#sort of implied cheating?

[maigetheplatypus57]

I'm a "ckristin is cwil's mom" believer at heart but there is something outrageously funny about the headcanon where the samsung smart fridge is actually c!sam (named sam ✅, electronic appliance✅, history with cphil ✅).

Like just the fucking implication that among sam's other crimes, such as chopping off his boyfriend's arm, cheating death, and being a cop his ass just does Not pay child support 💀

[spring-lxcked]

was going through my wishlist tag and saw my post abt william and henry watching each other get married and oh i have a mighty need. william as henry's best man but he's so thinly veiled bitchy about everything

[beyondtheshelvesweknow]

Our hero ❤

Cheating!Steve x reader, Bucky x reader

Oh look, more cheating Steve with sweetheart Bucky to save us

A/N: Last year someone asked me for some mad angsty fic and I posted and deleted it so quick because it was god awful. Just awful. However, I had kept a draft of it cause even though I hated it and everything about it, I didn't want it gone forever. Upon rereading it recently...I kinda like it. So I decided to change some stuff (like most of the entire plot), switch around characters (I'm a Bucky girl) and repost. If you want to see the OG fic, I can post it again or just edit this to add it under the new version

Steve couldn't stand seeing you like this. In the hospital room, the needles prodding you, it all reminds him of hydra and the things he had seen on numerous missions. When you almost die, he's thrown back into the spiral where he has no hope for a future. And nothing changes after you get better. You had almost died once. Missions were getting riskier and you weren't always in the clear. In his mind, everything good in his life leaves him or gets ripped away eventually. Peggy was a prime example of that. It's just a matter of time.

Even in your injured state, your attention was all on Steve. You knew how much he hated seeing you hurt. It sent him into a dark place few people had witnessed. As soon as your eyes fluttered open, your tired eyes met his red rimmed, puffy ones. For days, every time you try to bring him back to you, he has his walls built up again.

He won't let himself love you more.

He drinks.

He drinks enough to get drunk. It takes bottle after bottles but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about anything any more. So much so, he decides to seek the warmth of someone else.

Because you almost left him.

You could die so easily.

You almost did.

Nothing matters any more. His moans of pleasure are empty but he's wrapped around her none the less. He doesn't stop until his body can't move, too exhausted to even think about guilt.

-

You have it all planned out. You were finally released from the hospital and the first thing you wanted to do was spend time with Steve. The team had left the compound so you could set up a movie night for you and the captain, you don't want to let him slip from your grasp, not after all you'd been through together. You didn't go through hell and back to lose him like this. You fought for your life to pull through.

There are snacks laid out on the table, a movie pulled up, some hot chocolate made just for you and him. You shuffle nervously, your heart beating erratically. You didn't spend 4 years with him just for this to end because you nearly died. No. He was worth the fight. His cold demeanor was not towards you but towards the fear of losing you. And that fear was from love. Love you both shared deeply for each other.

You knew he got back from the bar late; if he was too drunk then you'd help him to his room and talk to him in the morning. It was a new habit of his but you understood.

Except he never came. He always made it home. Not tonight.

Steve stumbled in the next morning, rubbing his eyes, seeing a small sleeping form on the sofa, snacks and some drinks laid out in the living room. He swallowed thickly when he sees you get up from the couch wearing one of his hold hoodies, making your way towards him.

"Steve?"

You have a soft smile on your face, but it drops when you get a closer look at him. Tears prickle at your eyes when you see the way his neck is littered in bruises, his skin still flushed. He can't look you in the eyes, not after what he'd just done.

"I-

You freeze before him, you don't want to ask. You don't want to know. The broken expression his face is enough for you. You wordlessly leave the living room, locking yourself in, giving FRIDAY instructions to make sure no one can enter.

"Did you talk to y/n" Bucky asks excitedly when he sees Steve sitting in the living room. He knows how excited you were about the movie night, spending days planning every last detail. His excitement drops when he sees the food untouched and you're nowhere to be seen. "Where is she?"

Steve remains silent, staring at his hands. The rest of the team enter the living room, hoping to find you both curled on the couch, but no. Nat's eyes narrow when she sees the hickeys on Steve's neck but something tells her they're not from you, you've never marked him like that before, you've always been so gentle with him.

"How could you?" She hissed, while the rest of the team look at her in confusion. It doesn't take long for them to piece things together. And it's a mess.

You come down to the living room, both Sam and Tony holding Bucky down on the couch while he glares at Steve, his hands still in fists. They all turn towards you with broken eyes, this is not what they ever wanted for you. The second he sees you, he breaks down. You're numb to his cries, his pleas.

He finds you leaving the compound at 1:00 AM from where he's still seated on the couch, something you'd never done before.

"Baby? Where are you going"

You ignore him, making your way to the garage. You were never able to sleep since and staying in bed only left you alone with your thoughts.

"I-I need some space. Don't worry about where I'm going"

"Y/n, please, just let me explain"

"No"

"I made a mistake, I-

"I don't care. I just want need some air"

"Promise me you'll come back?"

You shake your head, you can't even look at Steve. You scoff, shoving past him, not caring when he hisses in pain. His cheek is bruised, spots of dark purple and blue bloom around his eye and you'd seen Nat icing Bucky's hand earlier.

"Y/n, please angel, I-I just want to talk, just promise me you'll come back?"

"I promise" You reluctantly mumble, hopping on your motor bike and speeding off before Steve can call after you again.

You loved him so much.

You fought so hard to pull through for him, you heard every word he'd said to you when you were unconscious.

Tears clouded your vision.

It all happens too fast for you to comprehend.

The car doesn't see you.

The bend is sharp.

You bike is sent over the edge.

Darkness.

-

It's been a week.

You still haven't woken up.

It's all his fault. It doesn't matter that the driver was intoxicated. It didn't matter that it was dark out. You wouldn't have left the compound if he hadn't done what he did and it eats him alive.

He's not met with any sympathy.

No one bats an eye at his tears or sobs, too concerned about your well being to go and comfort him. Like clock work, every member of the team visits on rotation since they can't all be there at once. however Bucky is exempt from all hospital rules with one brooding, grumpy stare.

Bucky is by your side every single day. He doesn't say anything when Steve grips your hand, praying for you to wake up, silently praying himself while your heart monitor continues to beep. Steve refuses to move from your side but he's not given much of a choice when Fury summons him personally for someone mission related.

He's only gone for a few hours but that's when you finally stir. Bucky is on his feet instantly, paging for the doctor while stroking your hair.

"Hey pretty girl" Bucky whispers when your eyes finally focus, the knuckles of his metal hand gently caressing your cheek. The cool sensation helps you feel more alert. You smile seeing his baby blue eyes, feeling safe as he talks to you softly.

-

Everything hits Steve all at once. He didn't just betray you. He betrayed the team. His bestfriend. Himself. All the people who had faith in him to make the right choice, to do the right thing, to protect them. And he threw it away. Everyone waited a month for you to fully recover before throwing a welcome back party so you'd actually be able to enjoy it. Steve looked back longingly at the happy group gathered together in the living room, more emotions hitting him again.

He was happy you were alive. His sweet, sweet girl pulled through. H

He was envious of the love everyone was sharing, one he wasn't privy to anymore. He was invited, he was still apart of the team after all but he knew it wasn't his place.

He was jealous.

Jealous of the way you melted into Bucky's side. Longing to feel that warmth that he used to feel himself. Bucky had his arm around your waist, keeping you tucked right by him, taking care of you long after you were discharged. He wasn't going to stop any time soon.

There was something between you two, everyone could sense it. The soft gazes at each other and innocent kisses. Bucky wouldn't let a day go by without pressing his lips to your cheek, your nose, your forehead, the top of your head. He needed you to know you were loved and cared for. He stuck to his guns, claiming his actions were purely platonic but the pink blush on his cheeks proved that he was a bald faced liar.

-

Steve knows theres no one to blame but himself. He sighs and swallows the lump in his throat as you stand on your tiptoes to kiss the brunette, sealing you both together forever. He's always thought it would be the two of you standing together at the alter but how things had changed. The cheers of the crowd are a dull buzz to him. He watches Bucky swoop in for another kiss, this time dipping you and capturing your lips sweetly.

"I love you Mrs. Barnes"

"I love you more, Mr. Barnes"

Your happy, love struck giggles cause the first tear to fall.

He does his best to smile when you both walk by, flashes of what your wedding would have looked like. The white dress. The veil. The flowers.

if only he never-

But it was too late.

[sheila--e]

I h8 fusheila I hope Sheila cheats on fugo with a woman.

[yeyinde]

my body sleeps on your boredom

SUGAR DADDY!PRICE X READER

18+ | sugar daddy/baby relationship. age gap. (implied) mafia au. dom!Price. (slight) dubcon breeding. breeding kink one so insane you can hear Mormons applauding in the distance. contraceptive control. implied financial control. rough sex. infidelity*. dad!John Price. cheating (not between reader and John). Old Money Rich.

What you have with Price is entirely transactional.

His job—the nuances of which he keeps out of the bedroom, the bed—eats up the bulk of his time, and you—pretty little tchotchke that warms his sheets, keeping him cradled between soft thighs, head nestled on the enticing swell of your chest (weary heads and all, you suppose); a homecoming he can sink his stress into—lap up the scraps.

It's an arrangement that works for both of you, really.

Your rent is paid. Closet bursting with clothing. Always tripping over more shoes than you know what to do with. Food in the fridge. Financial worries are swallowed down quickly when they arise (along with a whiskey-tinged glob of spit when he grips your throat and tells you to open wide). He takes care of you. And you—

You take care of him, too.

a simple creature, really: he just wants dinner on the table when he comes over (home), a pretty thing to stare at while he eats, humming around a mouthful as you prattle on about your day (non-negotiable—his appetite is archaic, oppressive: the man grunts around a piece of meat his woman cooked for him as her bare feet slide teasingly up and down his leg, and she fills the stifling silence with inane chatter), and at the end of the obligatory meal, he gets to vent his frustrations out on the wet, warm embrace of your cunt as it squeezes his bare cock (also non-negotiable).

It's an effortless synchronicity.

When you need money, you send a picture of yourself in lingerie he bought above a coy pretty please, daddy to soften the grump up, and after a few exchanges of him lamenting the unnecessary purchase (a part of you, wishful, idealistic, clings to the idea that maybe he just wants an excuse to talk to you, to let you lap at more of his time than think he can afford to give), he relents. The money is sent to your account. You walk out of the department store with an ache in your belly that no amount of expensive wine or truffle could ever hope of filling and bags dangling on the crook of your finger, and he gets to thicken in his trousers over the idea of spending his money on a pretty little thing he can bury his cock inside of whenever the mood strikes. A patriarchal sort of preening. Masculine ego stroke. The role of a dutiful provider all wrapped up nice under the hum of ownership, sex.

(Then he really gets his money's worth when he bends you over the settee. Bought and paid for.)

And you're fine with it. It works. It makes sense because this is the only way that the two of you, together, do.

He's older than you are (salt peppers his hairline; wisps of smoke slither out of the tips of wry, umbre curls. No laugh lines, but his eyes crinkle when he smiles). He has a career. A good one. The second bottle of Violet Sapphire he bought on a whim for you after you whined about running out of the first (a gift—sales lady said you'd like it, sweetheart) isn't cheap. Neither are the handbags. The Tuscan leather shoes. The teardrop pearls. A good man, too. Upstanding citizen, and all that—

(the thin line of pale, creamy skin against ripened peach: a married man. a crayon shoved in the pocket of his trousers: a father.

blood under his nails. ghosts in his eyes. the smell of gunfire and madness clinging to his skin: a monster, too.)

—and you barely finished community college. Scraped by with a degree you're almost entirely certain he paid for, too. But you get to float around a meaningless job doing empty, vapid things to fill your days when he isn't around. 

(An ornament doesn't serve a purpose if it isn't being gawked at.)

An imbalance, you suppose. Or a ballad: the timeless tale of a stupid, greedy girl sinking her teeth into a grown man's wallet like a dog with a bone. In his hand, the leash. A tug. Be good.

And you are.

You let him slide inside of you as many times as he wants, and pretend the burnished seaglass staring down at you isn't filled with longing. Kneel on your satin cushion at his feet as he stretches out on his throne, and guides your pretty, empty head to his cock. Good girl.

Always.

Even when you shouldn't be. Even when he's gone for long periods of time. don't wait up, peppering the air as he goes. Nothing but an empty bed. Rumpled sheets. The scent of sex and tobacco. Leather and motor oil. Smoke. Sage and stale sweat on your pillowcase. An ache between your thighs. The tattoo of his teeth seared into your skin. An envelope full of cash (just in case). The card he left behind (anythin' you want).

Little tchotchke put back on the shelf. Tucked away so the reason for that pale strip of skin and the broken crayon in his pocket won't ever see you. A dirty secret. Another skeleton in an overstuffed closet.

Predictable, really.

You know your place in his world even if he doesn't say it.

(until he does—)

Just not in so many words—a paradox considering how much he loves to boss you around, growling commands under his breath (on your knees, open up, suck my cock, pretty girl, want me bad, mm, missed my cock inside your cunt, didn't you? show me how much)—in fact, they don't even come from him.

It comes from the pharmacist when you duck inside to pick up your prescription for birth control, and instead of handing it over, he just shakes his head.

"You don't have any refills for this month."

He's gone for two months.

MayoClinic warns that this is the estimated window needed for the hormones to dissolve from your system. The risk of a pregnancy after this, it reads, is likely.

You ponder that in a penthouse suite, sitting pretty amongst shredded wrapping paper. A Dior Turtleneck Sweater wrapped around your throat instead of his hands. An apology—according to the embroidered card, the tight, messy pen strokes mention something about an unexpected business trip.

The return address on the box is in Liverpool.

It's listed for sale on Zillow. The asking price is just over a million dollars. A family home on a vast plot, it reads. Six bedrooms—five in the main home and an additional inside a detached coach house. A gated driveway. A secluded courtyard with a suntrap. Something called a self-contained annex seems to be the main focal point of the sale. It has five reception rooms and a sprawling garden.

Perfect for a family, it adds.

You thumb the alpaca wool on your knit sweater, and wonder if this is the leash being cut—

Or pulled tighter.

He doesn't bring it up.

And so, neither do you.

It sits like an oafish, gaudy elephant in the background as he walks into the apartment, fingers digging into his tie. Ignored. Dismissed. He grunts when the knot loosens. Shoulders falling lax. Calmed without the clench of something around his neck.

You place his plate on the table when he wanders closer, offering one of those simpering 50s era housewife smiles when his big, bearish hand swallows up your waist. The scent of char and gunsmoke clings to his collar when he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple. Acrid. Metallic. Beneath it, you catch stale sweat. Animalic. Unwashed man, leather.

And nothing else.

There's old, greasy sweat on his nose. His hair is slicker than usual. Darker. Blood under his nails. Smoke between his teeth when he hums, offering a low, rasping missed you, sweetheart that scratches along your skin.

He didn't shower before he came to see you.

You hide the notion of it behind your teeth, letting it grace your smile with something that feels less plastic, rigid. More real. Artless. Clumsy. Like the dress he sent ahead of himself and the matching pair of designer heels that still sit inside their box. You'd never wear shoes in the house, but John Price isn't a man who does things in halves.

(a purse sits on the settee: a complete set.)

His eyes are dark—pelagic: the ocean at night; all dark, no stars, moonless—and when he looks at you (in the clothes he bought, in the penthouse he owns, cooking the dinner he wanted), something ripples across the surface. A frisson. Underwater quake. Deep and dark, and darkly possessive. Hungry. 

You like the look on him right now. Maybe even more than anything else he'd ever bought for you, done to you, because Price is, above all else, fundamentally human.

He has rules. Expectations. It's rare he's ever driven by instinct beyond anger—that thrilling thing you'd only ever glimpsed when he peeled back the curtain, tearing the skin he wore with you kneeling at his feet and growled into the phone at whoever stroke his ire. He's controlled chaos. Gruff and uncompromisable.

But the look on his face right now splits that staunch control down the middle until it falls, shattering into pieces at his feet.

He growls m’hungry, sweetheart, and you barely have a second to push the risotto aside before he lifts you onto the table, barely sparing a minute to swipe his hand across the surface, sending dishware and untouched food tumbling to the ground with that same little growl he gave to the man on the phone who disturbed him from the comfort of keeping his cock warmed on your tongue all day long. 

You're laid over the jacket he'd thrown down—rich with gunsmoke, tobacco, and something sharp and metallic—legs squeezed together, ankles tossed over his right shoulder.

It's messy. Artless. All animal despite the cocoon of finery bracketed around you.

Plates shake from the jarring force of his thrusts. Cups tip, spilling your glass of Roumier across the table. Something shatters when it hits the ground. But he doesn't stop. Doesn't even notice the chaos happening around him—as if the world ceases to exist beyond the sight of you taking his cock like a good girl. Spread out for his leisure. His pleasure.

He certainly looks like a hellish king as he stands above you. Towering. Terrifying. One hand wrapped around your throat, keeping you still as he slides his gaze from the tilt of your thighs to the tears puddling in the corner of your eyes as he stretches you open with the thick of him. The other looped under your knees, holding firm. Fingers digging into your flesh. Tight. Rutting like a beast.

There's sweat on his brow. His chest heaves. The hand around your throat slides down your collarbones in a damp spill of heat that makes your toes curl above his shoulder. Rough. Sticky with sweat. With you from when he pried your cunt open on three thick, scarred fingers, grunting at the sloppy mess he found between your thighs. Always so fuckin' wet for him.

It wasn't enough, but you think he likes that. Indulges in something archaic, sinister, when he catches the wince on your face as his too-big cock notches against your too-tight hole. Forcing himself inside with a grunt that sometimes sounds like a laugh when you whimper. When you cry and claw at the sheets and beg for mercy—just a minute to adjust, a second to get used to the burning stretch. The poignant ache when he slides down to the root—so deep, you sometimes think you can taste him in your throat.

He gives no quarter then, and he doesn't now.

Price likes fucking you rough. Edging on painful, bordering on too much. It's the juxtaposition, you think, from the way he treats you like a spoiled little princess who has daddy wrapped around her finger to the dressed up little whore he lays out on a table, bends over a settee, and brands your throat with the clench of his paw as he pounds into you like a beast. A little mean, a little cruel—just enough to balance out the rasp in his voice when he hands you his credit card and says buy whatever you want, sweetheart.

(and miss you, sweetheart—when he's tired and alone and already four glasses of whiskey deep; voice ground down to ash from the cigars he burned through. As soft as a man like him could ever get. Can't stop thinkin' about you, sweetheart. Need to see you, sweetheart. Need your pussy. Your cunt. Your mouth. That tight little ass. Want to fuck your throat until you can't speak for days, sweetheart.

(Want to push m'self so deep inside of you that you forget yourself, love. Forget who you are without my cock inside of you. Can't—can't live without me—)

Ash and soot. The next morning, another ten grand sits in your account. A knife slides cleanly, neatly, into your guts when the accompanying text says for listenin' to the nonsense of a drunk old man. don't take it to heart.)

Balance, maybe.

the thin strip of skin on his finger. the broken crayon in his pocket.

Maybe tonight was supposed to be the end. A clean break.

It makes you wonder if she found out about the tchotchke he keeps in his closet. The pretty little thing he begs to stay when he's drunk and alone, and then rips into pieces the next morning when money is promptly deposited into your account. A cruel-edged don't forget yourself, sweetheart.

But he's snarling as he peaks, grunting above you as sweat drips down his brow, heaving. Panting. Lips twisted up into a snarl. Eyes furious. Mad. His hand is a brand over your mound, possessive as he holds you in his palm, feels the way his cock splits you apart. Owned.

Bought and paid for.

Another grunt, and his thumb dips down to rub at your clit, barking at you to come—come on my cock, sweetheart, need to feel it—until you howl, clenching up so tight around him that it rips a molten, liquid purr from his chest. A throaty moan that breaks you into pieces. Tears the veneer of flesh and bone from your consciousness until your body liquifies, spilling out over the table, mingling with the Chambolle Musigny Amoureuses soaking into your back. Wrapped tight around him, as he batters into you without any finesse. Clumsy ruts. Sloppy. Animal. And then—

His cock swells. Throbs.

Over the roar in your ears, you hear him groan low in his throat, deep and brutal; the rumbling of a well-fed bear burying its dinner in the dirt. It sounds like mine now. Like ain't you, mm, sweetheart? gonna keep you nice and full. got all those rooms to fill, don't we—

wishful thinking.

But he comes inside of you. Bare. Raw. Your hands untangle from around his wrist, palm still wrapped around your throat, and drop down to your belly.

Price sees it and groans—

"that's it, sweetheart—"

(ain't gonna be empty for long.)

He's always had this little fantasy of knocking you up.

Used to growl in your ear about how badly he wanted to see you swell with his babies. Little broodmare he'd keep chained to his bed like a queen. Giving him five sons and five daughters because he could never seem to make up his mind on what he wanted—only that it was a lot.

(An improbable thing, really—he might yank on the leash, but you easily talked him down to four; two boys and two girls.)

He comes back (home) some days with fire in his eyes and sets on you like a man possessed, starved. Smothering you into the mattress with the thick of his body, grunting into your ear about knocking you up. Getting you fat and needy with his babies until you forget what it felt like not to be nursing, to be pregnant.

A terrifying concept. Something that made you rush a little faster to pick up your contraceptives, comparing the pill in your palm to pictures online just to make sure they were the same. And maybe at some point, it just became a game.

He'd press you into sheets and fuck you all day long, making you keep count. Each time he came inside of you was another baby to this empty house. A crazy thing, really. Midlife crisis, perhaps.

But you indulged.

Let him press his hairy, thick chest against yours as he folded your knees up to your ears and pounded inside of your aching, messy cunt, gasping out a tally into his sweat-slicked jaw. Laughed as he kept your legs bent and your hips tilted up, eyes riveted to the split of your sore, aching cunt. Growling an awful amalgamation of primal, masculine satisfaction at the sight of him spilling out of you and in anger at the fuckin' waste.

("gonna plug you up next time," he seethed, two fingers buried inside your bruised hole to stem the flood. "Wastin' it all, sweetheart.")

But that was before.

When he'd shower before he came to see you. Sometimes waiting days after he landed before he was back in your bed, grunting around the idea of another trip you wanted him to take you on, pretending to think about it despite the tickets to Egypt already booked. When he'd play house with you. I Love Lucy on the television, dinner in the oven. His hand curled over your nape as you bobbed your head up and down his cock. A dutiful wife taking care of her overworked husband.

Making babies in the dead of night. When he'd grunt say it, sweetheart into your ear, and you'd beg him to give you another one. Tears in your eyes, lachrymal, as you tried to convince your husband that the baby you put to bed in the empty room needs a sibling.

His hand on the leash, but your voice in his ear—paper soft—pleading don't make our child grow up as an only child, John.

(two weeks in Portofino booked. First class. Luxury resort. A Wolf & Badger swimsuit laying on your bed, one with a gold zipper on the front that he wears out by the sixth day and has to run to town to buy you a new one.)

But that was before. When it was just a rich, dangerous man's fantasy. When you had birth control to keep the unrepentant baby fever he had just a dream. Never a possibility. Never a reality.

MayoClinic says the possibility of conception is high.

The period tracker you glimpse on his phone one evening warns that you have two days before it comes.

When you swallow around the idea of it, half dizzy, half sick (six bedrooms), he rests his hand over your nape, tugging on the leash. His eyes are dark again. Midnight blue, almost black. Hadal.

He keeps them fixed on you. A ravenous black hole. Calmly closing the app as if nothing was wrong, as if he didn’t have your cycle locked into his phone. Rough, calloused thumb brushing over the soft patch of skin beneath your ear. Steady and soothing. Like calming a skittish mare. 

Unflinching. Unbothered. Entirely unconcerned when he kicks his foot over the line of what's expected, what you want, and fucks you again that night, bare. Raw. Groaning when he comes. Huffing into your ear about how he'll take such good care of you—both of you.

And when he tucks a pillow under your hips, you drag your hand down to your wet, swollen cunt in a clumsy, enticing attempt to keep him inside of you until he fills the empty space with the thick split of his scarred knuckles.

A performance, you think, when he groans like you gutted him. Bought and paid for. 

That's all this is.

But he doesn’t book a trip for this performance.

And he's gone when you wake (business, he says, in a messily scrawled note left on the end table), but there's a gift bag on the dining room table, sitting next to the stain you left when he pulled out of you. Dried come. Slick. Tinged slightly pink because he was rough with you last night. Hurried. 

The black box inside is an apology for hurting you even though you know he likes it when his come is a little pink as it leaks out of you. When you wince when you sit, and have to press a icepack against your sore, swollen cunt.

(it doesn't surprise you to find a pack already left out for you. coffee in a pot. breakfast warm on the stove.)

But the next thing he left is the real gift.

Divorce papers—already signed by him, the gold band he never let you see on top—sits on a stamped envelope, awaiting another signature. It just has to be mailed out. When you sift through them, the cause for the divorce is irreconcilable differences.

Balm to the shame is the little fact that he hasn't lived with his wife for the last year. The date of separation coincides neatly with that drunken phone call when he told you he wanted to bury himself so deep inside of you that you couldn't breathe without him saying you could. 

Domineering. Grossly possessive. 

He has you already, but that's not enough. 

It'll never be enough.

("wanna—mm, wanna give you everything, sweetheart. and I want everything, too. every part of you. wanna change your fuckin' name to mine—")

You tap your nail against the page labeled custody agreement, not even a little surprised that this docket has everything outlined, itemised. The table of contents says you'll find the prenup on page fifty-six and the proposed split of assets on page sixty-seven. It's thorough and every bit as intimidating and uncompromising as the man is wont to be. 

He's serious.

And John wants his kid. Non-negotiable.

That, too, doesn't really surprise you. Even when you were playing house, he'd always been a rather doting father—

("I don't want them to just have a sibling," he'd growl, firm and immutable, adding (intractable as always): "I want them to have a fuckin' team.”)

The address he gives for his primary residence, however, does give you pause. Liverpool. Chestnut Avenue, Moor Park. Six bedrooms. A guesthouse. 

The envelope is filled out, too. All it needs is to be tucked inside and mailed out. 

Already separated, his lawyer says, neat and tidy, like everything else in the pages. This was the most inevitable course of action, and my client, John Price, is ready to move on with his new life. 

Ready to move on. You scrape your tongue against your teeth, hand settling over your belly as you think about that. It's just—

He's always been a rather obstinate man. Stubborn. Once he gets his head around an idea, very little can change his mind. You'd seen it countless times before, but never this cold. Callous. 

Dismissive. 

Not to you, anyway. Not that you can remember. It's always been silk sheets, gifts from stores that would deny you entrance based on your credit score alone. A new wardrobe. A new place to stay. And that's—

That's kind of odd, you think. Maybe. 

He cut your lease the day after you dragged him home from the bar, back when he was just a bad choice after a terrible night out. Had the locks changed. A new lease in your hands—in his name—and a key under the mat beside a housewarming gift. An expensive espresso machine that would be a little too bourgeois in Starbucks. A penthouse that overlooks the ocean. Members only. 

There's a valet. A gym. A swimming pool. He joked one night that you'd feel right at home with the sauna it housed. Jus’ like a lodge, mm. 

You're not sure how he knew. It's one of those things that he just does. Like your name. The real one you grew up hearing before you moved to the city and changed it to fit in. How many siblings you have. Your parents. Their birthdays. A gift always sent out in your name, arriving just on time. 

All of your old things were donated. You didn't need them anymore—not when he ordered a whole new wardrobe from Loro Piana for you. Handed you his card and told you to fill the house up with whatever would make you happy. 

(Fitting, you suppose, since you barely have to think about anything except how to make him happy.)

He turned in your resignation less than three hours after you fell asleep on your lumpy mattress, worn out after a night of drinking. A night of him. More animal than man. Too tired to kick him out before you passed out under the weight of him still burying you into the mattress, hips flexing as he fucked you again for the third time. 

(the fourth, fifth while you were still sleeping. waking up to the sixth: him inside of you, a slow grind as he rocks in and out; he's bigger than you. too big. with your thighs wrapped snug around his hips, the top of your head barely clips the ledge of his shoulder. he wrapped an arm around your upper back, the other reaching out, gripping the pillows above you. panting into the thick bed of curls covering his chest as he threads his hand over your crown and presses you tighter against him. groaning into your ear. ducking his head down to rasp out how badly he wants to feel your messy little pussy squeeze him tight—

before he leaves, he hooks two thick fingers inside, and fucks his come into you. makes you come on his cum-soaked fingers before he wanders off with a small smile, the scent of tobacco and sex pungent in the air.)

And the ring—

You thought he never wore it because of some misguided sense of propriety. Decorum. The Madonna—a thin strip of pale skin, waterlilies and cashmere, a crayon in his pocket; tabloids dressing her up as a modern day Diana; a divot between his brow that grows and grows and—

and the Whore—

A penthouse. Dior sunglasses. Cucinelli heels. Colombo jackets. Loro Piana outfits that cost more than your parents make in a year. His credit cards left on your bedside table. Trips in a snap of a finger. Luxury a phone call away. 

(his voice pitched low. a smoldering rasp. stay, sweetheart, don't go. don't leave—)

—the divot melting into a brooding, heated stare. Desire drenched across his brow; want so thick, so palpable, you can feel his need throbbing between your legs. Dissolving into ash after, when he loops an arm under your body, cradling you close to his sweat-slicked chest as he leans against the headboard, smoking a cigar. Basking in the scent of sex. Satiety. Your finger curling around a thick whorl of damp, coarse hair. Content. 

It’s selfishness. Teeth digging into the man, refusing to let go. But beyond that, you know you’re good for him. 

Better for him, you think, and jog the papers on the table, right above that ugly little stain, to neaten up the pile. 

It takes five minutes to slip them inside the sleeve, peel the adhesive off of the sticky tab, and walk them down to the mailbox just outside of the lobby. Five minutes to initiate a divorce. 

If you had any qualms about falling into bed with a married man—not that he really gave you much room to think about it since he never showed up with his ring, just the mark of her around his neck like a noose; a constant guessing game—it’s put to rest when the metal flap snaps shut. 

Shame feels like an elephant. Something in the background. Ignorable. 

And besides—

(you place your hand over your belly and hum)

—you have other things to think about, to worry over, than a crumbling marriage.

He must have gotten the notice that you mailed the documents because a text comes later that night. Simple. Succinct. 

Good girl. 

The elephant slinks away into the moonless night as you pull open the catalogue of engagement rings he left on his bedside table, and circle a few that catch your eye. 

All of them sapphire. The same blue as the broken crayon in his pocket.

(The period tracker on his phone chimes a few weeks later.

You don't even bother peeking over his shoulder to know you're late.

You have more things to worry about, after all. Like moving to Liverpool next week when his divorce is finalised, and planning a wedding for the spring.)

[trainer-from-unova]

a second

Ⓢ english ao3 Ⓢ spanish ao3 Ⓢ masterlist Ⓢ

ship: the void x afab!reader (x robert reynolds)

summary: void started feeling something about you, and when he discovered that bob was your boyfriend he felt frustrated. wanting to live what he lived every day he convinced you that kissing him or having sex with him wasn't being unfaithful since they both share the same body.

au: bob and void are a system

c/w: post-canon, feelings realization and denial, love confession if you squint but void's very bad at feelings, background relationship with bob, implied cheating but I'm not sure about that, teasing, noncon/dubcon rough kissing, consensual rough sex, piv sex, masturbation, fingerfucking, biting, multiple orgasm, no protection

a/n: this starts like my drabble "muscle memory" but obviously it's longer, more spicy and ends very different / english isn't my first language / edited version after watching the movie: Ⓢ

word count: 3622

Everything can change in a second, including him. As a system, one personality may not remember the experiences of the other, but the muscle memory remained. On the few occasions that Void was present he couldn't help but turn his neck in the direction ______ was facing, fix his eyes on her, prick up his ears when he heard her voice, and even feel the urge to take her hand. To make matters worse she was often in his mind, and he didn't know if they were memories that weren't his own or if it was his imagination, which, for some reason, designed all sorts of scenarios with her. Those were things, or rather according to him, distractions that got on his nerves. He wanted to believe that it was more Bob's fault than his, so when he had the chance, on one of the occasions when he had control of his body, he went to ______ to question her.

When the young woman opened the door to her bedroom after hearing a knock on it, she smiled when she saw who it was, although when she saw his serious expression, it was quickly erased.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I'm Void," he informed her just in case, and she nodded, "Can I have a word?"

"Yeah, come in," she said stepping aside to let him in. As she closed the door behind him he looked around her bedroom, and noticed a cork mural on one of the walls, which had pictures with several of the so-called "Thunderbolts" and other friends, but mostly with Bob, with both of them grinning from ear to ear or pouting; selfies taken by them or full body shots taken by others, in different locations and wearing clothes from different climates. "What do you want to talk about?" she asked, snapping him out of his thoughts and making him turn to look at her, who was approaching him slowly, at the same pace as he was.

"I see flashes... of you, in all situations," and if the young woman was already confused and interested in his presence in the body and in her bedroom, with that sentence the confusion and interest increased. "I don't know if they are memories of Bob or if it's my imagination playing tricks on me. I want to know if what I feel is mine or his."

"...What do you feel?" she asked intrigued, leaning closer to him.

"Weakness," he answered quickly and without any hesitation, very sure of himself as usual. She looked at him in surprise and confusion, though she tried to be discreet and didn't realise that her breathing was hitching with nerves; Void already make her nervous, not because she was particularly afraid of him but for Bob's mental well-being, and this strange conversation wasn't helping. "I feel... a certain favouritism towards you, which distracts me when it shouldn't. Has he said anything to you about it?"

"Um- yeah, well," she said with a shy smile. "We've been dating for a while."

"...Oh."

He understood everything now, including the pictures on the corkboard, but he didn't understand the frustration he felt inside him. He didn't understand what she saw in Bob because, although he hadn't met him (for obvious reasons), it was clear to him that he was better than him or anyone else in every way. It wasn't love, it couldn't be — that word had no meaning for him, and he didn't see himself capable of falling in love with a human, even if she wasn't very normal and ordinary. He could only make sense of what he felt and the fact that he found her physically attractive with one explication.

"I suppose Bob's love for me is contagious," she said trying to hide the smile that formed on her lips.

"What you call love is just a chemical reaction I feel since I have a human body, since I share a body with him," he said, not very pleased with that fact, but unable to stop his eyes from scanning her up and down, from her lips to her breasts as he felt his body heat up, and she realised, "It's just the instinct to preserve the species," and she simply rolled her eyes at such a scientific and unromantic response, but he saw the perfect opportunity to bring up one of the memories he had, and perhaps it would lead him to be able to create a similar one of his own. "Yeah, that's what I remember," he said smiling sideways as he stood dangerously close to her and her face — she didn't flinch, she was used to being so close to him, even if it was someone else, "you rolling your eyes, naked while screaming my name... God," he said almost in a whisper as he slowly approached her lips.

For a second she thought about letting him do what he intended to do, and for a second he almost succeeded — but she averted her gaze and ducked, subtly avoiding him. He froze, processing what had just happened since he wasn't expecting it, while the other one stepped back a little and realised something.

"Well, I think you're..." she sighed deeply and took a quick glance at his crotch, "having a chemical reaction to preserve the species inside your trousers," she said trying to sound as serious as possible, but at the same time the situation was so surreal that she couldn't help but want to laugh.

He lowered his gaze to look at his crotch, though he didn't really need to, because he could feel it, and it frustrated him. It also frustrated him that he felt that his hands and her hips, like their lips, were magnets, but that she didn't want to bring them together — not if it wasn't Bob, apparently.

"Just one kiss," he said trying not to sound too desperate or pathetic, let alone intimidating. "Please," he said approaching her again, taking her hands in his.

"Bob and I have never discussed whether having a relationship with you would count as infidelity..." she said worriedly as she subtly shook her head. And it wasn't that she didn't want to ask, as she was curious about the answer, but she never asked him, as Bob hated to remember the existence of Void.

"Of course it wouldn't be, we have the same body," he said with the same gesture, trying to convince her with his confidence and calm tone. "Besides, he doesn't have to know," he said as he moved closer to her face again, placing his dominant hand on her cheek and behind her neck to lift her face, "nor will he be able to," he said before finally merging their lips and wrapping his other hand around her waist.

She tensed as she felt his lips on hers, but was there anything she could do to resist? He was Void, he was stronger than her — but he had the same body as Bob and kissed just like him. She let him do it, and surprisingly, it felt as good as if he were her boyfriend, causing her to inadvertently put her hands on his shoulders. When they parted they looked at each other's lips and then into each other's eyes — he looked at her hungrily, and she looked at him confused by what she had felt, and uncertain whether to continue.

"I don't think we should," she said, "this is wrong."

"Then why did it feel so right? And why are you still in my arms?" he asked smiling sideways, mischievously. "I can offer something different as well as similar," he said stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She, still hesitant, remained silent and thoughtful as she averted her gaze. He looked at her eyes and then her lips, and from her lips to her eyes, again and again. When he grew impatient he approached her lips again, but this one pulled back again and looked him earnestly and steadily in the eyes at last.

"...Say it," she said unable to keep her eyes from wandering to his lips for a second, but quickly returned to his eyes. He pulled back a little as his smile faded. Now it was he who looked serious and thoughtful, and she knew he knew what she meant. "Why so serious?" she asked tilting her head and the smile forming on her lips, looking for their eyes to meet again and enjoying the fact that she was now the one teasing him. "It's just a shorter way of saying what you've said before," she said as he put his hand from her cheek to her waist.

"I just want to have sex with you," he said wearily.

"Three words, honey," she said as she shook her head, "Even if it's a lie, just say it and I'm yours for a while. This is a barter, it works like this."

"I love you," he said defeated.

"See?" she asked teasingly. "It wasn't that hard."

Wanting to silence her and feel her closer again he moved closer to merge their lips again, and this kiss was better than the last one for she was ready for it.

When they broke apart for lack of air he raised his hand in the direction of the door to bolt it shut like a jedi (or rather, sith), not wanting any interruptions from the others in the house.

The clothes were a nuisance he wanted to get rid of violently. He would have been able to tear the fabrics of her clothes with his bare hands had she not stepped forward and begun to undress. He was in the greatest hurry to undress, and his eyes again scanned her body from top to bottom. Quickly the clothes ended up on the floor, making a path to the bed.

"Look at you... So hungry for sex, so human," she said still with her tone and smirk, already lying on the bed as he climbed over her like a predator over its prey. He was looking at her like one, like a victorious hunter, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't like being looked at in that way — Bob had never looked at her like that before.

"I'm going to prove to you that there's nothing human in me."

Part of her wanted to ask him why a "God" like him needed so badly to prove to a human like her that he was also a God in bed if he supposedly didn't love her and it was just a chemical reaction he wanted to soothe and satisfy, but she assumed correctly that he wouldn't like to be questioned on that score and let him do it.

He leaned over her, and she could feel his erect member brushing against her. Now he wanted to scan her with his sense of touch, so he touched and squeezed with his hands wherever he wanted to touch as she spread her legs and rested her hands on his shoulders.

His face hid in her neck, which he bit and sucked. Then Void's lips descended to her breasts, where he intended to do the same and more. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried away as she felt one of his hands grasp one of them tightly as she felt his teeth bite and stretch the nipple of the other. He wanted to devour her and mark her. He wanted to leave something of his own in her, and hopefully the next time Bob got his hands on her he would realise it wasn't him that did it, making him feel more insecure, sad and angry and thus having an easy opportunity to have dominance over the body and repeat what he was doing again.

When he came back up to her face he kissed her again quickly and intensely, and she was about to discover another difference between him and Bob: he got straight to the point and Bob took his time. He was devouring her mouth with such a relentlessness that it seemed he was actually hungry, wanting to satisfy his appetite with a good piece of meat. Her hands slid from his shoulders to the nape of his neck, slipping the hollows of her fingers through his locks of long hair as he thrust his tongue inside her, eliciting subtle moans from both of them as their tongues made contact.

He wanted to indulge his most primal instincts once and for all, and at this point it was almost a physiological need, but he took pity on her and decided to touch her, to make her enjoy it more and prepare her for what was next. Also, deep down, he wanted to do what Bob was lucky enough to be able to do whenever he wanted.

He settled in on her right and she closed her eyes as Void's dominant hand began to slide too low, seeking her warmth and wetness. His index and middle fingers just stroked over her folds, marvelling for a few seconds at the wetness of anticipation as she felt his erect member against her right thigh and a teasing smile against her neck.

"You're so wet," he said in her ear as he caressed her.

"It's not personal," she said, not wanting it to go to his head. He couldn't help snorting through his nose — to be honest he liked her sense of humour.

Void slid his fingers up to the top of her vaginal lips to caress her clit with an almost unique energy and enthusiasm, without warning and making her moan and writhe instantly. Luckily for both of them the walls of the base were soundproof, and probably by muscle memory he knew exactly where to touch. And even as she tried to move her hips to seek even more stimulation (or maybe try to pull away because it was too much pleasure) his other hand clamped tighter on her, preventing her from being able to move any further. She was a mess who only knew how to moan and talk nonsense, but she really wanted to avoid giving him the satisfaction of hearing the word "God" from her lips, even if she didn't say it in reference to him — he was already getting too much satisfaction out of seeing her in this state because of him.

When she noticed him stop masturbating her there, just as she was on the verge of orgasm, she noticed him slide his fingers back into her vaginal lips, and his fingers made their way inside her as well without warning. She wrapped her arms around his head, moaning at the intrusion. He was merciful only at first, as he pushed them in. Then he began to move them in a steady rhythm, causing the wetness inside her to be heard. When her orgasm came he couldn't help but form a smile of mischievous pride.

Void tried to search inside his mind for any shred of patience or sanity he had left, but he found none of that inside him — he was only burning with the energy of a million suns. He withdrew his fingers to finally massage his member a little, preparing to finally enter — this time the way he really wanted to. As he positioned himself between her legs and almost without thinking (out of habit) she tried to bring her hand towards the member pointing at her like an arrow, but before she could even brush against it he filled the void inside her, ignoring any cordiality but fitting perfectly like two pieces of a puzzle. She tried to stifle a great moan as she felt him fully inside her.

His gaze remained fixed on her face as he thrust his member in and out of her — his long, tousled hair falling across his forehead and eyes, his mouth letting out light moans and his breath hitching. Void's hands stayed on her hips, pulling her closer to him as he increased the intensity of his thrusts even more. Quickly the bed frame began to make its own sound, with a very faint metallic squeak and small knocks against the wall that grew louder as he leaned and settled over her. His hands went to her legs, forcing them behind his back, and she too went back to hugging his head and clutching at his hair.

"Say it," he said in his typical deep voice in her ear.

"God," she cried in his. That reminder of what he was was music to his ears, but more than a God he was an animal — a wild dog in heat.

Quickly her mind began to feel increasingly foggy, beginning to feel a great warmth inside her lower abdomen along with the wet sounds of their private parts colliding. She knew she was about to cum, and when she did, he, far from stopping, kept going. Deep down she was willing him not to stop — she begged him, not only with her eyes, but also in words mixed with whimpers. At that moment she was out of her mind, unable to think clearly.

Thanks to his supernatural strength he was able to have a lot of stamina, but the accelerated pace soon took its toll in the sense that he was about to cum too. He didn't want to, he wanted to hold on as long as he could inside her — her insides were still so tight, wet and warm that all he wanted to do was keep going and not stop for a second. He thrust deeper than he should have, stealing her breath for a second, and then he cum inside her, stopping short as he filled her and sighed deeply.

He pulled out and dropped down on top of her, but he didn't have a second to relax, as she pushed him off of her and moved to the side, seemingly annoyed. He knew it couldn't be because he had cum inside her, as he knew it didn't matter to her as there was no risk of getting pregnant.

"No aftercare?" he asked confused and slightly annoyed as he watched her reach over to the bedside table next to her, taking a half-empty packet of tissues between her fingers.

"Do you mind?" she asked now, annoyed and slightly confused as she got out of bed.

"I just told you that I love you!" he reminded her indignantly as he pointed with his arm to the spot where that had happened, where they were standing before, because he did want to do that — he wanted to relax and have her hold him after what they'd done, after what they'd been through.

"Didn't you just want to fuck?" She asked as she bent down and picked up his clothes from the floor to throw them on the bed, letting him know that she wanted him to get up and get out of there as soon as possible.

"I made you cum twice, you have my cum-" he said pointing to her crotch where it was starting to come out, and she grabbed a tissue from the small plastic packet to quickly wipe it off.

"Bob make me cum more and cums at the same time as me," she reported casually and without even looking at him as she threw the handkerchief into a small bin she had lying around.

Where was the passive girl from before, who begged him in every possible way not to leave her side? It seemed that now she was the one who had changed her personality, wasn't he the only system in that house? He didn't understand her — first she refused to kiss him, then she asked him to tell her he loved her, then they fucked, and finally this. Was this how unpredictable and unstable he and Bob were perceived?

"Didn't this mean anything to you?" he asked as he watched her hurry back and forth, picking up her old clothes and grabbing new ones from the wardrobe.

"Did it for you?" she asked stopping short to look at him seriously as she raised an eyebrow.

"...No," he replied, or rather, reminded himself as he got out of bed.

"Hurry up," she said annoyed pointing to the bedroom door with her head, indicating that she wanted him to leave as soon as possible, "and leave Bob alone," she added quickly, and even though she was the weaker of the two, it sounded like a threat.

She would admit that Void did well and had a good time humiliating him for acting like a human (or rather a dog in heat), including when he said "Please" when he asked her for a kiss, when he sort of confessed and when she coaxed the "I love you" that didn't really mean anything to her. Besides, she would never forget the hungry look in his eyes as he watched her, but if she agreed it was because he had the same body as her boyfriend — he kissed with the same lips and after a kiss she couldn't refuse to go on, going for more. But the one she loved was Bob, the shy and respectful boy who looked at her as if she was the Goddess there, who took all the time in the world to caress and kiss her between all kinds of compliments and "I love you"s that really moved her and she responded. And Void, although he didn't understand it, knew it. For a second he forgot that she wasn't really his. He may have felt favouritism for her, but she felt favouritism for Bob. He knew she wasn't lying when she said it wasn't personal. And unlike this one, he was truly alone.

© trainer-from-unova / alicent burton | don’t plagiarise or translate any of my work

[chuluoyi]

only if you are up for a challenge. Naoya Zenin x f!reader in which he got her pregnant, then she left out of fear and he found her again and won't let her go :)))

when you loved me

- zen'in naoya x reader

you loved him... but you have had enough of the shit you've experienced—his arrogance, horrible family and another woman—and decided to leave him for the sake of yourself and your child

genre/warnings: angst to comfort, implied cheating, most likely ooc, honestly i almost made it a vs naoya fic with no consolation, happy ending aka naoya is decent

note: this ask... has been collecting dust in my askbox for about SIX MONTHS HAHAH, so sorry anon. i'll just leave it here and let it burn however just bc i don’t want to delete what i’ve written :’)

general masterlist

"How... how could you?"

Once, you thought, you were in love with Zen'in Naoya.

Well, you couldn't deny that he had personality flaws, but deep down, at one point in your life, you still believed that he too loved you.

You stared at him through tears brimming in your eyes, and he was just there, looking at the little being in your arms with a mix of shock and... something else you couldn't name. Dismay? Disappointment? Black rage?

"Go away, Naoya," you declared through your gritted teeth, pulling the baby in your arms even closer to you, as though fearing he might do something drastic. No way in hell would you let him after what he made you go through.

His eyes twitched as he tried to hold himself back from losing it. He took a few deep breathes in order to stay composed.

“Y/N, answer me,” he growled, still with the same condescending tone you remembered nine months ago, when you resolutely decided to leave him. “Is that baby mine?”

This was absolute madness. You had driven him insane. Naoya was certain he would go feral on you after you boldly left him without a trace, and when he found you, you were cradling this baby in your arms—which he was absolutely sure, enough to bet on his life, that the little thing was also his.

The woman he loves has given birth to his child.

You had imagined all sort of scenarios in which this very event would occur. This was one of them actually.

“No,” you firmly replied, gaze hardening. “Not yours. So kindly let yourself out of my house, Naoya.”

“Absolute bullshit!” he shouted and you flinched. His sudden rise of voice also woke the poor baby in your arms.

His heart hammered inside his chest. There were many things that made a mess of his head. You running away from him. The nights of madness he went through, wondering where you were and if you were alright. And now, the fact you had his baby without him ever knowing.

“Where were you? Why did you leave— you were having my—”

Fuck, he didn’t even know if he had a son or daughter.

You tried to console your child, now tears also streaming down your cheeks too. But it was more of frustration and anger rather than fear. “Can you blame me? Zen’in Naoya, you have made my life hell!”

“Hell?” It felt like an total insult to his pride. “How—!”

“You!” you screamed at his face. “I’ve had enough of your shit! And not to mention your father—that horrible drunkard who always looks down on me and treats me as if I were some gold digger! And also the whole of your goddamn, entitled clan—they always harass me right in front of my face!”

All of this stunned him on this place. Truth to be told, he knew a little to nothing at all about what his kin had done to you.

“I don’t need your family’s wealth! I can live on my own just fine even with your bastard!” Your tirade still hadn’t ended, but you had to put your baby on her cot first and dismiss her ever growing cries because you were tired of all of this. This life. This absolute nightmare that was caused by one fatal mistake of falling in love with Zen’in Naoya.

“But what the fuck? You’re asking why I left? How dare you ask me that after what you did!”

“What did I even do?!” His denial made a blood vessel about to burst inside your brain. “You never fucking told me what my father did! If only you did, I would have—”

“Look, you don’t even acknowledge it!” You were so tired of this. You wished you could die and just end all of this mental suffering. Why did this have to happen to you out of a billion people out there?

And yet, still, ultimately, you were happy with him. Those memories of the two of you together, just idyllically spending time together, or sometimes even playfully clashing opinions— to you, they were irreplaceable.

So, that's why...

Your heart shattered at the screeching cries of your baby. But you had to slam this in Naoya’s face.

“That was the last straw—seeing you with that fucking woman, you insufferable, demented, cheating bastard!”

That string of profanities you screamed at his face made Naoya finally lost it, as he gripped you tightly and his eyes flared with pure white-hot anger. “Say that again—say that again, you—!”

A toe-curling scream ripped out of your baby and you wrenched yourself out of his grasp through sheer will. Naoya was left reeling as he watched your horrified expression, as you plucked the baby into your arms again.

“Shh, shh,” you shushed your child amidst your own quivering lips. “Mama is here… Don’t cry…”

Right at that moment, it was as if something had pierced his chest and left a gaping hole. He really had a living baby. That baby was crying because of him.

The sting of the anger was still there, but now guilt started to overpower it as he regained his cool somewhat. “Is that a—” his breath hitched. He had to know. At the very, very least he had to know.

You didn’t immediately answer. You were still absolutely heartbroken by how it all turned out. But above all else, you could no longer deny him of his own child.

“A girl,” you sniffled.

A daughter. A daughter— in the one split second after knowing that, Naoya made the quickest decision of his life.

“Come back. Live with me,” he said, resolute. “You’re the mother of my child—I won’t let anyone lay their hand on you again. You have my word.”

Women are pain in the ass. That was what he used to think. Until you. Not when it's you. It astounded even himself how the sight of you like this was enough to drive knives into his chest.

“Look, that’s not it,” your tears were now falling free and fast, unable to hold it back longer. “How can you ask me that—when you went behind my back with another woman? Naoya, I love you—loved you. But isn’t this too cruel? How can you do this to me?”

“What woman are you talking about?” He tried to compose himself, but your accusation of him with someone whose existence he didn’t even know was getting in his nerves. “I have never been unfaithful to you! I know we don't always agree to things, but do you really think that low of me?”

“Evidently, I saw you with her. Your father made it a point that she’s your next plaything—or possibly even, fiancée!”

There was a memory that sprung into his head when you mentioned that. He recalled that vain, stupid woman, and he definitely remembered telling his father that he refused her. It wasn’t long before you disappeared.

Now everything clicked.

“Listen to me,” Naoya started, jaw clenching. “Whatever my father told you—those are all lies. I turned her down right there and then. I wouldn’t do that to you. You know that. You should have known that.”

Sobs wrecked your body and soul at this point. You knew where your place was. Zen’in Naoya was a man outside your league, his family made it so clear to you that you were nothing but dirt in their eyes. And perhaps that was why, back then, you chose to protect yourself and left him, believing he was capable of that too.

And now before you, you could see the man you loved once again.

“Come back to me.” His gaze burned you. “This time, for sure, I won’t let anyone touch you— I won’t let them even say a word about you! I will marry you, and we will raise our daughter together.”

“I… I don’t want to live there, Naoya…” you sobbed. You hated that place. Like hell would you have your pride stomped and deceived again.

“Alright, if that’s what you want. We won’t live there. You won’t have to see any of their faces again.”

Gazing into your face, marked by trails of tears, he finally, finally felt his heart break. And he thought, that in front of him now was the only woman who could upturn his whole trajectory.

“Just… come back. To me. I will take care of you. I swear it.”

[captainjonnitkessler]

Here is what I have gathered about Severance from my dash:

It takes place in a world where you can make your worksona into a real guy who you can force to go to work for you while you take a little brain-nap

Milchik: NOT an anime girl as I originally presumed, but a middle manager of some sort. He's in charge of the worksonas but his bosses don't respect him. Possibly he's a villain but I have seen many gifs of him dancing to a marching band so I'm rooting for him nonetheless.

There's a Mark, Mark S, Mark Scout, Innie!Mark and Outie!Mark. I think these comprise between 1 and 3 people. I originally assumed Mark S was just another notation for Mark Scout but then I saw someone use them in a way that implied that they are different, so now who knows how many Marks there are.

One of the Marks, the worksona I think, is emotionally and/or physically cheating on his main personality's wife who is maybe dead but maybe she's back?

There are goats. The goats are very ominous. Also they are indoors for reasons that are unclear to me.

The company they work for is Lumon, who is maybe also a person but maybe only in a 'metaphor for corporate personhood' sense

Things I do not know about Severance:

What are any of these people's actual jobs

What the hell was the marching band for

[rhiannonsknife]

Okay hopefully this one will go through lol

But imagine mean Jackie is at a sex store with Jeff. Maybe they’re looking for vibrators or something, Jackie desperately wanting to have some sort of orgasm when they have sex so she suggests that. Then you walk in all alone. You both make eye contact but you’re the first one to look away. She watches you walk over to the strap-ons and is immediately intrigued but also insanely jealous. I mean who would you even use it with? So after a restless night she goes back the next day to purchase one. She doesn’t tell you about it the next few times you hook up, keeping it locked away secretly in her closet. Not until she sees you talking to Shauna and clearly flirting (you weren’t she just gets jealous easily) she invites you over, Jeff is at some thing with his friends and her parents are out for the night. When you get there you notice the energy is different. Jackie seems cold which isn’t abnormal so to say but there’s a hint of aggression with it. As you start fucking her she stops you and you thinks she’s gonna kick you out but instead she makes your dream come true and fucks you into oblivion with her brand new strap.

I feel like I should sign off with an emoji but I’m not sure which one to choose so would it be okay if you picked one for me?

── TAKE ME LIKE YOU DO IN YOUR DREAMS

— summary: secretly hooking up with jackie taylor.

— warnings: nsfw content. mdni. internalized homophobia. cheating. fem!reader. jackie is a lesbian in denial (but what else is new?). masterlist.

jackie taylor does not belong in a place like this.

she tells herself that at least six times before she even steps inside, and then again once she does.

her posture is tense, arms hugged tight to her chest, and she swears that once they have what they need, she’ll walk out of here and never think about this again. not once, not ever.

from the second they step through the door, her discomfort is obvious.

she’d already made jeff drive at least five towns over. at this point, they might as well have crossed state lines, all to make sure they wouldn’t run into anyone they knew. so no one would catch her vibrator shopping on a random saturday afternoon like she was…some kind of person who did that, someone who needed to.

which she doesn’t.

it’s ironic, a childish assumption that there’s anything inherently wrong with this, yet jackie can’t help it. not when shame is all she’s ever been taught.

not that her mother would ever call it that, nor that mrs. taylor would ever sit jackie down and have a talk about vibrators or the sex shop five towns over. that would imply too much familiarity with the subject. no, what jackie was given wasn’t a conversation, it was an awareness.

an awareness of her body. of other people’s gazes. of what she should want, and what she definitely shouldn’t. an awareness of every precaution she needed to take if she wanted to end up in a good place. with a good husband, a good home, a good life.

it wasn’t shame, it was ‘protection’.

it was her mother’s hand tightening around hers whenever they passed a lingerie store at the mall, how she would pull jackie’s gaze forward, chin lifted high in silent disapproval, scoffing at how desperate some people were to sell sex.

jackie learned to be aware of her body before she even understood what it was for, to cross her legs properly, to never give the wrong impression.

which is why, even now, standing in a store that’s brightly lit and weirdly sterile, with neat rows of toys and magazines and shelves she refuses to look at too closely, her skin still crawls.

jackie doesn’t know what’s worse, the fact that she’s desperate enough to even suggest this or the fact that jeff jumped at the idea: she’d barely gotten the words out before he was nodding, leading her toward the car like this was just another errand to check off the list.

now, as he browses the shelves beside her, looking over vibrators with all the excitement of someone picking out a new gadget at the mall, jackie feels a suffocating pressure settle all over her.

she wants to scream. or vanish. or, at the very least, stop remembering every time they’ve had sex lately and how increasingly detached she’s felt from her own body.

it’s not bad, technically. jeff is sweet enough when he tries. something is just missing, something important that jackie can’t quite figure out.

that’s the reason they’re even here: she’s starting to think she can’t keep faking it. maybe this will help. maybe if she doesn’t have to lie about it so much, she won’t dread it as much either.

“jax,” jeff calls out, holding up what looks like a sleek pink vibrator with an excited grin. “what about this one?”

she can barely look at it. “yeah. sure.”

jeff, oblivious as ever, nods and heads toward the checkout. jackie lingers in her aisle before following, gaze fixed straight ahead, careful not to stray toward the magazine rack near the register, where half-naked women stare back at her, glossy and posed and soft in a way that makes her feel hot and itchy and terrified.

she looks at the floor instead. this is fine. this is normal. she has a boyfriend. they’re buying something to improve their sex life. she should want this. she does want this.

and then, just when she thinks she’s in the clear and the worst is over, you walk in.

immediately, jackie freezes. all her mantras and attempts to at least appear calm and collected shatter altogether. whatever you’re doing out here, this far from wiskayok, and why you had to choose her sex shop, her day to be here and get whatever it is you need from this place are all questions that remain unanswered as your eyes meet across the room.

you don’t acknowledge her, which could be due to jackie’s countless reminders that “no one can know” but still stings, even if it’s her fault. you just move past her, unbothered, past the counter where jeff is now chatting with the cashier (thankfully with his back turned to you, because jackie would rather die than for him to recognize you), past the shelves full of things she refuses to look at, and head straight toward the back of the store.

and jackie, against her better judgment, watches you go, moving through the store with obvious familiarity. her skin prickles as her eyes trail over your body, at the marks she knows you’re hiding under the collar of your shirt.

jackie knows where you were last night and how you’ve gotten them. she remembers, to a point where she can practically hear it ringing in her ears, what you sounded like, what you felt like, what it was like to press her hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

the hickeys across the side of your neck, and all the way down your chest because she’s greedy, are jackie’s. the person you should be here with is jackie.

instead, you’re scanning the shelves on your own, fingers trailing over packaging, pausing in front of a display that makes jackie’s head spin as she scans whatever it is that has caught your attention in your corner of the store.

strap-ons.

her mind scrambles, tries to latch onto a rational thought. all she can think is: what would you even use that for? who would you use it with? and, worse, why does her brain conjure up the image of it strapped to her hips, of you sinking down on it, mouth open in a soundless gasp? jackie has to rub her thighs together right in the middle of the aisle.

“jackie?”

she whips toward jeff, pulse rabbiting. he’s still standing at the register, bag in hand, watching her expectantly. it takes a second for her to understand what it is that he’s looking forward to so much. “you coming?”

right, other people do enjoy jackie’s body. other people, just never herself, unless she’s with you.

jackie swallows hard. “yeah,” she says quickly, following him out of the store without looking back.

jackie lasts exactly one week before she finds herself back in that store.

to be fair, the vibrator does work, shockingly well, actually. when she’s alone.

it takes her a few nights to admit it, curled under the covers, sheets tangled around her legs, muffling every sound just in case. it’s not at all why she and jeff bought it, and certainly not what he expects her to use it for.

as far as jeff knows, the thing lives in a shoebox under her bed, only to be unearthed when he’s around and she needs a little extra help (a phrase she still hates) getting there.

not that jackie has ever gotten there with jeff to begin with.

in reality, she’s started looking forward to the nights when her parents go to bed early and jeff doesn’t linger with a hopeful smile and a hand on her thigh. nights when she can slip her bedroom door shut, dig the box out from beneath her bed, and finally, finally, let herself feel something that belongs only to her.

the first time, jackie hates herself for how easy it is.

with jeff, orgasms weren’t even on the table and with just her fingers, it always took forever. a slow, sometimes frustrating climb that relied more on fantasy than sensation.

with the vibrator? revolutionary, truly.

her mind wanders every time. not to jeff and his awkward fumbling with it when they’d tried it together, pressing in all the wrong places. to you and where you stood in the strap-on aisle, your fingers brushing over one of the boxes, tracing the picture like you were considering all the possibilities that came with it.

the thought is what sends her over the edge every time.

it’s also why, the longer the week drags on, the more restless jackie gets.

things still aren’t working with jeff, regardless of what they try to improve them. no matter how well-meaning he is, it doesn’t feel right. not how it does when she’s alone.

and surely, that has to be her fault. jackie should be trying harder, should be more relaxed. more open.

it’s hard to fake it when you’ve tasted the real thing, though, hard when jeff’s hand between her legs just feels like an interruption and his expectant voice in her ear (“is this good?” “are you close?”) sounds more like pressure than pleasure.

it’s not his fault, it’s only ever hers.

she can’t stop thinking about it: about you, about the aisle, about what you might be doing with it, who you might be doing it to.

and so, on a tuesday morning close enough to graduation that no one is gonna mind her absence, jackie fakes sick.

it’s easy to convince her mother: all it takes is an extra layer of blankets, a weak cough and a mumbled ‘i think i need to sleep this off’ when she peeks in before heading out for errands to convince mrs. taylor that attendance is impossible.

she waits a full thirty minutes after the door shuts before jackie finally throws the covers off, changes out of her pajamas, and grabs the keys to her car.

the fact that she’s skipping school for this only deepens the humiliation. it feels absurd, some personal failing jackie doesn’t have the words for. at least this time, she’s alone and allows herself to push those thoughts out of her mind until after she’s gotten it done.

get in, get out, and don’t make it a thing.

the store is empty when she pushes through the front door, which is, of course, the entire point of coming on a weekday morning.

the only one around is the cashier. it’s the same one from last time: a woman in her twenties with heavy eyeliner, a septum ring, and a magazine open in front of her who doesn’t look up when jackie walks past.

jackie moves quickly. she doesn’t let herself think, scans the aisle she’s been obsessing over for days and grabs the first strap-on that looks…acceptable. not too ridiculous. nothing hyper-realistic.

her palms are sweating as she carries the awkward weight of it through the store. once she makes it to the register, her heart is beating so fast she thinks she might pass out.

the cashier barely glances up as she rings jackie out, scanning the box with all the enthusiasm of someone who has done this a thousand times. “you want condoms with this?” she asks.

“what?”

“condoms,” the cashier repeats, popping her gum. “some people use them for easier cleanup”

jackie stares, mute.

that earns her a glance. the woman raises an eyebrow, finally looking at her properly. “first time?”

“no,” she blurts, which is considerably the worst answer. now she sounds like someone who has done this before. her cheeks burn ten times hotter, and she wants to sink into the floor.

the cashier hums, entirely unfazed. “cool. you want a bag?”

jackie nods. she barely waits for her change before grabbing the bag and bolting for the door.

the box swings against her leg as she rushes through the parking lot, and she’s never been more aware of how much noise a small plastic bag can make.

jackie yanks the car door open, flings herself into the driver’s seat, and slams it shut behind her.

all week, jackie thinks about the second box under her bed.

when she was younger, it used to be monsters hiding down there that kept her up at night, forcing her to sleep with a nightlight on. the nightlight, she still has. the monsters, however, have been replaced by not one, but two very real things. except they’re sex toys. and jackie knows she’s being ridiculous.

for someone with self proclaimed little secrets, she’s got two of the physical kind, hidden beneath her bed frame like some dirty little proof of everything jackie swears she isn’t. one that she’s used, one that she hasn’t. one that she never even meant to buy still sits in its packaging, unopened, untouched yet there.

it wouldn’t be so bad if she could stop thinking about it.

even worse is that she can’t stop noticing you, now more than ever.

it’s one thing when you’re with her, just another mistake she can ignore in the morning. at practice, though, when you’re laughing with the rest of the team, smiling like you don’t have a single fucking thing to be ashamed of, it makes jackie feel sick with irritation.

why is it that your world keeps spinning, just like that, even when you’re harboring the exact same secrets? how do you live with all that?

jackie is so far gone in her own head that coach scott pulls her aside as the others run laps. “you need to focus,” he says. “you’re almost out of here. but as long as you’re still wearing that captain’s band, you have to show up. lead.”

jqckie nods, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. he’s right. she knows he’s right. she shouldn't be this distracted, especially not over a sex toy under her bed.

back in the locker room, still stewing in the embarrassment of it all, she thinks the shame might settle in for good.

then you’re there. laughing.

you and shauna are posted up by your lockers like it’s any other afternoon. you’re leaned against the bench, head tilted toward her as she says something jackie can’t make out over the noise. whatever it is, it makes you grin, wide and easy like nothing is off at all.

all’s normal. stupidly normal.

when the room finally clears, and it’s just the two of you left, she realizes her hand is still gripping the edge of the bench, her knuckles white with it.

you’re halfway into your jacket, arms sliding into the sleeves, as jackie finally speaks: “do you wanna come over?”

mid-movement, your eyes flick up to her in the mirror. “what?”

jackie slams her locker shut with more force than necessary, the metal clanging loud enough to make you flinch. she hoists her bag onto her shoulder without looking at you.

“jeff’s out with his friends,” she explains. “and my parents are gone for the weekend.” jackie fully turns to look at you. “figured we could...hang out.”

your brows draw together, visibly thrown. “well, that’s a first” you huff, pulling your jacket in place. “are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

jackie’s grits her teeth. “do you want to come over or not?”

“yeah,” you say, grabbing your bag. “yeah, sure”

in the end, that’s what makes the two of you so alike: for all the lines you draw, all the justifications you make, neither of you stays away for long.

the front door has barely clicked shut before her mouth is on yours.

not that you’re surprised. jackie was the one who invited you over, and it’s always like this anyway: rushed, her hands already gripping your waist before you have time to speak, her lips claiming yours like she’s trying to swallow all the words you might’ve said.

you don’t mind. at least, that’s what you’ve been telling yourself. being jackie’s something is better than nothing.

even so, there’s a feeling you can’t shake. it starts as soon as you step inside and follows you up the stairs and into jackie’s room. her gaze never meets yours, and her hands, when she locks the door behind you, tremble.

you notice it even as your back meets the soft pillows on her bed, and her body presses down on you as jackie climbs on top.

jackie has never been as sure of herself as people might think, she simply knows how to fake it. a performance that's usually flawless seems to be cracking today.

the slide of her hands beneath your shirt pulls your attention back. her fingers move up your stomach, all the way until jackie’s palm is pressed to your breast, kneading softly. a sigh slips past your lips, unbidden and your hips lift, seeking friction, the pressure of her thigh between your legs enough to keep you chasing it.

you’re just starting to reach for her, fingers curling at the base of her neck, ready to tangle in her hair and pull her closer-

and then she stops.

you whine, breathless, trying to pull her back, as her hands fall from your body and her weight lifts off you. with your shirt still halfway pushed up your torso, you sit and watch jackie get to her feet, smoothing her hair back with both hands. “jackie?”

if this were about her not wanting to touch you, that would be something you could understand. it took her time to get comfortable being the one giving instead of just receiving, always insisting that as long as she wasn’t the one doing anything, it couldn’t be wrong. if she’d fallen back into that habit, it would be a sudden change, but one you could work with.

what doesn’t make sense is her endless silent treatment that stretches for days after each time you see her, and makes you wonder if you’ll ever hear from her again. it’s the emotional whiplash that leaves you reeling, not the physical pullback.

she still doesn’t speak. instead, she crosses to the foot of the bed, sinks to her knees, and starts reaching underneath.

“what are you doing?” you ask, scooting closer to watch.

no response.

a second later, jackie sits back on her heels, clutching something to her chest. it takes you a moment to register what you’re looking at, then you see the brand and the picture on the front. jackie, who’s still not speaking, shifts on her feet, her fingers curled so tensely around the edges that the cardboard bends.

“when- when did you get that?” you stammer.

“doesn’t matter,”

“do you even know how to use it?”

her head jerks up. “what kind of question is that?”

you hold up your hands. “i don’t know! i just-”

“i’ve seen jeff do it. it can’t be that hard if he figured it out.”

you gawk at her.

jackie groans and throws her head back. “you know what? forget it!” she mutters. “it was stupid, i don’t even know why- look, just forget i even-“

she moves to shove the box back under the bed, but you reach for her wrist before she can. “jackie,” you squeeze her. “it’s okay.”

she sighs, closing her eyes, her body relaxing under your touch. you take the box from her hands. “do you wanna…try it?”

jackie stays where she is, chewing her bottom lip raw.

“i can do it for you” you offer gently.

her eyes snap open, panicked. “no!”

you raise your eyebrows.

snatching the package from your hands, jackie clutches it as if you just threatened to take it away forever. “i mean-” she clears her throat, blinking rapidly. “no. i wanna- uh- i want to be the one to...put it on”

of all the things you’ve expected from jackie taylor, this wasn’t on the list. then again, you suppose it only makes sense, given her experiences with jeff. so, you nod. “okay.”

jackie eyes you, like she’s waiting for you to laugh or tease her, while you just offer a small smile. “let’s do it your way.”

she opens the box quickly, movements bordering on frantic, tearing through plastic and cardboard before she pulls the harness out and holds it awkwardly in both hands, flipping it back and forth.

“how the hell does this thing even-” jackie mumbles under her breath.

“here let me-”

“i got it,” she snaps, stepping back.

trying not to grin, you raise your hands in surrender. she huffs and glares down at the harness, fidgeting with the buckles. after another a minute of fumbling, stripping out of her pants and leaving her just in a lacy pair of panties, she finally gives up and thrusts it toward you. “fine. you do it.”

you smile, taking the harness. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“just- just shut up and help me!”

you kneel in front of her, the shift in position making jackie tense, like she’s only just realizing the implications of what she’s letting you do.

you don’t comment on it, your focus is on the harness, adjusting the straps, tightening the buckles, testing the give. the leather is still a little stiff from being new, but it’ll mold to her.

above you, jackie stands still while you tug the straps into place, fingers brushing against the smooth skin of her thighs.

“okay,” you say, giving the waistband one final pull. “step in.”

she hesitates, then does as you say, her movements awkward while she lifts one leg after the other. making quick work of it, you secure the straps around her hips to sit snug at her waist. once you’ve smoothed the last buckle into place, you glance up.

“comfortable?”

jackie swallows, nodding once. “yeah, i think so,”

the harness is a nice fit now, the leather settling against the soft fabric of her underwear. the only thing missing is…

you both look down at the same time.

the dildo still sits in the box.

out of the corner of your eye, you catch the flush spreading up to her ears.

“jesus,” she mutters under her breath, eyes darting everywhere but the smooth, silicone shape she picked out in a moment of jealousy and impulse.

“you, uh…wanna do the honors?”

“you do it already!”

carefully, you remove the toy from the packaging, holding it steady as you maneuver it into place. jackie watches with a mix of concentration and poorly concealed mortification as you make sure it sits properly like the rest of the harness.

when that is done, you sit back. “well?”

jackie looks down at herself. then at you. then back at herself.

“oh,” she says, voice a little higher than usual.

“oh?”

she shifts again, adjusting her stance to test how it feels. “it’s just…a lot”

“yeah. it usually is.”

“this is so fucking…stupid”

from below, you tilt your head. “is it?”

before blurting the agreement that already sits at the tip of her tongue, jackie hesitates.

earlier, it was awkward adjustments and stubborn determination. now she’s standing above you, a little embarrassed, but taller than she’s ever felt. and you’re still kneeling in front of her, hands resting on her hips. you haven’t let go.

the energy shifts, all the teasing fading. awareness settles in between you.

you don’t move. neither does she.

jackie’s pulse pounds against her throat, and you see the moment it hits her, the moment she realizes just how much this has changed things.

with a force that’ll later disgust her, she understands why jeff loves it when she does this for him. the view from above, with you at her feet, is one she’s already trying to commit to memory.

“h-holy shit-“ she croaks. her hand falls into your hair before she can gain enough self-control to hold herself together.

just when jackie thinks it couldn’t possibly get any better than this, you lean in and your lips brush the silicone.

it’s not real. she knows that. she knows she can’t feel your mouth on it, not in any physical way. the sight of you, though, the heat in your eyes, nearly doubles her over.

you close your lips around the tip, suck gently, and jackie forgets how to breathe.

this isn’t what it’s like with jeff. with him, she plays her part; responsive, sweet, makes the right noises and faces. she’s never been sure if it’s what she wants or just what she thinks she should want.

now, her mouth hangs open without her telling it to, and she doesn’t need to remind herself to make those gasping sounds. they come to her naturally, without even feeling the sucking of your lips and the press of your tongue against the base of the toy.

it’s strange, and new, and completely outside the lines she’s always drawn for herself.

jackie never thought she’d be in this position, not metaphorically and certainly not literally; however, now that she is, she’s realizing something else: she likes it.

she likes how you look kneeling for her, lips swollen, eyes wide, the faintest sheen of spit where your mouth are wrapped around her.

she never had this kind of power over anything. always someone’s daughter, someone’s girlfriend, someone’s idea of the good girl.

this? this is only hers.

the power of it makes jackie dizzy.

you must see it flicker across her face, the uncertainty laced under the awe, because you lean in and press a soft kiss just under the ridge. your tongue follows. “you’re doing fine,” you whisper. “you’re allowed to like this.”

her hands settle on your shoulders. “i don’t know what to do.”

“you don’t have to know. you just feel it.”

so she lets you take your time, lets you lead. with each slow bob of your head, each pass of your tongue along the shaft, that tension starts to ease from her posture. jackie’s hands slide back into your hair, and her breathing goes ragged.

by the time the full length glistens with your spit, she’s shaking all over.

her need rises beneath her careful touch, and she urges you back with a gentle pull at your scalp. when your mouth releases her with a wet pop, she lets out a sound that lands somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

jackie could arguably watch you suck her off for hours if you’d let her, but there’s something else she needs more than that, more than your mouth.

“come here,” she whispers.

immediately, you comply. as soon as you’re close enough, her hands find your waist and pull you in. you stumble a little and end up with your hands braced on her shoulders. jackie steadies you, her thumbs pressing against your hipbones.

as you lean in to kiss her, your breath mingles in the little space left between you.

the kiss is softer than either of you expected; a slow collision, so unlike all your previous encounters, less urgency, somehow.

it’s not just the nerves, it’s just new. new because of what’s between you, attached to jackie’s hips.

you shift against her and the silicone tip digs into your thigh. jackie makes a surprised sound. “this is…gonna take some adjusting,” you murmur against her kiss-swollen lips.

“yeah,” she agrees, nose brushing yours. you kiss the corner of her mouth and stumble toward the bed, neither of you quite sure how to move with this new thing between you.

she bumps her knee against the frame, and you both laugh, a tangle of limbs and awkward angles until your bodies slide together in a way that works.

there’s a pause. a breath. her hands on your waist, yours against her back.

and then jackie shifts beneath you, settling into the sheets, and it makes sense.

“okay,” she says softly and kisses you again. her hands travel up your sides, pausing at the hem of your shirt. a quick nod against her mouth is all the confirmation she needs to peel the fabric upward, knuckles skimming your ribs.

“can i-” she starts.

“yeah,” you breathe. “you can.”

she lifts it over your head. when it catches at your elbows, you help, and when it’s off, she just stares. reaching for her hand, you press it over your ribcage to let her feel your breath steadying there.

“see?” you whisper. “still me”

jackie’s thumb strokes over your skin in response, and her eyes meet yours. “you make this way too easy,”

“you make it way too complicated,” you counter gently, smiling. that earns you another kiss, deeper this time, a little more sure.

it has a tenderness to it that you once wished your first time had: jackie is looking at you like she’s never seen your body before and is only now realizing it’s yours, not something made available for her sake.

her hands trail over your bare skin, gradually revealing more of it as she strips you out of your pants and bra.

she doesn't seem uncertain of what she wants, but for once afraid of touching something she's not sure she deserves. that, in itself, is a kind of permission you didn’t expect to grant her, offering yourself up to someone who’s never been taught how to take. jackie is learning. she’s figuring it out, still trying to reconcile the softness of the moment with the hard weight strapped to her hips.

“i don’t wanna hurt you,” she admits.

“you won’t,” besides, she has done worse with the countless times she pushed you away and kicked you out. this can hardly hurt more than jackie’s rejection.

she lets her hand settle between your thighs, testing the distance with her fingers and feeling, with a sudden intake of breath, the wetness pooling there.

“jackie, it’s okay,” you shudder, feeling the slide of her digits through your folds.

the harness presses into her hips when she shifts between your legs, silicone nudging your thigh as she adjusts. her breathing is uneven all over again.

with a hand on her waist, you guide her, fingers anchoring her through the nerves to finally press forward.

jackie doesn’t thrust so much as ease, bit by bit, gathering arousal on the toy until she’s pushing in with all the caution she can muster, watching your face the whole time. when the tip slides inside, both of you stop.

you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as you adjust to the stretch.

jackie doesn't move. “are you sure this is…?”

you nod. “yeah.”

“okay.” she doesn’t sound convinced, but she’s trying. trying so hard not to let go too fast and become the thing she’s always been wary of. it’s strange how carefully she holds herself still once she’s inside you, so different from the jackie you thought you knew.

her hands are planted in the mattress next to your shoulders, attentively searching your face for signs she should stop or do something better.

you reach up and cup her cheek. “you’re- fuck- doing really good.”

without thinking, her hips push the strap all the way into you. between your bodies, your legs wind around her hips to pull her closer.

that undoes her a little.

jackie’s mouth parts, and she makes a sound you’ve never heard from her before. she presses forward again, a little deeper, her rhythm unsteady, but improving. the slide of her hips is still too careful, you can feel the tension in her, no longer nervous but restrained.

you whisper, voice low against her mouth, “you can move, jackie”

she swallows. “i don’t wanna, like…ruin it.”

“you won’t.” you kiss her. “i want this. i want you.” and, because you feel like you might actually lose it if she doesn't properly fuck you, you add: “fuck me, jackie”

when she braces herself to move again, it’s with the certainty you’d hoped for, followed by a proper thrust. your body welcomes the motion, your head tipping back with a low moan that you don’t bother holding back. it shatters whatever was left of jackie’s hesitation.

you're not only enduring it, she realizes, you're meeting her, body to body. your back arches, nails pressing into her skin, and your legs lock firmer around her waist to keep her near and buried to the hilt.

on every thrust, you pull her in closer, and every breathless sound you make is another piece of proof she didn’t even know she needed that she’s capable of giving something that feels good. you want this with her, and it’s written all over your body.

jackie’s motions grow more confidently, still learning the mechanics, yet no longer afraid to hurt you. she can hear how wet you are around the toy, and feels your walls tightening as if your cunt is trying to suck her in deeper.

she pulls back, thrusts in again, and you gasp her name into the hollow of her throat.

she’s fucking you slow and steady, your body rising from the sheets to meet hers, your hands running up her back and resting at her shoulders.

“god-” she whispers, breathless already, “you’re really into this.”

you laugh softly. “took you long enough to notice.”

jackie bites her lip, her pace picking up. she’s watching you closely, taking her cues from the little noise you makes when she hits just the right angle.

when you lean up and murmur against her mouth, “you can go harder,” she falters.

“are you- are you sure?”

“jackie-” you try to say flatly, though your breath hitches and the words morph into a gasp when her tip hits your g-spot from that angle again. “fuck me harder”

your moan vibrates through her in response to her allowing herself to let loose like you seemingly want her to. her hands grip your waist, her hips snap forward in slow, rolling waves, and you take her every time, eyes rolling back.

“yeah?” she murmurs, hypnotized by the sound of her name falling from your lips. “you like being fucked like this?”

the second it slips out, jackie instantly freezes. it hits her like a slap, his voice, not hers. that cadence, that phrasing. she can hear jeff in it, that cocky lilt he used every time he thought he was doing something impressive.

she cringes inwardly, lips pressing tight, momentum stuttering.

god, what was that?

she’s about to apologize, maybe even pull out, when she hears you. “fuck, jackie,” you breathe. “yes. i do. just like that, please-”

jackie blinks. you don’t look like you heard a recycled line from a man who never made her feel like she was worth saying it to. she said it, and even if it was clumsy, even if it came from somewhere borrowed, you still wanted it from her.

your hips lift to fuck yourself on the strap, encouraging her.

“yeah?” she asks. her voice lacks his arrogance now, only genuine curiosity remaining.

you nod. “say it again.”

she tries, “you like how deep i’m- i’m fucking you?"

your whole body tenses, and your answer comes in the form of a broken moan.

she moves again, snapping forward with purpose and you gasp with your head thrown back. “fuck- oh my god, jackie-”

jackie uses words again, this time her own. “you look so fucking good like this,” she pants, pushing slow and deep, grinding into you. “you’re taking me so well.”

you keen beneath her and the sound goes straight to her clit, where the harness is rubbing against her.

“god,” she groans, ducking her head down to kiss your neck. “you’re so hot when you’re like this. you- you feel so good.”

she doesn’t care that she can’t feel it the way jeff did. this is better anyway, and even though jackie wishes she could feel your cunt convulsing around her, the sight of you taking her makes up for the lack of physical sensation.

besides, she feels it everywhere else. if not with a real cock, there's still the press of your skin, the wet heat between your thighs that makes obscene sounds every time she bottoms out and how you pull her in with your legs and your hands and your voice. she feels it in how alive she is in this moment, how present, how impossibly wanted.

it’s not a performance anymore.

she can tell you’re getting close, body clinging to hers with every instinct trying to pull her in deeper, to have her somewhere she’s never reached before.

jackie knows what usually happens, how it goes when he is close. he gets louder, messier, and more possessive. he finishes fast, then detaches faster.

you’re nothing like that. your hands move over her arms, her back, pleasure depending on her.

you’re not quite there yet and she leans over you, arms braced beside your head, searching for that angle. you gasp when she finds it, ankles tightening around her waist.

“there?” jackie breathes.

you nod, speechless, and she repeats the motion.

and, because she knows that alone wouldn't be enough for her, one hand slips between your bodies. she finds your clit with ease, swollen and stiff underneath the pad of her index and middlefinger. the ragged moan it tears from you is something she’ll replay in her head for weeks.

jackie moves in circles, matching the rhythm of her thrusts. she kisses your cheek, your neck, your collarbone, breathing you in. “you can come,” she murmurs against your skin. “i’ve got you.”

your hips start to stutter, as if you were waiting for permission, gripping her like you’ll fall apart without her there. jackie doesn’t let up. she stays with you, moves with you, until...

“jackie!”

your whole body tenses, then trembles, muscles tightening, and jackie feels the moment you fall over the edge. your mouth parts in a silent cry and your cunt clenches around the strap.

she stills inside you, letting you ride it out, her fingers softening their rhythm until they’re barely brushing over you.

you’re boneless under her now, flushed and gasping and shaking faintly, and jackie can only stare.

you’re beautiful.

she did that.

your eyes flutter closed for a second, barely enough to recover. then, slowly, your body starts to move. you’re still breathing hard when you push yourself up on shaky elbows, trying to catch your breath as your gaze sweeps the room, landing on your shirt where it’s crumpled on the floor.

it shouldn’t surprise her, this is how it always goes. you hook up, and then she tells you to leave.

except that, this time, she didn’t say anything. she didn’t push you away, didn’t put her wall back up. yet here you are, pulling your shirt into your lap, preparing to go like you’ve already been dismissed.

what does that say about her?

“where are you going?”

you turn to look at her, shirt bunched between your fingers. “i thought-” you blink. “i mean, i figured you were gonna…you know?”

“kick you out?” jackie finishes. for the first time, she hates how bitter it sounds. she looks away, her hair falling into her face as she leans back. “my parents are out of town,” she reminds you after a beat. “gone for the weekend.”

“…okay?”

jackie shrugs a little harder. maybe if she moves enough, it’ll disguise the fact that she doesn’t know how to ask. “so. you can stay.”

it’s the best she can do.

you set your clothes down, then slowly reach for the blanket and pull it up over yourself again. you lie back without saying anything more, body settling into the mattress beside hers.

once jackie dares to glance over, you’re by her side, breathing beginning to even out. still close. still warm. still here.

her hand drifts to the space between you, fingers inching forward until her palm rests open on the mattress.

neither of you speaks. neither of you looks.

when your hand finds hers, your fingers brushing gently before lacing together, jackie doesn’t pull away.

[vividly-vermillion]

✴︎ KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT

જ⁀➴ Toji took a silly joke to heart which caused a fight to break out between the two of you. However, Toji would never apologize with words, he still uses his mouth to make sure that you know he's sorry though.

ﾉ including: Toji

ﾉ cw: fem!reader, couple fight, accusing Toji of cheating, oral (reader receiving), fingering, make up sex/oral, reader jokingly getting called "bunny" once

ﾉ wordcount: 1.7k

ﾉ info: request by the lovely @pricesprincess thank you again so much for this. I had a blast daydreaming about and writing this ♥️ | requests are open

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED (share your thoughts!)

At this point you deeply regretted making a petty joke while getting ready for your date with Toji, since it turned into a huge, unnecessary fight between the two of you. It really was a joke, all you said was that he should keep his eyes off of other women while he's out with you - not that he ever entertained any of them, but the both of you did look if a beautiful person walked past, simply because they were pretty, nothing more. Toji however, got defensive, as if you doubted his loyalty. At first you thought he meant it jokingly too, but the lack of a smirk or chuckle led you to believe otherwise. 

"I can stare at them all I want as long as I keep my hands to myself, what more do you want?" Those were the exact words he used while angrily pulling a fresh shirt over his head. 

Now you were sitting at the restaurant with him and you both were fed up with the other, while Toji made sure to look obnoxiously at every woman walking past the two of you in hopes of pissing you off to confirm your statement to live up to being the bad guy that was ruining it all.

If he wasn't busy ogling other women, you both simply glared at one another with anger and unspoken words. His jaw was tense and his teeth almost shattered under the pressure, while your gaze would explode him if it could. Neither of you wanted to admit you were in the wrong and Toji was old enough to see that he was sabotaging himself by trying to prove that he wasn't a good partner - which you didn't want to imply, simply because it was far from the truth. A harmless joke, that's all it was, but it must have struck a nerve.

The moment both your plates were empty, Toji called over the waiter to pay the bills, not bothering to ask if you wanted something to drink or a dessert perhaps - He was done with this dinner and by the looks of it, you wanted to leave too.

"What the fuck is your problem, Fushiguro?" You ask in a whispered hiss once the cool evening air hit you. 

"What the fuck my problem is?" Toji whipped around to look at you, full of anger, his sudden movement almost knocking you over. "I hate how fucking little you trust me," he continued and the way you used his last name to build some sort of distance struck yet another nerve.

"I don't even know what you want from me. I'm loyal. Fuck- I never even thought of another ever since you’re mine. Do you expect me to go through life with blinders? What is your deal?" He didn't mean to raise his voice, especially not in public, but he just couldn't hold it in anymore. 

A sigh escaped his lips when he turned around to walk towards the car, the last thing he wanted was to make a scene now in front of your favorite restaurant. It took you a few seconds to follow after him, fast and angry steps hunting his quick strut. 

"It was meant as a simple joke... Since when are you that fragile?" Your question sounded more accusatory than you meant it to and Toji laughed bitterly at your words. 

Yes, he was sleeping around  - fuck, you were also just a one night stand at some point, but one night turned into two and suddenly you had things in his apartment and eventually he couldn't imagine sleeping a single night without you in his arms. He knew that he wasn't necessarily loyal at the beginning of your... escapades, but you weren't a couple, never talked about going exclusive. That you were using this against him just hurt something deep down, because you made him the happiest he's been in quite some years. 

Silence fell between you both once again and the radio was playing softly in the back, occasionally interrupted by a commercial or the talking of the host. Your gaze fell out of the window, not looking at anything in particular as trees passed in a blur, your mind was racing with thoughts until the world outside came to a halt, slow at first and suddenly nothing moved anymore.

"Why are we stopping?" Your voice sounded meek when you were ripped out of your thoughts by the stop, surely he wouldn't kick you out of the car to let you walk home, right? Your foolish fear deepened however when he walked around the car to open your door.

"Stop it! I'm not getting out in the middle of nowhere! Toji-" You protested when Toji leaned into the car to unbuckle your seatbelt.

"You're ridiculous! You're a fucking-" Your sentence got interrupted when you bit yourself on the tongue by the sudden movement of the seat getting pushed all the way back, immediately followed by the backrest of the passenger seat dropping onto the backseat. Toji didn't care much about your protests, his expression staying cold and no explanation came from his mouth.

"TOJI...WHAT ARE YOU-" You raised your voice when he pushed you back onto the seat as he climbed into the front as well, the smallest smirk slowly forming on his lips before he leaned down to kiss you - gently at first, to test the waters. The kiss grew passionate the moment you kissed back, out of resignation or because you wanted to - he didn't care. 

"Making up. Apologizing, if you will," he mumbled against your lips when his huge frame slowly settled into the cramped foot space of the passenger seat.

His big hands slowly inched their way up on your exposed thighs, screw your past self for wearing a dress, you thought and stopped both of his hands once they traveled too far. You knew very well that Toji wasn't a guy for big apologies, rarely ever verbally apologizing, and you didn't want him to believe that this would do - at least not this fast. 

"No! You can't just... Toji, no!" You protested and you could feel how he immediately stopped pushing his hands further, respecting your protest, but the smirk on his face told you that he was far from done with this. 

His hands gently squeezed the flesh of your inner thighs, chuckling when he felt your muscles clench and tighten. He had you right where he wanted you - wrapped around his finger. 

"So you're telling me that I can't eat out my pretty little bunny?" You internally cringe at the nickname he had given you a long time ago solely because you two were fucking like bunnies, unable to keep your hands to yourself. 

"No. I mean, yes... fuck," you groan at the wetness that has formed between your thighs from just thinking about his talented mouth latched to your cunt. 

"Okay, yes... but I'm still mad at you." You give him the green light and Toji wastes no time pushing your legs up onto the passenger seat before running his fingers over your panties until he could feel a wet patch forming.

"Guess I'll have to fuck that anger out of you then, hm?" He muses and doesn't even bother to take off your underwear, simply pushing them to the side to gain access to your sweet cunt. 

The man between your thighs was appreciating the view for a moment before his fingers gently spread your folds so his tongue could flick your clit ever so gently. The small contact had you spreading your legs wider for him, a silent invitation to devour you in a way you so carnally craved. Toji ran his flat tongue through your folds before licking up from your entrance to your clit in a zigzag motion. Once he reached your clit, he gently suckled on it while his tongue flicked over it relentlessly, at first in circles, but soon he was spelling his full name onto your cunt - a desperate attempt to remind you just who exactly can make you feel this good, whose name you should be moaning, who you should forgive for being a grade A asshole. 

Toji ate you out so messily, the lewd sounds drowning out the radio that was still playing in the back and his groans grew louder each time he fucked his tongue into your cunt to have more of your essence melt on his tongue, tasting all of you. The louder your moans grew, the messier he got until he latched onto your clit while two of his fingers plunged knuckle deep inside your heat, the pads curling against your sweet spot over and over again.

Toji's free hand wrapped around your left thigh to keep you close to him, pulling your cunt against his face so you couldn't get away from the pleasure he provided. Your clit started to twitch and your walls clamped down on his fingers - a telltale sign that your orgasm was close, but Toji didn't let up, wanting you to come undone on his fingers and his tongue, needing you to make a mess for him. Just as you wanted to warn him, it was too late. Your hips rolled against his face in a wave of ecstasy as your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave and wrecked you in its wake.

"Toji... don't stop," You managed to whine out between the sinful moans of his name, but you didn't need to beg. Toji wanted you to forget how angry you were with him, even if he had to spend hours between your thighs to fuck you stupid to the point you forgot your own name.

When your orgasm subsided, he looked up at you with a wolfish grin, his entire chin glistening with your juices and you knew exactly that he was far from done with you. The moment his tongue started to circle your bundle of nerves again, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and pushed him closer to your sopping wet cunt, not letting him go any time soon - perhaps if he made you cum enough times, you'd allow him to blow off some steam too. But for now you were perfectly content with him knee deep in the passenger seat, just eating you out until you were seeing stars.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can you do aemond x reader x cregan ?? Reader has a thing with aemond b4 the dance, but after aegon is crowned, she goes with jace to the winterfell and ends up with cregan ?? 🖤♥️

Request: Cregan smut pleaaaaase

A longer fic for Cregan is in the work (Jacaerys twin!Reader), but these take more time to write...so be patient

Warnings: 18+, smut, implied cheating (sort of), oral (f receiving) 

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Cregan Stark wasn't immune to your charms. It didn’t take him long to fall under the spell of the Queen’s daughter, captivated by your breathtaking beauty and fierce determination. 

Since the day you and Jacaerys landed in Winterfell, you and the northern Lord had many occasions of getting physically closer, but Cregan refused to engage in anything with someone who was already promised to another. He didn’t want that kind of trouble. 

Yet, he found himself drawn to your presence, unable to deny the stirring of emotions you awakened within him whenever you were around. He felt drawn to you in a way he had never experienced before.

But control was more difficult when he had a few cups of wine at supper. 

Cregan stopped at the junction of the guest wing and his private quarters, the flickering torch lights casting shadows on the stone walls of Winterfell. ‘’I should not accompany you to your chamber tonight, Princess,’’ he said, his voice thick with restraint as you walked through the corridors.

‘’Why not?’’ you asked, raising an eyebrow as you stepped closer to him. ‘’You agreed on a cup of wine.’’

‘’I did. But I'm afraid I will not be able to resist to temptations if I am alone with you,’’ Cregan admitted, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of desire and hesitation. ‘’And I cannot give in to such desires.’’ 

You chuckled softly, leaning against the cold stone wall and looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. ‘’And what’s so wrong with a little temptation?’’ You paused for a moment, your gaze wandering over his tall frame, taking in his rugged features and muscular build. You bit your lower lip gently before continuing. ‘’Is the Lord of the North not allowed to indulge in pleasure?’’ 

Cregan's breath hitched as he struggled to keep his composure. ‘’I am allowed to indulge in pleasure, Princess. But you are already promised to another man,’’ he said, the long silver hair and black eyepatch of Aemond Targaryen flashing through his mind. ‘’Giving in to my desires would make my people question my honor toward others.’’

Your feelings for Aemond had once been true and pure, which led to your betrothal. It was also a good way to unite the families. A date had been set for your wedding and ravens had been sent through the realms announcing the big day, but your grandsire died and Aemond became a traitor to the crown. It didn’t surprise you that he stood by his brother’s side. Aemond had always been loyal to his family, it was part of who he was. What surprised you was the raven the Greens sent to Dragonstone to summon you to King’s Landing and bend the knee to their new King. 

Saying goodbye to the person you once loved was difficult, but you could not see yourself at the side of someone who supported the man who stole your mother’s throne. 

‘’Aemond Targaryen supports the usurper. Our betrothal is no more. I belong to no man,’’ you declared. 

Cregan leaned closer to you, his body only a few inches apart from yours. His eyes roamed over your features, lingering on your lips before returning to meet your gaze. ‘’Does he know?’’ he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You slid your hand up the thick leather of his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath your touch. ‘’Who I bed is no longer his concern.’’

Cregan held his breath as you touched him, holding back from pressing himself to you against the wall and crashing his lips on yours. ‘’Gods, Princess, you drive me mad with your words,’’ he confessed, his voice a low growl.

You pushed your teasing further, feeling his self-control about to snap. ‘’Are you afraid of taking a princess to bed, Lord Stark?’’ 

The control he had tried to maintain snapped. Your words and touch awakened something within him, igniting a fire that he could no longer keep at bay. A soft gasp left your lips as Cregan closed the distance between you, pressing you against the wall and kissing you. His strong hands found their way to your hips, gripping you tightly, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the ground, pressing you firmly against the cold stone wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, both of you lost in the heat of the moment, forgetting you were in a corridor where anyone could walk by.

You moaned into his mouth as you felt his body pressed against yours and tangled one of your hands into his dark hair, your slender fingers running through it as you held onto his broad shoulder with the other. Cregan’s grip on your thigh was iron strong and possessive. 

He wanted you. 

He pushed his body even closer to yours, his lips leaving your mouth and trailing down your jawline, to your neck, where he began to nibble and kiss the sensitive skin there. You wanted to tear his clothes — and tear your clothes — and see if wolves treated their women better than dragons.

‘’I think we should take this to your chambers, Lord Stark. How scandalous would it be if anyone were to their Lord with the Dragon Princess?’’

The door echoed as it shut behind you. Without losing any time, Cregan pulled you in another kiss as he began to disrobe. You unbuckled your own cloak, letting it fall off your shoulders, and helped Cregan with the buckles of his leather doublet. Why were there so many? 

Once you were both out of your clothes, he carried you to his bed. Depositing you gently on the soft furs before joining you, pinning you beneath him. The fire in the hearth was keeping your naked body from shivering, and casting a soft glow on your skin. You felt the press of Cregan’s cock against your thigh, hard and warm, and reached for it, air catching in your throat at the size. 

The Northern Lord trailed kisses on your hot skin and moved further down your body until he was lying on his stomach, using his elbows to keep himself upright. He gently parted your legs, his fingers brushing over the inside of your thighs as he took in the beauty of your pretty pussy, his mouth watering for a taste. 

Cregan placed a kiss on your mound, smirking when he heard you gasp softly. His lips moved lower, and his eyes drinking in your every reaction, the soft sounds of pleasure escaping your lips making him even more determined to drive you wild with pleasure. He was going to show you how men kiss their women in the North. 

Soon, you were mess on the furs as he tongue licked and teased your pussy. Your legs were folded to expose you more, and Cregan kept a tight grip on your trembling thighs. Your back arched from the bed, accompanied by a loud whine as you reached down to grab his hair and guide his face closer to you. 

‘’Kessa! Lua doing bona!’’ (Yes! Keep doing that!) 

The High Valyrian words had spilled from your tongue without realizing. Although Cregan didn’t understand a single word, he assumed he was doing a good job and continued working skillfully with his mouth to bring you to the edge of madness.

He swiped his tongue over your swollen clit, relishing in the sounds he was drawing from you. He loved hearing the moans and gasps that escaped your lips, knowing that he was the one causing them. 

You rocked your hips into him, practically riding his face, and Cregan moaned, his cock twitching — and leaking — between his stomach and the furs. ‘’Needy, are we, Princess?’’ he teased, his voice low as he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes. 

Pulling on his hair again, you forced his mouth back on you. ‘’No more talking.’’

—

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[theodorenmyth]

Traitor.

Pairings : Theodore nott x GN!Reader

Summary : Theodore Nott once promised to love you forever, but when a new girl arrived, he forgot. Neglected and broken, you couldn’t take it anymore. Days later, your friends found you lifeless in his dorm, blood staining the sheets. Regret came too late—Theo lost you, and now, all he has left is the unbearable weight of your absence.

A/N ; enjoy the angst teehee, listen to Traitor or Reckless while reading this :3

Warnings : Heavy angst, betrayal, mention of blood, major character death, graphic descriptions, emotionally abusive themes, implied self-harm, grief, regret, cheating.

Word count : 1.7k+

Soft candlelight flickered against the walls of the Slytherin common room, casting long shadows over the green and silver decor. It was late, past curfew, but neither of you cared. You sat curled up against Theodore on the couch, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if he never wanted to let go. His scent—cedarwood and fresh parchment—filled your senses, grounding you in a warmth you never wanted to lose.

"I promise you," Theodore whispered against your temple, his voice filled with quiet conviction, "I will always love you. No matter what."

You pulled away slightly, just enough to look into his deep brown eyes, searching for any trace of hesitation. You found none.

"Always?" you teased, a small smile playing at your lips.

His fingers traced along your jaw before cupping your cheek. "Always," he confirmed, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your lips.

The world outside could burn for all you cared—right here, in his arms, you were safe. Loved. Cherished.

You believed him.

But promises are just words, aren’t they?

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

It all started with her. The new transfer student. Eleanor fucking Rosier.

She arrived at Hogwarts in the middle of the term, stepping into the Great Hall with her perfect smile and charming laughter. The moment she was sorted into Slytherin, things began to change.

At first, it was small things. Theodore missing study sessions with you, brushing off your hand when you tried to hold his in the corridors.

Then, it got worse.

He stopped waiting for you after class. Stopped sitting next to you in the common room. Stopped kissing you goodnight.

And then came the dagger to the heart.

You had walked into the courtyard one day, searching for him, only to see him laughing with Eleanor—his hand on her waist. The same way he used to touch you.

You froze, the world blurring around you, nausea clawing at your stomach.

"Theo?" Your voice barely carried over the chatter of students.

He turned, his laughter dying when he saw you. Guilt flickered in his eyes for only a second before he schooled his expression into indifference.

"Y/N, what are you doing here?"

Your heart shattered at how casual he sounded, as if you were just some acquaintance interrupting his conversation.

"Looking for you," you admitted, your voice breaking despite your best efforts.

Eleanor gave you a smug smile, stepping closer to Theodore, her presence screaming he’s mine now.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Can we talk? Alone?"

Theodore sighed as if this was some great inconvenience, but he nodded. "Fine."

You walked a few steps away from Eleanor, far enough that she couldn’t hear. But you knew she was watching. Waiting.

"What the hell, Theo?" you whispered, fists clenched at your sides.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't do that," you snapped, voice trembling. "Don't act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. Pretending I don’t exist. And now I find you with her—"

"It’s not like that," he said, but the words felt empty.

You let out a humorless laugh, blinking rapidly to keep your tears from falling. "Then what is it like, Theo? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve already lost you."

His jaw clenched, eyes darting back to Eleanor for the briefest second. That was all it took for the final crack in your heart to shatter completely.

"You promised," you whispered. "You promised me."

Theodore exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "Things change, Y/N. People change."

Your vision blurred, a single tear slipping down your cheek before you could stop it.

"Not this easily," you choked out.

But he just looked at you, silent. And that silence told you everything.

You turned and walked away.

He didn’t follow.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You stopped showing up to the Great Hall for meals. Stopped going to the common room. Stopped talking to anyone.

Draco, Blaise, Mattheo, Lorenzo, and Pansy noticed, of course. They asked if you were okay, but you just forced a smile and told them you were fine.

They didn’t believe you.

But they didn’t realize how deep the wound had become until it was too late.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

It was Draco who suggested it.

"We should check on Y/N. They haven’t been to the Great Hall in days," he said, looking between the group.

Pansy frowned. "I tried earlier, but their dorm was locked. I just assumed they wanted space."

Lorenzo shifted uncomfortably. "What if something’s wrong?"

The group exchanged uneasy glances before Mattheo spoke up. "Then let’s go find out."

Together, they made their way to Theodore’s dorm—the one you used to spend so many nights in. The door was slightly ajar.

"Hey, Y/N-" Draco pushed it open.

The sight inside made Pansy scream, a strained scream.

You were there, on Theodore’s bed. But you weren’t moving.

Blood pooled beneath you, staining the white sheets in sickening contrast. Your wrist—slashed open. A letter, clutched in your lifeless fingers.

Blaise stumbled back, hand over his mouth.

Mattheo cursed under his breath, voice shaking.

Lorenzo just stared at your lifeless body, his whole body trembling.

Pansy sobbed, pressing a hand to her mouth as if she could hold in the pain.

Draco was the first to move, ripping the letter from your fingers. His hands shook as he read it aloud, voice breaking:

"Theo,"

"You promised me forever."

"You lied."

Silence.

Then, chaos.

"Get Snape!" Mattheo barked, already bolting out the door.

"Find Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore!" Lorenzo added, voice thick with emotion.

Blaise couldn’t stop staring at you. The warmth was already draining from your skin.

Pansy sobbed harder, whispering, "No, no, no..." over and over again.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The professors arrived in a whirlwind of robes.

Snape’s face was unreadable, but his hands clenched at his sides.

McGonagall gasped, hand over her heart. "Merlin..."

Dumbledore’s usual calm was shattered, his blue eyes filled with sorrow. "Too late," he murmured.

Too late.

Theodore arrived then, panting, confused. "What’s going—"

Then, he saw you.

And the world.. stopped.

His breath hitched, his body locking in place. His gaze fell to the blood-stained letter still clutched in Draco’s hands.

"You promised me forever."

"You lied."

A strangled noise escaped his throat as he staggered forward, but Snape blocked him with a firm grip. "Don’t," the professor warned, voice deadly quiet.

Theodore’s chest heaved, his mind racing. No. No, no, no.

This wasn’t real.

You weren’t gone.

You couldn’t be gone.. right?

But the silence screamed the truth louder than words ever could.

And somewhere in the background, the soft hum of magic played a familiar melody—

"God, I wish that you had thought this through before I went and fell in love with you."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

A day after your death.

The world kept moving. The sun still rose, the students still laughed, and Hogwarts remained the same. But for Theodore Nott, everything had stopped.

Your funeral had been small, private—only those who had truly loved you had been allowed to attend. Pansy had sobbed into Draco’s shoulder, Blaise had stared blankly ahead, Lorenzo had refused to speak, and Mattheo… Mattheo had nearly punched Theodore in the face when he had shown up.

“You don’t deserve to be here,” he had spat, his voice thick with fury. “You let them die.”

Theodore had taken the hit, let Mattheo’s fist hit his face because he deserved it.

Because Mattheo was right.

As the coffin had been lowered, Theodore had gripped the edge, his entire body trembling. "I'm sorry," he had whispered, too soft for anyone to hear. "I'm so sorry."

But the dead did not listen.

Day Four.

Your dorm had been left untouched.

No one dared enter—not even Pansy. But Theodore had. He had slipped inside in the middle of the night, hands shaking as he reached for the sweater you had always worn.

It still smelled like you.

He clutched it to his chest, burying his face in the fabric as sobs ripped through him. "Why?" His voice cracked, broken. "Why didn't you tell me how bad it was?"

But deep down, he knew you had tried. You had begged for his attention, for his love, for something—anything—but he had been too blind, too foolish.

Now, the only thing left of you was the ghost of your scent and the unbearable weight of silence.

Day Seven

The Great Hall felt different without you. The chair beside Theodore remained vacant, untouched, a reminder of the space you had once filled.

People whispered. They stared. But no one spoke to him.

Even Pansy, who had once been his closest friend, refused to look at him. Draco had barely spared him a glance, Blaise had turned his back, and Lorenzo had muttered something under his breath about how some things were unforgivable.

And maybe they were right. Maybe he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

He pushed his plate away, appetite long gone. His hands were cold, his chest tight. No amount of warmth could shake the chill that had settled into his bones.

"You’re mine," he had once promised you.

But he had let you go.

Day Twelve

He had written it a hundred times. Over and over.

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I was an idiot. I should have seen it. I should have held you. I should have stayed."

But what good were words now?

You were gone. And he had to live with the fact that he had driven you to it.

He folded the letter, pressing his forehead against the parchment. "I wish I could trade places with you."

But wishes were just words, and words meant nothing anymore.

Day Thirty

He had avoided it. Avoided your name, your memory, the way his heart clenched every time he walked past the places you had once stood.

But that night, alone in his dorm, he broke.

"Theo," you had once whispered, tracing his jaw with your fingertips. "Promise me you’ll never forget me."

And now, as he sat in the dark, your blood still staining the edges of his nightmares, he whispered back:

"I could never forget you."

And for the first time in a long time—Theodore Nott wept.

[jjkbambi]

sorority car wash luigi mangione x reader (18+)

smut summary: your best friend’s brother luigi visits your sorority’s spring fundraiser

warnings: long ass argument, our frat boy #graduated, rough as usual, name-calling, p in dis v :3, is car sex public? car sex, implied cheating, jealous quickie, assume everything is unedited

the fundraiser had drawn out the worst of penn state: truck drivers, high school football coaches, republicans with obvious gambling addictions. despite the obvious discomfort around dancing around frat row in a bikini, there was an undeniable satisfaction in knowing every passing gaze was a dollar to your name.

well — not necessarily your name. it was a dollar to your sorority house, your sisters, your reputation. your public display was, in all, an investment for an impressive bullet point on your college resume. any level-headed businessman would’ve been able to see that.

unfortunately for you, luigi mangione majored in computer science.

your heart falls to the floor the second you see his car swerve into the street. your feet move quickly, running up to the side of his car before any of the girls could hound a dollar out of him. his window is down and you’re in it, both whispering and yelling, “what the hell are you doing here?”

“car wash,” the brunette boy says flatly, gesturing to the hastily painted cardboard signs wrapped around your sorority house.

“it’s for penn students only.” you say, trying to wave him off. the thought of him—or anyone else from back home—meeting your new fair-weather city friends is unbearable. it would take months to salvage your pride.

“it doesn’t say that anywhere.” luigi argues. “plus, i’m an alumni.”

interest washes over the crowd of busy rich cheerleaders as they begin to inch nearer to the scene. you’re frazzled and fucked. “mangione, please don’t embarrass me.”

“you’re embarrassing yourself,” luigi says. his eyes glance over your body, skin exposed and wet with the moisture and mess of the event, boobs perky underneath your strappy bra. “seriously, what the fuck are you wearing?”

you feel a rush of insecurity as you bring your arms up to cover yourself. “it’s sorority tradition—“

“we didn’t do any of this at my frat—”

“it was an engineering frat, you didn’t do anything—!” as your whining comes to a close, a pool of your sorority sisters begin to flood around you. your heart rate sparks.

“who’s this?” your roommate asks.

the italian boy is quick to smile at the new company, his earlier furrowed brows and fault-finding demeanor vanishing in an instant. “i’m luigi,” he says with a brief wave. “i’m with y/n.”

“he means we’re friends from back home,” you correct quickly, shooting a glare at him. “he actually went here. he was in phi psi.”

“aw,” your roommate coos. “those guys do my homework all the time.”

he reaches over to open the car door, the force pushing you aside as it swings open. “get in the car,” luigi says. you pause, confusion swirling around you. then, luigi glances at your crowd of sisters, acknowledging them with a slight nod. “i’m borrowing her for the day. is there some sort of curfew i need to know about?”

“no, but it’s karaoke night,” one of your sisters tell him. “you should come! it’ll be at zbt.”

luigi raises a brow. “the sports frat?”

“yeah,” your sister says, grinning. “y/n’s boyfriend is the president. he’s super nice—you’d like him.”

his eyes flick to you. “boyfriend?”

“luigi’s busy tonight,” you say, forcing a tight smile, desperate to change the subject. “besides, he’s probably super jet-lagged—he is supposed to be backpacking through asia right now, after all.”

“yeah, well,” luigi says, his voice cool but with an edge that stings, “i stopped by for my sister’s birthday this weekend.” his eyes narrow as he looks straight at you. “guess one of us had to remember.”

your shoulders stiffen under the weight of his words, heat rising to your face.

“aw, luigi, you’re so sweet!” one of your housemates chimes, completely oblivious to the tension brewing. your guilt crashes over you, hot and suffocating. it’s almost embarrassing, the sudden clarity of how far you’ve strayed, how horrible you’ve become. “y/n’s boyfriend does cute stuff like that too. he came all the way down this morning to get pictures of her in this new outfit.”

if you didn’t feel stupid and cold before, you most definitely do now.

luigi glances over his shoulder. “isn’t the zbt house just around the corner?”

your housemate, still oblivious, grins and adds, “yeah! he’s always doing cute stuff like that for her. like, he prints a bunch of pictures of her and made a wall in his room because he thought she’d think it was sweet.”

you had no intention of your best friend’s brother ever finding out about your flamboyant college romances, yet here he was, gossiping with your girls. “he took that down as soon as i asked him to,” you explain.

“yeah, and ever since then, he sends flowers like, everyday.” your sister hums, bright-eyed. “so thoughtful, right?”

luigi’s jaw clenches, and his shoulders tense. “yeah, cute,” he says, voice low and biting. “guess that’s what happens when you’ve got nothing better to do than play personal assistant.”

“luigi.” you say, a desperate attempt to draw the line.

“get in, now,” he beckons.

luigi’s dark eyes never leave you, boring into you with a relentless intensity that makes your stomach churn. the look isn’t anger—it’s something deeper, more personal, and it clings to you as you fumble into the passenger seat. each movement feels heavier than the last, his unyielding stare haunting you as you slip inside, shutting the door between you and the reality you can’t escape.

the car swerves sharply, pulling you from your thoughts as you put your head in your hands. “i totally forgot,” you mutter, voice barely audible.

“clearly, you had distractions,” luigi says, his tone colder than you expected, like a wall between you both.

you feel his disappointment radiating through the air, and it hits harder than you’d like to admit. “you know,” he continues, his voice laced with bitterness, “back when we were close, you never would’ve forgotten something like that. but i guess things are different now.”

you wince, knowing he’s right. you’ve been so caught up in college, in the chaos of sorority life, parties, and the constant buzz of new experiences, that you’ve lost touch with everything that once mattered. and now, forgetting his sister’s birthday feels like the final nail in the coffin.

the silence hangs heavily between you, suffocating and full of unspoken truths. you can’t even find an apology that would suit the sin.

he reaches over to the backseat, tossing his jacket over your cold body, his fingers brushing against your skin as he does. “you look stupid like this,” he mutters, his voice laced with something deeper than frustration.

“it’s fucking weird,” luigi continues. “i used to watch you, how effortlessly you picked things up, how eager and excited you were for everything.” he sighs, his gaze flickering to you for a moment, like he’s trying to see the version of you he once knew. “but now… now it’s like you’re someone else. all that potential, all that drive—it’s like you’ve buried it under all this nonsense. i don’t even recognize you anymore.”

“oh, come on, luigi,” you say, defensive. it felt weird to have him like this—so cruel, so suddenly. “i make one mistake and now you don’t recognize me?”

he tuts, then rolls his eyes. “don’t act fucking dense.”

“i’m sorry, okay?” you say, half-defeated. “you’re not exactly giving me a chance to explain.”

“an explanation isn’t good enough.”

“just because i forgot one day doesnt mean im not here,” you argue. “you’re the one left the fucking country!”

luigi almost laughs at the dead argument. “and you stayed and still couldn’t show up when it mattered. how’s that any better?”

“i didn’t forget on purpose!” you can feel your temperature rising. “i’ve just been swamped with everything, alright? it’s not like i don’t care.”

luigi’s hands grip the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. “so that’s your excuse?” he says, his voice sharp. “too busy to remember my sister’s birthday, but not too busy for that stupid fucking boyfriend of yours?” he laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “god, you even joined that sorority for him, didn’t you?”

your face goes white and he takes it as confirmation. “fucking knew it. that’s exactly what it is, isn’t it? you’re too busy trying to be a penn girl, pretending like you fit in, just because he’s part of it. you’re so caught up in his world that you can’t even bother to remember the people who actually care about you.”

you’re cold underneath his judgement, almost speechless. almost. “this is why i didn’t want you finding out about him,” you truth.

“i was in a frat, y/n. i’ve seen girls like you before. weekends spent doing dumb shit like car washes for the sorority, all glittered up for spirit week like it’s some huge fucking accomplishment.” his anger cuts into you like a blade. “you're too fucking good for that.”

your heart is pounding now, and you feel your face flush with anger, embarrassment, and something else—deep, gnawing ache in your chest. your fingers tighten around the door handle. you can’t stand sitting here, suffocating under his judgment. without thinking, you yank the door open, trying to escape the weight of his accusations.

but before you can move, luigi’s hand shoots out, slamming the door shut. “what the fuck are you doing?”

“i don’t want to talk about this anymore.” you say, trying to push down the panic rising in your chest. you don’t want to be here anymore. not in this car. not with him looking at you like you’re some stranger.

“you’re not getting out of this car, y/n.”

you don’t respond. instead, you unbuckle your seatbelt and shove the door open, stepping out of the car before he can stop you. it’s like your whole body is running on autopilot—everything inside you screaming to get away from the mess he’s created, from the mess inside you.

“y/n!” luigi’s voice cracks, rising in a panic as he stops the car and jumps out after you.

you are not turning around and getting into that car and letting him humiliate you. your hands shake as you pull out your phone, desperate for some relief, something to help you make sense of all this. the contact name lights up on your screen, and you hit call, needing your boyfriend now more than ever.

before you can even hear the first ring, a hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and yanking your phone from your grasp. you whip your head around, heart pounding in your chest, only to find luigi, his jaw clenched tight and eyes burning with fury.

“what the hell are you doing?” you demand, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and frustration. “give it back!”

but he doesn’t budge, holding your phone just out of reach. his voice is a low growl. “you’re fucking unbelievable. you’re seriously calling your boyfriend right now?” he’s glaring at you, his face hard with a mix of disbelief and something deeper you can’t quite place.

“you made your point, mangione!” you say. “clearly you already hate me, so i don’t see the point in sticking around for the ride. thanks for the reminder! see you around!”

“y/n, stop, i don’t hate you—“

“y/n? hello?” your boyfriend’s voice crackles through the phone, confused, a little worried.

luigi straightens, his hand tightening around the phone as he holds it to his mouth. “she’s busy.” he tosses the phone back into his car, cutting off the call with a finality that makes your heart race in frustration.

he opens his mouth for another lecture but your hard heart won’t let him in anymore. you’re beyond annoyed. he can keep the fucking phone, for all you care, you really just needed a second. you try to turn away, but he’s too fast. he grabs your wrist, pulling you back, and you’re caught off guard by the force in his touch. the heat between you is unbearable now, and the intensity of it makes your mind race.

“let go of me!”

“no,” luigi snaps, his voice harsh but laced with something you can’t quite place. “you don’t walk away from me.”

“i can do whatever i want!”

“you’re sure about that?”

without warning, he pulls you toward him, and before you can fully process what’s happening, his lips are on yours. it’s rough, unexpected, and it throws you off balance. your breath catches in your throat, and for a split second, you don’t know what to do.

your mind spins. this is worse than wrong. you shouldn’t be kissing him.

his grip on you is unyielding like the force of gravity, and you’re suffocating underneath the pressure, your confusion mixing with a strange, undeniable pull that makes your thoughts scatter. you pull away quickly, breathless and disoriented.

“luigi, no—stop,” you say, trying to regain your bearings, but your heart is still racing, your body still tingling from the kiss.

he doesn’t. he won’t.

his mouth is on yours again, aggressive and intent and so fucking mean. your balance is completely lost, your feet no longer sure of the ground beneath you. luigi doesn’t let up, his body pressing you into the side of his car and it’s like everything you knew about him is shifting, unraveling before your eyes.

when he pulls back, your chest heaves as if you’ve been starved for air. you try to summon another surge of pride, but luigi moves faster than your thoughts can catch. “lift up your legs,” he grumbles against your lips. you do. he carries you on him as he yanks open the door to the back seat, his hot breath hovering over your neck.

“you’re so fucking stupid,” luigi mutters into another sloppy kiss. “need me to teach you how to behave, yeah?”

desire and desperation muddle your better judgement. everytime you come up for air, you try to return to reason. “we shouldn’t—”

“let me,” he says. “i’m gonna take care of you.”

you shake your head as his warm hands grope and clutch at your cold nude. he was right—it was a stupid fucking outfit.

“relax,” luigi says, climbing over you, biting and sucking at your neck. you feel him between your legs, hardening. “you need me to teach you how to show you the ropes, don’t you? you need me, right, baby?”

“i have a boyfriend,” you whimper.

“doesn’t matter.” he says. “you belong to me.”

you’re in the corner of his car and there was no escape. luigi was all over you, grabbing, pulling, biting. “come on,” he beckons, coming in for another kiss. “make yourself useful, baby, i came all this way.” his fingers moving your bikini to the side and sliding his slender fingers into your aching clit. you quiver as he breaches your entrance.

“how often do you fuck him?” he asks, his two fingers digging into your core, storming your senses. the abruptness of the question made your nerves spike. there’s a certain amusement in his gaze, as if your misfortune is his greatest entertainment. “where? hm? hallways? dorms? in the shower, after his games, d’you spread your legs open to make him feel better about being a goddamn loser?” he’s intent on leaving your skin covered with evidence of him. he paints across your neck with his hot wet tongue, sucking and biting at your sensitive skin. you whimper at the sensation. “you’d make a perfect fuckin’ trophy wife.”

“i didn’t—“ you truth, shaky and red. “we never…”

“god,” he moans. “good fuckin’ girl, saving yourself for me.”

your mind is hazy, though not completely lost. “you’re jealous? of him?”

“why would i be?” luigi asks, smug. he knows he has every damn right he every right to be—he feels your slick drooling out of you, your body quivering underneath him. “i’m the only one who gets to have you like this.”

he reaches for his belt. you need this as much as he does. he can see the way your eyes flutter shut at the feeling of his shifty friction, and it sends heat rushing down his abdomen. no reason to be patient about this.

“someone’s gonna see,” you whine.

luigi laughs against your mouth. “go on then, show them what a perfect fuckin’ penn girl you are.”

you barely hear him. your lower lip is between your teeth as you work to free his cock from his boxers, and he hisses in pleasure as you pump him gently, smearing his precum down his shaft. he reaches between your legs to hook his finger around your panties, pulling the gusset to the side.

your cunt glistens. you’re soaked.

“you’re unbelievable,” he grunts. “acting out because you couldn’t get any good dick?”

“you’re so mean to me.”

“just missed you, is all,” he murmurs.

you’d never expected him to be so big. you brace yourself on his shoulder with your free hand, sinking down on him gradually. you’re so wet that it only takes a moment to adjust to his size before you’re rocking against him again, and he pulls you back in for another hungry kiss, guiding your hips with his hands. a grin etches at the edge of his lips when he feels your cunt tightening around him when he brings his fingertips to your clit. “what, already, babe?” luigi teases, pretending his own release isn’t just moments away. “c’mon, that’s gotta be a new record.” you try to laugh, but he pushes the pressure on your clit, and you arch your back as the coil in your belly tightens.

“you’re so big, luigi,” you choke out.

“i know, pretty girl, i know,” he tries to assure, though he’s too lost in his storm of pleasure to have the decency to slow down.

tears well up in your eyes as he buries his cock deeper into you. hot flashes of pain and pleasure overwhelm you; it’s a devastating spell of torment and sanctuary. “luigi,” you whine. “too much, i can’t—“

“you’re so fuckin’ tight.” luigi says. “fuckin’ perfect, you know that?”

“i can’t, lu,” you whine. “you’re too big—”

“be a good girl,” he says. his cock bullies into your sensitivity. you swear you hear yourself snap in half. “let me fill you up, princess, let me make you mine.”

you’re a mess underneath him, whimpering and crying at the unfamiliar pleasure. something in the background begins to hum over and over and over until luigi glances over his shoulder. “your boyfriend’s calling,” he says. “you should answer, show him what a perfect slut you’re being for me.”

you run your head back and forth. “no? you don’t wanna do that for me?” he questions, eyebrow raising. he raises your body—closer,deeper—just to slap his hand against your ass. you jolt at the pain, shivering. “thought you were being good.”

“luigi,” you cry. “it hurts.”

“fuck,” he moans. he can’t help but slap your ass again. “you gotta make it up to me, y/n. you gotta let me come inside you.”

“lu, wait—“ you begin weakly, tangling your fingers in his hair. he cuts you off by sucking harshly at the delicate skin of your throat, and instantly you feel the coil snap.

“jus’ like that, baby, all mine,” he growls into your skin. you feel him smile against your neck as he marks it up. “i should visit home more often, yeah?”

“lu, please,” you moan.

“tell me who you belong to.”

“you, luigi. i belong to you.” you cry out as you convulse around luigi’s cock, slumping forward onto his muscular chest with a shiver. the sensation of your walls clamping down on him like a vice makes luigi dig his fingers into your flesh as he pumps his own release into you, swearing raggedly as his hips buck.

aside from the sound of your breathing, the car falls into a complicated silence, the windows clouded, blurring the world outside like some unspoken secret. your heart races as you both sit there, dazed, caught between confusion and something deeper. the empty neighborhood feels almost dreamlike, a quiet refuge for a moment too fragile to face the world. silently, you’re grateful for the solitude, for the way it shields you both.

“relax,” luigi mutters, his voice cutting through the haze. “this whole street was bought up by some real estate asshole. prices went sky-high, and no one took the bait.”

you glance at him, startled by the sudden softness in his tone. “is that true?”

luigi doesn’t answer right away. instead, he reaches over to the passenger seat, grabbing your phone. the motion is deliberate, almost taunting, as if he’s enjoying how unsteady you’ve become.

he tosses the phone onto your lap, the thud startling in the heavy air. “penn daily did a piece on it” he says, his voice low but cutting. “you can look it up after you break up with your boyfriend.”

your eyes widen, and you grab the phone quickly, clutching it as if it could ground you. “god, can you stop bringing him up for two seconds?”

“why?” he retorts, leaning back against his seat with a knowing smirk. “you brought him into this when you started dating the guy who shows you off to frat row and makes you fake-smile your way through glitter car washes.”

“he wasn’t even at the car wash this time,” you mutter, frustration bubbling up.

“too busy setting up karaoke night? are we going to that?”

“no.”

“my sister would probably love it,” he points out playfully. “and i know you didn’t get her a present.”

you roll your eyes, trying to avoid the guilt that wells up. “don’t remind me.”

“don’t be a brat,” he retorts, his voice firm but not unkind.

“I’m not being a brat,” you snap back, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in your tone.

“yeah, you are,” he says, his voice softening just a little. “but we’ll deal with that later.”

he glances over at you, a hint of a smirk on his face. turning your gaze to the window, avoiding his eyes. god, how were you meant to recover from this? another silence encapthres you and the awful spell of awkwardness washes over you both. until—

“you know i could never hate you, right?”

“hm?”

“you said earlier i made up my mind about you,” he murmurs, his eyes holding yours in a way that makes it impossible to look away. “i have… but not in the way you think.”

your breath catches, his words pulling at something deep inside you. “then how?”

“i’ve always liked you,” he says softly, his voice steady but tinged with something deeper. “hated seeing you go. hated the idea of you at college with some asshole who doesn’t see you the way i do.”

your heart skips, his words unraveling every doubt you’ve ever had. “and how do you see me?” you ask, barely finding your voice.

he leans closer, his gaze unwavering. “as everything.”

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Hey is there any way you could do the reader takes on clients in order to protect Finnick? Like she goes behind his back and begs Snow until she can make everything stop for Finnick and then doesn’t tell him but eventually he finds out.

oh i am CONVINCED that finnick girlies THRIVE off of angst

AND ITS MY JOB TO SUPPLY YOU GUYS SOOOOO

My Angel

HEAVY content warnings: trafficking of victors, implied S/A, cheating accusations, angst

part one. | part two. (not necessary to read, but if you would like some background i would definitely suggest reading these first)

masterlist.

Finnick had noticed that something was off about you. For the past few weeks you'd been more skittish and distant.

At night when you both went to bed, he noticed that you no longer wanted to be held in his arms. In the mornings, instead of waking up next to him with a smile, you woke up with your back facing him, hiding a look of dread on your face. You no longer wanted to to go to the market or to the beach with him, only wanting to go alone.

You refused any sort of intimacy. Anytime he would go to hug you, kiss you, anything, you would flinch. Even with the lightest brush of a hand, you would flinch.

Your trips to the Capitol were more frequent and longer now too, but he didn't worry about that too much because he would always see pictures of you out and about, at interviews, photoshoots— the standard for any Victor.

You were both in the living room, you sitting in your arm chair, reading a book while he sat on the couch, fiddling around with a piece of rope. Silence filled the room.

He had offered for you both to go take a walk on the beach to watch the sunset, but you declined saying you were "tired and wanted to just stay inside for the night."

He watched as you read, he watched all your movements and tried to get a read of your emotions. Then he saw something strange.

But before he could get a better look, you stood up and made your way to the kitchen.

Finnick’s eyes followed you across the room, his gut twisting as his gaze laned on the small, barely-there mark on the side of your neck, he knew he hadn’t left a mark, with the way you'd been acting for the past week he'd be lucky if you let him hug you without you flinching. It was dark and a little red. A hickey. The sight of it made his heart clenched painfully in his chest.

Were you seeing someone else? Were you disgusted at what he told you that you felt the need to be with someone else?

Did you not love him anymore?

"Angel?" He called out softly, but you didn’t turn around. His voice cracked slightly as he repeated it again, louder this time, and you froze.

You turned, realizing what he may have seen, but it was too late. He had already seen it.

"Where did that mark come from?" Finnick’s voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, but it carried the sharpness of someone who’d just realized something they weren’t ready to face. He couldn’t stop himself from stepping toward you, his feet carrying him across the room like an instinct.

You reached for the collar of your sweater to pull it higher, to hide it. “It’s nothing,” you mumbled.

"It's not nothing Angel."

You didn't know what to say, you didn't want to tell him the truth. "I- I hurt myself while I was swimming a few days ago."

He looked at you with a look of skepitcism, "No, don't lie to me."

Silence filled the room once more as you looked away from him. His mind was spiraling as a feeling of dread consumed him.

"Have you been cheating on me?"

Your head immediately shot back up. "W-What?"

Finnick took a deep breath. "Have you been cheating on me?" he says, his voice firm, his heart aching as he said it.

You shook your head, "No- No Finnick I-I'm not cheating on you-"

"Then where did the mark come from?" he says, his voice slightly raised.

You stayed quiet, something inside you was screaming to tell him the truth, but you just couldn't bring yourself to.

"Please angel. Please tell me you haven't been seeing someone else."

"Finnick please- it's not what you think-"

"Then what is it?! You've shut me out! I need you to talk to me! You've been so distant these past few weeks, you don't want to go anywhere with me, you don't want me to hold you anymore, you haven't even said 'I love you' to me in weeks!" he shouts.

His heart was breaking, if there was even the slightest chance that you were cheating, he didn't want to believe it.

"Angel. Baby. Please talk to me." he says in a desperate tone as he walks towards you, holding you in his arms.

You hesitate and take a shaky deep breath in, tears fill your eyes. "I-It's Snow" you whisper.

Finnick instantly feels a wave of fear wash over him. "Angel, what are you talking about?"

You close your eyes, shaking your head, a weak sob escaping as cling onto his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks.

He quickly cups your face in his hand, "Please talk to me angel, please." he says in a soothing tone, wiping your tears away with his thumb.

"I-I made a deal with Snow...that if I take on the extra clients you took on for me...you wouldn't have to deal with them anymore" you say as you burst into tears, holding tightly onto Finnick.

Finnick stood still, tears filled his eyes, his heart felt like it was breaking even more. Suddenly, everything made sense, why you flinched at his touches, why you distanced yourself from him. It all made sense.

He was quick to wrap you fully in his arms, resting his chin on the top of your head.

"Angel...why didn't you tell me. I would've been there for you."

You cling onto his shirt and cry, "I-I didn't want to be a burden...this was my deal with Snow.."

His heart just kept breaking. You, a burden? Never.

"My angel...you could never be a burden. Never." he says in a gentle tone as he kisses the top of your forehead.

He holds you close to his chest, letting you cry it all out.

"I-I hate it so much Finny- they hurt me- t-they treat me like I-I'm a toy. They laugh when I cry- they enjoy it."

Finnick’s world shattered at your words, he could your body shaking with sobs. “I know, Angel,” he whispered, his own tears slipping down his face as he kissed your forehead, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you closer “I know."

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice muffled against his chest.

“Don’t apologize, it's not your fault angel,” Finnick murmured, kissing the top of your head. "Never think it's your fault."

For the first time in weeks, you finally felt like you could breathe again, wrapped in his arms, finally feeling the comfort you longed for. And for the rest of the night you would stay in his arms as he whispered endless comforting words to you.

A/N: MWHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEH (im crying like a bitch rn omg)

[howlettsangel]

— pretty girl

tags/warnings: smut mdni 18+ sugar daddy!dofp logan howlett x f!reader, implied age gap (reader in her 20s), logan is some sort of ceo, probably ooc logan, a little pda, use of pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart, pretty girl duh), needy logan, he's kinda demanding, dry humping, fingering and short foreplay, unprotected p in v, creampie RAHH, implied aftercare

a/n: i'm so awful at smut so bear with me. i'm definitely not proofreading so there will be mistakes in grammar and punctuation

wc: 1.8k

For months your friends had been trying to convince you that having a sugar daddy wasn't rock bottom. It made an excuse to get spoiled by an older guy, have your rent paid, get a new wardrobe. The whole works in exchange for him to get a few nights of shitty sex and cheat on his wife. And you believed them, until you started talking to Logan.

He wasn't married with kids or a family to fall back on like some of the other men you were used to. And, he insisted from the get go that he wasn't just doing it for himself or for your body, that it was his way of "giving back." Of course, he never refused it when you offered, but it wasn't what his mind was set on. Still, you always tried to call his bull.

It was good to begin with, the whole sugar daddy and sugar baby thing. He took you to dinner every other night, lunch if he wasn't busy with work, bought you whatever new thing you were asking for or set you money so you could get it yourself. He pampered you like no other. But then you both started to get comfortable, and that's what scared you.

It started as simple things like spending the night at his place or wearing his clothes after a long night together which eventually became a daily thing. Texting and calling just because you missed his voice, going with him to work events, telling friends about him behind his back. And the worst part was the fact that he didn't stop you. He wanted to let you in.

There was a big client dinner coming up in the spring that Logan was expected to attend, and he was going to make sure you showed up on his arm. So, like any gentleman would, he took you out to shop for dresses. A favorite past time for the two of you.

He sat on the small loveseat outside of your fitting room, waiting for you to show him the next dress option. It was taking longer than he expected, which wasn't very surprising considering the other times you've gone on shopping sprees, but he still tended to worry.

"You need help baby?" he called from his place outside the curtain. Your focus never faltered as you stared at your reflection in the floor length mirrors, fiddling with a particularly stubborn zipper. Hearing his voice, you peeked out from behind the divider, a pout stuck on your face as you held the fabric over your chest.

"The zipper won't go up," you explained, and Logan was pushing himself to stand without a moment's notice.

"Seems like you've been in there forever, girl," he teased lightly as he guided you back into the privacy of the fitting room. He stood behind you in the cramped space and inspected the issue. His fingers fumbled while toying with the zipper, tugging it down a few times before it eventually managed to slide up. "There."

"How do I look?" you hummed, hands sliding over your sides as you admired your own appearance in the rather form fitting dress. Logan grumbled a sound of approval and leaned in closer to your ear, his big hands squeezing either side of your biceps.

"Looks gorgeous," he murmured, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his beard tickling your skin. He's said that about every single dress you've tried on so far, but there was something about this one he enjoyed a bit more.

It hugged your body in all of his favorite places, the ones you seemed to hate at times but he never saw the reason behind those insecurities. His hands slid down to your hips as he pulled your back flush against his chest, lifting his head so he could get a better look at your reflection.

"This one's my favorite," he confirmed, punctuating his sentence with a nod.

"You've said that about the last three," you huffed amusedly. At this point it seemed like he was eager to get the trip over with.

"This one's really my favorite," he repeated, a small grin forcing it's way onto his lips. He wouldn't lie to himself, he did want to get you home, but he would be patient if you had more options.

"You're not just saying that so we can leave?" you added as a way of calling him out, but it was more of a tease than anything. When you did that he dismissed your words with an eye roll and patted your hip.

"You got more to try?" he questioned as he moved to give you a bit of space, not quite outside of the fitting room just yet. You shook your head no and decided he might be right, that this one was your favorite too. It was the perfect color, one that brought out your eyes, and it was a style that felt appropriate for a fancy dinner with a group of old fashioned men.

Logan gave you a few minutes to change back into the clothes you had on before, waiting near the registers for you to come out with the dress. The crowd of people in the store had dissipated as it got later in the afternoon, so it didn't take long for you to find him across the store. He extended a hand to pull you in against his side, giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

"Ready?" he asked, to which you answered promptly through a hum. You couldn't help it, how your body instantly molded itself against his, tucked safely under his arm.

It felt almost addicting when you watched him swipe his card through the scanner. Sure it seemed mundane, but it never got old. With other guys, other sugar daddies, it felt like they were just doing you a favor. With Logan, he made it an act of love.

The drive back to Logan's place was painfully slow. You agreed to come spend the night, and that usually ended the same way every time. His hand stayed on your thigh in a familiar gesture, that same touch lingering against the small of your back as he took you upstairs to the penthouse floor.

It was a nice place, nicer than what you were used to. Before you could even take in the details, you heard the door shut with a kick of Logan's boot, his hands wandering over you within a matter of seconds. It was startling at first, but welcomed.

"Logan–" you gasped out softly as the force of his body pinned you to the wall of the entry way. He kissed down your throat hurriedly, sucking soft splotches of pink into every inch of your skin.

"Felt like we were in that store for fuckin' hours," he practically growled, holding your body up with little strength as he continued his ministrations down your collarbone.

A pathetic moan left your lips, your head falling to his shoulder as you gripped the pleats of his suit jacket. His knee was pressed right against the growing heat between your thighs, his quickening pace only serving to intensify your desire. Your hips starting to grind against the clothed fabric of his thigh and your back arching off the wall, that was his undoing.

"Greedy thing, huh?" he purred into your ear as he pulled your legs around his waist to carry you down the hall. His tone was condescending, hypocritical even with the way he was itching to free you of your clothes.

He tossed you against the firm mattress settled in the middle of his bedroom, your body helplessly splayed over the sheets as he crawled over you. You spread your thighs so he could settle between them, his weight supported by his forearm as he reached down to unbutton your shorts.

There were no words shared while he undressed you and himself in succession, just heavy pants and a few needy groans escaping both of your mouths. He tossed the fabrics into a messy pile before sinking back into the mattress on top of you. He coated his fingers in the slick of your arousal, one of the thick digits easing gently into your entrance.

A moan tumbled out of your throat, his lips peppering against yours to hush your needy sounds. "I know, darlin'," he mumbled against your mouth, scissoring you open at a torturous pace. Even with his impatience, he still wanted to savor every moment as much as he could. It had wore him thin trying not to put his hands all over you while out shopping.

"Please," you whined, begging him silently for more relief than just his hand. It was embarrassing how easy it was for him to have you squirming.

"Shh," he hushed you again, his fingers leaving their place inside of you so he could soon replace them with his cock. With a few mindless strokes to work himself up his weight was pressing against your pelvis, bottoming out before you could protest the intrusion.

Your soft little uh uh uh's punctuated his thrusts, your back arched into his palms as he held you up off the mattress. He felt the small tremble in your legs and watched as your head tilted to the side and buried itself into his pillows.

"Ah ah ah, keep those eyes on me." He coaxed them back with a gentle tug at your chin, his thumb swiping your pouty bottom lip.

You could feel him press deep inside you, one hand managing to find your clit between the valley of your bodies. Your toes curled and uncurled into the sheets, your hands doing the same as you fisted the bedding beneath your head.

Logan saw every twitch and squirm you made beneath him, his hungry eyes peering into your half lidded ones.

"Gonna come," you babbled softly, your hand reaching out to grip his bicep. He hissed at the sting of your tight grip, but the pace of his hips only increased at your warning.

"Yeah? Gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he mocked in your ear, his voice breathless as the pad of his thumb fondled harder at your clit. "Go on, I've gotcha."

When the base of his cock hit your body once more, you came hard around him. He groaned at the soft sensation of your walls fluttering, his own movements slowing into single, heavy strokes, before they came to a pounding finish.

Your nails dug further into his arm as he painted your insides, both of your bodies falling limp against the mattress. Every part of you felt heavy from your release, still pulsing as Logan's hands forced your hips to stay pressed against him.

"Fuckin' beauty," he growled into your ear, praising your spent body. He helped you shift comfortably into his arms, his hands uncharacteristically gentle as he pulled the duvet over top of your entangled forms.

"My pretty girl," you heard him whisper again, the sweet name he used on you putting a smile on your weary face.

tags: @ellaynaonsaturn @ellaynahowlett @nymphoniah @all-of-these-vampires @blah-blah-bee

[avelera]

I actually really love Mel/Jayce/Viktor as well as Jayce//Viktor and I actually think the show has a couple scenes that lend to a poly interpretation of the three of them (Mel and Jayce both literally handling Viktor’s crutch between them while talking about how much they care for him, hello?? The subtext writes itself) but I found myself staying focused on just Jayce/Viktor at first because it’s a bit simpler to write and because as much as I LOVE the implied moments of their intellectual, ambiguously romantic threesome, I’d need more of Mel and Viktor interacting to really close the loop for shipping it in my mind. As it is, it feels a bit more “This is Mel’s boyfriend, Jayce, and Jayce’s boyfriend Viktor” that Mel still cares about and respects mostly from afar.

I also think that Viktor and Jayce kind of left their relationship at “we’re partners in every sense of the word, why define it further?” And that definition maybe included romantic and sexual moments (at least for fic writer purposes lol) but the fear of losing the amazing working relationship they had, which is so rare in the academic world, kept them from seriously “defining” it as anything official on the person front, which allowed Jayce to take up with Mel without it being “cheating”.

Throw into that the rapid advancement of Viktor’s illness and I can easily see a scenario where Viktor didn’t force the issue and indeed, was happy to see that Jayce had someone else who loved him in his life, knowing he didn’t have much time left and it would take a miracle to save his own life. Basically, I don’t see Viktor as jealous of Mel as a person, even if he was wary / resigned towards Jayce’s political career and would have rather have had him in the lab more often.

There was a happy medium there, I think, where Jayce was happily balanced between the two of them without jealousy from either that the accelerating events of S1 basically prohibited as the crises began to unfold, forcing Jayce into the conflict with Zaun, and Zaun had always been a point of miscommunication and later tension between Viktor and Jayce. An inevitable one I think, since Jayce couldn’t possibly know what it was like to grow up there, and in the course of their work it probably only rarely came up and so wasn’t daily addressed until the crisis made it an ugly conflict between them.

Anyway, I’m mostly just rambling as I think my way through how I write Jayce and Viktor in the fic I’m finishing up. But mostly I wanted to make the point that I see Jayce’s relationship with Mel as real and important and not “getting in the way” of his relationship with Viktor indeed, Viktor and Mel at least seem mature enough to navigate a poly relationship and Jayce has a lot of love to give (he loves SO MUCH guys I’m emotional about it, he’s just a good kid who ended up in a shitty complex situation that went way over his head. Bro didn’t even know if his school OFFERED military history, he was such an easy target and this is why STEM kids need an introduction to liberal arts I swear).

I don’t think S2 is headed towards any sort of unambiguous happy ending for the three of them but there’s definitely a happy AU in my heart where the three of them make it work and are better together than just two out of the pair.