, not in the way you think,” his voice was softer now, “If he found out you were involved, I couldn’t risk him coming after you.”

“I don’t need your protection as much as I need your honesty. And you were being a jerk.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I just wanted to keep you safe.”

He reached out, his fingers gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Leaning in closer, he cradled your jaw with a careful touch.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice catching in your throat at the intensity in his eyes that he didn’t try to mask any longer. “For caring. But I’d rather not see you get hurt again.”

“Can’t promise,” he murmured, “I will always stand between you and anyone who dares to harm you.”

You could feel the warmth of his breath before his lips touched yours, moving in a gentle, unhurried rhythm.

He wanted to savour this moment, to truly taste you with a clear head, unclouded by any alcohol.

Though, before long, a more primal voice seemed to overtake him. The intensity of the kiss grew, fueled by the unfiltered emotions coursing between you.

It was a fierce, unrestrained need to claim you.

No longer feeling tender, his tongue urged your lips open with a determined persistence. Sylus groaned into your mouth as you parted easily, the need to taste you becoming more urgent.

As he took a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, your gaze locked with the searing flame in his eyes.

A sudden weight pressed against your neck, and you looked down, startled, to find a crow whose wings arched protectively around a red diamond pendant. It was similar to the brooch he had given you, but this was more than an accessory.

It was more personal—more intimate.

“Will you do me the honour of becoming my partner again?” His voice was husky with emotion. “Onychinus needs you. I need you.”

Carefully, you pushed him down the bed, legs spreading daringly caging his form. “Maybe if you beg a little more, I’ll consider it.”

Both his eyebrows arched in surprise, visibly taken aback by your boldness.

“But, weren’t we supposed to keep work and pleasure separate?” you teased.

A hint of a smirk curled at the edges of his lips. “I’m the boss. I make the rules. Besides, this is more than just a pleasure.”

His large palms settled on your hips, fingers splaying across the curve of your body with a possessive yet tender grip, pulling you closer.

“Can I start by begging you to kiss my wounds and make them better then?”

As he whispered his request, his masculine hands sneaked their way inside your clothes, fingers trailing a line of fire against your skin. Just as the moment heated up, a rustling noise came from outside the door.

The two of you paused, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Suddenly, the door creaked open just a fraction. Before either of you could react, Luke and Kieran let out a startled yelp.

“Oh no! They’re doing the hanky panky!” Luke whispered loudly, scandalised.

In a flurry of hurried movements, the twins slammed the door closed and bolted down the hallway, leaving you both staring after them in stunned silence.

Sylus sighed, hiding his face in the soft bend of your neck. “We’ll definitely have to set some new rules about privacy too.”

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

#ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐱𝐞𝐩𝐡'𝐬 writing nook #love and deepspace #lads #l&ds #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x y/n #love and deepspace x you #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x y/n #sylus x you #hurt/comfort #fluff

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kirammanswoman · 17 days ago

Text

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES *ੈ✩‧₊˚

part 1 part 2 (wip) part 3 (wip) masterlist

three hockey player roommates that are in desperate need of a fourth roommate after their original one moved out on a whim. a professionally trained, braniac figure skater who needs to move. what’s the worst that could happen?

hockey!vi/ellie/abby x figureskater!fem!reader

warnings: reader is mentioned to be a lesbian!!!

a/n: im back n sorry it took so long, i forgot to say i was gonna make this n smau as well TEEHEE!! also ik i made a typo on the smau portion stfu ik…IF YOU KNOW WHERE THE ART FROM THE BANNER ABOVE IS FROM PLEASE LMK I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST AND CANT FIND THE ORIGINATOR

lowercase intended, unedited.

the moment you woke up to your upstairs neighbor banging on his drums at 5 am for the tenth time this week,

you knew.

sitting up from your tousled bed sheets and wrinkled pillows, you dig through the thick comforter to find your pj pants that you lazily threw off the night before. you dont know whether it’s your upstairs neighbor banging on his drums to metallica at 5 am (he for sure hasnt slept yet) or your head, but something was pounding. as you walk over to your mini kitchen in your tiny studio apartment, formula sheets, periodic tables, and notes were sprawled across the floor from the previous night’s panicked “i have to review this now or else i’ll die of anxiety before i sleep” study session.

you took a step forward, stepped on an eraser. another step, a pencil. and one more, lo and behold you’re at your kitchen counter, after two measly, groggy steps. so small, so crammed, so stuffy.

yeah. you had to move out.

morning practices weren’t your favorite, like at all. you studied for chem the night before, now you’re getting rewarded with two hours of coach medarda nit-picking at your every move. every axel, every jump, every loop. all. of. it. being medarda’s prized figure skater out of the bunch of girls was great, i mean, you were olympic bound because of her. however, the physical repercussions that come with exhausting your body in order to move so beautifully on ice wasn’t fun. you hurriedly tamed your bed ridden hair, threw on your practice clothes, stuffed your pristine white skates in your bag and sped off. that is, before almost eating shit on your tile floor because you tripped over your air fryer that was placed on the ground because the counter was far too small to stuff it in a corner. you curse to yourself as you clutch your foot— your very important foot— and you hop outside to lock the door.

when you finally locked the door (which took ages bc the dusty ass lock is older than you are) you sped walked to your car with a one track mind, a throbbing foot, and a repetitive thought.

i have to move out. fast.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE JUST PACKED UP AND LEFT?”

“meant it how i said it you loud dipshit. her room’s empty, abby”

“yeah ellie and i tried to stop her and get an answer, i even ran out to the driveway shirtless but all she said was ‘im sorry vi but i have to go, my last payment for rent will be in for next month’ and she drove off”

the three hockey players stood in their living room, now missing a roommate, thus, missing a fourth person for rent. their former roommate, korra, insisted that she had other matters to attend to and had to move out urgently. they were perplexed, clueless, and a little angry at the sudden decision, but lo and behold, they can’t do anything about it now can they.

“alright— okay, sit down you shitheads— and put a shirt in vi, we gotta figure this out.”

“she did give us at least some allowance of time to figure something out right?” ellie responded to abby, fiddling with her silver rings. abby nodded and bit her lip while thinking if their next move.

“okay— here’s the deal.” she sat down and signaled the other two to sit as well. “i’ll ask my dad to cover the payment for the month after next month if we dont find one in time—”

“wait wait wait— what do you mean find one in time? you’re gonna go looking for a new one like a fuckass model agency recruiter?” ellie raised a brow

“no you fuckin idiot, im gonna post something on the locker room’s bulletin that we’re looking for new roommates.”

“like that’s gonna fucking find us one abby” vi scoffed

“okay listen you fuckasses— i can guarantee” she cut herself off “vi put a shirt on for fucks sake—“ she said as she threw a shirt to vi as she hurriedly threw her shirt on overtop her nike bra “im the damn captain of the team— i’ll make the rest of them look at it and convince them if we have too.”

“so— we’re taking anyone?”

“no, just hockey players”

yeah. right.

“ONE MORE TIME. CHIN UP.”

coach medardas demanding voice reverberated within the enclosed rink as you went through the last stretch of your routine again.

fuck fuck fuck ow ow ow shit shit shit—

was all you could think while repeating the final move of your routine for the fifth time now. as you hit your ending pose, medarda’s neutral face flickered a slight smile.

“good. much better. you’re free to go” she nodded you off. you thanked her and skated off the ice. everything hurt. every. single. thing. which was crazy considering you’ve been skating since 5 years old. never get used to it you suppose.

“how’s little miss perfect’s ice skating practice go?”

a voice breaks your thoughts off while you retrieve your stuff from your locker. you smile warmly at the girl with beautiful brown eyes and dark hair leaning against the door.

“hi D” you smile as you put your skates in your duffle.

“geez, medarda beat you black and blue again?” Dina asked as she walked over to one of the benches by your locker.

“black, blue, red, orange, green— the fuckin rainbow” you laughed

“ohhhh— i get it, because you’re a LESBI—” you covered dina’s mouth before she could finish.

“i swear to god—”

“no one’s here!” she muffled from her covered mouth, as she took your wrist into her hand and gently lifted it from her mouth. “plus i wasn’t actually gonna say it for real for real” she laughed.

it’s not like you had a problem with being a lesbian, fuck, if anything you thank every possible part of your existence for being attracted to women. it’s just—you had a reputation— and sometimes hiding a part of yourself was just easier to maintain that reputation. (a/n: this is fucking false, be so authentically you because you’re fucking beautiful, dont let anyone make you think otherwise. i love u.)

you shook your head at your best friends antics.

“sooo…find a place yet?” she said, fiddling with the charms on your duffle.

you sighed and scratched your forehead “no— skating and classes have been eating at my literal ass lately” you slumped at the space beside her

“babes, come on. that place is hella sketchy—“ she paused. dina never pauses. she’s always speaking, so this leads you to believe something’s turning with the gears in her head.

“anyway you need to leave soon— oh wait hold on!” she sprung up slightly. her eyes were wide and her smile was so bright it could blind people. oh no. you thought. she’s thinking. thats bad.

“you remember ellie? hockey player, short hair, green eyes, really actually very hot?” she perked up

“yea…? what about her—“ “they need a roommate!”

and there it is. a thought. from dina. she didnt even let you finish your sentence, so you didnt even let her convince you.

“no.” you deadpanned, glaring at her. “dina i refuse to room with the infamous women’s hockey trio league who probably disguised frat boys.” you started to pick up your stuff to walk out of the lockers.

“come onnnnnnn!!! its a perfect opportunity!” she walks a little behind you. “its literally falling on your lap!”

“no dina i wont—” “LOOK!” she said, as she abruptly stopped and basically yanked you by your ponytail to look at the bulletin board. with a yelp and a ‘what the fuck D!’ you stare at the slip of paper right smack dab center of the bulletin board.

“dina woodward, no.”

“dina woodward, yes.” she said as she ripped a piece of the tags hanging below with the email and number of whoever put the sign up.

what the fuck are you gonna do with her.

“see, i told you fuckers it would work.”

a sweaty, glistening abby was smirking at her roommates that were sitting on the bench. the Jackson University women’s hockey league sit at the rink’s locker room, packing up after a long practice. ellie and vi sit at the bench, staring up at at abby.

“okay?? and who is it?”

“ummm…a girl named (you)? dunno its kinda vague. she emailed ‘Good Morning, I am interested in potentially being a roommate. Let me know when and where we can discuss the details and we can decide if it’s a fit. Thank You.’”

“she sounds 45 years old.” ellie said

“and like a bossy-stuck up princess bitch” vi added, handing ellie her water bottle for her to drink out of it.

“okay shut up, she cant be that bad.”

“she’s a hockey player?” ellie asked, swinging the water bottle back like its a shot.

“she should be—“ she headed over to the bulletin board “it says here hockey players onl— oh no.” she said, while looking intently at the paper pinned to the board. abby’s eyes were hopelessly searching for where it says hockey players only.

the other two stood behind her, looking for it as well.

and alas,

nothing.

“you fucking idiot.”

after a long day of practice and a three hour lecture, you were finally fucking home.

throwing your bags onto a nearby chair by your counter, you strip off your practice clothes and make a B line to the bathroom. the relief of the hot water hitting your sore muscles felt like you were meeting an angel. truly a spiritual experience. you wash your body and hair off of the dried out sweat after practice and put on your usual giant sleep tee and headed to heat your food in the microwave. this was the usual after you got home after a long day of practice and more lectures that were frying your brain. you finally had time to relax at home.

just as you were settling down on your couch next to your cat named Dog, an email notification pinged on your phone.

📧: Abby Anderson [email protected]

Good Evening, this is Abby. I saw that you emailed about a roommate inquiry? I was wondering if you could meet at the Bison Cafe to discuss the details. Also, please feel free to leave your number so communication is more seamless. Thanks.

you’re gonna punch your best friend.

#vi x reader #abby anderson x reader #ellie willams x reader #andtheywereroommates

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gremlingottoosilly · 8 months ago

Note

Prostitute/Sex Worker!Reader that keeps taking pity on Loser!König and gives him extra minutes or makes breakfast for him

You usually don't even remember your clients. Some regulars, maybe, or weird creeps that you have to warn other girls about. But it's not like you're lucid enough during your time that you'd actually start the conversation besides a few phrases about preferred possessions, the need for a condom, and questions about payment. Konig is different in this regard - mostly because he is so fucking creepy and so pathetic at the same time that you feel almost the crushing need to remember him. Prepare for each time he comes to visit - which is a lot during some months, and radio silence during others. At first, you thought he would just dump too much money on you and would need some time to gain enough to rent you again, but then you got glimpses. A few more scars on his skin, a new bullet would - you searched the internet to know what it looked like healed and didn't like the results. a new flinching every time you would move too fast, so you'd have to adjust. To take things slowly, get him to stop behaving like a wounded animal. You can't help but take pity on him, not liking the way a poor guy is looking at you sometimes - like you're about to make fun of him. Or hurt him otherwise. You take pity on him and let him just hug you throughout the night, not even fucking you, despite paying a hefty fee for the additional hours. You're somewhat independent, and you can throw a coochie or two in the deal when you want to - but it seems like Konig wants anything but that. You made him coffee one time, some shitty instant brand that he had in his deserted cupboard, and then he left a few hundred Euros on the nightstand, on top of the stuff he had to pay before. You think it's weird - but also adorable, kinda. You don't mind getting money for not getting fucked, and you don't mind taking a pity on him. Then he asked how much it would be for you to stop working. Stop taking other clients, altogether - you're kinda on your own, you can afford to just exit and never have sex with other men again. You never thought of a price that would allow you to leave the business, and you don't intend to accept his money now. Not because you just love being a sex worker - but mostly because you recognize that psychotic glint in his eyes, and you really don't want to deal with it, so you politely decline. Konig politely nods and gets a month off the missions so he can take you with him - as politely as possible while apologizing the whole time and promising to never fuck you again unless you'd ask him for it. He will break the promise the second he sees you in the collar he got you (military grade, usually something used for K9 and war prisoners). He just hopes you'd be able to forgive him as long as he is fucking you as good as he did before.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #loser!konig

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dearmisshoney · 27 days ago

Text

landlord special

synopsis. when your landlord's cruel, impossibly handsome son shows up to collect the rent — rent you don’t have — you decided that flaunting your body will get you out of trouble. but tom riddle wants more than just flashes of skin: an alternative payment, in a far more degrading currency. he may not be the true landlord, but he can give you the special white sticky paint you so desire.

pairing. landlord’s son! tom riddle x reader

content/mdni. DUB-CON. fem!reader, landlord’s son!tom, cruel!tom, stoic!tom, dom!tom, manipulative! tom, arrogant!tom, fingering, slight choking, doggy-style (over the counter), slight clit stimulation, clit/cunt slapping, spanking, orgasm denial, implied hand/vein kink, sir kink, teasing, degradation, dirty talk, name-calling (doll, good girl, whore and tenant whore), raw sex, i am down bad

word count. 4.1k

a/n. FIRST TIME WRITING FOR TOM! this one is for my lovely @viperify! i am not that proud of this fic, but oh well! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated! spot the surprise in the right picture

“pans, i am telling you! he will kick me out this time.”

your voice, desperate and anxious, boomed into the phone, reaching pansy’s ears without any interruptions. you called her as soon as you’ve received the news that tonight someone other than your kind old landlord will come to collect the rent — his arrogant, stuck-up son.

tom riddle was coming tonight.

you've met tom before, under similar circumstances: he stopped by your apartment a few months ago to get the payment in his father’s stead. that time, the old man told you his sweet boy tommy will drop by and only bother you for a few minutes for the rent, but should you have any issues with the apartment, you could talk to him too.

sweet boy tommy was not as sweet as his father suggested. when he first arrived at your front door, he barely spared you a glance before forcing his way in. he almost pushed you away with his solid build, but thankfully you evaded his shoulder in time by practically gluing yourself to the closest wall.

tom didn’t apologize, didn’t greet you; heck, if his father hadn’t phoned in before to announce his arrival, you wouldn’t have known the name of the handsome yet infuriating stranger.

what made it worse was that you had to pay more than usual to compensate for the previous month — at that time, you did not have the full sum of money, but your landlord was considerate and allowed you to pay the rest together with the next month’s payment.

tom seemed to not have been informed about that and his reaction was… something.

“last time he was such an ass.”

you remember it all clearly: that bastard crossed his arms, gave you the coldest meanest stare like you were some kind of criminal who’d deliberately planned to screw his father over, then called you out on your behavior. and he did it in the most spiteful way possible, glaring down at you with his dark brown eyes like you were a peasant with no value.

“'keep this up and you’ll find yourself out on the streets.' that’s what he said.” you continued, pacing around the living room while filling pansy in.

your footsteps quickened against the floorboard as you remember that night. you were growing more and more restless because you were sure that demon tom will keep his word and throw you out.

'you may fool my father, but not me.' tom added last time, lips curled into a devious grin, as if he knew something you didn’t, before shutting his notebook close and turning away towards the front door.

you remembered how goosebumps spread all over your skin at that venomous remark of his.

you remembered how your heart dropped into your stomach at that sly smirk of his.

you remembered how arousal drooled into your panties at that final arrogant gaze of his.

“and 'don’t be late again, doll.'” using your best tom voice, you recounted his threatening goodbye greeting for pansy.

“oh, girl! he was definitely flirting with you!”

what?

“pans, you’re crazy. i just told you that man threatened me, and your first thought is romance?”

“dark romance.” her voice almost cut you off, correcting your improper labelling. “that’s how it usually goes, trust me!”

“you’re of no help. i should’ve just called drac–”

“draco’s advice is ass. listen to me!” pansy continued, ready to present you the best plan of actions. “dress prettily for him, maybe get out that low-cut top you got with me–…”

“oh, so he can call me a broke and a whore? no thank you.”

“stop complaining! you want to at least try to soften his resolve?”

“… yeah.”

“then open your damn camera and show me your wardrobe.”

•••

8 p.m. sharp.

the knock on the front door comes loud and deliberate, echoing through the thin walls of your apartment. although prepared for his arrival, you still flinched in your seat at the sound, nearly falling off the edge of the living room couch.

you got this! it will be fine.

raising from your position, you made your way to the door. with one last look at your reflection in the hallway mirror, checking the provocative outfit pansy insisted you wear for tom, you stepped towards the front door. thrusting the key into the lock with no hesitation, you rotated it twice before the door was completely ajar, revealing your landlord’s son.

tom riddle stood there, with an air of superiority engulfing him, like he owned the entire goddamn building. dark coat, tailored to perfection, ending somewhere close to his knees. collared shirt, unbuttoned just enough to reveal the smooth line of his throat, peeking from underneath his coat. hair slicked back but slightly disheveled, like he’s run a hand through it in frustration.

probably because of this meeting with you.

his sharp eyes dropped immediately on you — not to your face, no, but lower, taking in the full expense of your bare skin. the valley between your breasts — visible thanks to your top, together with the delicate chain glinting against your sternum. he made a mental note of the flexible material of your top and the way it was swaying at the tiniest movement.

you made an... interesting fashion choice.

tom didn’t stop there though. his eyes traversed even lower, down to your short tight skirt and the visible outline of your panties.

damn, weren’t you a sight for sore eyes?

nonetheless, he didn’t falter like pansy predicted, his expression stone-like, as if a half-naked woman wasn’t right before him. only one of his eyebrows arched, but not in surprise or excitement.

but in ruthless judgement.

“are you going somewhere?” his deep voice vibrated across the hallway as he stepped inside without an invitation.

his tone was accusatory, and it didn’t take you much to understand what was going on in his head: to tom, it seemed like you were planning to shoo him away fast by using an evening outing as an excuse.

“no wonder you’re always late on rent,” tom muttered, brushing past you with a scornful click of his tongue. “too busy playing dress-up for your little boyfriends.”

and with that, the front door shut behind him with a heavy thud, sealing you in with the very man you dreaded most.

boyfriends? he was straight up shaming you, throwing unfounded assumptions at you like darts to a board. just to stir you up. just to make you fall into his trap and sprout more cruelties at you.

so you kept quiet, raising your arms from your sides and instinctively moving to cross them over your chest to show your indignation. unfortunately, such a movement only made matters worse, as it forced your tits to spill further out of your top and aid tom’s assumptions about your promiscuity.

the slutty outfit was definitely a miss, only acting as your weakness, not his.

tom did not turn around to observe the state of your breasts though, as he walked further into your apartment, stepping towards the kitchen section with big strides. you follow him suit, hurrying your pace to catch up to him, while also being more aware of your clothing.

you should be careful not to sway your tits out of the top completely.

“i asked you a question, doll.” he murmured with that dominant tone of his, turning to face you again. his hands slipped into the inside pocket of his coat as he let his eyes roam your figure a second time — now far slower, far more obvious.

still no sign of destabilization.

tom pulled out his notebook — that cursed landlord notebook — and flipped the pages until he found your name.

“or are you ashamed you spent your rent money yet again on useless dates?”

“n–no, i have—” you started, already flustered by the maliciousness his voice. he was so viciously belittling you, yet you couldn’t deny the strong throbbing between your legs.

“n–no?” he mimicked your stuttering, voice low with amusement. “then you have the rent for this month, hm?”

forgetting his notebook on the kitchen island, tom reduced the distance between your two bodies with two small steps. now he was a breath away, his tall frame looming over yours, making you feel small, pathetic, weak.

your knees wanted to give out under the pressure, yet you somehow maintained your position under his merciless gaze. “i just–…”

“go get it.” tom dipped his head lower, reaching your exposed ear and whispering a daunting command and a suggestion tainted with danger. “and hurry, i am not a patient man.”

your breath hitched because of the proximity, his hot breath hitting your ear making your whole body jolt in place.

tom registered your reaction and he chuckled — low and dark, somehow amused by your bodily response. the low vibrations in his throat reached your own body too, travelling all the way under your skirt and pinching at your needy clit, making you clench your thighs.

you parted your lips, ready to agree, but he was already moving away from you — crossing the small kitchen in calculated strides and tossing his coat over one of your chairs. tom then leaned his body against the kitchen island, hip hitting the edge of the notebook and pushing it further into your field of vision.

he didn’t care for an answer. he was just after the money.

“pay up, miss tenant.”

you swallowed thickly and moved away from your spot, reaching for the envelope you had left on the adjacent counter earlier. you did your best to bend your knees rather than hinge at your hips while retrieving the envelope so as to not flash tom with your barely covered pussy.

that was the initial plan – flashing him, but now you needed to play safe and not irritate him.

the feather-like weight of the envelope in your hand — containing less than required — was a painful reminder that tom will kick you out this evening for sure. every step back towards him felt like walking a tightrope, especially as his cold eyes were tracking your every movement like a predator sizing up a meal.

when you got close to him, you immediately extended the envelope — with trembling fingers, not daring to meet his gaze. your eyes were instead focused on his newly exposed torso: the way the dark button-up was nicely snug against his body, how it was tucked neatly into his dress pants and supported by a leather belt.

how tom has actually rolled the sleeves of the shirt up to his elbows, exposing manly, vein-littered forearms to your wandering eyes.

you were so captivated by the sight, you did not realize he didn’t take the envelope right away. instead, tom was also eyeing you. he looked at your outstretched hand, then up at your loose top flashing him more of your tender skin. if he concentrated more, he could have definitely seen your perky nipples poking at the satin material.

fuck, he would have never thought he’d find you in such a promiscuous outfit, but he was definitely not complaining.

especially since you dressed so nicely just for him.

when tom finally took the envelope, he did so in one swift motion. letting his fingers brush yours for just a second — enough to make your skin thump like it had been electrocuted.

he opened it.

the room felt still. frozen.

then—

he scoffed.

it was soft, low, but somehow it hit harder than any other reaction he could have had. tom flipped through the bills with a single hand before slamming the envelope down on the counter.

“this isn’t the full amount, doll.”

your heart dropped. “i-i know. i tried, but—”

“tried?” he said it like the word offended him. “do i look like someone who accepts partial payments?”

fuck, why did you listen to pansy? why did you get your hopes up knowing what kind of man he is?

“i'll get the rest by next week, i swear—”

tom clicked his tongue again like a disappointed parent. “do you think this is a joke?” he stepped closer. “do you think i'm my father?”

you flinched, taking a step back as tom slowly crept towards you. his jaw was clenched with an unspoken anger, while his dark eyes glimmered with something else.

more primal. more raw.

the corner of his lips raised in a cruel grin, pleased yet again by your cowering reaction. he continued his menacing steps until he backed you all the way into the kitchen isle. and when your ass finally collided with the edge of the counter, he caged you in with his half-exposed arms.

keeping you trapped between the wooden furniture piece and his body.

“of course you do.” he leaned down slightly, forcing you to look up at him with those scared eyes of yours. “he probably let you cry and smile and flirt your way out of every consequence. but me?” his hand reached up and, with just a single finger under your chin, he tilted your face higher.

“i’m not a fucking charity, doll.”

you swallowed.

“i should toss you out on the street tonight. you know that, right?”

“n–no, please...”

“don’t lie to me, doll.” he growled in your face, mouth hovering so close to yours.

his hand removed itself from your chin, snaking lower until it reached the base of your throat. and, with strong and unrestrained fingers, tom latched tightly onto your airpipe.

“you knew what would happen, right?” he asked again, this time putting pressure on your exposed neck.

“y–yes.”

“yes what?”

shit, was this really happening?

“yes, s–sir?!”

“that’s right, doll.”

he groaned the pet name into your ear, his voiced drenched in lustful satisfaction. tom was visibly enjoying your submissiveness, and his body was proudly showing that through the bulge in his dress pants.

tom let his other hand trail lightly down your torso, stopping shortly at the hem of your skirt before fully sliding his hands over your ass. “so what are you going to do?”

it was clear as day what he was hinting at, yet he continued to taunt you with feigned ignorance, wishing to see you offer your body on your own.

“what are you offering in return? because cash clearly isn’t your currency of choice.”

your lips parted, but no words came out. his hand was harshly pressing down on your throat, veins popping across his flexed forearm, but that wasn’t the full reason why you couldn’t speak up. with his other hand, tom was groping at the plush of your ass, clawing at the stretchy material and making your brain all hazy.

“nothing to say?” he mused, pulling his lower hand back slightly, only to slap it across your butt cheek.

“you’re dressed like you want to be fucked,” he said coldly. “not pitied.”

you gasped loudly, partially offended, but your thighs pressed further one into the other.

because he was right.

you did it all intentionally and you had to bear the consequences of your scandalous behavior.

“here’s the deal.” his face was inches from yours now. “you give me something worth more than your pitiful rent... or you pack your shit and leave tonight.”

his fingers gripped the edge of your skirt, inching it higher and higher on your leg. tom was acting on his own, but such forward actions were merely based on your own little scheme of seduction. he saw through you, saw how you wanted to fuck your way out of this payment.

he might as well indulge you, no?

“don’t play innocent now, doll. you dressed up for this, didn’t you?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t.

your breath was caught somewhere between fear and want, tangled up in the grip tom had around your neck and the arousal soaking your already ruined panties. you were trembling, eyes blown wide, chest heaving — but not backing away.

you didn’t move when he hiked your skirt up fully, baring your panties to the warm air of the kitchen. you didn’t stop him when he hooked a single finger into their waistband and tugged them down your thighs.

“thought so,” he muttered, voice thick with disdain. “fucking whore.”

you whimpered as his hand slid between your legs, thick fingers parting your folds and dragging slowly through the wetness. you were so fucking drenched– his digits got sticky with arousal in one mean swipe.

and your hole, god! his finger prodded against your twitchy entrance and was almost sucked in by your hungry cunt.

“so desperate…”

tom complied to your bodily needs as he dipped one finger inside, pushing knuckle-deep without warning. you gasped, back arching, your ass pressing harder into the counter as your knees caved into one another, threatening to give out.

“fuck,” he sneered, slowly thrusting the finger in and out of you. “knew you’d be like this. knew that from the moment i walked in. you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“t–tom.” you whined his name, voice high and cracking. your walls clenched around his finger, giving him a non-verbal answer.

you wanted this so so bad.

“it’s sir for you, doll.” he added a second finger, curling them inside you as your body jolted forward, face mushing against his chest. “say that for me like a good girl!”

and you did. you were putty in his hands and you couldn’t deny him nor the pleasure you were receiving.

“s–sir, si–ir.”

“that’s right, dirty whore.” tom hissed against your ear as he sped up his movement, his two digits now opening you up with urgency. “shit, you’re dripping down your thighs for a man who threatened to evict you.”

you’d so wish to defend yourself, but only moan came out of your drool-covered lips. it was humiliating how quickly he worked you up — how rough and impatient he was, fingers pumping into you like he wasn’t trying to coax your pleasure, just use it.

and fuck, it was working. your hips were rocking against his hand, desperate, mindless.

“you’re not even trying to resist,” tom murmured darkly, pulling his hand away from your cunt, only to deliver a harsh slap to it. “pathetic.”

“turn around. now.”

tom ordered, yet didn’t allow you to conform. he manhandled you as he wished, pulling his hand on your back and spinning you around, only to shove you forward, pressed down into the counter. your cheek was smushed against the notebook, ink now stretching across the pages due to your sweat.

but it didn’t matter now, really. what was the point of writing down your tabs if you weren’t going to pay the traditional way?

you only gasped as the cold surface met your chest, your tits now spilled out of the satin top and pressed nicely against the wooden counter. one strong hand grabbed your hip, yanking you back, while the other bunched up your skirt around your waist. the sharp edge of the counter dug into your stomach, your legs shaky and parted just for him.

what an obedient little tenant whore you’ve become.

“sloppy fucking pussy.” he groaned behind you, as he undid his belt and shoved his trousers down just enough to free his cock.

the sound of his zipper made you shiver, your heart hammering in your ears. and then you felt him, hot and heavy, sliding between your soaked folds, teasing your entrance with the fat head of his shaft. he smeared the leaking tip through your slick, mixing his precum with your own juices. to torture you even more, he even drew it upwards and formed circles over your puffy clit.

all just to watch you squirm beneath him.

“payment time, doll.” tom hissed, voice right behind your ear. “a proper payment, for once.”

and with no warning, he slammed into you.

completely. in one full push.

you cried out, legs nearly buckling as his cock filled you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. he didn’t pause to let you adjust, no. he just grabbed at your hips, digging his digits into your skin, and started pounding into you.

hard. fast. indifferent towards you.

each thrust shoved your body further into the counter’s edge, making your tits drag all across the surface. the stretch of his cock burned, your walls clenching around him, fluttering helplessly with every ruthless snap of his hips.

“god, listen to that.” he growled, hips jutting into your ass over and over again, the harsh slap of skin to skin filling the kitchen like music. the wet squelches of your cunt were loud and constant, a true indicator of your unmeasurable arousal.

“you like being used, don’t you? like being bent over and ruined like a whore?”

“y–yes, sir!” you cried out, voice muffled by the countertop, tears pricking the corners of your eyes from pain and pleasure.

tom chuckled cruelly at your desperate answer, dragging his cock out almost completely, then slamming back in with a sharp grunt. “you’ll be lucky if you can walk after this.”

your fingers clawed at the edge of the counter, so so overwhelmed by the way tom was bullying his cock into you. he was hitting all the nice spots and, fuck– this position allowed his tip to kiss your cervix just right.

"don't cum." he bent over your ruined body, sneering into your ear.

you seem to be too lost in the feeling — eyes rolled back, mouth agape; you definitely did not hear tom. so he took matters into his own hands and brought you back to reality. by reaching around and slapping your sensitive clit — quick, sharp swats that made your body seize and shake.

"you don't get to finish, whore."

you sobbed, ecstatic from the thick cock stretching you so good, from the filthy cruel words, from the unbearable heat building in your belly. tom was relentless, drilling into you with contempt, hammering that spot inside you again and again.

“fuck—" he hissed suddenly, thrusts growing erratic. his grip on your hips tightened like a vice. “you're gonna take all my cum. you hear me, doll?”

“yes, sir! please– please–!”

and with a deep growl, he slammed in deep, hips crushing against your ass as he emptied his balls inside you.

thick, hot spurts of cum painted your insides, his cock twitching with every drop released. he stayed buried into your cunt until the very end, panting into your neck as his hands made sure your hips stopped moving.

you trembled beneath him, your cunt pulsing around his cock, aching for more. for anything. but he stood still, letting you feel his white sticky release fill you to the brim.

then slowly, cruelly, he pulled out.

his cum immediately began to drip out of your swollen cunt, running down your thighs in thick streaks.

no. way. was he really denying your orgasm?

tom looked down at the mess, satisfaction painted all over his face. to see your puffy pussy covered in his cum, all sensitive and begging for release– it almost made his cock sprung back to life. almost.

“payment accepted,” he said coldly, tucking himself back into his pants and taking a step back.

“w–wait, but–?”

“is something the matter, doll?” he muttered with venom, moving away from behind you and walking up to his forgotten coat.

“did you thought i’d make you finish just for begging like a whore?”

“please, sir…” your voice was cracked and breathless, brain hazy with the growing ache between your legs. “please, i-i need–”

“you need what?” he interrupted cruelly as he carefully readjusted his sleeves to put on his coat. “you need me to fuck you stupid? let you come all over my hand like a pathetic little tenant whore?”

you whimpered, nodding rapidly as your hips push back against thin air. “yes, sir… please. please let me cum…”

a beat of silence.

and then tom started buttoning up his coat.

“you didn’t pay the full rent,” he said flatly, voice devoid of any emotion now.

your head whipped around, eyes wide with disbelief, pleading for him to change his mind. but he only grabbed the notebook and the envelope, dropping them inside his pocket. “you thought that desperate performance would buy you an orgasm?”

“what? no– no, please,” you gasped, still bent over, cunt dripping, aching, throbbing. “please, i’ll do anything–”

tom laughed menacingly — a sound devoid of humor but full of cruel satisfaction. “yeah, i know you will. so next time, bring the full fucking payment.”

your mouth hung open, chest heaving with shock and disbelief as he walked towards the door.

“t-tom! please!” your voice cracked, tears of frustration dripping down your cheeks as you stood there, spread over the counter, wrecked and ruined.

he paused at the door, hand on the doorknob.

“you get your orgasm when i get my money.”

he glanced over his shoulder one last time, with a smirk so toxic it made your knees shake all over again.

“next month, doll. don’t be late.”

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts, @nottslove

#~ 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘫𝘢𝘳 #tom riddle #landlord's son!tom #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x y/n #slytherin boys smut #slytherin smut

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manifestobackshot · 1 month ago

Text

REPO REAPER — JAKE SIM

As a repossession agent, you’ve dealt with trouble of all sorts—anger, frustration, desperation—you’ve seen it all.

…Or so you thought, until you met trouble personified—Jake Sim. Though he misses his car’s cash payments by months at a time, perhaps he can arrange a different type of payment.

PAIRING: jake x afab reader

WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

TAGS: smut, porn… what plot?, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, oral (fem-receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, pretty filthy im sorry

A/N: it came to me in a dream. that’s all.

The street was quiet except for the low rumble of your tow truck’s engine as you pulled up to the shitty apartment complex, illuminated solely by the streetlights. 2012 Ford Focus. Owner: Jake Sim. The car was in decent shape—surprising, considering how far behind he was on payments.

You popped the trunk of your tow truck and hopped out, the heavy weight of your steel-toe boots hitting the ground with a thud. The leather of your repo gloves creaked as you flexed your fingers. You stretched, preparing to get this job done and over with. This part never got old—the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of reclaiming what was owed.

You hopped out and got to work hooking up the rear axle. You were seconds away from lifting it when the front door of the unit swung open.

"Hey, hey, hey—hold up!"

A guy stumbled out, barefoot and wearing nothing but a white tank and low-slung sweatpants that clung to his hips in a way that should’ve been illegal. His dark hair was tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his grin was all trouble.

"You Jake Sim?" you asked, not stopping your work.

"Yeah, that’s me." He sauntered over, running a hand through his hair like he was in a damn commercial. You took note of his demeanor, confident… with a little something else, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

"Listen, I know I’m behind, but I’ve got a way better way to settle this debt,” he said, relaxing his stance with a sense of smugness that only the boldest of men would deliver. Trouble was practically a part of your job description, and you knew that, but you hadn’t met trouble like this before.

You let your eyes wander and rolled them upon letting your gaze fall. This guy. "We’ve given plenty of notices and more than enough lenience, so unless you’ve got three months of cash in those sweatpants, your car’s getting towed.”

He leaned against the side of your truck, close enough that you caught the scent of his cologne—something warm and stupidly expensive for a guy who couldn’t pay his car note.

"See, that’s the thing," he said, voice dropping to a sinful purr. "I don’t have cash. But I do have skills." His fingers brushed your wrist. "And I’m very good at… negotiating."

For a second, you questioned what he meant by negotiating. But who are you kidding, this type of desperation is lame. Why would you lose your composure over a man like this?

You snorted. "You think I repo cars for favors?"

Jake smirked. "I think you’ve never had an offer like mine."

“...And what would that be?”

Before you could react, his hands were on your waist, pressing you back against the tow truck. His body was all hard muscle and heat, and—fuck—he knew exactly how to move.

Jake’s gaze was entirely focused on you, persistent and hot, shifting from your eyes, to your lips, and back again. Through his lashes, he held eye contact as he bit his lip, tilting his head as a smirk reappeared on his lips.

Though Jake was the one who should have been showing desperation in search of mercy regarding his car, you found yourself in that position instead. Of course, only you would you be face-to-face with some accent-wielding, sweatpants-slinging personification of temptation. Your body writhed under his touch, taking you down from a repossession agent with some sense of authority to Jake Sim’s playtoy, just for the evening.

"You let me keep my car," he murmured against your ear, "and I’ll make sure you don’t regret it."

Your breath hitched. This was unprofessional.

This was against company policy.

Fuck. This was working.

You shoved him back—weakly. "One time thing," you said, trying to sound stern. "And if you’re bad at this, I’m taking the car and your dignity."

Jake’s grin turned wolfish. "Oh, baby. I never disappoint."

You yanked the hook free from his Focus.

The moment the tow hook clattered to the pavement, Jake’s hands were on you again, his grip firm as he backed you up against the truck. His mouth crashed against yours before you could protest—not that you wanted to. The kiss was hot, demanding, his tongue sliding against yours with a confidence that made your knees weak.

He tasted like mint and something darker, something addictive. His fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your head back as he deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding down to grip your hip. You could feel the hard press of him against your thigh, the way his sweatpants did nothing to hide how much he wanted this.

Between the cool exterior of the tow truck and Jake’s warmth, you softly arched in response to the kiss. You could feel the skin above his waistband, tacky—sticky, even—with his sweat, as his tank rode up as he prioritized keeping you under him. He knows what he wants, and he knows how to get it. His hand moved away from your hip as he hooked his finger in the denim loop around your waistband, gently pulling your hips towards his own, softly moaning against you upon feeling the pressure.

“Fuck,” you gasped when he finally pulled back, lips swollen. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

Jake smirked, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip, careful to not break the focused gaze he laid upon you. “Not when I know what I want.” His voice was rough, his eyes dark with hunger. “And right now? I want you bent over the hood of my car.”

Your pulse spiked. This was reckless. Stupid. And yet, the heat pooling low in your stomach drowned out any rational thought.

“Not your car if this isn’t worth my time.”

“You know it’ll be, so behave.”

You let him spin you around, the cold metal of the Focus biting into your palms as he pressed against you from behind. Jake was unforgiving, putting the weight of his body against you.

His hands slid under your shirt, calloused fingers skimming up your stomach to your chest, teasing until you arched into his touch. He hovered his fingertips across your skin, making you writhe under him, aching for more. You moaned, feeling the soft drag of his fingers on your torso as he leaned into you, breath hot on your nape.

“That’s it,” he growled, mouth hot on your neck. “Let me hear you.”

His fingers flicked over your nipples, pinching just enough to make you whimper. You could feel his cock grinding against your ass, the friction maddening even through layers of clothing.

“Jake—”

“Tell me what you want, love,” he murmured, one hand sliding down to undo your belt with practiced ease. “Tell me, and it’s yours.”

You swallowed hard. “I want you to fuck me. Right here.”

His laugh was dark, sinful. “Knew you’d see things my way.”

In seconds, your pants were around your thighs as you stood embarrassingly eager to feel his touch again. Your hair stuck to your forehead, hot and sweaty from the encounter, as Jake placed his hand on your lower back, as to force a deeper arch from you.

“Please,” you pleaded, aching for more of him.

“Be patient,” he breathed, repositioning you against his vehicle. He moved his hand from your lower back to place both hands on your hips, squeezing the flesh of your ass, with his touch coming so dangerously close to your aching core—where you needed him most.

With one hand spreading you, Jake used his other to press his fingers into you, working you open with rough, eager strokes. You tensed around him, whimpering with every stroke that nearly molded your body to the contours of his knuckles. His fingers moved with intention—passionate, hot, and undying. The calloused tips of his fingers stroked inside you, building tension inside your already desperate core. You bit your lip to stifle a moan as he curled them just right, your hips rocking back against his hand.

“So wet for me already,” he murmured, nipping at your ear. “You been thinking about this since you saw me?”

You didn’t answer—couldn’t, not when he replaced his fingers with the thick head of his cock, teasing your entrance before pushing in with one slow, deliberate thrust, replacing your ache with a searing stretch.

“Fuck—!” Your nails scraped against the car’s paint as he filled you, stretching you in the best way. The drag of his cock as he slipped deeper into you left your mouth agape—gasping with every inch. He didn’t give you time to adjust, setting a punishing pace from the start, each snap of his hips driving you harder into the hood. He kept his rhythm as he used a free hand to push his tank all the way up, exposing his skin to the evening air.

“That’s it, take it,” he grunted, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisting in your hair. “You feel fucking perfect.”

He forced your body into a deeper arch, harsh as he forced your head back, pulling on your hair. His damp, calloused fingers were rough, gripping and digging into the flesh of your hip as he continued to pound into you, whimpering as he hit the apex of his thrusts.

The sound of skin slapping skin mixed with your ragged moans, the street still empty but feeling dangerously exposed. It only made it hotter—the risk, the way his breath hitched every time you clenched around him.

He indulged in the sight before him, taking in the way you involuntarily drove your hips back to meet him halfway. He saw—no, felt—the desperation and need in the way you fucked him right back, bending and curving your body to make him reach deeper, closer. Watching himself disappear inside you with every stroke and thrust of his pelvis made him groan, almost whimper, as he felt the ache within you coming to fruition. The sensation of you gripping around his cock, as if to milk him dry, from his base rolling all the way to his tip, forced his bottom lip between his teeth.

Jake released your locks from his grasp—placing both hands on either side of your hips with bruising force—to direct his focus on tearing into you, so deliciously deep that you’d do whatever he’d ask of you. He worked the soft flesh of your ass, using the demanding press of his thumbs to spread you, allowing himself to fuck into you deeper. He hissed, desperate fervor apparent as you pulled him in, forcing him to bottom out against your cervix.

“You like taking me, baby?” he asked, to which you could only whimper in response.

Jake removed one hand from your hip, raising it before striking down on your ass, causing you to clench around him again. He slid his hand, calloused and cold, up the small of your back and towards the nape of your neck. Jake leaned in, pressing his hips impossibly deep against your womb, maneuvering his hand around to your mouth, putting one thumb behind your bottom row of teeth to pull your head back, forcing an agonizing—yet pleasuring—arch in your spine.

“Answer me,” he growled, anticipating more than a lame whimper this time.

“I’m—”

“Use your words.”

“—Close,” you panted, the coil in your stomach tightening. “Jake, I’m—”

He swore, his thrusts turning erratic. “Come for me,” he demanded. “Let me feel it.”

His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles just as he angled his hips to hit that spot inside you. The roughness of his fingers stroked and pressed against you—pace and force increasing—filling you with intensely growing tension. Your vision whited out as you shattered, his name a broken cry on your lips, twitching around him as to coax him into following suit. He followed right after, burying himself deep with a groan, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he spilled inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your heavy breathing, the weight of him pressed against your back. Then Jake pulled out with a satisfied sigh, careful to not make too much of a mess, before turning you to face him. His smirk was downright smug.

“So,” he said, thumb brushing your swollen lips. “We good on that debt?”

You shoved him weakly, but you were already reaching for your belt. “One time thing,” you reminded him.

Jake’s fingers traced the curve of your hip, his touch possessive even now. His smirk deepened as he watched you fumble with your belt, his gaze dark with amusement and something far hungrier.

“One time thing,” he repeated, voice rough, dragging his knuckles down your stomach, “if you say so.”

The bank’s notice was glaringly clear: Final Warning – Repossession Authorized.

You sighed, crumpling the paper in your fist. Jake fucking Sim. Of course he hadn’t paid. Of course they were sending you back.

The memory of last month—his hands, his mouth, the way he’d bent you over the hood of his goddamn Focus—flashed hot behind your eyelids. You’d told yourself it was a one-time thing. A mistake. But the way your pulse kicked up as you pulled onto his street said otherwise.

His car was parked in the same spot, gleaming under the dim streetlight like a taunt. You killed the engine, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles ached. Professional. Just do your job.

And professional you were, working swiftly in the quiet veil of the unassuming evening. Just procedure, you thought, everything’s normal this time.

You were halfway through hooking the tow when his accented, familiar voice cut through the dark.

“Back so soon, sweetheart?”

Jake leaned against the porch railing, shirtless this time, sweatpants hanging low on his hips once again, teasing you with a peek of his adonis belt. Even in the shadows, you could see the smirk.

“You’re three months behind,” you snapped, refusing to let your eyes drop lower than his collarbone another time. “Bank wants the car. Again.”

He pushed off the railing, strolling toward you like he had all the time in the world. “Funny. I was just thinking about you.”

Your breath hitched as he stepped into your space, the heat of him searing even through the night air. Jake’s mere presence reignited the pit of fire in your core, his stare scorchingly intimidating. His fingers brushed yours where they still clutched the tow chain.

“You gonna take what’s mine again?” His voice was gravel, rough enough to make your thighs press together, seeking pressure.

“Car’s not yours,” you responded, trembling and nervous from being in this familiar setting with a familiar face once more.

Jake progressed in your direction, closing in on you. “Are you here just to take from me, or?”

“Or what?”

“...Or you wanna negotiate?”

You swallowed hard. “There’s nothing to negotiate.”

Jake’s laugh was dark. “Bullshit.”

Then his hands were on your waist, spinning you until your back hit the car’s door, a familiar ache following. His mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and tongue, his hips pinning you in place. You gasped, fingers twisting in his hair as he bit your lip hard enough to sting.

“You give in so easy,” he said, breathless between hungry kisses, “I like that.” His body was hot, the slight sheen of sweat glistening under the dim streetlight. He was close enough to press against you, the sensation of his sticky skin against yours breaking any remaining composure or dignity you had remaining. His appetite for you was evident in the way he possessively held your waist, bringing your body closer to his as if to claim you as his.

“Missed this,” he growled against your mouth, one hand sliding down to hike your leg over his hip. “Missed how fucking desperate you get for me.”

You should’ve shoved him off. Should’ve just towed the car and left. But his palm was already cupping you through your pants, his thumb pressing just there, and—

“Fuck,” you whimpered, arching into his touch.

Jake chuckled, low and wicked. “That’s the plan.”

Before you could protest, he dropped to his knees, reminding you that you couldn’t even if you wanted to. Your breath caught as his fingers first hooked into your belt loops, forcing you closer to him with nearly enough strength to rip them off. He unhooked his fingers to close the gap by swiftly reaching for the waistband of your pants, yanking them down with your panties in one rough pull. The night air kissed your bare skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his breath between your legs.

“Jake—!”

His tongue dragged through your folds, slow and filthy, and your head thudded back against the car. His eyes were shut, brows knitted together as if to keep his composure—which was the last thing that could be true of him at that moment. He groaned like he was the one getting off, his hands selfishly gripping your thighs to keep you open as he licked into you like a man starving.

“Taste even better than I remembered,” he muttered, before sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking.

Your knees buckled. His arm hooked around your hips, holding you up as he devoured you, his tongue circling, flicking, driving you toward the edge with ruthless precision. Jake traced his tongue around your clit, pressure firm and unrelenting. His kisses to your core had intent, greedy as if he’s been without you for years.

Your taste on his tongue was intoxicating, driving him further into madness as he delved deeper into you, devouring you in every sense of the word. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, drunken in the flavor of you. Relishing every ounce of stress and frustration—most of which was his fault—made him wish you’d have a shitty day everyday, just so he can taste it on you. Jake held you closer, squeezing you to bring you closer to his face, to taste your sweat.

You tugged at his hair, torn between pushing him away and grinding into his face. Every pull of his locks elicited a whimper from him, prompting him to nearly give himself lockjaw with the way he ravaged you. The sight was deliciously alluring, Jake’s face buried between your thighs, his mouth latched on your core as he pushed against the force of you pulling his hair. His brows stayed furrowed, twitching as his cheeks hollowed before diving back into you, more desperate and frenzied every time.

“Gonna come already?” he taunted, pulling back just enough to watch you squirm. “That all you got?”

An aching moan—no words—is all you mustered as his nose rubbed against your clit again, allowing you to grind against him as he fervently made a mess of you. The auditory blend of lewd squelches, Jake’s whimpers, your gasps, and his mouth against your cunt was impossibly perverse, lust permeating every stroke of his tongue. You could hear your wetness by the lewd sounds coming from him, lapping, sucking, at your core with both desperation and control.

You whimpered, hips jerking. “Jake—”

Jake’s attention wavered for a second, taking in how pretty you looked with his mouth on you. He pulled back again, paying special attention to the way your mouth hung open and eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of his mouth. With a smirk, he heard you whine at the sudden absence of his mouth, he took special care to support and stabilize you against the car. He pried your thighs open, savoring your amazed gasp, as he spit on your cunt, diving back into your core to indulge in—to taste—the sin he loved so much.

His tongue was inside you, curling just right, making you involuntarily gasp in reaction. The sight was obscene—pornographic, even—as he mouth-fucked you so deep that you could see stars. Dazed with pleasure, you shattered with a cry, your fingers fisting in his hair as pleasure ripped through you. He didn’t let up, licking you through it until you were shaking, oversensitive and gasping.

Only then did he pull away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood. His smirk was downright sinful.

“Now,” he said, crowding you against the car again, his erection pressing into your stomach, “you wanna talk about that payment plan, or is the third time the charm?”

You were fucked. In every sense of the word.

(And you definitely weren’t towing his car tonight.)

#enhypen smut #jake sim smut #jake smut #sim jaeyun smut #enhypen x reader #jake x reader

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