#adultery mention cw

[histxries]

Lotte Visser - Headcanons

- Lotte tried to follow in her father's footsteps when she was a teenager and steal-she stole a pair of shoes from a shop. Her father made her go back, return the shoes, and pay the owner her wages from helping the tavern owner where her mother worked. He explained that he stole from those who did not miss it; the man Lotte took from would. He wanted better for her.

- Lotte tried to make her marriage work. She dutifully kept her husband company, ran the home, and laid with him. In a moment of rage, he slapped her for not ensuring his trousers were folded the way he'd always folded them. After that, she stopped trying.

-One of the house maids said that Lotte's husband was married before her, but his wife left in the night after a horrid fight. To save face, he quickly found another wife and told everyone he kicked his former wife out for cheating.

-Lotte does not enjoy much of anything at all, but when she feels the rare spark, it is for music and casual sex. Lotte has never felt love for anyone other than her parents.

[ssahotchnerr]

speculation - aaron hotchner x reader

aaron confides in you his suspicions haley is cheating on him.

cw: bau!reader, takes place in s3 timeline - before the divorce, angst, mentions of adultery and unfaithfulness, aaron's sad but not really showing it (naturally), light foreshadowing that someday aaron and reader get together <3 wc; 1.2k

aaron's hands gripped the steering wheel and his stare was pointed forward, the atmosphere heavy in the car. grey clouds had been rolling in all morning, and now the rain was just beginning to fall, a light sprinkle pattering on the windshield.

the two of you had just frequented a crime scene, departing after a rather tense situation - one of the investigators had nearly disrupted the crime scene in a lazy wake, and aaron had thoroughly allowed him to know his mistake.

while aaron was always stern, it was... different this time.

"hotch?"

at his name, you managed to pull him from of his thoughts - you could tell by the way his jaw moved, his grip on the wheel ever so lightly loosening.

aaron didn't respond though; figuring he wasn't too keen on sharing whatever was on his mind, you put your focus out the window, watching the rain begin to slowly collect on the road.

"haley's cheating."

your head turned towards him in an instant, a sickening dread beginning to pool in your stomach at the blunt confession. "what?"

"haley's cheating on me." he fought against the brokenness that dared to ache in his voice, remaining solid and firm in his words. he released a breath, as if saying it out loud made it real; the final confirmation he needed himself. "i may just be paranoid, creating something out of nothing. but things have been... strange."

"oh." your shoulders slumped, the back of your head hitting your headrest.

"strange enough it's been noticeable."

"what's been going on?"

"weird phone calls." he bit his lip as he gazed off to the side, as if he were recalling an instance internally, his hold tightening once again. "she's been more distant. uninterested. sometimes, when she comes home, she won't look me in the eye."

ouch. "i'm sorry."

it was rather surprising, in an odd way. to the naked eye, aaron was someone who was well put together; phenomenal at his job, a clear key-in for potential director of the bureau someday. from an outsider perspective, one could infer he lived a perfect life, and therefore had the perfect family to go along with it.

if he wasn't confiding in you, that's what you would've thought.

aaron didn't talk about his personal life - that's one thing you quickly learned upon your addition to the team, a month or two ago. you could recall what penelope had for breakfast, what books spencer had read in a day, what color underwear morgan had currently on.

anything about aaron, nothing.

whether it was because he was your boss, or because he wasn't an openly expressive person, you always went back to the guilty thought - has anyone at least ever asked?

while you all went out for drinks after a long day, aaron never usually attended. but he had a family at home, of course he would go home to them - that's where his priorities laid.

the constant secrecy surrounding him was the reason you've been so intrigued by him since day one - spending so much time with someone you knew nothing about.

and if you learned anything now, he wasn't going home to the home you had previously thought. it was barely a home, he was more so a guest. you were slowly beginning to understand more why he rarely smiled.

aaron hotchner was just as human as anyone else.

even now, he wasn’t showing much emotion. it was evident he was extremely hurt, and had all the emotions one could imagine. but would he distinctly let that on, letting his vulnerability show - no.

aaron opened his mouth to respond, slight hesitation before he spoke. he began to deflect, "but i could just-"

"no. listen to your intuition." you interrupted softly, grounded. "like you said, if you're taking notice, something's going on."

he nodded in agreement, the motion of his head strained. he did force out a chuckle, a terribly sad laugh. "part of me doesn't blame her-"

"don't say that. she's your wife."

"exactly." aaron sighed out, eyeing the wedding ring on his left hand. "there's something i could've done to prevent this. to keep her interested. to solidify i'm still here for her despite the long hours and schedule. instead i'm the husband and father who's never home. and it's difficult to be the husband i want with the possible betrayal."

"she's your wife." you repeated, solemnly. "so she should know you. you're the husband and father who stops at nothing to catch the criminals who walk amongst us. you're this job, and asking for understanding on that isn't wrong. regardless of what you say you're doing wrong, or have done wrong, it doesn't give haley the excuse to... do this."

you didn't want to say cheat. not for his sake - the depth of the word felt harsh and prominent in your chest.

"i appreciate you saying that." his eyes met yours briefly, the tone of his voice genuine. "but i messed up. i guess what they say about getting needs met elsewhere is true."

you quieted.

aaron also added after a moment, in an exasperated near-whisper. "and besides... i don't think she's known me in a while."

silence filled the car once more, and you let out an exhale. you felt for him, and his marriage. you couldn't imagine what it felt like, or how he felt: the person who you thought was your forever slipping through your fingers - like trying to catch smoke. it was there, you just couldn't grasp it.

you hoped you weren't overstepping boundaries with your next question. "does she know..."

"that i know?" aaron asked, and you nodded. he kept his stare forward, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment. "i believe so, yeah."

you waited for him to speak again, while he was confiding in you, you didn't want to pry - none of really this was your business. you at least hoped it was clear you were offering support within the silence.

and you must've, because he continued. "i feel sick to my stomach it could be happening in my house. in my bed. with our son in the next room over." he shook his head angrily with the last sentence, in disbelief as he clicked the windshield wipers on, the rain falling more heavily now. "i lie awake at night when we're gone, just thinking what's going on at the moment."

"i wouldn't do that." you offered quietly, although you knew that advice was nearly impossible to follow. "you will make yourself sick."

aaron vaguely shook his head again, defeated. "i don't know what else to do."

you weren't sure what to say, or exactly why he was telling you all this. again, you didn't know him well. and not only, in a way, he terrified you, in more ways than one. the only way you could describe it - when he looked at you, he really looked at you. you were terrified of what he could make you realize about yourself.

"so, what are you going to do?"

"i don't know."

[minniesmutt]

♱ ━━━━━━ 𝔇𝔢𝔰𝔦𝔯𝔢

♱ ━━━ 2023 HALLOWEEN SPECIAL

♱ ━━━ PAIRING: OT8 X READER ♱ ━━━ GENRE: FANTASY AU, VAMPIRE!SKZ, PRINCESS! READER, SMUT, ANGST, FLUFF ♱ ━━━ GENERAL CW: BITING, BLOOD, HARD DOM!SKZ, FREE USE (maybe), BONDAGE, PET NAMES, MENTIONS OF MISTREATMENT TOWARDS WOMEN (NOT FROM SKZ), CORRUPTION KINK ♱ ━━━SYNOPSIS: Far from the innocent princess of the king people thought she was. Ever loyal to her father, keeping the secrets of his adultery and anything else he did within the walls of the castle a secret. Essentially ruling the Kingdom already since he couldn’t keep it together. Until history and debt comes back to haunt him, offering yourself to save the bastard— maybe it was more of an escape for yourself? To give up control and act on desire alone

♱ ━━━ PROLOGUE

♱ ━━━ ONE

♱ ━━━ TWO

♱ ━━━ THREE

♱ ━━━ THREE . FIVE

♱ ━━━ FOUR

♱ ━━━ FIVE

♱ ━━━ SIX

♱ ━━━ SEVEN

♱ ━━━ EIGHT

♱ ━━━ NINE

♱ ━━━ TEN

♱ ━━━ ELEVEN

♱ ━━━ EPILOGUE

[gothic-thoughts]

Shut Up and Listen

(took WAY too long to realize out of all my Jojo content, ion have Jotaro 🙄)

Part4! Jotaro Kujo x Black Fem Reader Smut

MDNI, DomesticAU, Babysitter!Reader, Boss!Jotaro

CW: ForbiddenAU, Jojo cheating?? afab parts mentioned, quiet quickie, unprotected cream🥧, tame words(nun vulgar)

Word Count: 1719 (give or take)

(A/n): sorry his first fic is a smut, I hate doing that tbh 😓

Jotaro took a deep breath as he walked to the front door ready to face the possibility of seeing his ex-wife's angry face. He reluctantly opens the door to see his daughter's sitter sitting on the couch with a glass of wine in hand and smiles. He sighed, releasing the breath he held back as his heart began pounding in his chest. 

Since his wife filed for divorce, the only peace he could get after work was whenever (Y/n) was here, whether it be to watch over his 5-year-old daughter or just to check on him. Either way, Jojo's heart pounded against his ribcage just from being around her but it only added to his wife's suspicion of his adultery. 

"Hey, Mr. Kujo." She whispers, "How was work?"

"(Y/n), please, you come over way too much to be so formal."

"Last time I called you 'Jojo' in front of your wife, she looked like she gonna tear my head off."

He scoffs, waving off the thought of her, “Yeah, I bet.”

(Y/n) chuckles softly as he takes off his shoes at the door and tiptoes across the living room's squeaky floorboards before gently sitting next to her much shorter stature.

"Wine after work?" He smiles, taking the other glass from the table. "You know me so well."

"You always complain about needing a drink so I brought."

"You probably need it more than I do, dealing with that one. How was she?"

She groans. "Tantrum."

"About?"

"He just hates resting for some reason. You know how kids are. Though, her mother coming over probably gave him a boost of energy

Jojo almost chokes on his wine, "Her mother? She was here you said? Why?"

"She said she came to see Jolyne for a bit but I feel like she was looking for you."

"Good grief, of course she was. Where is she now?"

"Her inn."

"Good. I don't think I can deal with another fight after a long day. I'm gonna snap." He sits up, "Anyway, did she say anything to you?"

“What do you mean?”

“Anything?”

"What, no not really. I mean, it doesn't matter, she was just..."

Jojo puts his drink on the coffee table. "What did she say to you?"

“Jotaro, I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I asked you.”

“She just...reminded me...of my job.”

He furrowed his eyebrows to figure out why his wife would feel the need to remind (Y/n) of her, but he quickly realized that was just it; his ex-wife was telling her to stay in her place. His eyebrows part and irritation instantly washes over his features as his beloved babysitter puts her glass down. “Listen, Jojo–”

"Don’t.”

“I only come over to watch your daughter. I don't know why I tried to go above and beyond by checking on you--”

“Because you’re amazing--”

“Because now your wife hates me. Like I’m pretty sure she fucking told the neighbors cuz they’re starting to look at me like I'm the worst person on Earth whenever I take Jolyne out."

The sudden sternness in the tone makes the man’s lips part before he bites the inside of his cheek in thought. They both look to the ceiling, listening for the sluggish pitter-patter of Jolyne’s footsteps making their way to the staircase—but it remains silent. Jojo sighs with relief and slides closer to her while she averts her gaze to the wine on the table. He rests a hand on her thigh. 

“Sorry, it’s just--” 

"No." He whispers, guiding her chin to face him, "I'm sorry for putting you through this. You deserve so much better than this.”

“What, no. It’s not you; your ex-wife’s just making life hard.”

He pauses, “Yeah, you’re right. But frankly, I could give a damn what she’s doing, I’m not letting you go—not if it’s not what you want.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Honestly, the highlight of my day is coming home to you and my daughter. I’m not letting that go for anything.”

“You...you serious?”

“You know I’m not one to joke about what I want. Or do I need to show you more recent proof?”

She nods then gasps as her boss quickly links his lips with hers. (Y/n)'s hands slide up his broad chest to yearningly grab his broad shoulders and rest the other on the back of his neck. They cup each other's faces and grasp at each other's shirts, groaning into each other's mouths for more.

Neither minded the amount of saliva due to their fervor as he picked her up and sat her on his lap. He holds her body so close that her breasts squish against him but pushes on his chest, breaking their forbidden kiss. Their lust-filled eyes open while they pant heavily on each other's reddened lips. Jojo's hand rests on her face, thumb swiping back and forth along her plush cheek.

"Sorry.” He whispers, “Didn’t know how much longer I could go without doing that.”

“What if someone sees?”

“Curtains are closed. Don't worry about it." He secures his hands under her thighs, "Let's go."

“Go where- oh!”

He carried her up the main steps, but instead of going to his room, he brought her to the guest room, a little farther away from his daughter's bedroom. He kicks the door shut before locking it, then sets her on her feet and continues to make out, sliding his long, white jacket down his arms and to the floor behind him. Their shirts were the next to go, being dropped at their sides before he pulled her hips closer, pressing his huge bulge into her pelvis.

“We do have to make this quick, though.” (Y/n) whispers breathlessly, "She told me she’d come back when you got off.”

“Shit, alright.” He picks her up again and walks to the available bed, where he mounts her, “Quick, got it.”

"Is this moving too fast? I mean..."

“We can stop now if you want.”

(Y/n) shakes her head, hands sliding down his side to his belts where she quickly unbuckles them. He looks down at her fingers and then back at her face with a small smirk. Before she knew it, his pants and boxers were down by his thighs while her leggings lay discarded on the hardwood floor. He tugs her underwear to the side and guides himself in with a breathless sigh from the tightness, head tilting back.

“Oh my...g-god.”

“Heh, sorry. Too quick?”

"Jus’ a little...big. Fuck Jojo."

He presses open-mouth kisses to her neck, "Not hurting you, am I?" He whispers.

“No...god, fuck no. Feels so fuckin’ good.

“I’m not even that deep yet.”

“I might go insane if you do. Just... jus’--”

“Oh yeah?”

The pads of Jotaro’s fingers dig into her hips as he pulls her closer to try to meet his base, but chuckles at the remaining inches between them.

(Y/n) grips his shoulders and curses under her breath, insides gripping him tightly, trying to stay sane while he stretched her wide. (Y/n) gasps out before biting her lip to keep her moans quiet when Jojo finally moves his hips at a slow yet deep rhythm. 

He tried to keep it together but soft moans still came out while he gripped the sheets under her as his movements gradually became harder. (Y/n) shivers and groans at the change, arching her back slightly as euphoria ran up her spine. Once she moaned his name softly, he lost more of his composure and leaned down for another sloppy kiss in an attempt to keep himself from moaning.

"Jojo, don’t f’cking stop, please; oh my god.”

"I know we're farther from the front," He whispers against her lips, "But you gotta keep it down, ngh~"

She nods. "But you're going so deep...so-o deep. You feel so good."

"I know.... fuck, I know. Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ tight."

He lifts her legs to his broad shoulders, hips slamming against her ass over and over and creating the sound of heavy, wet slapping that fills the room. (Y/n)’s legs trembled so much from the deep strokes that she cried out only for him to cover her mouth and press his plump lips to her ear to shush her.

“Fuck, (Y/n).” Jotaro mutters, thrusts becoming harder, “You’re gonna wake my daughter if you keep that up.”

“But, ah, gonna cum. So close, Jojo, I’m so close~”

"Come on, cum for me then; that’s why I put you in this fuckin’ position. Cum.”

 He quickened his movements and gently pressed his lips to hers again, moaning into her mouth while his girth throbbed and pulsed with every swift drag through her wet, squeezing walls. She kisses back, scratching his large shoulders, as her orgasm rushes through her nerves. (Y/n) holds the back of his neck as he guides her through her climax, making her moan and gasp in his ear.

"I-I think--"

"What, you gonna--"

"I think I love you."

His face doesn’t change but his hips speed up on their own, "D-do you mean it, (Y/n)?"

She nods.

"I-I do too.... a l-lot more than I should."

"Hah~ Goin' t-too...fast."

"Seeing you every day before work is enough to fuel me for the day."

"You’re m-making it hard t-to--mmh god!"

"Fuck, you don't know how badly I've wanted this shit."

"J’taro--"

"Kissing you, touching you, making you cum for me—fuuck, it’s too much."

Her back arches off the bed, and he slides his arm between the bed and her lower back, continuously pulling her into every heavy, breathtaking thrust.  

"Ah~ Jojo! F-fuck, fuuck~!”

“Me too. Don’t worry, I’ll–”

“No, don’t stop. Please d’nt fuckin stop~”

“Then...you want me to..."

"Y-yeah, just please." She scratches up his shirt, "Don't stop~"

Jojo's hips stutter and his eyes shut as his thighs continue to smack against the back of hers. He groans loudly, burrowing his face in her neck when he meets the edge and spills his load inside her. He gasps and clutches at the sheets, while she plants soft kisses to his chest. They pant loudly together as his hips stutter to a stop, their bodies shivering together to calm down as huffs of breath in each other’s faces start to rile them up again.

Before they could get another word out, the front door could be heard opening from up the hall.

[pedgito]

i have a request 🫣 prince paul having an affair with his chamber maid, and he’s extra mean and arrogant because she’s the help. maybe it starts out with him requesting (demanding) she wear skimpier clothes in his presence and it just escalates from there 👀

author’s note: honestly never forgiving you for this. <3

cw: 18+ (minors dni) period typical drama (you don’t need to have seen the show to understand), chambermaid!reader, lots of degrading (not in a nice way), adultery/infidelity, mentions of reader being infertile, lots of tension, bratty!paul (he’s such an ass), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, power imbalance, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 5.5k

He’s not quite the man you expect at first glance. Paul, that is. His mother was an atrocious being, soft for show and nothing but hard edges, laced with ill-intent at every turn, opportunity—every chance she had, she was betraying the semblance of trust she had built.

And maybe that was her plan after all, the reason why she rules the way she did—but people talked and you heard every bit of it.

No one cared for chambermaids, especially not the one addressed to a tantrum prone young prince who despite his misfortunes still had the attitude and personality of a spoilt-child, all condescending tone and disregard for basic human decency.

But, it’s your normal—and it’s easy to fall into that routine, his voice is like white noise as you work, if he had the nerve to notice you. He’s often caught up in his own thoughts, scowl on his face as he brushes past you with no acknowledgment, not that you expect it. He’s cold at first, brisker—more than he has been lately, but your place was recognized.

Paul didn’t have the time to talk to the likes of you.

Yet, that’s exactly why he did—though, it wasn’t without your own valiant effort.

The first time it happens you almost jump out of your skin, pressing fresh sheets on his bedside chair to redress his bed, his pouting figure perched at the end, head bowed.

“Can you believe her?” He asks, voice soft but tense. You turn back, thinking he’s talking to someone—anyone but you.

There’s no one.

So, you say, “She’s quite evil, isn’t she?”

It’s a solid enough response to get a reaction out of him, even if it’s barely noticeable. His shoulders shake with the chuckle he holds back.

“She’d have your head if she was to hear that,” Paul points out, tipping his head back over his shoulder, eyes still downturned toward his floor, “careful what you say.”

“Sir, I need to change your bedding,” You urged, hands gripping the silk duvet, destined to rip that blanket away whether he moved or not, “please?” You ask softly and he’s standing silently, rounding the bed to reach for the gold plated goblet at his bedside, sipping what you could only assume was a fruitful, fancy wine from their large collection.

He watches silently, intently as you rip the old sheets away and replace them with new ones, body stretching over the bed as you fold in the corners, breasts pushed tight against the fabric and hips peeking out through the stiffly tailored dress, the itchy material driving you crazy every day.

His lips are perched on the rim, dark eyes glaring from a distance as you glance up at him briefly, met with his heated stare. You blush slightly—no man has ever looked at you in such a way.

You clear your throat quietly, flipping the blanket over the sheets and smoothing it out until it’s pristine—and you almost make it out without consequences or crude commentary.

“Lose the dress next time,” Paul orders, “it’s unbecoming of you.”

“Pardon?” You ask shakily, dirty fabric balled up and held tight against your chest, “Sir—er, Prince Paul, your majesty…I don’t think that is appropriate.”

“You’re my chambermaid,” His expression changes quickly, speaking through clenched teeth, “you do as you’re told.”

You nod obediently, though slow.

“Only here,” He clarifies, “Close the door from now on, only come at night—do you understand?”

You nod.

“Good,” His face changed on a dime, softening slightly as he stepped toward you, ringed fingers clinging against the metal of his cup as he tilted it toward you, pressing it against your lips, “drink.”

You’ve never tasted alcohol, not allowed those luxuries. It’s bitter as it hits your tongue, the tartness of the wine causing you to grimace slightly, lips stained a deep red as your tongue peeks out when Paul pulls the goblet away.

“Obedient,” He notes with amusement, snorting softly through his nose, “that is…useful.”

He doesn’t elaborate, nodding for you to leave as his expression hardens again, eyebrows drawn together tight.

“Mutter off,” He grumbles, “and do as you’re told.”

You shouldn’t have expected anything less from him, the situation souring in a matter of seconds as you walked away quickly, disappearing down a dark hall to rid yourself of the dirty laundry, avoiding the judging gaze of the consort as they walked by, ducking your head in a effort to hide in plain sight.

Before that encounter, Paul hid himself away after the death of his first wife and child—and while his wife had been horribly unfaithful, you could never wish that on anymore. Paul constantly grumbled about having a child to serve the purpose that his mother wanted, he’d finally accomplished it and then it was being swept out from under him in such a brutal manner.

It didn’t soften the blow of infedelity any less, or that he’d lost his son, a potential heir to his throne.

And for a while you barely see him, either tucked up under his covers and refusing to let you inside, or gone on some task with his army of men—you couldn’t be bothered to care.

You were poor, lowly, at the bottom of the pecking order and never destined step foot outside of this place, that much was obvious. It’s taught you to be mindful and overly observant—you knew Paul’s wife was cheating on him from the beginning, small inclinations that things were arye, but it wasn’t fully confirmed until you walked into a vacant room to his unfaithful wife being fucked by his bestfriend. As horrible as Paul may be, you weren’t sure he deserved that.

The period between then and now is tense, but manageable. You’ve got plenty of duties to keep yourself busy outside of his room, helping set tables for one of the many extravagant parties the council had weekly, tidying up the main rooms and helping greet guests from time to time. You were always presentable, clean, hair pulled back in a loose bun and any strays tucked behind your ear. It added an extra softness to your face, bare of any makeup—Catherine always commented on how beautiful you were, too pretty to be in the position you were now. You could never tell if she was lying or not, her first nature is always to make connections first and destroy them later.

She wastes no time in finding Paul a new wife, much to his initial dismay. He becomes rebellious during the time before, not that he wasn’t already the cause of most issues, but you quickly become used to it.

You find yourself picking up two pairs of clothes rather than one, slipping into his bedroom in the early mornings while he’s still tucked under the duvet, a naked, nameless woman wrapped around him and much less covered.

His mother would have a stroke if she knew he was finding sexual comfort in the likes of paid sex rather than putting his efforts forth to find an acceptable replacement, someone who is fertile and willing to submit.

And you can always slip in and out without being noticed, returning at night to finish up the more tedious and difficult tasks, avoiding conversation and his eyes at all costs.

Until you walk into an unfortunate situation one night, Paul buried in the cunt of a woman who’s much too loud, his pale legs tensing with every rough thrust of his hips—and sex wasn’t foreign, but it was private. It was a private, sacred act that should be kept between the two parties, but for Paul, that’s not the case.

He hears the door creak open, your eyes wide as he glances back at you, a deep smirk on his face.

His clothes are clutched to your chest along with his necessities for his bath—you’d normally start it for him by now, but you’re frozen, eyes stuck on the sight before you.

“She’s watching,” Paul says to the woman quietly and she moans softly in response, “—do not let me stop you,” Paul says, voice labored slightly as he wraps his hands around her thighs, pulling her impossibly more flush, his body blushing a bright shade of red, similar to the fake blush you patted on most morning as you helped him dress—though this, it’s so much better, “I’m nearly done.”

Your mouth is slightly agape, tongue feeling dry as you try to regain your composure, shaking your head as you slip past—the noises grow louder, heavier, and you quickly shut the bathroom door out of fear you might be caught again, eyes drawing toward him without meaning to.

You draw the bath, scolding hot as he liked and dip your fingers in to test the temperature, shaking the water from your fingertips as the door creaks open.

He’s still naked, unashamed as he walks toward you. It wasn’t the first time you’ve seen Paul naked, but it feels different. He’s not as showy, and more often than not he’ll shove you away, order you to busy yourself as he washes up—he doesn’t say a word this time, lifting his legs to step into the tub, softening cock bouncing against his thigh. He’s large, girthy and uncut. You’ve never heard many of the women talk about him in such a manner, so it comes as a surprise the first time you see it. It’s nothing like the older men you’ve seen undressing from their loins during your rounds—he’s younger, leaner, and oozing with an unbelievable confidence.

You still barely spoke to him then, handing over the washcloth and soap silently as you walked about, filling up his glass with the alcohol he usually requested; an awful tasting red wine that was much more bitter than it was sweet.

It was quite poetic, actually. It represented Paul perfectly.

His eyes drag up your coveted figure as he reaches for the glasses, stopping on your face, cheeks hot from the stuffy temperature of the room.

“Stay,” He says fiercely, catching you by surprise, “you can help, be of use finally.”

When he turns to sip and sit the drink down you roll your eyes, fist clenching tightly.

“Do you mind?” He asks, holding up the soaked washcloth toward you.

“Your majesty…you want me to bathe you?” You ask slowly, carefully.

“Are you hard of hearing or something?” He asks coarsely, teeth biting through his words as he bared them to you.

It was hard to know what would set Paul off, even the littlest things a trigger.

“No, no.” You reply softly, not bothering to finish your sentence as you squeezed the washcloth over his back, his shoulders stretching slightly as he rolled them, lifting his arms up on the edge of the tub.

“Not quite used to that?” Paul asks curiously, tone softer now.

“Sir, I’m not sure what you’re referring to—“

“No use being coy.” He notes, looking back at your briefly.

You weren’t nearly as timid as he assumed you were, not in the slightest. But, you appreciated the life you had, that you were living, and you weren’t going to jeopardize that by letting your sharp mouth get the better of you.

“Not necessarily, no.” You tell him honestly, “I’ve caught Potemkin in some…strange situations, but I usually excuse myself quickly—“ Paul leans back slightly to give you access to his chest, the wetness of his hair dampening your dress, “sex is private, s’not meant to be intruded on.”

Paul hums a soft noise, eyes linger over your body as you stretch and rub at his chest with the soap, smoothing out the washcloth over his skin before your hand dips under the water, reaching the soft skin of his stomach.

“You’re much too shy,” Paul teases, “you cannot be that way here, not with who I am—with who my mother is.”

“I do my duties and stay in my room, your majesty. It is important, also, to be mindful of where you stick your nose.”

It earns a laugh from him, genuine and unrestrained. His wet fingers loop around your wrist as it resurfaces from the water, and he’s pushing your sleeve up slightly, wetting the fabric.

“I tend to enjoy it,” Paul admits, “what a better way to remind people of what’s rightfully mine, yes?”

You snort at that, glancing down at him. Every signal in your brain is telling you to shut up, but your mouth moves anyway.

“Mmm, I assume paying for it also translates over to it being your property, correct?” He scoffs lightly, not as angry as you were expecting, but his grip tightens.

“Correct,” He seethes, tilting his chin up daringly, dragging you closer abruptly while your hands shoot out to catch yourself, gasping sharply as his face is mere inches from your own now, “—need I remind you that you are also my property?”

“I’m well aware, your majesty.” You bite back, “That does not allow you access to my body if you wish to lose a limb—“

“A delicate thing like you—“

You shake your head slowly, the words dying on his tongue.

“If you would like to keep fucking women in your bed, or at all, I would be careful with your next few words, sir.”

Paul smirks slightly, pushing you away with ease.

“I never said anything about force, you know,” He hints at, “I’m not that evil, not in that sense, at least.”

“As you shouldn’t be,” You retort, “Are we done here?”

Paul stands as you reach for the weak excuse for towel, cock resting proud against his stomach as both of his hands cup himself, allowing himself some decency—though it’s blatantly obvious.

You’re not sure whether to be flattered or offended, handing the towel off silently and dragging your feet toward the door.

“You can leave, yes—“ He hesitates for a moment, and your eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“Is everything okay, your majesty?”

Paul smirks darkly, eyes drifting away from you.

“Just a thought—I shall keep it to myself,” Paul says cryptically, “—‘less I risk losing an appendage as promised.”

Your laugh curtly, a subtle smile creeping onto your own face.

“You’re very smart, sir.” You tease.

“If only my mother would think as such,” He responds bitterly, mood shifting quickly, “—leave me, busy yourself.”

It’s not as harsh, but you don’t linger any longer than needed.

It’s the first time you manage to have a semi-normal conversation with Paul—though, nothing was ever conventional with him.

He remarried a few months after the encounter in the bath, your small conversations coming to an abrupt stop, his demeanor flat and angry more often than not.

No more random ladies in his bed, no more late nights perched on his desk table letting him ramble on about how much he hated his mother—you didn’t exist anymore.

He’s being the good little boy his mother asked him to be and promises her another heir, hoping this one holds up. And his wife seems kind-hearted at first, but that quickly sours.

It’s how you were in the position you were now, in his chambers stripped down to nearly nothing, as he’d asked, and going on about your business as if nothing was different. You didn’t have the luxury to question Paul’s orders, being as obedient as you could—as you were always taught to be.

He’d been angry the night before, about his mother but…something else. It lingered, you didn’t ask, and now it was itching at your mind, bugging you to no end.

Paul catches you when you’re bent over to grab a piece of stray stationary that had fell to the floor, making a noise you can’t decipher before speaking.

“Good,” He chide, “you listen.”

You weren’t sure what Paul was capable of, truly—and you didn’t want to find out. Because being the spawn of his mother, those tendencies were there at the surface, if not already exposed.

You turn slowly, breasts pressed together in the thin bra, underwear clinging to your hips and you curtsy slightly.

“Your excellency.”

You were laying it on thick, wondering what his angle was.

Paul examines the room carefully, stumbling a bit as he walks.

Drunk. He was drunk.

Not so much that he couldn’t speak or think for himself, but he seemed looser, less perturbed. His face was flush from the effects of the alcohol as he slipped his glass up along a random shelf.

“Fresh linens—you’ve even got my outfits lined up for the ceremony tomorrow,” His eyebrows quirks up interest, “you have been very busy.”

“It is just my job, sir.” You explain softly, hands clasped in front of you tightly, the cold draft in the room making you shiver.

Paul approaches slowly, plucking the stray paper from the desk and examining it, “Seems someone has been rummaging through my belongings again.”

You freeze, eyes tracking his every movement with regret, knowing that you were likely to blame—it could be a hit this time, a few stinging words and a night without a meal, you braced for impact.

“Do you women really think of yourself as the smarter species?” Paul asks, curiously but his voice is laced with an edge, a motive. “That us men are that dim.”

“Uh—“ You start quietly, stammering for the right words.

“She’s fucking the cook, you know.” Paul drops on you, making everything click in one fleeting moment. “The help. Like you.”

You bow your head, your normal snarky response subdued for the moment.

“She’s been writing letters, just the same as the other filthy fuckin’ whore I used to be bethrothed to.” The smell of liquor was strong as it fell from his breath, but his eyes still connected with you, flicking with life.

He always looked sad, small in comparison to most of the royals despite his attitude and harsh manner of dealing with things and people and really anything that bothered him. He was just as vile as he was kind—most of it being an act.

You knew he wasn’t being sweet to you out of the goodness of his heart, he had reasons. He was calculated in the most deceiving ways.

“How—how do you know?” You ask softly.

Paul huffs a small laugh, dropping the paper back onto the desk and allowing his other to trail up your front, finger wrapping around the material that joined your breasts together—if he pulled hard enough it would snap, the weak fabric no match against his strength.

“Caught them.” He spits out viciously, plump lips pouting around the words as he tugs you toward him, you move easily.

You weren’t scared of Paul—that was never the case. But, you knew it wasn’t smart to go against his actions, the things that he wanted. Because really, you weren’t sure how badly you wanted them either, until his fingertips were touching your skin, his eyes roaming your nearly naked frame.

“But sir, she’s—“

“With my child.” He answers for you, pausing for a moment to catch the stutter in your breath, his hand smoothing down over your stomach, your skin ice cold underneath his scolding touch. “No more sir, or your majesty—or whatever bullshit they teach you to say to me.”

You nod jerkily, head dipping down to watch his fingers trailer further and further, breath quickening with every movement.

“Considering my first son was not even my son, I shouldn’t be surprised,” Paul says lowly, his hand cupping your cunt light, the delicate touch of his fingertips tracing along the seam of your underwear, “it seems no woman can understand the concept of faithfulness.”

And you had to give him that—as much of a tyrant he could, he’d never tried to be unfaithful in his relationships. He had his indulges during those long, lonely in between periods, but never during.

Yet, here he was. A married man, touching you in ways that felt…too good. He was no different than his wife, but maybe that’s what he wanted.

“I must admit you are much prettier than the previous help, solnishko.” His free hand reaches up to tilt your chin up confidently, eyes connecting with him surrounded by an intensity you haven’t felt before. “I would much like to keep you around.”

“Unless I disobey,” You counter softly, “you would not hesitate to order my beheading, yes?”

Paul shrugs carelessly, “You wouldn’t be the first, I can assure you it would not be the last.”

His thumb rubs over your chin, rising to your lip, saliva wetting his finger as it stilled there, giving him a glimpse of your clenched teeth, not realizing your fist had been curled so tight at your sides until he’s speaking again.

“Relax,” He comforts, though it’s nothing but a mockery, “I would not hurt you, not unless I’m given reason.”

Your eyes squint slightly, narrowing on his bluff.

“Say it,” He orders, “say what is on your mind.”

“You are a scared boy,” You challenge, his demeanor faltering for a half-second before he recovers, “all talk and nothing else.”

The gentle hand on your face quickly turns to stone, slipping around your throat in warning, squeezing lightly. Your eyes close, trying to ignore how unbothered you are.

It wasn’t the first time your life has been threatened, it was all old news.

His fingers move quickly, slipping under your panties to touch bare skin. Paul snickers evilly at the wetness pooling between your folds, the soft noise your throat makes when his finger drags through—warm and thick.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Paul says smugly, “how long?”

“I’m afraid I might need you to elaborate, sir.”

The squeeze is light, but tense. A warning to your words.

“Paul,” You correct yourself quickly, “I apologize—old habits.”

“How long have you wanted this?” He asks slowly, tongue and teeth enunciating every word like he’s spitting venom at you.

You couldn’t give him a period of time, because there wasn’t one. The attraction was a surprise to yourself, from the moment he touched you after stepping into the room, you knew. You could handle the not so subtle glances he took, the teasing words and throw them right back—but you both had never crossed this line. Sure, Paul could be coarse and suggestive more often than not, but part of him never expected you to follow through on his commands, even if it meant your life.

He’s intrigued by you, enthralled. He hates himself for it more than he cares to admit. But, all good things did come in moderation.

“Must you ruin the mystery of it all?” You retort playfully, eyes lighting up as he tilts his head, trying to decipher the growing smirk on your face. “May I ask you a question, your—er, Paul?”

“So long as you choose your words wisely.”

“Why ask me here in such a state?” You ask, “If the others knew—if they found out, you would surely face consequences yourself.”

“I won’t,” He forces out through clenched teeth, jaw flexing underneath the skin, “this stays here, understood?”

“What exactly is this?”

He can see the way you’re relaxing under his hold, more comfortable speaking to him in such a tone. He’s used to being talked down upon, constantly disregarded—never challenged.

“Madam, whatever I want it to be.” He smiles, sickeningly sweet, proving his point by dipping a finger into your entrance.

You gasp softly, back hitting the edge of the bed as he maneuvers you the short distance there.

“But, your wife—“ You interrupted in a hushed tone, his mouth hanging open slightly as he glared up at you, “how does this make anything better?”

“Not better, even.”

You nod obediently, moaning softly at the loss of contact as he stands, wiping his hand along the front of his trousers.

“Undress yourself.” He orders, seating himself on the edge of the bed as you turn, switching positions with him.

Your eyes glance toward the door briefly, the light from the moon shining in through the stained glass, the candlelight dim—if anyone walked by, they would assume Paul was sleeping, but behind closed doors…it made your heart skip a beat in anticipation, excitement even.

It was reckless, but you didn’t care.

Paul unbuttons his trousers swiftly, already down to a few layers rather than his several, regal waistcoat and all—it was just his loose white shirt and a faded pair of tan pants that cuffed at his ankles.

He’s not shy in the slightest, cock already half-hard as he palms himself, squeezing lightly at his balls before fisting himself tightly, raising a foot up on the bed frame to steady him, free hand coming to rest beside him.

Your bra goes first, loose straps falling down your shoulders with no resistance, pulling at the string holding the material together tied behind your back. The cold air has the soft buds of your nipples hardening instantly, skin prickled with goosebumps. Paul makes an appreciative noise, thumb rubbing at the thick head of his cock, the uncut skin allowing for an easy slide as he works up a harsh rhythm, cheeks flushed an even deeper red than earlier—there’s more than just alcohol affecting his system.

He doesn’t speak a word, only nodding his head to urge you further, slipping your underwear down and beyond your ankles quickly.

“You are—“ His voice catches, grunt slipping past his lips, “divine.”

You smile slightly, a surge of pride rushing through your body at the sight of him, clearly unhinged by you.

“Would you like your cock sucked?” You ask bluntly, adding the endearment for extra measure. “Sir.”

Paul grins widely, reaching forward to tug you by your wrist, “Get over here.” He urges, settling to your knees impatiently, never one for niceties.

But, you didn’t need that. You didn’t expect it from him.

“How do you like it?” You ask curiously, nudging his hand away to replace it with your own, eyes watching the small, glistening bed of precum that leaked from the tip.

“I’m sure you’ve sucked a cock or two before.”

“I’m asking you,” You challenge, “What do you like?”

“Control,” He answers quickly, without hesitation, “going to let me fuck your mouth, milaya?”

The softness of the word makes you smile, though it’s subtle.

“As you wish, your excellency.”

He hates the terms, the formality of it, but it only eggs you on further. He was still Paul in your eyes, but this was easier. It kept a level of disconnection you need.

His hand roots into your hair roughly, gripping a decent chunk before pulling you forward, his large hand enveloping your own to rub the head of his cock against your lips.

“Open,” He orders, pressing your mouth open, “further—-there, good.”

You moan at the guidance of his hand along your jaw as he presses himself further into your mouth, “I know,” He soothes, “it’s much larger than what you’re used to, isn’t it?”

And he was, by far—but you’re also not exactly inclined to say yes, not allowing another boost to his ever growing ego.

You moan softly, eyes falling shut when the head of his cock nudges against the back of your throat, breathing deeply through your nose as he watches, waiting for you to pull away.

It never comes.

You can see the burning flames of fire in his pupils, deep set behind those wide brown eyes. He’s speechless, for once.

He pulls you back harshly, allowing you a small gasp of air as the corners of your mouth quirk up in amusement.

“Does that answer your question?” You say teasingly, a mocking need to your tone that Paul has never heard before. But, he can’t be bothered to reprimand you, too busy wallowing in his own desperate need for pleasure, release—human connection, even.

Paul growls low through closed lips, pressing his cock back inside your mouth with ease, the warm, flat of your tongue running along the underside of it, a faint taste of his cum rendering you thoughtless.

It’s been long, far too long.

And you’d do just about anything for a moment of blissful peace, drowning in your own arousal.

His thrusts are pointed, lacking the delicate touch you’re used to, but it’s everything you need, swatting his hand away finally to cover what your mouth couldn’t possibly reach, his other still firmly fisted in your hair. It had to be a mess now, pulled from its bun and glowing over your shoulders.

Paul wasn’t trying his best to stay quiet either, groaning a flurry of obscenities above your head—“Fuckfuck—need to have you,” He begs, “I will not finish this night off without knowing every piece of you, darling.”

He pulls you away suddenly, lips flushed and covered in spit.

“Maybe I’ll make my mother happier with another heir,” He jokes lightly, pulling you to your feet, shoving you promptly onto the edge of the bed until you’re settled on your back, ass flush with his hips, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against your thigh, “—it’s only a joke, you may laugh.”

“I am unable to bare children, Paul.” You tell him openly, “Why do you think I have this job? Because I enjoy it?”

His fingers slip over your cunt wordlessly, pressing into you slowly. Two fingers instead of one, but the stretch is welcomed.

“What a shame,” He comments quietly, your breasts bouncing slightly bad your gripped the sheets beside your head, hips rocking with the steady movement of his fingers, “wish there were more help like you.”

“So you could fuck them, your majesty?” You retort.

It strikes a nerve, his cock replacing his fingers rather quickly, without warning. You gasp ruggedly, hand reaching out to grasp at his wrist, his hands smoothing over the tops of your thighs to pull you close, his brows drawn together in concentration, short blonde curls stick to his forehead.

“Watch your mouth.” He warns, eyes darkening with his words.

“Or what?”

You must’ve had a death wish, but Paul can’t even be bothered to act upset.

“I assure you, you do not want to find out.”

And with that, Paul swats your hand away, his own circling around the backs of your thighs to push them higher, his eyes dragging toward the point of connection, and you’re gripping him better than anyone he’s ever had, the warmth like a vice as he grunts, sharp thrusts producing the loud slaps of skin against skin mixed with your own desperate moans.

Paul doesn’t try to quiet you, only spurring him further into madness.

“Just as fucking mouthy as I thought,” He tells you, “why must you challenge me so much?”

“It’s—it’s,” You stammer, his hand muffling out the scream that threatened to escape, his eyes examining you until his thrusts slow slightly, allowing you to continue, “You like it too, I can see it.”

“So what?” He asks redundantly, breath labored, “Does that make you special?”

You reach for his white tunic, thighs widening to pull yourself upright, forcing him even deeper inside you. He watches you intently, your face stopping a few inches from his.

“You tell me, sir.”

“Paul,” He tells you, eyes rolling back as you squeeze yourself around him, the hand not busied with his shirt wrapping over his shoulder, pulling him to you, “say my name.”

“Paul,” You relent, adding a dangerous comment to hopefully spur him further into his growing addiction for you, “you shall be king soon, yes?”

He nods absently, his mouth reaching for you, tilting your head up to give him access to your neck, feeling that mouth to mouth might be too far, despite your current situation.

“Then fuck me like one.”

There’s a noise that settles in his throat, deep and suffocated as he grips the long tresses of your hair, pulling it taught as he fucked into you wildly, “You are dangerous, milaya.”

“I know,” You smirk viciously, head dipping down until your eyes connect, “—so come inside me. I will walk around the halls and no one will know, it will be our secret, sir.”

His face buried into your neck, one hand gripping at your thigh painfully tight as he slips one between you both, drifting over your clit gently, the small touch igniting a spark inside you.

It’s never something most men paid attention to, or yourself even, to busy with your duties to allow time like this to yourself—it doesn’t take much, a few quick, precise circles before your clenching around him tight, forcing him into his own orgasm, his teeth peeking out to bite against the skin of your neck softly, his groans muffled by the action.

There’s a moment of calm that washes over, Paul’s hips moving slowly as he comes back down, removing himself from you just as gently.

“Secrets.” He corrects. “I will never be done with you.”

You laugh softly, tilting your chin up dangerously close, lips barely grazing his own.

“I never asked you to be, milaya.” You retort, repeating his earlier term of endearment.

“Tell me,” He starts, eyes raking down your figure and back to your face, “do you understand Russian?”

You nod shyly.

“You are going to get me in trouble, my little darling.”

If only he knew how right he was.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[sugarbbgrl]

She (Price x OC)

I officially have an idea for a fic I'd been wanting to write for a while now, I really hope it goes the way I want it to. It's inspired by 'She' by Harry Styles. I've been listening to it on repeat, trying to figure out a way to format it into a story. Feedback is greatly encouraged and appreciated <33

John is in a broken marriage. Candace is his younger daughter's homeroom teacher.

wc: 1414

cw: mentions of infidelity (wife), angst, heartbreak, children (LMAO), mentions of divorce

John couldn’t exactly pinpoint when things changed. He’d always been a loving father and husband. He and his wife have been together for ten years, meeting through a friend and almost immediately hit it off. They share two lovely daughters together and a beautiful home. He may have been physically absent sometimes, work having been the culprit, but he never missed a daily call with his family. But there’s been a heavy shift in his marriage, he could feel it almost immediately walking into their home.

While John’s kids are more than elated, sharing tight hugs and a few shed tears, John’s wife is distant, nothing more than a tight lipped smile sent his way. He knows it can take a toll on people when their partner isn’t around, but they’d made a promise to each other: for better or for worse.

She barely said a word to him, her back turned to him when they slept, barely even touching him or even looking at him. It’s never been this tense around each other, but now you could cut the tension with a butter knife. She didn’t say goodbye to him once she left for her own job, leaving the task of taking his teenage daughters to school himself, which he didn’t mind, but just leaving like she did wasn’t adding up.

Then it did. He could smell another man’s cologne and her lipstick smeared every so lightly around her lips. His heart shattered, tears welling up in his eyes. He couldn’t even fathom the woman he’s been so in love with committing the sinful act of adultery. Every question swarmed in his mind, the ‘why’s’ and ‘how’s’ coming together in one big jumbled mess. But his wife couldn’t care less, just sneering at John and heading to their shared bedroom, making sure to lock the door behind her.

John slept on the couch that night, getting little to no sleep. He was restless all night, silent sobbing and tossing around on a couch not fit for a man of his stature. Those questions and the sight of his wife in the state she was in plaguing his mind all night. How could she do this to me? He thought to himself. I’ve given her everything and more.

It happened again the next morning; she left without a word. John sniffled and made himself some coffee, hoping the bitter beverage would liven him up some for the sake of his children. He would fake a smile while being home with them, not wanting to worry them more than they must be. He quietly washed himself and changed, barely even taking a peek around the room that was once filled with so much love.

Everything was completely different.

John had been home for a few weeks now, still keeping his bed on the couch, sleep coming only slightly easier. He hadn’t even wanted to discuss what he’d bared witness to. He’d seen more signs since the first night. Missing pieces of clothing, small marks he knew for a fact he didn’t give his wife, and even more avoidance on her part. He knew the conversation would come soon, he just didn’t know how to approach the conversation.

But then one day everything changed. He’d woken up to take his kids to school, the usual routine since he’d been home. He’d take his time getting ready, waiting on his girls to finish getting ready before heading out. It never occurred to him that he hadn’t met their teachers, so he took it upon himself to do so that day, making sure to look his best for the rare occasion.

His oldest daughter’s teacher was an elderly woman, smelling of chanel and lilac. She had a warm smile and wide framed glasses perched on her nose. She spoke in a light tone and welcomed John in a warm, grandmotherly hug. He made sure to explain his work situation and why he’d been absent to meetings, but avoided the brutal details. She understood and sent him off with her contact information.

But then he saw her. His younger daughter’s teacher was drastically different from the previous. About ten years John’s junior, she was radiant. Her hair was midway down her back, bright red with striking hazel eyes, seemingly staring into his soul and learning all of his darkest secrets. She wore a long sundress, the wind picking up the bottom lightly to show a pair of flats on her feet. She smelled warm, like vanilla and jasmine and lips painted a light pink. She was radiant, like sunshine on a cloudy day.

“Oh, you must be Mr. Price!” Her smile was wide when she laid eyes on him, greeting him. “Jenny talks so highly of you! I’m Candace White, her homeroom.”

John looked down at her extended hand, small and delicate like a flower in the meadow. His heart raced as his hand connected with her, his rough palms almost swallowing her soft ones. He was speechless, he hadn’t felt this attracted to someone since he’d first met his wife. His wife. The thought of her soured his tongue and dried his throat, he hadn’t even thought of her all day, deciding all together it'd be better not to think of her under another man.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. White.” John returned the smile, dropping her hand lightly and stuffing his own back into his jean pocket. 

“Miss, I’m not married.” Candace chuckled and clasped her hand together at her front, correcting John’s misuse of the honorific.

“Ah, yes, my apologies Miss Candace.” John brought his hand up to nervously rub the back of his hand on his neck, emphasizing her correction. When did my palms start sweating? He thought to himself, failing to realize his skin had gone so clammy. I hope she hadn’t felt them when she shook my hand.

The sound of the morning bell rang through the school, indicating the start of the school day. Teachers and students alike swarmed to the front doors, doing their best to not be late.

“Well, it was lovely to finally meet you, Mr Price. I’d best get going.” She smiled once more and went to turn away, beginning her journey to the school.

“Wait,” John called out, his hand flying up to grasp her forearm. Her skin was warm, small specs of freckles dotted along her pale skin. “Can I get your number?” John asked, his hand firm against her arm.

Candace’s cheeks warmed, red spreading to her face and a nervous smile toyed at her lips. “Mr. Price-”

“I meant, can I have your contact information in regards to my daughter?” Now it was his turn for his face to flush, not realizing how forward his question was without context.

“Oh, of course.” She beamed, pulling out her phone. “Just give me your number and I’ll shoot you a quick text with my work phone number and email.”

John gave her his number, watching her intently, studying her movements as she typed away at her phone. He watched the way her eyebrows furrowed in slight concentration and the way her teeth pulled at her plump, painted lips.

“There we go.” Candace smiled at John after looking up from her phone, a light ‘ding’ sounding from John’s phone. “Don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions or concerns regarding Jenny! Bye, now!” She turned to walk away with a small wave, making her way up the stairs. 

John stared at the new message in his phone for a beat, admiring the new contact he has yet to officially add to his list. He knew it was going to be strictly professional, parent-teacher conversations, but the man couldn’t help but let his mind wander. Sweet good morning texts and dates set, his imagination leading himself into the deep end.

He needed to have that conversation with his wife, he wanted a divorce. He couldn’t stand being left out of dry, waiting around for her to finally change her mind. His interaction with another woman has opened his eyes wide, he didn’t deserve this kind of treatment from the woman he loved for ten years. He’d been the best father and husband he knew how to be, she betrayed his and their children’s trust. 

He wanted out, he didn’t care to be second any longer. She gets to have her cake and eat it too, just like John deserves as well. He gets to finally have fun.

[tommysversion]

Bedside Manner (Medic!AFAB!Reader x TLOU2! Tommy Miller )

Spoiler Free Summary: you’ve been secretly in love with Tommy Miller for years. When he gets injured, you - the town medic - take care of him. One thing leads to another…

CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR TLOU2

Spoiler Friendly Summary: After losing the closest thing to a best friend you had, the man you’ve secretly pined after for six years is brought to your door gravely wounded. Given time and proximity, you finally act on your feelings.

Pairings: Tommy Miller x Reader , past one sided Joel Miller x Reader

CWs: major character death, spoilers, unprotected PIV, unsafe sex, oral sex (m!receiving), implied thoughts of adultery, Tommy has a dirty mouth, praise kink, big girthy unspecified age gap, mutual pining, cowgirl lmao.

Before the outbreak, there was a rule, a code that all doctors, medics and nurses followed. Do no harm, always help where you can, and don’t get involved with your patients. Simple enough.

That code still mostly applies these days, though you’re pretty sure it’s a much more loose moral code, thanks to your FEDRA sponsored medical education. Wham bam thank you military dictatorship, you’ll take your education and run, thanks very much.

You’ve always had a thing for him. Ever since he joined the community almost seven years ago, just a few months after you, when you were younger and freshly establishing yourself as one of the town medics.

Of course, you’d been too young, too shy, too focused on your job and earning your place in the community, and even if you’d felt a spark between you? It had never gone anywhere. You’d contented yourself to just admiring him from afar, pushing down the pangs of envy when he had married Maria.

Nobody had ever seemed to notice that your gaze always lingered on him. Nobody, except Joel. The arrival of Tommy’s older brother had been a welcome distraction, for a while. Joel had a fair few old injuries for you to keep an eye on, and more than a few mental scars you weren’t equipped to do anything about.

The older man had been your friend; hell, if you hadn’t fallen - albeit rather pathetically and unrequitedly - in love with his brother years ago, you could have grown to love him, perhaps. He had been company. Someone to talk to about the state of the world. To rag on the early days of FEDRA with.

And hell, when you’d both been drunk and lonely, he’d been someone to fall into bed with without any fear of complications. Rough, hasty fucks with no strings, just a line of trust between two jaded people. Never mind the age difference. You weren’t afraid of him, and hell, he knew what he was doing. The one time he had tried to be slow and gentle with you, pressing his lips to your throat, nuzzling into your soft skin, you had let slip your secret, moaning his brother’s name as you came apart around him.

Joel had never given you shit for it. Never been mad about it. Never even mentioned it, but he’d never been soft with you again.

You’d cared about him, in your own way, and now he was gone. Joel was gone, and Tommy…

Ellie and Dina had brought him directly to you, accompanied by two of the patrolmen from the wall. At first, you had been frozen in shock before directing them to get him on the table, for Ellie to fetch your field kit.

Shot in the kneecap. A bullet to the skull, passing through and exiting via his eye. Fuck, he was lucky to be alive. You’d set the younger women up in the guest room and told them you’d call for them if needed, and stayed vigilant all night, waiting.

He had woken just before dawn, and hadn’t left since. Three months had passed, and while the wound to his head was healing well, he still walked with a limp.

“Maria still won’t see him,” Ellie had told you, “I heard them yelling at each other.”

He’d said as much to you, when you had asked about whether they were coming off that break any time soon.

“Doubt we ever will, hon. No matter, really. It was a ticking clock, for a while, anyway.”

He’d moved into your guest room, brought a cardboard box of his belongings over. You hadn’t argued, simply said you could oversee his rehabilitation better this way.

And that had been that. Somehow, you’d lost the person akin to your best friend, and ended up with his brother - the man you had loved for years - living in your guest room. It didn’t seem like a fair trade, even if you were glad for his presence.

Your boots crunched on the snow as you walked up the path to the house, let yourself in and took off your coat, setting your field kit satchel down.

“Tommy? You here?” You call out automatically for your… roommate? Friend? Patient? Who the fuck knows. All of the above.

“Yeah. Upstairs.”

You make your way up the stairs, taking them two at a time, trying not to think about how long it must have taken him to get up here on his own, when he still has to use a cane to get around.

He’s in the guest room that’s become his room, one hand on the wall to brace himself as he looks out the window. You know it’s probably the wrong fucking time to admire the view, but you can’t help but do it anyway, take in all six feet of him, how broad he is, how well put together, even in his mid fifties and missing an eye.

He has his dark curls tied back in a messy bun, has trimmed his facial hair since you saw him this morning. He cants his head to look at you as you come in.

“Are you okay?” You get out, a tiny bit breathless from how fast you took the stairs.

“Aside from moving like a fuckin’ old man? Sure.”

Tommy used to be an optimist, fiercely so, but the loss of his brother and his subsequent injuries have made him bitter and jaded. You understand completely. Put up with his moods because you understand his grief. Understand what it means to be in pain. And because you know better than to pick and choose which parts of someone to love.

“You’re getting better. You won’t need the cane at all, soon.” You encourage; at the moment he only really needs it for the stairs, for longer walks.

“Whatever you say, doc.” His remaining dark eye rolls slightly as he returns to looking out the window. You turn to leave, to give him space, before you start taking his bad mood personally, but he sighs and reaches out a hand to catch your wrist. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me.”

“You’re allowed to be rude to me. Better you take it out on me than anyone else.” You shrug, then promptly shut your mouth. You don’t need to start making things awkward, not when you’re pretty sure he thinks you got over him years ago.

His eye narrows as he looks at you.

“Well, fuck. Joel wasn’t kidding, huh?” He exhales. Sounds, suddenly, very tired.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Your blood turns to ice as you get the words out.

“My brother… well. I loved my brother, but he wasn’t a good man. You know that. He never talked about you to anyone else, would have broken anyone’s jaw who tried, but he may have… shared some… details… with me. On occasion.”

“I’m pretty sure the entire town knew me and Joel fucked on occasion.” You say. The words taste oddly bitter coming out. You’re not ashamed of what happened between you, but talking about your past with Joel with Tommy just feels… whatever. It’s not like he sees you like that.

“It bothered him, you know.”

“What did?”

“Joel’s older by five years.” Tommy doesn’t even notice that he’s using present tense as he speaks; “he did everything first. And he was always there gettin’ me outta trouble. He was always first. I think it bothered him, that he wasn’t your first choice.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You repeat, finally, because the idea that Joel may have told Tommy how you felt…

“We’d had a few drinks, and he told me. He told me you’d never gotten over that spark we had. Told me how he was fuckin’ you one night and it was me that you called out for. And y’know what? I haven’t been jealous of my brother in a long goddamn time, but in that moment… fuck. I wanted to knock him out.” His gaze darkens as he watches you, watches your cheeks heat at the implication.

“I ~” you can’t deny it. Are too fucking embarrassed to deny it. And somehow… grateful. Grateful that Joel had spared you the mortification of ever confessing.

“Been thinking about that a lot, recently.” His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. “Thinkin’ about you screaming my name when another man’s fuckin’ you. How much I wish I’d gotten a chance to see for myself, all those years ago. Imagine my surprise, finding out you still wanted it…”

“Want.” The word slips out of your mouth to correct him before you can stop it, before you can think of how it’s a bad idea, of how he’s technically under your care and that you shouldn’t -

“Want? Still? It wasn’t… it wasn’t Joel? I thought you were just takin’ care of me cause I’m his brother…”

“No. No; it’s not like that. I loved Joel, but I wasn’t in love with him. He was my best friend, as weird as that sounds… it… no. It’s you. It’s always been you. I never wanted you to know, I didn’t want to make things weird, and you’re married, and -“

“Was married,” Tommy corrects you softly, “not anymore. Now it’s just you and me, in this big old house, and I’m startin’ to think I’d really, really, really like to hear how my name sounds from your mouth when I’m fuckin’ you.”

There’s a sort of edge to him now that wasn’t there when you first met him… and you find that you like it.

“I… you’re still hurt.” You say lamely, distracted, so distracted, by his thumb rubbing circles on your cheek.

A wicked smirk crosses his face.

“So I can’t fuck you into the bed just yet. You said yourself I’ll get better. Ain’t nothing stopping you from riding my cock, is there, honey?”

You’re beyond glad that he didn’t say these words six years ago, because the you of the past would have melted into a puddle under those words. As it is, your knees are a little weak as you nod, try to be a little clinical about it, try not to let how eager you are show.

“You need a distraction, right? If we’re careful… I don’t see why we couldn’t-“

His mouth is on yours before you can finish the sentence. The kiss is needy, demanding, years of hidden desire released in a single touch. You’re careful, still, in how you touch him as you wrap your arms around his shoulders to pull yourself closer, lips parting to allow his tongue entrance.

You’ve thought about kissing him dozens of times. Hundreds. Never, though, had you imagined it would be like this. That his mouth would be so soft. Taking in the pine soap iodine scent of him. Your hands find the thin strip of leather tying his hair back; tugging it free, you run your fingers through his dark curls, humming quietly at how soft his hair is.

Idly, your fingers play with the buttons of his dark blue shirt; when he doesn’t stop you, releases your waist so he can get the shirt off, you make short work of the buttons and tug it off, leaving him just in his jeans.

“Go on and undress for me, honey.” The pet name falls from his lips as he softly nuzzles his mouth into your collarbone, nips at sensitive skin, teasing.

Shaking ever so slightly, you step back, unbutton your shirt, let the fabric fall as you make a start on your pants, shimmy out of them. Your bra and panties join the pile, leaving you bare to his gaze. He steps closer to you again, backs you up towards the bed as he slips a hand between your thighs.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as he drags his index and middle finger through your slick, slow, deliberate, humming low in his throat at how wet he finds you.

“Fuck…” he almost hisses it as he readjusts his jeans with his free hand, eye dropping closed for just a moment as he slides his fingers inside you, just to the first knuckle, but it’s enough to make you mewl for him.

“Gotta get you ready for me, hon, don’t want you to hurt yourself. Fuck, such a pretty pussy, gonna feel so good round my cock…” Tommy’s rambling, and he knows it, but he’s letting years of repressed desire come to the surface, years of being faithful and not looking twice at you, even when he’s wanted to.

Your hands reach for his belt, get it undone and work on getting his jeans down. Almost lazily, he steps out of them, pulls his fingers out of you and draws them to your lips. With eyes half closed, your lips part and you suck his fingers clean.

“That’s it… good girl.” He moves then, settles himself on the bed, wraps his hand around his cock and strokes lazily as he watches you. Fuck, his cock… you’d been too distracted by his fingers to notice until now. He’s so big, thick and curved and perfect, bigger than you’d ever imagined.

“C’mon over here, honey, ain’t gonna bite.” Tommy’s voice is soft, low, encouraging as you crawl onto the bed, careful to not put any weight on his bad leg as you straddle him, feel the hot weight of his cock pressed against your stomach as you lean down to kiss him.

You know it’s probably wrong. That, given you’re the medic in charge of his care, you absolutely should not be doing this, but you can’t bring yourself to care, not when his rough, callused hands settle on your hips, thumbs drawing little circles on your skin.

“Soon as I can manage it,” he tells you, “‘m gonna get y’to sit on my face.”

You shiver with delight at that particular idea, kiss him again, a slow lazy kiss, before you start to slowly kiss your way down his chest, wanting to kiss every single freckle on his body as you eventually settle between his thighs, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“Honey, you don’t have to-“

“I want to.” You tell him, smug at the flash of wicked lust that flickers across his face at your words. “Trust me. I want to. Let me take care of you?”

He groans low in his chest, leans back, props himself up against the mountain of pillows on the bed, and watches you. Slowly, deliberately, you wrap your hand around his cock and stroke him, paying attention to the tip, already leaking precum under your touch.

Leaning in, maintaining your eye contact, you lick the head of his cock, humming softly at the salty taste of him, taking him further into your mouth until your nose is pressed into the soft curls at the base of him.

“Fuck, that’s it, such a pretty mouth, shit~” he draws the last word out in a drawling groan, fingers twisting into your hair and holding you in place as he bucks his hips up into your mouth lazily. You take him in eagerly, flattening your tongue on the underside of his length, licking and sucking at him greedily, rubbing your thighs together to try and get some sort of friction.

“Get up here and sit on my cock before you make me cum with that mouth.” His Texas drawl is so much more pronounced as he demands this of you; pulling away from his cock with a lewd, wet sound, you kiss your way back up his chest until you’re straddling him again, his big rough hands back on your hips.

“What, you don’t wanna cum down my throat?” You tease, humming softly as you drag your soaked cunt along the length of him, feeling yourself tighten around nothing at the sheer anticipation of being filled by him.

“Some other time, hon, c’mon, don’t tease this old man, now.” He rocks his hips ever so slightly, and you shift, notching the thick head of his cock at your dripping entrance, sink down onto him.

“Not that old,” you manage to retort, exhaling sharply as your hips meet his, flush against him, his cock stretching you open deliciously. Maybe it’s not how you’d originally envisioned this; you’re both six years older than you’d hoped, you’re jaded and your joints are fucked, he’s lost an eye and will likely walk with a limp for the rest of his life, but none of that matters right now, not when he’s finally, finally inside of you, looking up at you like he’s seeing you for the first time. Really seeing you.

“Fuck, where have you been all this time?” He groans as you start to move, resting your hands on his shoulders to brace yourself.

“Right in front of you,” you reply, mewling softly when his hands move to cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples, teasing. “Not my fault you weren’t looking.”

In answer, he bucks his hips up, pressing as deep into you as he can in this position, with his leg still aching.

“Fuck…” the drawn out curse is half a groan of pleasure as you tighten around him, a hiss of pain.

“Careful,” you chastise him, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, “you gotta be careful.”

He smirks, lets go of your tits to trail his hands down your sides, to grip onto your hips.

“Then ride me, baby, stop fuckin’ around. Ain’t gonna break, and if I die now with a pretty girl wrapped round my cock? Worse ways to go.” He smirks at you and you laugh, the sound fading to a moan as he takes advantage of your distraction to press a thumb to your swollen clit and rub at it, making you tense up above him, thighs tightening against his.

“That’s it, honey, fuck, like that, fuckin’ love this pussy, can’t believe I waited this long…” Tommy Miller is a lot of things, has done a lot of things, but he tries to be an honourable man. So much as he might be running his mouth now, saying these deliciously filthy things to you, you both know full well that he’d never have touched you if he was still with Maria.

You try not to think about that, focus instead on the feeling of him inside you, grinding his hips roughly into yours as you ride his cock. For a while, the only sounds in the room are soft exhales, the lewd sound of skin and skin meeting, your little needy mewls and the occasional low moan from Tommy.

“Soon as I’m not completely fucked up…” he props himself up as best as he can so your chests are pressed together, “I’m gonna make you scream for me.”

“You mean it gets better than this?” You tease, though it comes out far less teasing and taunting than you planned, given how breathless you are, how you tighten around him at the words.

“You have no idea,” Tommy rests his head on your shoulder as you ride him, able to move faster with his arms around you. “C’mon, honey, need y’to cum for me, know you want to…”

His lips brush your throat as he says it, nose gently nuzzling below your earlobe. It’s such an intimate gesture, it shatters your self control. He grinds up into you as you move to meet him, whimpering as you tighten around him, urged on by the hand he slips between you to rub your clit once more.

“Thaaaaat’s it, honey, let go, be a good girl for me, fuuuuck…” he’s amazed he’s managed to last this long, honestly, at his age, with how long it’s been since he actually enjoyed fucking someone this much; but he’s determined to see it through, to fuck you through your peak and over the other side of it, leaving you sweat damp and clinging to him, whimpering and gasping.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, Tommy, I ~” you can’t get the words out, choke on them, mewl his name as he roughly grips handfuls of your ass, holding you in place as he rocks up into you, chasing his own release now, uncaring about his injuries.

Your moans are muffled by the heated kiss he devours your lips in, muting his own curses and growls as he pulls you down onto him, unthinking, uncaring as he spills into you, feels your cunt tighten painfully around him again, pulling him in deeper.

“Fuck, baby, so fuckin’ greedy for my cum, look at you. Feel so fuckin’ good, look at the mess we’ve made…” he rests his forehead against yours, panting as he tries to catch his breath, riding the last waves of his own release.

You hum, grind down onto him as you feel his release start to drip out of you around his slowly softening cock.

“So,” you say, managing a smirk, still dazed from the fact that he’s touching you, holding you, kissing you. “Did that satisfy your curiosity?”

He pulls out of you with a frankly obscene grunt, lays you down next to him, wraps his arms around you, good eye sparkling with amusement and lust.

“Perhaps. Or maybe we’ll need to try again. Just to see whether you scream louder when I’m fucking you.”

Your cheeks heat as you lean in to steal an open mouthed kiss.

“We’ll need to wait til you’re better.”

Tommy fixes you with a filthy smirk that promises all that and more.

“Good thing I have a fucking amazing doctor, then, huh?”

You can’t help it. You laugh, for the first time in a long time, eager to see what the future will bring.

[starlinehoney]

cw!! fem!reader, age gap, nsfw content, car sex, adultery, mention of biting ?? idk. pls lmk if I missed anything.

NSFW under the cut

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Art feels pathetic.

He knows this is wrong. So, so wrong. He considered himself a man of honor, someone who would never disrespect the sanctity of his own marriage. But here he was, with a wife and a child waiting in the hotel room, fucking some starlet in her car.

It’s a tight squeeze— the car, that is. A beetle isn’t exactly the most spacious car, not ideal for anything that requires space.

Luckily, you don’t need much. He’s about as close as he can get without breaking anyone’s bones. He has you in the backseat, leaned up against the drivers side door. His hips are relentless, and he has your mouth covered tight. He already felt guilty for this, he didn’t wanna hear you talk about how good he’s fucking you. He shouldn’t be fucking you at all.

Maybe it was your fault, he tries to reason, tries to find some way to make it ok. You came to him as a fan with your tits spilling out of your top in some mini skirt the size of a fucking belt. What was he supposed to do when you came batting your eyelashes up at him in the hotel lobby?

And god, you feel good. He loves Tashi, but he’s sure he’s never felt anything as good as being inside of you. You’re so reactive. So pliant. Like you’d let him take a bite out of you if he asked. You’d let him devour you in your entirety without a thought. He watches in awe as your eyes roll back with a muffled groan and your velvety walls spasm around him.

It’s at this moment that it sinks in. He’s pushing forty, fucking some twenty-something year old in her car. He can’t remember if he’s wearing a condom, and in that moment he can’t quite find it in himself to care. He feels like Patrick.

As he cums all he can do is mutter quick, whined apologies into your shoulder. A chant, a prayer. It’s an apology to everybody and no one in particular. He wasn’t used to being the one in control, so maybe it was muscle memory. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was regret.

He can’t tell, and he doesn’t wanna find out. He pulls out and blinks a few times as he watches your slick, puffy cunt leak with white. He sighs a soft curse and pulls out his wallet. His hands you forty bucks for a plan b and kisses your forehead softly. He’d feel like a monster if he didn’t give you something. He mutters one more apologetic something before getting out of the car and walking back to the hotel by himself, guilty and dewy with sweat, smelling like sex.

He has a feeling he’ll be sleeping in Lily’s bed for a while longer.

[mabelstone]

Competition

matt stone x f!reader

genre: enemies to lovers, mature

summary: part two of Provocateur

word count: 4.9k

cw: more drinking, brief violence, mentions of blood, mentions of adultery, unprotected sex, hate sex... teeny bit of slapping

You were four shots deep at this point on top of the two martinis you smashed down and you were feeling it. For the past hour, Matt had you in hysterics, throwing your head back, ugly laughing from deep in your chest.

"More shots!" He exclaimed, flagging down your bartender friend whose patience was thinning with you both.

"Christ, are you trying to kill me?" You scrunched up your face, not sure you could handle any more. The room was already spinning and it was hardly 9pm.

"Gotta eliminate the competition," he joked, sliding another shot of tequila your way.

"Funny," you rolled your eyes, cheersing your glass with him before throwing it back. You cringed at the taste, fighting back a gag as the liquid burned every inch of your oesophagus. "No more, seriously, or I'll need my stomach pumped."

He agreed, dragging you to the dance floor with him. "No, no way," you protested, realising how strong he was by the way he effortlessly pulled you along with him.

"Loosen up, would you," he scoffed at you, pulling your body flush against him. You rested your head against his shoulder, mainly because you were struggling to hold yourself up. He likely noticed, one of his arms snaking around your waist, the other taking your hand in his. You groaned, knowing where this was going.

"I don't know how to slow dance," you mumbled against him, craning your head up to look at his face. You were in heels and he was still towering over you. You brought your free arm up over his shoulder - for stability, of course - realising just how broad he was. He was so delicious, and the alcohol was only making your burning hunger for him far more unbearable.

"It's easy, just sway with me," he looked down at you, gapped toothed grin on full display. For a minute there, you swore you would make a good match. You weren't repulsed by him in that moment.

You followed his lead, juxtaposing his steps, his grip on your hand insurmountably more gentle than when he shook your hand yesterday.

"There! You got it," he praised, spinning you around by your hand. You erupted in a fit of giggles, hands coming up to his chest to brace yourself when he pulled you back in. You stayed there for a moment, feeling his heart beat against your palms, laying your head against your hands as he propped his chin atop your head, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as you continued to sway.

You didn't know what came over you, but when you looked up to him, your heart swelled in your chest. Taking his face into your hands, you pressed your lips to his. His lips were soft and warm and seemed to fit perfectly against yours like a puzzle piece. You took him by surprise, but he soon reciprocated, moving his lips against yours carefully, quick hands finding your hips as he deepened the kiss.

Once somewhat satiated, you pulled away, your eyes meeting his, pupils blown. "That was a moment of weakness, that promotion is mine," you joked with a soft smile.

For once, he didn't have a smartass remark to add. Instead, his thumb grazed your cheek tenderly. It made you feel strange, pulling away from him.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you excused yourself, ignoring the glare the bartender gave you.

And you did, elbows to the basin as you rested your head in your hands. Why did I do that? Well, you knew why. You were intoxicated and he was giving you the perfect amount of attention. What's worse, you really liked it. You could've stayed in that moment forever, and God forbid you weren't in a private place, or else who knows how far you would've gone. You looked up at yourself, angry that you had that giddy feeling coursing through your veins. Angry that you were left confused - even angrier that you were considering him a viable option.

No way, you had a rule against dating coworkers - especially if they were the reason you mightn't advance in your career.

You took a deep breath and left the bathroom, finding an indifferent Matthew receiving an ungodly tongue lashing from the bar tender. With furrowed brows, you approached the two; Matt with a stone cold expression, seemingly unphased; the bartenders' veins bulging from his forehead and neck.

"And you-" the bartender turned to you, an accusing finger pointed in your direction. You cocked your head slightly, brows knitted together even tighter now in confusion. "Thought he was a prick, huh? Tell me why you're mouth fucking him in my bar then."

"You need to calm down," you spoke, raising your hands out before you in defence.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do," he growled, smashing a glass on the bar table. You gasped softly, taking a step back. He was definitely doing lines behind the bar. He had the tendency to lash out like this when he was high, one of the countless reasons your time together was exclusively in the bedroom.

To your surprise, Matt didn't flinch whatsoever, only stepping back to slightly push you behind him... guarding you?

"Don't speak to her like that," Matt's tone was stern and unwavering, cool almost. His jaw jutted, seemingly his signature move when he was aggravated. The bartender clenched his fist, a single drop of blood running down his hand. Everyone else in the bar was silent, watching on intently. You felt a million eyes burning holes through you, your heart thudding against your chest.

"Let's just go," you pleaded quietly, tugging on his arm. You could tell Matt wasn't finished, but nonetheless, he nodded, shooting the bartender one last glare before wrapping his arm around your waist, pushing you ahead of him before starting to walk out.

You jumped again at the loud smash of glass, this time a few shards ricocheting off the ground, nipping at the backs of your ankles. Before your inebriated brain could process what just unfolded, Matt was storming toward the bar, letting himself in through the little hatch door. You hand flew to your mouth, muffling yet another gasp as you watched his fist collide with the bartenders' face. You couldn't watch, but judging by the gasps from others in the bar and more sounds of glass shattering, they were undoubtedly piling into one another.

You stepped outside, the quiet nightlife an easing contrast to the shit show that just erupted inside.

You were conflicted; do you wait for him? Do you catch the next cab and leave as fast as you could? Was he even going to come out? You felt sick, though in the freezing cold, your palms were sweating profusely and you felt hot. Your spiralling thoughts were cut short when lo and behold, Matt stumbled out, busted lip, nose gushing with blood and bruised, bloody knuckles.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" You fretted, taking his hands in your own, inspecting the cuts on his knuckles.

"You should see your boyfriend," he snickered, releasing one of your hands to wipe his nose with the back of his.

As awful as it was, it really did something for you to see him like this. It sparked a fire in you that you were choosing to ignore, staring a bit too long.

"You... okay?"

"Hm? Yeah, yeah," you giggled nervously, releasing his hand now. "I think we've had a big enough night, I think you should get home and clean up."

He chuckled, nodding along with you. You both walked in silence for a bit, the sound of your heels clicking along the cobblestone path drowned out by the soft passing of cars, the music from the bar slowly fading out of earshot.

"I'm really sorry about that, Matt," you frowned, running a hand over his bicep. Touch wasn't your strong suit, but in the moment it seemed fitting, and he smiled to himself.

"Don't worry, kid, shit happens," he shrugged, hailing a cab from the curb. "Seriously, fuck that guy though."

You both laughed as you climbed into the cab, a soft pink hue tinting your cheeks when he opened your door for you. You gave the driver your address, the buzz of the alcohol still clouding your senses as you watched Matt look out the window. You couldn't suppress the smile that crept onto your face; the way you always ended up around this man. You couldn't escape him. He must've felt your gaze, turning to you, a grin of his own forming.

You leant forward, pressing your lips to his once again. You were diligent and gentle in doing so, not wanting to hurt his busted lip any further. One of his hands crept to the back of your head, slipping his fingers into your hair, while the other found your thigh, gently circling his thumb into the soft skin. You shuddered lightly under his touch, wanting, craving more of him to the last fibre of your being.

The cab pulled up outside your apartment, the driver clearing his throat, causing you both to pull away. You ran your thumb over his bottom lip, wiping away the faintest drop of crimson.

"Bye," you practically whispered, Matt reciprocating. You thanked the driver and headed up to your room, head absolutely reeling.

***

Monday at work, you were nervous to see Matt. Truthfully, you couldn't get him off your mind. That smile that made you queasy, the affectionate gestures that just made you confused. When you went home that night you felt lonely, cursing yourself for not inviting him up. At the same time, though, you were grateful you didn't. You knew it was probably just drunken stupidity overloading your senses and you would regret it.

Your heart thrummed in your ears as you approached your desk. There he was, fingers rapidly typing at his computer, a large cup of coffee being neglected on his desk. You urged the smile off your face as you sat beside him, trying to be quiet to not disturb him.

"Morning," you spoke soft, logging into your own computer. He only hummed in response, not even looking to you. Your heart sank a little, an immediate wave of anxiety dousing your every nerve ending. "Everything okay?"

"Mhm, just trying to get my work done," he sighed flatly, your face burning a dark red. "You should do the same."

You laughed softly, yet there was no humour in your tone. What a fucking asshole, you thought to yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat before doing as he suggested.

As the day went on, you didn't exchange any dialogue, nor did he even look at you for more than a few seconds. Why were you upset? It clearly meant nothing to him. You preferred it this way, anyway. Now you had purpose again to destroy his chances of getting your promotion. You packed up early after receiving a tip of Madame's whereabouts tonight, praying she would actually be there.

"Where are you going?" He finally spoke, turning to face you now. Good God he looked so edible today. A big cut over his slightly puffy bottom lip, those big, beautiful eyes that looked extra tired, slight bruising under the left.

"Home," you returned his flat tone from earlier, turning away and heading for the elevator. You heard the faintest scoff from his direction, using every muscle in your body to not turn around and scream in his face. Instead you got in the elevator and pressed 'ground level'. The doors started to slide closed when you saw him approaching. You mouthed, sorry, with your finger jamming the close doors button, a faux pout on your lips as the doors shut in his face.

You climbed into your car, a residual frustration hanging over you like a dark cloud that wouldn't go away. How dare he?

***

You arrived at the hotel Madame was supposedly staying at, and now was the time she'd be checking in. In an attempt to be inconspicuous, you wore one of your usual coats with your hair clipped up Pam Anderson style, large rimmed sunglasses shielding your eyes. You nearly leapt with joy when you saw her talking to the clerk, a bell boy carrying a ridiculous amount of bags for her 2 night stay. You took a seat on one of the red velvet seats in the lobby, cringing at the feeling, but staying put. You watched intently, your glasses hiding the fact as you kept your distance.

You watched her for roughly twenty minutes, a bit disappointed when nothing was happening. She did the usual; checked in, ordered some people around. Then she headed out for a cigarette, and you trailing far enough behind that she wouldn't notice, but close enough to see something that made your jaw drop.

Madame had planted herself in the lap of a man who was not her husband, obscenely making out with him to the point you felt a bit perverted watching. You were quite well hidden, but judging by the display before you, they probably didn't give two shits who saw. Once he started running his hands up her dress, you quickly snapped a photo and headed back inside. You'd seen more than enough.

The heavy cloud was lifted, excitement bubbling inside of you as you finally had a story. You got in your car, unable to hold back your smile that stretched from ear to ear, absolutely ecstatic.

As awful as it was to be excited to expose this woman... A) you had no remorse for cheaters, and B) you were going to crush Matthew Stone.

***

By the end of the week, Matt was back in his old office. Yours was still being renovated, but you didn't mind. No, not today. Today, you were submitting your article for authorisation with the big boss. Like, your boss' boss. You didn't want to get too ahead of yourself, but you were positive your story would bode well.

You packed up for the day, heading out before turning on your heels when you heard your name being called. Of course it was Matt.

You sighed before turning and entering his office, folding your arms before him. "Yes?"

"Just wanna wish you luck," he grinned, though you couldn't quite tell if it was out of kindness, or if he was being his typical condescending self. "You look really nice, by the way."

"What are you getting at here?" You sighed theatrically, running a hand through your hair.

"Have a seat, would you?" He smiled again, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk. You unwillingly obliged, slumping down into one of the seats. Velvet again! What is wrong with these people?

"You ignore me all week and now you wanna talk?" You raised an eyebrow at him inquisitively, not wanting to be a part of his fucked up mind games in any form.

"That was wrong of me, I'm sorry." You wanted to kick him in his stupid gap teeth... but you also wanted him to bend you over his desk until there were nail marks in the wood and you were screaming his name. "I just couldn't have any distractions, and God knows you're a good one."

You rolled your eyes at him, gesturing with your hands for him to get to the point.

"Right, right." He cleared his throat, folding his hands on his desk. "Now that this is all over, what did you write your exposé on?"

"I guess you'll have to find out when I make the headline and get my promotion," you smiled, getting up from the chair. You weren't going to sit here and be humoured by him. He'd probably found a way to go in and change his submission, and you'd never give him the satisfaction.

He groaned once you left the room, trailing close behind you.

"Jesus, slow down," murmured, catching the closing elevator door with his hand. "You don't need to ice me out," he rolled his eyes this time, adjusting the cuffs of his dress shirt. You couldn't control your eyes as they followed his movements, large, veiny hands that were nearly fully healed now.

"Can't you just leave me to have a nice afternoon?"

"I wanna see you tonight," he confessed, following you out to your car space.

"After the way you treated me? Fat chance," you scoffed, unlocking the car and climbing in. His car was conveniently parked beside yours, causing you to roll your eyes in frustration yet again.

He rolled down his window, his voice faintly echoing outside your closed window. You sighed before rolling it down, looking toward him incredulously. "What?"

"Madame," he started, putting his car into gear. "Cheated on her husband." He pulled out of the lot, and that horrible, heavy cloud of frustration was back.

You watched his stupid white Mercedes disappear from your view, jaw slack, sitting in disbelief. How did he know that?

It's like a switch flicked in you or something. You loved this job more than anything. He knew that, he wanted to get under your skin. And by God, did he. You pulled out of your parking space and headed straight for his house. You didn’t care how crazy you looked, he was an asshole and you were determined to make him pay.

Your blood boiled in your veins, scorning every capillary beneath your skin, peppering a trail of angry kisses across your cheeks in the form of pure anger. You white knuckled your steering wheel, clenching your jaw tighter each time you were trapped at a red light.

You remembered his address from when you were in the cab together last, and were familiar with the area as you nearly bought a house on the same street. There was his ridiculous Mercedes in the driveway, almost mocking you, so to speak, silently taunting, ha! Beat you to it.

You practically flung yourself out of your car, slamming the door behind you as you stormed to his front door, knocking so hard your knuckles stung.

“I knew I’d get you to hang out with me,” he grinned widely, smug as ever. Somehow he’d already changed into a black t-shirt and knee length cotton shorts. Damn, he always looked good. “Bit concerning that you know where I live, but I’ll let it slide ‘cause I want you here-“

“What is your fucking problem?” Your cheeks were still burning red, your fists clenching at your side as your heart pounded against your ribs, egging you on to strangle him to death.

“Come in,” he rolled his eyes, grabbing your arm and effortlessly pulling you into his house. “Don’t need the neighbours eavesdropping your meltdown.”

“Meltdown?” You laughed incredulously, even angrier by his stupid unbothered demeanour. “You stole my idea once again, you asshole!”

He tsked, walking toward his kitchen, grabbing out two glasses before continuing, “the name calling is a bit juvenile, wouldn’t you agree?”

“How did you know she’d be there?” You asked, brows knitted together as you clenched your jaw, resting flat palms against his kitchen counter.

“That doesn’t really matter now, does it?” He chuckled, sliding a glass of water to you. “Let’s be real, I have a bigger name than you, they wouldn’t have even thought twice about your submission.”

You walked toward him, inches from his face at this point. So close, in fact, you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, you could smell his cologne. “You’re going to revoke your submission.”

“Or what?” He furrowed his eyebrows in faux fear, hands gripping your waist, pulling your front against his.

You breath hitched slightly, the feeling of his tight abdomen pressing against you with his fingers digging into your sides sending a chill through you. Quite the contrast to the fire ignited inside you.

“What’re you gonna do, huh?” His hands trailed down to the swell of your ass, fingers lightly gripping the soft skin. He pouted in your face, kneading your ass a little harder. “Nothin’ to say? S’what I thought.”

He pressed into your ass, your pelvis flush against his body. “You don’t want to find out,” was all you could muster, a defeated blush splattering across your cheeks as your voice wavered slightly.

“Cute,” he grinned, pressing his lips against yours. You cursed your lack of autonomy, hands quickly flying to cup his face without a second thought, opening your mouth slightly in invitation. He accepted, sliding his tongue in slowly, tasting one another as he grabbed your lower thighs, picking you up as if you were as light as a grocery bag, wrapping your legs around his waist. You desperately tugged at his soft curls, your tongue roaming the expanse of his as your soft sounds of approval reverberated off one another.

He grunted as your lips trailed to his neck, leaving warm, open mouthed kisses on his skin. He opened what you could assume to be his bedroom door, lowering you gently onto his bed before he pulled away. He unbuttoned your dress pants, warm fingers brushing your hipbones as he pulled them down, a trail of goosebumps forming on your skin.

You watched his careful, almost premeditated movements, as if he prepared for this exact scenario. His eyes raked over your figure hungrily, eager lips placing wet kisses along your inner thighs, sparking a fire in your stomach as the goosebumps continued to prickle at your skin. His lips got close enough to your underwear that you jolted when he licked a flat stripe over your skin, only about an inch away from where you needed his tongue.

You bucked your hips reflexively, an embarrassingly desperate noise escaping your lips. He roughly pushed your hips back down, mocking the noise you made. Your face instantly heated up, trying to pull from his touch.

"I'm joking," he chuckled, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties. "Sounds pretty, wanna hear more," he more mumbled the last part as he slipped your panties off, blowing cold air onto your very wet heat. You squirmed lightly under his touch, involuntarily bucking your hips as he drew his tongue flat up your clit, ripping a groan from deep inside your chest.

He flit his tongue across your clit again, this time applying diligent pressure to the area; tracing gentle shapes into your it.

“More,” you breathed, desperately reaching for his hand on your hip, forcing it down to your throbbing core. You were wet enough for him to slowly slip a digit in, siding in until up to his knuckle was coated in your slick, pulling out completely. He coated his ring and middle finger with your slick before sinking both digits in without warning, eliciting a sharp whine from you. Your hands flew to the short praline curls you’d grown to love and hate so bad, raking your fingers along his scalp as you ground against his face. Times like this you were reminded why big noses were a feature you loved in your sexual partners.

He pulled his mouth away, flipping his hand so his wrist was bumping against your clit as he continued to thrust his skilled fingers in and out of your heat, unrelenting with his rhythm. He knew he found that dizzying spot inside of you when you arched your back against him, your chests touching as he hovered over you, muffling your pretty affirmations of pleasure with his own lips.

He continued rubbing his palm over your clit, realising how close you were when your walls began to tighten around his long, slender, concerningly skilled fingers.

“Matt,” you warned, unable to even kiss him back with the waves of pleasure rippling through you.

“Not yet,” he grinned against your lips, pulling his hand completely away from you just before you reached your peak.

“Fuck you,” you cried frustratedly, pushing him away from you.

“Give me a minute, would you?” He laughed, pulling his shirt over his head, his pants following shortly after.

Your eyes widened and your jaw slackened, not only at the sheer size of him, but the impossible girth.

"I-" you shook your head profusely, as if to admit that it wouldn’t fit in any way.

“You can take it,” he encouraged brazenly, clearly very fond of his endowment.

“At the risk of giving you an even bigger head, nuh-uh.” You closed your legs, holding yourself up on your palms. He tsked you again, stroking over his length slowly, using his spare hand to grab the back of your neck, connecting your lips once more. You melted into him, reciprocating immediately.

“You’re so easy,” he chuckled triumphantly, rubbing his cock across your aching heat, collecting your slick over the tip.

You slapped him across the face without thinking, your stomach flipping at the girly whine he released.

Unbeknownst to you, he wanted you to get angry. "Do it again," he demanded, and you did. Well, attempted to. When your hand was but millimetres from his face, his fingers laced your wrist with a vice grip, slamming it into the pillow above your head as he thrusted his entire length into you in one swift motion.

You released a guttural gasp/moan, your unrestrained hand frantically searching for something, anything, to hold onto, opting for the broad shoulder before you, leaving behind crescent moon shaped indents on his lightly freckled skin.

"Mmh- so tight," his words were almost lethargic sounding, drawn out and breathy.

"I fucking hate you," you confessed through grit teeth as he continued to rut in and out of you at a mouthwatering pace, teetering on the fine line between pleasure and pain.

"Not a big fan of you either," he grunted between thrusts, a moan cutting through the end of his sentence as your walls flexed around him.

"You feel so good though," another juxtaposing confession from you, wrapping your free arm around his shoulders for leverage, pulling yourself up to connect your lips with his once more. He reciprocated greedily, taking up all of your air before shoving you back onto the bed, propping your legs up over his shoulders. He bottomed out once more, this time pummelling your g-spot with each precise thrust, and now you were being loud.

You exchanged sounds of pleasure and insults, the neighbours undoubtedly hearing every word and likely very confused.

He slipped his fingers down to rub your clit, immediately hurling you to the edge.

"Finally got you to shut up," he chuckled playfully. Embarrassingly enough, you attempted to speak but no words came out, only a strangled, almost painful moan; mouth dry from panting profusely and eyes threatening to roll back. You were a hot mess, and you had no idea what it did to him.

The look on his face combined with his unmistakable skill sent you well and truly over the edge. He looked so focused, furrowed brows, droplets of sweat threatening to fall, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. You couldn't even formulate a warning, coming undone around him. You slipped your legs down his arms, thighs now resting atop his, back arching, toes curled. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling your chest against his as he fucked you through your orgasm, soft and drawn out praises, "theeeere you go, yeah," slipping past his tongue and melting down skin.

Your eyes were screwed shut as you slowly came down, wrapping your arms around him as you continued to match his thrusts.

"Cum in me," the first words you muttered in a while; words that seemed to be the magic phrase. He gripped you hard, hips stuttering as he released inside of you, his own eyes rolling back as ecstasy surged through his being.

You carefully climbed off him once your breathing steadied, immediately picking up your clothes and slipping them back on. He lulled his head to the side from where he'd laid back, curls wet and stuck to his forehead. "Glad we resolved things," he grinned, covering himself with a blanket.

"That was amazing," you sighed in a mix of exhaustion and contentment. "So, there's one thing you're useful for."

"M'gonna have to piss you off more often."

You scrunched up your nose with a fake smile. "Bathroom?"

"Down the hall to the left," he sighed this time, stringing his arm over his face in a more understandable fatigue. "You might wanna fix your face too. You look like a hooker."

You shot him a glare, not that he could see, before heading to his bathroom. Sheesh. He was right. Your mascara had run down your cheeks, smudged all around your eyes. Your hair was an absolute birds nest, and your lips and cheeks were flushed a matching shade of pink. You used the toilet, grimacing at the uncomfortable wetness between your thighs, a messy mixture of both of your arousals.

You walked back into his room just as he'd pulled his briefs back on, standing in the door frame, brazenly admiring his figure. Though very tall and skinny, his muscles were well defined and lightly glistening with sweat.

"See you at work."

You did the walk of shame to your car, his conservative looking neighbours looking at you both disgusted and mortified.

you can tell when i write this over a few days when the writing style changes 😗 hope you enjoyed

[lya-dustin]

Sweet Mother

For @queen--kenobi and the 2024 table sexgate challenge

Rhaenicent, a sequel to Overcome with Longing for a Girl

Cw: it fades to black for the actual smut, but still M-rated for sexual imagery, W/W, mentions of m/f/f, adultery, surrogacy , mommy kink and as always targcest

Gif by @lady-whistledowns

Her pregnancy had awoken an unending hunger for Rhaenyra.

Her fourth and last child while Rhaenyra had just recuperated from the birth of her second child.

If this next one proved to be a girl, she could wed Jacaerys Velaryon just as Aemond was sure to marry his milk sister, Aemma, once the two babes became of age. The two babes they claimed as each other’s seed shared a cradle, a nurse and if the Seven allowed it, would share a life together.

Helaena would wed Jacaerys to unite their house even tighter and Aegon would wed Ser Harwin’s only sister to reward the knight for providing them with a son who looked like Alicent. The two women had shared him, well, more like Alicent shared Rhaenyra with him.

Alicent finds herself emboldened by the privacy of Aegon the Conqueror's war room as her mind wanders to those moments she and the Breakbones fucked Jacaerys into her. The famous Painted Table is still warm from the last meeting where Rhaenyra had asked to stay and even speak her piece, the queen had never wanted the princess more.

Rhaenyra had called her mother, a word that had become the filthiest of things she called her when they were abed. The way she had said it had Alicent too impatient to wait any longer. If Rhaenyra took longer to return, the queen would be forced to relieve herself with her hand.

“Your Highness, I am afraid your mother has need of you.” Alicent sits at the edge of the table, right above Oldtown and Hightower’s vassal houses. The babe inside her craves heat like the dragons they are, the stone is hot enough to burn some days but today it stokes the one in her cunny.

Soon enough she won’t be able to do this anymore, better to fulfill this naughty dream of hers now than wait half a year for it.

“Her wish is my command.” Rhaenyra grins knowing exactly what Alicent wants from her. A merchant had procured for them a false cock, one that attached itself to a belt and one double sided for two women to use at once, but nothing compared to Rhaenyra’s tongue inside her.

The heat of the table, Rhaenyra’s pale head between her legs, her stepdaughter eating her cunt like she had been a whore in a past life. Three things that have her soaking with need for her princess as Rhaenyra takes her time to obey her unspoken command.

“Then what are you waiting for, daughter?”

[nicosraf]

hey! just finished abm and it was a great read. i was wondering though, about the plot-choice to make god a perpetrator of ass*ult. do u think it would have been less impactful if instead, god sent others to enact this “punishment” on lucifer instead? or if lucifer were to develop a hatred of god by himself without the ass*ult being written in? i suppose i just find it an interesting decision to see god take such a direct approach, especially when we see that he has normally taken a more indirect seat when it comes to warnings (like the parable of the doves), and normally has his archangels carry out his will. i guess what im trying to say is it’s difficult for me to see god characterized as a perpetrator just bc he seems less hands-on and more like a spectator/moderator for most issues. nevertheless, abm is a wonderful read! the way u write language is like the way mantis shrimp see color

Hello! First I have to mention that my anxiety immediately spiked at this because — especially post-Booktok — I've had to deal with very invasive DMs from strangers demanding an explanation from me for what you mentioned and, really, for everything sexual in the book. I've gotten used to just not answering now — I've made the mistake of thinking people are just curious before they start trying to argue with me (and become even more invasive about me/my-sexuality/traumas/etc)

That said, I think you are approaching me sincerely, so I can talk about it below the cut. It's a bit heavy so CW for SA. I'm sorry if my answer feels jumbled.

I mentioned that I basically got inspiration for how the tragedy of Lucifer would unfold from Ezekiel 16 — in which God grooms (in a very literal way) the personified Jerusalem until she is "old enough for love." God dresses her in all the finest jewelry and ensures she has the best food. Jerusalem is so beautiful that she became famous among all the nations, and God marries her. But then Jerusalem begins to put her faith in her beauty instead; she becomes a "prostitute" unfaithful to God. God threatens sexual violence:

I will gather them against you from all around, and I will strip you naked in front of them so they can see your nakedness. 38 I will punish you as women guilty of adultery or as murderers are punished. I will put you to death because I am angry and jealous. 39 I will also hand you over to your lovers. They will tear down your places of worship and destroy other places where you worship gods. They will tear off your clothes and take away your jewelry, leaving you naked and bare. 40 They will bring a crowd against you to throw stones at you and to cut you into pieces with their swords. (Ezekiel 16 NLT)

And he threatens Jerusalem for similarly in Jeremiah 13, this time even calling out her pride (some line earlier) in specific:

Will not pain grip you like that of a woman in labor? 22 And if you ask yourself, “Why has this happened to me?”— it is because of your many sins that your skirts have been torn off and your body mistreated. (Jeremiah 13 NIV)

And right below, God uses a very direct threat:

“I will scatter you like chaff driven by the desert wind. 25 This is your lot, the portion I have decreed for you,” declares the Lord, “because you have forgotten me and trusted in false gods. 26 I will pull up your skirts over your face that your shame may be seen— 27 your adulteries and lustful neighings, your shameless prostitution!

(You might notice these lines sound similar to those in ABM. That's very intentional. I modified them.)

But it is much deeper than that, of course. And you asked why God does it, rather than order someone else to do it.

For story reasons, I briefly considered God forcing Michael to do it, but that would be too forgivable. I would be taking away Michael's responsibility; in the future, Lucifer could realize Michael was forced to do what he did and they live happily ever after. That's not what I wanted. I also considered God ordering other angels to do it, but there was an obvious predator relationship from the start between him and Lucifer, and so it made less sense for other angels to do it. And, I didn't want the other angels to understand what happened to Lucifer, absolutely nobody.

It's really Lucifer's alienation that pushes him over the edge.

After all, he doesn't start the war after the incident. He grieves, then he returns to life. (The scene with Dina). It was the same thing he did when he lost his voice, and after getting it back. he begins to realize this is different. But, really, Lucifer was already resentful before the incident. In the lead up, before the chasing, Lucifer is talking bad about God is his head, he's talking back. He's furious at him already; if God hadn't done what he did, Lucifer would have started fully hating him over time and, most likely, after sleeping with Michael.

The SA is mostly unnecessary to Lucifer's development into hating God, except in modifying the hate and tying in the core inner struggles of the book. The scene's existence is more thematic.

ABM is a story about bodies, about body hate, and body autonomy. Lucifer has his autonomy denied over and over in the book; God says that he owns Lucifer's body because he created it. I'm referencing 1 Corinthians 6 with that:

All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body. 19 Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; 20 you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies. (1 Corinthians 6 NIV)

(Relevantly, this chapter also mentions that homosexuality is wrong. And it also states how we should become one with God in a way parallel to becoming one with another person through sex: "Do you not know that he who unites himself with a prostitute is one with her in body? For it is said, “The two will become one flesh.” But whoever is united with the Lord is one with him in spirit.")

So when God does what he does, he violates Lucifer's autonomy and his body. It's not just a statement about Lucifer's body belonging to him (the body that Lucifer has struggled for so long to find comfort in), it's a way of showing that Lucifer has no escape. When Lucifer ran, God warped the world around them so that Lucifer kept returning to him. Everything on the outside was God, and then...

It's a punishment against promiscuity. Lucifer was growing into his sexuality. He was like an adolescent. He was flirting with the angels in the baths. He was learning to be sensual and to enjoy it. Punishing promiscuity with SA is incredibly Christian; it's what God does in the excerpts I shared above.

It's allegorical to Christian authority figures who've taken advantage of young people, particulalry very vulnerable people.

It's about screaming how violating the Christian God's actions have always felt. He's in your head, he owns your body, he is everything. He is allowing horrible things to happen to you. He is the thing hurting you. But he loves you. But he is watching you and ensuring you stay pure.

It's attached to this theme of a lonely God at the center of it all, so lonely he made a universe where all these things have to love him and adore him and gush about him. So lonely he made Lucifer, who is as close as he can get to an equal, which God neither wants nor believes he can create. But he wants something almost like him. Almost.

So — in most ways the SA is mostly metaphorical. The point is about domination and bodies, rather than God experiencing real desire or the SA just being a Bad thing that happens. And, if it helps, I don't imagine it to have been... normal. God is never described. He might not be human shaped (I don't imagine that he is).

Agh I'm ranting too much now, but this might be the last time I really talk about it. Despite all these things (and I didn't even mention everything), it's at its core a personal book about personal things, and talking about it can get difficult without getting worked up.

But I'll mention this was one of the big decisions I made when I stepped away from traditional publishing for the first time. In the original version of ABM, the SA was actually so subtle that only 1 beta reader caught it. But I didn't want to be a coward.

Thank you so much for reading. I'm really glad you enjoyed. Thank you for asking respectfully! I'm sending you good wishes. And I will think of shrimp mantis colors forever

[articdelilah]

❀ Heartbreaks ❀

Angst: Silvio and MC arguing

CW: mentions of pregnancy, implication of a miscarriage and being hit, breakups, Silvio being a prick, cheating.

Not Proofread, you’ve been warned Dove 🕊️

Inspired: High School Sweethearts

˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖

“How could you do this to me?”

Tears streamed down the redden cheeks of the old Belle, a large hand marked a scarlet reminder on her face. Her beautifully manicured nails dug into the soft fabric of the ocean blue skirts which matched Silvio’s eyes; She was like a raging storm unable to hide her emotions, a tsunami of hatred.

“You promised me you wouldn’t anymore” The Prince of Benitoite only rolled his eyes, folding his strong arms over his chest as if seeing a child throwing a fit. This wasn’t the first fight they’ve had about Silvio adultery though Emma likes to remind herself of the simpler, happier times.

Strolling through the rose gardens the two laughed. His jingle jangle could be heard from miles away yet it didn’t bother Belle anymore. She loved the sound nowadays, it reminded her of wind chimes.

“Shudd’ up bitch, do you never learn?!” Silvio finally snapped back at the crying woman, his expression held the mixture of annoyance and arrogant confidence. The way his eyes glimmered with a sparks of rage made Emma’s lips quiver, her shaky hands reaching behind her to hold and leaning on the dark wood desk for support. The moon shone inside the room; thunder crashed through the sky like the cold water on boats which rocked in the ocean.

The cold nights where Emma stood frozen at their door, her hand raised as if to knock and ask permission to a stranger’s room; a servant asking to enter their master’s room. Noises of pleasure echoed far beyond said room, for inside Silvio was warming the bed with a woman of golden locks and green eyes. Or the woman with brunette hair, or the one with that beautiful ginger mane which reached her lower back.

The desk was made of sturdy wood though now scratched and messy from the constant work on it. It was the slave to its master, meaning it held ontop the most important tasks. Books of rich Benitoite history, personal letters from family abroad and poems made by Emma herself. The same desk she found out she was pregnant.

Emma’s hair danced in the slight breeze as she was spun around by her fiancée. His eyes were the colour of ice yet they couldn’t hide the warmth inside. After a few seconds, Emma felt her toes on the ground, pale fingers tangled in Silvio’s hair as they shared a passionate kiss. Only hers to have.

“Just accept it that you can’t bear me an heir therefore it’s my duty to find another woman to do it. If it hurts that much, then you shouldn’t be my bride.” His words cut deeper than any sword, hurt like salt on bleeding wounds. The Princess’ vision blurred; her mouth opened only to allow silent words out. Silvio stared at her from a while before mumbling and leaving the room. Lightening crash against the palace, his jingle jangle the most annoying sound on earth. Emma finally let her emotions consume her, letting her knees grow weak and fall on the freezing floor.

Emma then gets with Keith and lives her happily ever after

To the doves who are waiting for requests, don’t worry!! I have not forgotten about you and I’m trying to get through all of them I promise!! I’m just trying to clear my drafts🕊️

If you like my work, feel free to request 🕊️

[can-i-take-a-stab]

Is Patton faking his innocence? - SaSi Theory

OKAY, BEFORE ALL THE PATTON FANS START RIPPING ME TO SHREDS, HEAR ME OUT-

Cw: Slight religious mentions, slight sexual mentions (BARELY)

I mainly got this idea when rewatching old episodes and seeing Patton call the process of becoming an adult “Adultery.” But, I feel like Patton would know the 10 commandments by heart, and “Thou shalt not commit adultery” is a commandment. (And before you say; “Oh, he probably just reads a children’s version of a bible so he wouldn’t know.” But, it mentions the same commandment in a children’s bible, too. Also, he knows what a condom is, he’s not as innocent as he seems.

But, why would he fake being innocent? Simple, it’s just part of his manipulation. We have already seen how manipulative Patton can be, and acting like he’s all innocent may add to making people excuse his actions and what not. I also think this would add to his character.

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PROPAGANDA

STARFIRE (DC COMICS) (CW: Sex Trafficking)

1.) She is frequently put down in the og 80s comics due to being more expressive and open with her emotions, and ever since the og she has frequently been painted as just eyecandy (ignoring her sexual trauma) when her character is so incredibly complex. Special mention goes to red hood and the outlaws (2011) (written by a sexual harasser) for just terrible stand out awful reasons which will be seen in the below photos and her 2015 solo for combining her vapid portrayal there with her cartoon quirkiness to culminate in a trash comic that is just her basically being the born sexy yesterday trope.

2.) 2011 reboot, in RHATO she was turned into a walking fetish by retconning most parts of her character and erasing all personality displayed in the past 30 years of comics. in that iteration she is only interested in sex and is dehumanised and ‘exotic’. she ‘forgot’ all her past relationships because she doesn’t care about them only sex. her only purpose in that book is as a powerhouse and a sex/love interest for one of the male characters who view her as a trophy because she used to date someone he dislikes (in this continuity) let’s also not forget that she was first created just to be a love interest and although she did grow into a hood character at some point, she is treated horribly time and time again by writers because of conflicting ships. she’s written as a ‘vixen’ as opposed to another ‘good girl’ female character who is shipped with the same guy in canon

3.) Her original characterization was fairly decent, however it still had her stuck in relationships with men that weren’t very good for her and had overtones of racism with how she was written. Post that her characterization was slowly chipped away at, some writers with harder sledgehammers than others, culminating in current writing where she’s dismissed as “just a fling” to her original counterpart (Dick Grayson) to prop up a different ship (Dick Grayson/Barbara Gordon) and frequently has been used as eye candy in other comics. Simply open the first comic of Red Hood and the Outlaws, which obliterated her personality to make her associate/be subservient to the Red Hood, and you’ll find plenty of panels of her appearing simply for eye candy in the boobs and butt pose for absolutely no reason. This is not the only time she’s been used to cater to the male gaze (I’d argue even in her original context that was part of her appeal) but in this comic she essentially has no personality beyond “i want sex” as her memory of all past events has been erased. She’s essentially just a tool for her male counterparts in the comic to bounce off of, and eye candy to bring more male readers in. She does eventually get more storylines later on, but that doesn’t excuse the bad writing she was put through. Her own solo series also cashes in on her sex appeal, by infantilizing at the same time as drawing her in skimpy outfits + more boobs and butt poses galore to go for the “born sexy yesterday” misogynistic trope.

GWEN (BBC MERLIN) (CW: Mind Control, Adultery)

1.) She was one the main 4 characters in the show and basically the leading lady as the show went on and YET. She was literally treated like an object to make her pain a point of conflict and angst for the male characters and then SHE WAS BARELY EVEN THERE. FOR THE SEASON FINALE. THE LEADING WOMAN. so that the writers could focus on their male characters more. Also in season 4 the writers forgot that they had to make a Guinevere/Lancelot affair happen (to follow the Arthurian canon that they ~totally~ were following before. this is sarcasm btw). But at that point Gwen as a character was not in a place where she would do that. So instead of writing something actually good they decided to just have Gwen end up with an Enchanted Bracelet That Makes You Cheat On People. I’m not joking. So it wasn’t even her choice to have an affair and they never explore the implications of this. And it’s never even revealed to the characters that she didn’t choose this. She’s just. Never vindicated. Evil and terrible.

2.) At the beginning of the series there was on episode when Gwen was like “women should be allowed to fight” (in a battle that was happening). A big part of her character at the beginning was also knowing armor and weaponry bc she was the blacksmith’s daughter. But then in the series finale they had her say something along the lines for “I’m not meant to fight” just so she could be gone so that the writers could just write about the two male leads

3.) Okay also in the last season they didn’t know what to do with Gwen’s character so for almost half the season they made a plot line where she was mind controlled (again :)))) after being kidnapped and tortured. And like. Again instead of focusing on her and the effects it had on her they made the whole thing an excuse to get Male Lead # 1 and # 2 angsty about it. They had to like. Knock her out and throw her into a lake (magic baptism???) to reverse mind control and then they literally never her reaction to the whole situation ever. Literally objectified for the plot.

[broodwolf221]

Happy Friday! How about "You've been lying to me this whole time" from the Hiding prompts - for maybeeeee solas/mythal if you wanna go real messy hehe. Have fun!!

ough this was a good one. love the potential drama and angst with these two <3 @dadrunkwriting 865 words notes: arlathan era, spoilers for trespasser cws: mentions of slavery, adultery sortaaaa (re: marriage of convenience/sociocultural standards allowing for this, but could be read as adultery and might make some ppl uncomfortable)

“Solas,” her voice was colder by far than he was used to and he tensed as he turned to face her, noting the clear wrath upon her face. He wanted to shrink away from that heat, that fury, but forced himself to hold his ground.

So. He was discovered.

It was inevitable.

“Mythal,” he replied simply, without the usual obeisance. Her fury seemed to falter for a brief moment before it was restored in full, searching his face. His bare face.

“Dread Wolf,” she snarled and he nodded once, short and sharp. “You have been lying to me—to all of us!—this whole time!” He nodded again. There was no defense. “You lied in our court. Lied about who you were—about what you were. Then you lied to me!” Her rage shifted briefly to grief before she smothered the weakness.

“I had to.”

Her laugh was cold, sharp, and mirthless. But she didn’t close the distance—didn’t attack him. She could, but she didn’t. “You had to? Had to do what, Dread Wolf? Warm my bed under false pretenses? Worm your way into our court so you could betray us effectively?”

“I tried to reach you!” He snapped, surprising himself with the surge of his anger. “I tried to talk! You all decried me a naive fool, would never bend your almighty ears to listen to sense, so mired in your petty greed—”

“How dare you—”

“—slaughtering innocents to make your grand showpieces—”

“—you will be silent—”

“—and courting war!”

They were both breathing hard by the time he yelled the last, some of the distance closed between them. He did not know which of them had moved forward. Perhaps both.

He was the first to bend. Not to break, but he did not want her as an enemy. And he did not know what she wanted. “Mythal,” he forced his voice to soften, forced his rage aside. She narrowed her eyes at him but did not interrupt. “You can join me. You can be on the right side of history. You have listened to me for years—do you think I am a fool? Do you think I am wrong?”

“This is our reality, Solas.” Her rage had fled her, sorrow replacing it. “What am I to do? Slaughter my husband, my children? They will not join. They will not listen.”

“You can change their minds—” She raised a hand and this time he obeyed, falling silent.

“I cannot.” She said it with a deep assurance. “They are already suspicious,” she admitted and he frowned, surprised. “They think you are corrupting me. They were willing to look away when I took a slave to my bedchambers, but they see in me a new weakness they can exploit.”

“They seek to usurp you?” He asked quietly and she nodded.

“Andruil has become... strange. Her journeys are poisoning her. Dirthamen and Falon’din care for none but each other. Ghilan’nain is Andruil’s pet. Sylaise and June are obsessed with their crafts and care nothing for politics, not to usurp nor to defend.”

“Elgar’nan?”

“Elgar’nan... will not tolerate any sign of weakness.” She folded her arms across her chest, meeting his eyes. “I cannot join you.”

“I understand,” he said, and he meant it. There was a deep grief that lay between them, a boundary that could not be crossed, but... “I must ask one thing.” She nodded almost imperceptibly, but it was still permission. “All else aside, would you join me? Would you fight for a better world? One without war, without slaves, without the deaths?”

“How am I to answer that, Solas?” She replied, sounding the closest to helpless he’d ever heard her. “If the world was different, if I was different, what would I do? Think of what you are asking me.”

“I just—” he bit his tongue and shook his head. “You are right. It does not matter.”

“It changes nothing.”

“Indeed.”

“So... this is it.”

“So it seems.”

“Solas.” He met her eyes, allowed her to close the distance between them. There was a chance that she would strike him, but he did not believe she would—although magic crackled just under his skin regardless. She felt it, of course, and smiled wanly. “Wise,” she murmured, almost to herself, “and cautious. You always were. Tell me one thing.” He nodded—he would, if he could. “What is your name?”

He smiled—a good question.

“I am Wisdom,” he answered her, “and I am the Dread Wolf, and I am Solas, all.”

“Wisdom,” she mused aloud, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I see.” She bent forward and kissed him, and although he did not release the magic he kissed her back. When she pulled away she looked at him as if trying to commit him to memory. “I will do what I can to stall them,” she told him softly, “but they will come to slaughter you. Be on your guard, my little pride.” With that she stepped away and he remained, watching as she walked back towards Arlathan, the distance growing between them with each step. Becoming something permanent.

At last he turned away and went to his people.

[cdyssey]

Valentine’s Day

Summary: On Valentine's Day, Barbara and Melissa have their worst fight yet. [Pre-2.14 Fic]

CW: Sex Mentions, Adultery Mentions, Emotional Infidelity

AO3 Link

—

The last time that they had fought so viciously, Barbara had openly called Joseph a manchild to Melissa’s face.

He had cheated on Melissa, had lain with another woman in their own damn bed.

He was more than a manchild.

He was an utterly selfish pig.

But Melissa hadn’t been ready to hear it yet, still in love with him, even though he had hurt her and hurt her and hurt her so many thousands of times over, like their marriage was a cartoon and his inability to be an adult was a recurring joke.

(The unfailing punchline was Melissa’s dutiful and obsequious forgiveness.)

She didn’t talk to Barbara for an entire week after that, ignoring all of her calls, brushing past her in the hallway like she was nothing, until Barbara found her one day in the supply closet on the second floor, sitting on top of an overturned mop bucket, gripping the phone in her hands like it was a loaded gun.

“I’m divorcin’ him,” she had spat, directing the words to the scuffed and stained floor. Her body was visibly trembling, everything that was usually solid and sturdy about her simply undone. “Kickin’ his sorry ass to the curb, so he can go fuck whoever the hell he wants to. Let the next woman deal with his beer breath and his goddamn scratchy beard. I’m so sick and tired of never bein’ enough for him. Blow job after blow job, and he still—“

But the second grade teacher had abruptly stopped herself, perhaps remembering that there was another person in the room, pressing her whitened knuckles against her red mouth as she looked up at Barbara, who could only stare at the wounded creature on the floor with horror and pity.

She could not get the disgusting image that those last words had conjured out of her head—Melissa on her knees in front of Joseph Lombardo.

Like a sinner touching the hem of Christ’s robes.

“You were right,” the younger woman said, and her voice was more than terrifying.

It was broken.

“I... didn’t want to be,” Barbara rasped, vehemently shaking her head, lowering herself to the ground as fluidly as her arthritic knee would allow. She anchored herself by palming Melissa’s upper thigh, only realizing a second too late that the touch was far more intimate than should ever pass between two friends, even very close ones.

She blushed profusely but didn’t withdraw her hand, thought it would be too awkward since she had already extended the gesture.

It didn’t escape her notice that she was the one of her knees now, a holy suppliant.

(She was incapable of envisioning herself in anything but the role of a worshipper.)

“I wanted you to be happy, Melissa,” she continued, unsure whether she was hurt that the other teacher’s gaze was averted or thoroughly relieved. “I wanted you two to make it…”

Well, at least part of that had been true. 

She would pray for God to forgive her for the lie later.

Whether Melissa actually believed her—(unlikely)—or didn’t have the energy to argue—(more likely)—she didn’t challenge her on it either way, dropping her face into her hands as her shoulders began to silently heave, all of her limbs wrought in unspeakable agony. Barbara didn’t hesitate. She encircled her friend with her arms and held her in the dark of that tiny room for a long time, resting her chin against the crown of that vivid head, whispering soothing words into the negligible space between them. You’ll be okay, sweetheart. I’m here for you. We’ll get you through this—I swear on my life, Melissa Ann Schemmenti.

And that was the end of the worst fight they had ever had.

This fight, though, the one that they’re currently having about Gary the Vending Machine Guy, is somehow far more ruinous.

Barbara, arms defensively folded across her chest, grips the skin of her forearms with her nails as though trying to physically hold herself together.

At the end of this conversation, this confrontation, this reckoning—Melissa might never speak to her again.

“You knew,” she snarls furiously, pausing her incessant pacing long enough to jab an accusing finger in Barbara’s direction. They’re in Barbara’s classroom, the door completely closed. The room is still papered with pink and red hearts that her children had cut out with safety scissors. She made them all sugar cookies for the holiday. They colored pictures of Cupid at recess today because it was still too cold for them to play outside. “You told him to set up the ring in the vending machine. You kept me outta the teacher’s lounge all day. You listened to me blather on and on about how I was afraid he was cheatin’ on me, but you knew he was doing something far flipping worse!”

Barbara can’t refute any of this. 

It is absolutely true that Gary had informed her that he was planning to propose. It’d been just last month, in fact, on a double date that she and Gerald had gone on with Melissa and her boyfriend. They’d all adventured out to dinner and a car show, and when Melissa and Gerald had walked over to ogle at some old Chevy or another, Gary had told her his intentions. He was gonna pop the question sometime that Sunday, maybe spring for a nice dinner at Applebee’s and ask her when the Eagles game was at halftime.

What d’ya think?

Barbara had been visibly, entirely, and perhaps even offensively mortified, had told him absolutely not, sir—here was how he was going to do it instead. He was going to cover the teacher’s lounge in rose petals on Valentine’s Day. He was going to buy her a bottle of Prosecco. Not the cheap kind from a bodega but a moderately priced vintage from that fancy wine cellar with the French name downtown. He was going to put on something nice—no bowling shirts, no cargo pants, and definitely no gaudy chains. He was going to be cutesy and strategically place his ring in the vending machine, attaching it to her favorite candy bar.

Snickers. 

She loves Snickers.

Come hell or high water, Gary the Vending Machine Guy was going to show Melissa Schemmenti that she was loved.

(Did it ever occur to Barbara when she was meticulously planning all of this—staying on top of Gary for an entire month, ensuring he was following her plans to the last detail, overseeing him like an overzealous hawk—that she was being a hypocrite by propping up this man’s unquestionable mediocrity? Saving him from it even? Joseph had been so careless about these sorts of occasions too, always forgetting his and Melissa’s anniversary, thinking that a gift card to his favorite restaurant was ever an appropriate gift on her birthdays. )

(It did, in fact, occur to Barbara.)

(She often thought about it.)

(Obsessed over it even.)

(This lone question has tormented her for weeks upon weeks now, kept her up at night, made her sick with guilt—but what, pray tell, was the alternative that she could have lived with? Discouraging him and risk Melissa ever finding out? Enduring yet another circular fight about how she’s too judgmental, and she doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about, and she should butt out of it because Melissa is a grown ass woman who she can make decisions for herself?)

(Has she not known from the very start—deep down inside the anguished well of her soul—that as nice as Gary is, as well-meaning, he's a far from a capable partner for Melissa? That he's but a type and marginally improved shadow of Joseph? That he is a man who is comfortable with settling, never once trying something new? Yes and yes and undoubtedly yes, but Barbara can’t confront any of these questions without asking a tougher one of herself. Why does she care so much?)

(There is but one answer to this particular inquiry that would destroy her where she stands, that would render her incapable of looking at herself in the mirror the next day—and all the days after that. There is an unspoken truth residing in the lily-white paradise of her moral worldview, where everything is neatly partitioned into a knowledge of what is good and what is evil, except for in the ungodly amalgamation of that one damn tree.)

(She loves her.)

(It’s as simple and as complex and as utterly horrible and as exquisitely beautiful as that.) 

(Barbara loves Melissa in a rapturous kind of way, has long elevated her to the Holy of Holies in her reverent and besotted mind. She loves her like a condemned sinner. Guilt defiles the temple of her chest every time she so much as catches a whiff of the other woman’s floral perfume. She loves her in the same way that she had loved Vivian—that girl from church camp all those many decades ago—when she was just fourteen, and their hands had accidentally brushed when they sat on the same log as the whole choir of God-fearing kids sang “Amazing Grace” around a roaring fire. They gingerly kissed behind their cabin one star-strewn night and never spoke to each other again.)

(She loves Melissa in a way that she has never quite loved her own husband. Gerald is kind and good, and he is good to her. Hell, even good for her. So steady and so gentle, the sturdy warmth she has curled up to in their shared bed for over three decades now. And she has loved that—has undoubtedly loved him—but their kisses have historically done nothing for her. She can only have sex with him when she’s a little tipsy. She desperately hides that from him, though, stuffs that dirty secret beneath her beatific smile like it's an empty bottle of Merlot hastily shoved under a bed; it isn’t fair to him that she can never get aroused. She convinces herself that no one has libido after menopause. She conveniently ignores the fact that she never had any long before that physiological change. The weight of her elaborate wedding band constricts her fourth finger like a cuff.)

(She sometimes feels that she should hate Melissa for making her feel any and all of these strange and estranging things, but she never does. She just loves her, even though it feels so wrong, except for those choice times when they’re alone in the same room together, side-by-side, taking up mutual intimate space, and Barbara has every reason to suspect that Melissa loves her right back.)

(So, yes, she planned Melissa’s proposal; she engineered the everloving and God almighty mess out of it.)

(Melissa seems happy enough with Gary.)

(She has made it her punishment and life’s mission to swallow that.)

Barbara blinks rapidly at the other’s vitriol, feels her own pride rise and rush to her defense.

“It’s worse that he proposed to you?” She cries incredulously, taking a step forward as Melissa takes a defensive step back, her leather-clad leg accidentally knocking one of the children’s tables. She winces and swears angrily under her breath, some Italian word that Barbara is sure God doesn’t like the meaning of. “You’ve been dating him for over a year now, Melissa. I just thought—“

But Melissa cuts across her violently.

“You didn’t think, Barb,” she laughs bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest, a gesture that nearly always means that she’s starting to shut down. “You hoped.”

“Excuse me?” Barbara’s heart feels liable to explode inside of her chest, throwing itself against the wall of her sternum like a wild animal. 

Feral

Unhinged.

Inconsolable.

“I said that you hoped,” the younger woman repeats herself, and the sound is somewhat quieter—if still wounded. Less of a gaping cut that a pulsing, chronic bruise, and somehow even more painful because of that. “You hoped that if I got shackled to Gary, I’d be all happy ‘n whole again. You hoped that maybe a shiny new ring would fix everything about me that my last marriage broke, and you wouldn’t have to—we would never need to—we could just keep pretendin’ that—“

But Melissa can’t seem to wrap her blunt tongue around the words in the same way that there is one tree that Barbara cannot eat from, let alone touch. She can only admire from afar and wonder to herself if its fruit would fit perfectly in the palm of her hand.

“Why—in God’s beloved and Almighty name—did you say yes to him then?” Barbara asks, her voice utterly alien to her, cold and so detached from the chemical reactions currently disrupting and denaturing her entire body. Her stomach churns. Her throat aches. Every nerve in her body is alive to the fact that there is now a new ring wrapped around Melissa Schemmenti’s fourth finger.

Because that is the crucial fact—the younger teacher said yes to the proposal.

Just minutes ago.

And she had smilingly accepted all the sweet congratulations from their colleagues that she received, and she had plopped a big kiss on Gary's laughing mouth—(making Barbara immediately want to wretch)—before dragging Barbara back here—("Just need Barb to help me take a good picture of it! Gotta rub it in my dumb cousin's face!)—so they could row about it.

About the fact that she said yes. 

Melissa dramatically falters, looking as though she’s been shot.

She glances down at the ring, as though she's expecting a bullet hole.

“What would we have done if I hadn’t, Barb?” She finally chokes out, rubbing the silvery band. “Kissed? Fucked? Lived happily ever after?”

It’s Barbara’s turn to be stricken now, to feel as though the mere six feet between them has suddenly become six-thousand, and the space between them is an abyssal depth—impossible to cross, let alone capably survive—but because she's Barbara Howard, because she is entirely used to adjusting her mask in the face of intolerable crisis, she gathers herself and all of her practiced composure together one more time, a hand resting just above her nauseous abdomen.

“I don’t know why you’re insisting on making yourself unhappy,” she hisses and almost finds it unbearable to look her best friend in the eye, hot tears threatening to form in her own. “It makes me sick to watch.”

But Melissa is apparently waiting for this particular response—locked, loaded, and brutally prepared.

“If we’re playin’ by those rules, hon, then you make me sick all the damn time.”

The effect of those words is immediate, visceral, and raw. Barbara feels as though the floor has been knocked out from under her, as though she is falling, falling, falling through that endless abyss. 

“Don’t say that, Melissa,” she utters, and she’s horrified that the words stumble out as a plea. “Never say that to me again.”

Melissa must hear it in her voice—her desperation, her denial, the presentation of her most deeply espoused fears—because apology briefly flashes in the darks of her eyes. She reaches up and scrubs her weary face with her hand, the one with that stupid, awful ring on it.

Barbara even helped the man pick it out.

Melissa likes simple jewelry.

Nothing intricate.

Something practical and sturdy—exactly like her.

“Goddamn, Barb,” she mutters, the curse muffled when she drags her palm over her mouth. “I’m engaged.”

It was already true—it’s been true the entire time that they’ve been having this accursed conversation—but hearing it aloud is too much on top of everything else. Her own hand splayed at the hollow of her throat, Barbara bows her head and fails to repress a sob.