#the way you can see the tear shimmering in her eye in the second to last gif... kill me now

[sniktbaby]

let me go

summary: you are in love with logan, and will do anything to make him feel better as he grieves the death of jean grey.

content: MEAN LOGAN, jean grey needs her own warning, unrequited love, rough sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering, doggy style, creampie

word count: 3.3k

author's note: this one has a sad and bitter ending but i HAD to!! i've been on a cute and sweet logan kick so i had to switch it up. i hope you guys like it <3

Logan has been struggling to cope with the loss of Jean. Not as much as Scott, who barely leaves his room anymore, but Logan has never been one to let his pain show. He keeps it hidden, drowning it in whiskey and cigars and a tight hole he can fuck into.

That was how you ended up on your back most nights, or on all fours, or bent over the desk in your classroom. Wherever Logan wanted you, that’s what you gave him. You knew he didn’t love you, that this was just his way of coping with Jean’s death, but you didn’t care. You loved him, and if this was all he could give, that was enough.

Wasn’t it?

You moan loudly as Logan eats you out on the floor in the common room. The students are out on a sleepover field trip, and the rest of the faculty was busying themselves in other areas of the mansion. You would ideally like more privacy, but Logan had told you to take your pants off and lay down on the floor, and you never denied Logan of anything.

Logan doesn’t know why he keeps dragging you down with him like this. But right now, he doesn’t care. All that matters is the taste of you, the sounds coming out of your throat as his tongue drags over your clit again. You taste sweet, like honey and want, and you’re so wet for him it makes something dark twist low in his core.

He grips your thighs tighter, holding them apart as you writhe beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair. Goddamn. You always give yourself over completely. No hesitation. No judgement. Just trust – and maybe some stupid hope that one day he’ll wake up and realize he needs your heart and not just your pussy.

You deserve better than this. Better than him using your body to forget the ghosts clawing at his own. But here you are anyway. Your hips buck against his face, your breath hitching before spilling into uneven gasps. “L-Logan…oh God…” you whimper, tugging gently at his hair. You can feel yourself getting close already – it never takes long with Logan, not when he licks at you like he has something to prove.

You force your eyes open, peering down at him through the haze of pleasure. Even now, even like this, you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. If he sees you – or Jean.

Still, you smile faintly. “You’re amazing…” The words slip out before you can stop them. Stupid. Hopeful.

Logan freezes for half a second, his breath catching against your slick folds. That look in your eyes – the softness, the ache – it cuts deeper than any blade ever could. You’re smiling at him like he’s worth something. Like he’s somebody.

He should pull away. Tell you not to say shit like that. Warn you not to waste whatever is left of your heart on a dead man walking.

Instead, he growls low in his throat and shoves two thick fingers deep inside your tight cunt, curling them as he sucks hard on your clit. You scream and come apart instantly like only you know how – like fire and starlight and everything he’ll never hold onto.

And he takes it. He takes all of it.

Fireworks explode behind your eyes as your orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of blinding pleasure that leaves you shaking and gasping. “Ahhh! L-Logan, yes!” Your nails dig into his scalp, your body trembling as every muscle tenses and then melts into the carpet beneath you.

Slowly, you come down, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat. When you finally open your eyes, they shimmer with unshed tears – not sadness, not pain, but the overwhelming weight of loving someone who might never love you back the way you need.

But you’re still riding your high. You reach down with shaky hands, brushing your fingers along his jawline, tracing the rough hair there. “I wanna feel you…” you whisper softly.

Your touch is feather-light, tentative – but it scorches him all the same. Everytime you look at him like that, like he’s worth saving, it burns another hole in him.

And then you tell him you want to feel him. Shit. His cock twitches at the sound of your voice. He shouldn’t. This isn’t love.

But he can still taste you on his tongue, still feel your pulse on his fingertips, and damn it all if he doesn’t want to bury himself so deep inside of you that he forgets his own name. He stands abruptly, yanking off his t-shirt and popping the button open on his jeans.

You watch him with wide eyes, your breath catching as he undresses. You sit up slightly, resting on your elbows, your entire body still humming from your release. Every movement of his muscles, every ripple of his veins, feels like a promise – one you weren’t sure he meant to make, but one you desperately want to believe in nonetheless.

As he steps out of his jeans, revealing his thick and hard length, you bite your lip and scoot closer to him, your fingers itching to touch. You lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss just above his hipbone – a small gesture, quiet and reverent, like you’re worshipping a God you’re not sure believes in you.

That kiss – soft, almost sacred – hits him hard. Logan’s stomach clenches like he’s been punched, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from throwing you to the ground and tearing the rest of your clothes off of your perfect frame.

He lets you linger there too long, your lips warm against his skin, your breath fluttering like a heartbeat against the coarse hair that grows over his pelvis. It feels good. Too good. Like home, maybe – if he’d ever had one.

Then your fingers twitch near his thigh, like you want to touch him but you won’t unless he tells you that you can. You’re giving him control again. Letting him decide how this goes. He grabs your wrist, guiding your hand to his cock.

A sharp inhale escapes your lips as Logan grips your wrist. Your fingers curl instinctively against his hardness, hot and heavy against your palm. A shiver runs through you.

Your thumb brushes over the tip, smearing the bead of pearly moisture there, and you look up at him through your lashes, your expression vulnerable yet steady – as if silently telling him, ‘This is yours. I’m yours.’ Even as shame gnaws at the edges of your mind, whispering that all you’re doing is setting yourself up for disappointment, your heart betrays your logic. You worship him with your hand, trying to memorize every inch, every tremor he tries to hide.

Your hand on him makes his jaw clench so hard it hurts. He hates how good it feels. Hates how you look at him while you touch him, like he’s important. Like he’s not just a monster wrapped in skin, chasing oblivion with whiskey and warm holes. You watch him like you’re waiting for permission, for some sign that he’s letting you in. But he has nothing to give you except for this.

He reaches down and wraps his hand around yours, tightening your grip. “Faster,” Logan grunts, his voice rougher than he means it to be. Like he’s angry. Angry at you for wanting him. Angry at himself for needing it.

A whimper catches in your throat as he commands your movements. You obey instantly, quickening your strokes. The roughness in his tone sends a thrill through you.

Logan’s anger doesn’t scare you. Not the claws, not the snarls, not the way he sometimes fucks you too roughly during sex, holding you too tight like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip. What scares you is the thought that one day, he won’t come looking for you at all.

Swallowing hard, you press your forehead against his hip, breathing him in before lifting your gaze again, searching his stormy hazel eyes. “Tell me what you need.”

What does Logan need? Isn’t that the million dollar question. He needs to stop feeling like his heart is being ripped out when he thinks about Jean. Needs to stop seeing her face in his dreams. Needs to stop waking up and reaching out for someone who isn’t ever coming back.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Can’t. Won’t. He tightens his grip on your wrist until he can feel your pulse jump under his fingertips. “What I need,” he growls, stepping forward until his knees bump against your shoulders, “is your mouth where your hand is.”

It’s cruel. He knows it is. Using you like this, talking to you like you’re just a warm place to stick his dick.

You blink up at him, your breath hitching at his words. For a moment, you hesitate, torn between your desire to please him and the sting of his harsh demand. But then you remember the desperation lurking beneath his rough exterior, the unspoken pain he carries with him wherever he goes.

With a soft sigh, you lean forward, replacing your hand with your lips. You kiss the tip gently, your eyes never leaving his as you take him into your mouth, inch by inch. Your hand finds purchase on his hip, steadying yourself as you move, hollowing your cheeks as you suck and swirl your tongue around him.

Your mouth feels incredible. Logan’s head falls back as he thrusts shallowly into you. He slides his hand into your hair, gripping it just tight enough to guide your movements. You moan around his cock, the vibrations making his toes curl against the plush carpet. Damn. You’re so good at this, so willing to give him whatever he asks for. Even when he’s an asshole about it. “Just like that.”

The praise, even grudging as it was, sends an electric shock through you. You focus on the task at hand, determined to bring him to the point of rapture, to chase away the shadows in his eyes if only for a little while. Your tongue traces the veins on the underside of his shaft as you bob your head, taking him deeper each time until the tip hits the back of your throat.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes from the stretch but you ignore them. One hand slides up his thigh to cup his balls, rolling them in your palm. The other moves from his hip to his ass cheek, digging your nails in, feeling the muscles tense and flex with each thrust. You can feel him getting closer, his grip on your hair tightening, his breathing growing ragged.

Christ, you take him so deep, swallowing him whole like you were born for it. Like you’re starving and he’s the only thing that can fill you up.

He’s close. Too close. His balls draw up tight and his vision blurs. But he doesn’t want to finish like this – doesn’t want to shoot his load down your throat and walk away.

Logan yanks you off of him suddenly, ignoring your startled gasp. He hauls you to your feet and spins you around, pushing your upper body down onto the couch. “Ass up,” he orders roughly, kicking your legs apart. You comply immediately, arching your back and presenting yourself to him. Always so eager to please.

A thrill runs through you at his dominance. Your body moves on autopilot, assuming the position he demands from you. You can feel his eyes on you, raking over your curves, and it makes you shiver. “Please,” you breathe, glancing back at him over your shoulder.

Logan steps closer, running his hands over the smooth curves of your ass. You’re perfect. Soft and yielding under his calloused palms. He squeezes once, hard enough to leave red marks, before sliding one hand between your legs. You’re dripping wet. Ready. He teases your entrance with the broad head of his cock, rubbing it through your slick folds. You whimper and push back against him, trying to take him inside.

“Not yet, babygirl,” Logan mutters with a smug smirk. “Not ‘till I say so.”

You whine low in your throat as Logan teases you, his cock slipping between your soaked lips but never entering you. Your hips jerk, seeking more contact. You’re aching for him, empty and throbbing and desperate to be filled. “Logan, please…” you beg, your voice cracking. “I need you. Please. Just…put it in. Make me yours.”

The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and honest and so much more than just physical desire. In this moment, you’re not thinking about being used or forgotten. All you know is that you love him, and you want him to know it – want him to feel it, even if he can’t say it back.

He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still as he pushes forward slowly. Inch by excruciating inch, he sinks into your cunt. You’re tight, pulsing and squeezing like you’re trying to milk him dry.

By the time he bottoms out, you’re both panting. Sweat beads across Logan’s brow and runs down his spine. He leans over you, covering your body with his, and presses his lips to your ear. “This what ya wanted?” he growls, nipping at your earlobe.

A choked sob escapes you as he enters you, stretching you deliciously, filling you completely. It hurts in the best possible way, the burn of the initial penetration quickly melting into pure, electric pleasure. Your walls flutter around him, adjusting to his size, savouring every ridge and vein.

“Yes,” you gasp, nodding frantically. You can barely form coherent thoughts, but you manage to choke out, “A-Always. Want you…always.”

That word echoes in his skull like a gunshot. You want him – always. Even after he’s used you and discarded you a hundred times over.

He doesn’t deserve your devotion. Doesn’t deserve the way you open yourself up to him. But fuck, if he doesn’t take it all anyway.

Logan shifts above you, his teeth grazing your earlobe, and you shudder violently, your nipples hardening against the thin fabric of your tank top. Your fists grip the cushions, bracing yourself for what you know is coming.

He starts moving, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Hard. Fast. Punishing. Like he’s trying to break you. Each brutal thrust sends shockwaves through your body, pleasure bordering on pain. You meet him halfway, pushing back to meet him deeper, craving the delicious friction. Your breasts bounce with the force of his movements.

“Harder,” you demand breathlessly, your voice ragged with need. “Want it to hurt. Want you to ruin me.” The filthy words pour out of you, spurred on by lust and desperation. You know you might regret them later, but right now, lost in sensation, you don’t care. Let him ruin you. Let him break you. As long as he’s inside you, touching you, claiming you, you’ll endure anything.

Your tight little cunt squeezes his cock like you were made for him. He picks up the pace, driving into you with everything he’s got. One hand snakes around to find your clit, rubbing merciless circles over the sensitive nub. You scream and buck wildly, your inner walls clamping down on him. So close. You’re both so fucking close.

The dual stimulation proves to be too much for you. Your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave, back arching sharply as ecstasy whites out your vision. You convulse around him, gushing fluid, your body shaking uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm of your life rips through you.

“Logan!” you wail, his name a prayer and a curse on your lips. Tears stream down your face, overwhelmed by the sheer force of your release. You’re barely aware of him pistoning into you erratically, chasing his own end, too lost in bliss to do anything more than clench weakly around him.

Logan roars as he comes, pumping jet after jet of hot come deep inside you. Every nerve ending fires off at once. It’s almost painful, the intensity of it.

He collapses on top of you, crushing you into the couch. You’re both panting, covered in sweat, hearts pounding in sync. He can feel you trembling beneath him, little aftershocks trembling through you. For a moment, he just lays there, buried inside you, pretending this means something. Pretending he’s not just using you to forget.

Then reality crashes back in, cold and bitter. He pulls out abruptly.

You flinch as Logan withdraws, feeling empty and deprived. His release trickles out of you, a tangible reminder of what you just shared. You want to roll over, to pull him into your arms and bask in the afterglow. To whisper sweet nothings and maybe, if you’re lucky, coax a few gentle words from him in return.

But you know better. This is how it always ends – with him shutting down, retreating behind that impenetrable wall. So you stay where you are, sprawled out on the couch like a ragdoll, waiting for him to tell you to leave. Again.

Logan stands up, turning away from you so he doesn’t have to see the look on your face. Disappointment. Longing. Fucking hope. Always with the fucking hope.

He tucks himself back into his pants, zipping up with more force than necessary. There’s a heaviness in his chest, a sick feeling in his gut. Guilt. Regret. The usual post-coital cocktail. “You should go,” he says gruffly. “Get cleaned up. Get some sleep.”

He can practically hear your heart breaking. But he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t offer comfort or reassurance. Because that would imply that there’s something here beyond sex.

Something inside you shatters at his dismissive words, sharp and clean like a broken glass. You nod, even though he’s not looking at you, and slowly stand up. Your legs feel weak, shaky from the intensity of your coupling and the subsequent emotional gut punch. “Right. Of course.”

Your voice is small, fragile. You stand on unsteady legs, wincing slightly as you feel the evidence of your activities dripping down your thighs. With trembling hands, you straighten your shirt and put your pants back on, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“I…thank you. For tonight.” The words taste bitter on your tongue. Thank you for using me. For making me feel special, if only for a little while.

He scoffs when you thank him. For what? For treating you like a cheap whore? Like you’re just grateful for the scraps of affection he tosses your way.

Logan clenches his fists, fighting the urge to turn around and shake you. To yell at you for being so goddamn naive. For believing there could ever be more between you than this twisted arrangement.

But he doesn’t. Because Logan knows it isn’t your fault. It’s his. He’s the one stringing you along, taking advantage of your kindness. Your love.

“Don’t mention it,” he mutters, still facing away.

Tears stream down your face as you retreat. You lean against the wall in the hallway, gathering your strength before making your way to your bedroom. You know you’ll cry yourself to sleep tonight, just like you do every night after he uses you and throws you away.

But tomorrow is another day. Another chance for you to try again, to hope that maybe this time things will be different. Maybe this time he’ll see you. Really see you. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll finally let you in.

Until then, you’ll keep playing your role. The friend who’s always there, no matter what. The lover who’s willing to do anything to make him happy.

[thisrots]

pretty little relapse

jinx x reader 𖦹 part 1

part 2 here

𖦹 warnings: fem!reader addicted to jinx’s bodily shimmer, mentions of addiction, toxic!manipulative!jinx x manipulated reader, slight nsfw (more to come in part 2 <3)

𖦹 word count: 2.1k

It’s quiet in your empty apartment bedroom, too quiet. It’s 2 a.m., there was no movement, no sounds, not even a breeze through the cracked window. You should be taking advantage of the silence, using it to get a good night’s rest, but this is the kind of silence that hurts. Your skin’s too tight, bones itch, sweat clinging to the sheets where you lay, and that constant buzzing that’s been in your head for days—it’s like that static you’d wake up to as a kid at night once your show was over.

Except this time it wasn’t a show, it was her laugh. That loud cackle was stuck behind your eyes—mind clinging onto any bit of remembrance of Jinx it had left. You’d lost count of how many days it’d been since you last saw her, but it felt like fucking weeks now. You were trying to hold off, to stand your ground and mean that last time would be the last, even if you both knew that was a total fucking lie.

But as much as you tried, you could taste her—actually taste her on your tongue. A perfect mixture of sugar and something chemically. Like jolly ranchers that had just been mixed with something from a lab. It always left an electric feeling after—a high that would make your heart race, pupils dilated at the complex taste of Jinx.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the hallucinations started a few days ago. Her voice, at first. Whispering in your ear, giggling in corners of the room. Now you’re seeing her, too. Sitting on your counter, swinging her legs. Crawling into your bed like she owned the place, pressing cold fingers against your cheek.

“You’re pathetic without me.”

You’d scream at her false presence, throwing whatever was nearest at her, shattering multiple plates and vases in the process. You started clawing at your skin in the shower just to feel something, anything other than the endless hole she left in you. You’d tear out your hair, sobbing out at the cruel, fiending desire that drove you mad.

There’s no way this was normal. This yearning, these withdrawals that were taking over your life, gnawing at your fucking brain every time you’d hear Jinx’s haunting voice coaxing you back to her. She’d done something to you, you were sure of it. What really wasn’t normal either was how you’d fallen right into her trap for the thousandth time, slipping on your shoes and bolting out the door as you went chasing after the high you so badly craved.

Chasing Jinx.

You don’t remember the walk—just neon lights streaking past, nausea curling in your gut, legs moving like muscle memory. You needed no directions, no thought process on how to get to her, it was as if it was second nature to you. By the time you got to Jinx’s place, your jaw was so tense it ached, knuckles white as you stare at the familiar door in front of you.

You knock at first.

Once. Twice.

…Nothing.

You know she’s inside, you can fucking feel her. That same buzz was louder now, sharper, causing you to flinch as your frustrations grew. It’s like she was already controlling you again, waking up the parts of you that were numb without her.

You pound your fist at the door. “Jinx!”

Silence. The same silence that was tearing you apart these past couple days.

You let out a low growl as you roll your neck, channeling all the strength you had. The next thing you know, your shoulder is slamming into her door. Once, twice, you put your whole strength into the third hit, cracking it open with a violent snap, body thrown onto the floor as you make it inside.

There she was, sprawled out across the couch like you weren’t a thought that even crossed her mind. Like she wasn’t the reason you’d felt like you were coming off of hard drugs, hanging on by a mere thread. Her discolored socked feet were on the coffee table, hair braided messily, spinning a screwdriver in her hand.

“You always were dramatic, weren’t you, toots?” Jinx didn’t even bother to turn around to make sure it was you and not some random. It was always you. She spoke while focused on the tool in her hand, her voice sparking a fire in your lower stomach, heart stuttering as rage and slight relief hit you all at once.

You groaned as you picked yourself up, room spinning as her aroma swirled around you, body swaying from side to side. “This—” Your voice shakes, sentence broken up by your staggered breath. “This is your fault, isn’t it?”

She turned around, still on the couch, head resting on her arms as her eyes followed your movements. “Duh.”

She was calm, cruelly calm. Like she’d seen this crash coming and just let it happen. As if you hadn’t just broken past her door, as if her strung-out ex situationship wasn’t about to relapse right in the middle of her living room.

“You just… let me go.”

“Mhhhmm…”

“Knowing I’d get like this?”

“Ding, ding, ding!” She started, pointing the screwdriver at you. “Right again, doll face!”

Your eyebrows threaded together, face scrunched up in anger. “I thought I was fucking dying.”

“You looked okay to me. Walked away just fine, in fact.” She paused, her head tilting at you. “Well, not now. Now you just look like shit.”

Your hands curled up into fists, whole body shivering as your blood boiled underneath your skin—the two parts of you that held anger and longing mixing into one. You wanted her to touch you, to crawl under her skin, to be greedy and taste her until you forgot your own name. To completely drown in her, to be full of nothing but Jinx. And yet, the other wanted to tear her fucking throat out for doing whatever this was to you—for circling you around time and time again knowing you’d come back.

“What did you do to me?”

Jinx sighed, tossing the tool to the side as she jumped over the back of the couch, starting to walk slow circles around you. “What did I do to you? Hmm, let’s see…”

She stopped in front of you—…except for a flicker. For half a second, there were two of her. One real, one maniacally laughing at your desperation. You blinked it away, breath hitching. “Ooo, I know, I know!”

Caught in your hallucinations, you were suddenly pushed onto the wall, landing with a hard slam! The wind was knocked out of your lungs, coughing and gasping for air as she positioned herself in front of you, caging you in with a leg between your thighs as her hands gripped the wall.

“I kissed you,” She started, her voice quiet yet full of manipulation. “And I let you fuck me. I gave you what you begged for, and now you’re blaming me because you can’t handle the comedown?”

You blinked at her, eyes darting back and forth as you tried to piece it all together. She rolled her eyes, smacking her lips at your confusion. “Use that pretty little head of yours for a second and think. What courses through my veins, is part of my entire being, hm?”

…Shimmer.

That word hits you like punch to the stomach, letting out a sharp gasp at the realization.

No fucking way.

Her eyes were locked onto yours, staring deep into your soul, it was almost terrifying how hypnotic they were. She was watching you unravel, slowly realize how fucked you truly were. You lost hope, she could see it in your pupils, how the light dimmed from them. She saw the second your mind shut off, letting her have complete control over you.

She had all the power now, and you’d come to realize that. Just a second ago you were dying to throw a punch at her, yet now you could feel yourself melting into nothing. Feel your mouth watering at her pheromones, smell the shimmer coming out of all the sweat glands that were opening up as a sweat tear rolled down her cheek, the only thing you wanted to do was reach over and lick it off, savoring her in your mouth.

“This is fucked,” You whisper, like it’s a secret. Like your late realizations of the truth are something to be ashamed of. “This isn’t normal.”

“No,” Jinx murmurs, her eyes softening and voice melting in your mind like honey. “It’s not.” Her finger tilted your jaw up, forcing you to focus on nothing but her. As if your mind wasn’t already taken over by Jinx, as if she didn’t know she owned you the second she separated her lips in the first kiss you two shared. “But you don’t want normal, do you?”

You hate her. You really fucking hate her. But you’re already leaning forward, chasing her breath, the scent of her skin. Already aching like a dog in heat, eyes tearing up from her slight touch. Her hand tightly gripped onto your face. “You want me.”

Her face leaned in closer to yours, knees buckled and wobbly, every nerve in your body screaming, breath quivering from her touch. Your hands instinctively gripped onto her shirt, pulling her in even closer. You needed her so badly you’d lost all sense of yourself, letting out a whimper as her lips hovered over yours, her knee pressing into the evidence of your neediness—the damp spot left between your thighs.

“Say it,” Jinx whispered. “Say you need me.”

She waits. Not impatient—no, she’s expectant. Like she’s done this before. Like she always knew this moment would come.

You hesitate, just for a second. This interaction was different from the other times, this meant something. You were practically letting her leash you down, about to tell her that she owned you for the rest of your life if she wanted. In that moment, it sounded like a dream come true. As sick and pathetic as it was, you only wanted your shimmer fix from her, and you knew nothing else would satisfy. You wanted her to spread her thighs in your face, her clear yet slightly purple hued wetness waiting for you every time you needed it, lapping it all up as she moaned out your name. Gods, your mouth watered at the mere thought of it.

Fuck it.

“I need you, Jinx, please,” You croak, voice wrecked, tears blurring your vision as they spilled down your cheeks. “Please fix me. It fuckin’ hurts—hurts s’bad—I can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t fucking live. Please give yourself to me, please.”

And just like that, a toothy grin raised on her face, eyes lighting up in violet flames. She was more than content, she was ecstatic, immediately softening her grip on your face as she cupped your cheeks with both hands. “There we go, that’s a good girl,” She praised, wiping your tears away with her thumbs as a defeated sob escaped your lips. “You really thought you could quit me? How adorable.”

She pressed her thumb pressing against your lips to prevent you from speaking. Something had taken over your mind at this point, the disgusting desire controlled you now. So when your tongue wrapped around her digit, pulling it in your mouth to savor her sweet and saltiness, you didn’t even fight against it. Your eyes rolled back at the taste, hips immediately bucking against her thigh. Your sensitive clit ached at the friction, feeling your juices leak out of you as a muffled moan vibrated against her skin, dribbles of your drool dripping off her hand.

Jinx’s eyes widened at the sight of your desperation, never seeing this side of you before. Of course you’d come crawling back time and time again, but this? This was submission. This was saying, ‘Put that fucking collar on me, name tag and all.’ She smirked wildly, letting out a snicker before speaking.

“Look at you,” she cooed. “Drooling all over me. You’re obsessed, aren’t you, pretty thing?” She teased, pulling her thumb away before going to close the broken door the best she could. She then gripped onto your shirt collar, dragging you to the couch as she threw herself on it. You don’t even flinch or fight against her.

“On your knees, junkie.” You don’t hesitate now, don’t bother to resist, not that you wanted to. You’d crawl for her if she asked you to. Your knees hit the cold floor, fingers twitching as you impatiently waited for her instructions. She began to unbuckle her belt, her pants coming undone.

“You need me so badly?” She tugged them down, leaving her in nothing but lacey black panties, your eyes tracing her bright blue happy trail as far down as it’d go. She began to manspread in your face, her wetness already spilling out of her undies. Your mouth watered, nails digging into your thighs as your breath hitched at the sight. You belonged here—made to be owned by her, to depend on no one else but Jinx.

“Show me.”

[fic-girlie]

Hi! Can you make one with Pedro and actress reader where a hater is disrespecful to reader on the red carpet?

Where the hater is throwing water or something that destroys her outfit and Pedro gets really mad and it goes viral on the internet.

I’m sorry for my bad english!

My army

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x actress!reader Summary: A hater ruins your dress on the red carpet, but Pedro fiercely defends you. The viral moment shows his love and protection, helping you stay strong despite the attack. Warnings: estbalished relationship, protective and supportive Pedro, hater, fluff

You take a deep breath as your heels click steadily against the polished marble floor, the red carpet unfurling ahead like a river of firelight beneath the towering spotlights. Tonight is everything you’ve worked for — a celebration of your latest film, a night where cameras capture every smile, every laugh, every glimmer of the soul you’ve bled into your role. Your dress, a sleek satin gown the color of moonlight, clings to your body in all the right ways — shimmering softly under the flashes, with a delicate train that trails behind you like a whisper.

Pedro’s hand finds your lower back, warm and steady, grounding you amid the chaos. His presence is your tether to calm, that familiar, solid warmth you’ve come to rely on in this world of glitz and noise. His dark eyes meet yours briefly, full of pride and something tender you don’t quite want to name right now.

You smile at the cameras, lift your chin, and then you see it: the man.

He’s standing close to the barricades — face twisted with a venom you haven’t seen in person before, something colder and sharper than jealousy or disappointment. His eyes lock on you with pure malice.

You don’t register what he’s holding until the moment the liquid splashes against your cheek — icy, sudden, shocking.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Water.

A cup, thrown with deliberate force, arcs through the air and lands across your face and chest, soaking the delicate fabric of your gown. The silky satin instantly darkens, clinging to your skin in uneven patches. The shimmer that caught the light a moment ago is gone, replaced by wetness and the sickening sensation of ruined fabric.

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd.

Your world narrows.

Pedro’s hand tightens at your back like a lifeline, and his jaw clenches. His dark eyes flash, burning with a fury that hushes the noise around you.

“Hey!” His voice cuts through the crowd like a whip — low, commanding, dangerous.

You spin toward the source of the attack — the man still shouting insults, his face contorted in hatred. Security officers are already moving to intercept him, but Pedro steps forward, a wall between you and the chaos.

“You don’t get to treat her like this,” Pedro says, his voice a growl that vibrates with raw, protective power.

The crowd is silent now, eyes flickering between you, Pedro, and the man who dared disrespect you on the world’s biggest stage. Cameras flash relentlessly, capturing every second — your stunned, trembling form, the ruined dress, Pedro’s towering, angry figure.

You feel tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back. You’re not going to let him see you break. Not tonight.

Pedro moves closer, gently brushing water-soaked strands of hair from your face, thumb lingering on your cheek. His touch is steady, a quiet promise.

“We’re getting you out of here,” he murmurs.

——

He guides you through a side door behind the crowd, away from the flashing cameras and shouting reporters. The hallway is narrow, dimly lit, a stark contrast to the overwhelming brightness outside. Pedro pulls off your soaked gown carefully, revealing the soaked dress underneath — the fabric now stretched awkwardly, stained, completely ruined.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, voice trembling as you glance at your reflection in a cracked mirror.

Pedro shakes his head, his dark eyes softer now but still fierce. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He drapes his blazer around your shoulders and pulls you close. You can feel his heartbeat against your temple, steady and strong.

“I hate that anyone made you feel unsafe tonight,” he says, voice rough. “But I’m here. I won’t let anyone touch you.”

You lean into him, the adrenaline fading and exhaustion washing over you. Your fingers tighten around his shirt.

“I don’t want this to be what people remember,” you whisper.

Pedro’s lips press against your temple. “They’ll remember you. Not the dress. Not the water. But you. And how strong you are.”

——

The videos explode online within minutes — your soaked dress, Pedro’s fierce defense, the man’s shouting face — a storm of support and outrage flooding every corner of social media.

Twitter lights up with hashtags: #ProtectHer, #PedroPascalProtects, #RedCarpetHero.

You watch as Pedro’s words from that moment echo through the posts:

“You don’t get to treat her like this.”

The internet rallies around you — celebrities sending messages of support, fans flooding your comments with love, people sharing their own stories of standing up to cruelty.

Pedro stays by your side through every moment of it, his hand never leaving yours. When the cameras stop flashing and the crowds fade, he’s the only thing that feels real and steady.

——

The moment the video of the incident goes viral, your phone doesn’t stop buzzing. It feels like the whole world is trying to reach you at once.

Your notifications explode — texts, DMs, tweets, Instagram comments — thousands of messages pouring in like a tidal wave of love, concern, and solidarity.

You scroll, your thumb trembling as you read:

“You’re so strong. No one deserves that.” “Pedro’s reaction was everything. Real men protect women.” “Your grace through it all is inspiring. We love you.” “That hater doesn’t deserve your light.” “Sending you all the love and strength.”

Fans across the globe share fan art of you and Pedro, with him standing fierce and protective beside you — swords drawn, armor shining — a symbol of unwavering loyalty.

Hashtags like #ProtectHer and #PedroPascalProtects trend for days.

One fan writes, “Watching Pedro’s face when he stood up for you? That’s real love. I’m so proud of you both.”

Another posts a compilation of interviews and red carpet moments, titling it: “When Love Meets Courage.”

——

Pedro is right there beside you as you read these messages, his hand warm over yours, grounding you through the flood of emotions.

“It’s overwhelming,” you admit, your voice small.

Pedro squeezes your fingers. “Because you deserve it. People see your strength. Not just the dress, not just the water — you.”

You look up at him, eyes shimmering with tears that aren’t just sadness but gratitude, something fiercer.

“Sometimes it’s hard to remember that,” you whisper.

Pedro cups your cheek, thumb brushing gently over the tear that escapes.

“That’s why I’m here,” he says softly. “To remind you.”

——

The support isn’t just virtual. Fans organize small online fundraisers to send you flowers, hand-written letters, even messages of encouragement on billboards in cities around the world.

At premieres and events afterward, people shout your name in cheers instead of whispers, waving signs that say “We stand with you” and “Pedro is a king.”

You catch glimpses of these signs in the crowd, and each one feels like a shield — a reminder you’re not alone.

Pedro watches you with pride, eyes gleaming with love and protectiveness as you wave and smile.

——

One night, after scrolling through a particularly touching thread of fan stories about standing up to bullying and hate, you turn to Pedro.

“People really cared,” you say, voice thick with emotion.

Pedro nods, pulling you close.

“It wasn’t just about the dress or the incident,” he says. “It was about showing the world that you’re worth defending. That you’re not afraid. That you have a whole army behind you.”

You lean your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear.

“Thank you for being my army,” you whisper.

Pedro’s hand slides to your hair, his voice low and fierce.

“Always. No one messes with mine.”

[rafessecret]

Okay adding on to the rafe stepsis thing months later kelce or topper walk in on something (them fucking her giving him head or him touching her) and them being like I knew it! What the fuck but I knew it and rafe flipping out on them

⋆˚࿔ step¡sister reader && rafe cameron

YOU SAW NOTHING.

It’d been months since Topper and Kelce first got suspicious. The way Rafe hovered too close, the way your skirts seemed even shorter when he was around, and the bruises on your neck you never quite explained. But no one dared confirm it, not after Rafe had a few quiet words — more like a fist to Topper’s face and a threat that made Kelce piss himself.

They’d backed off. For a while.

Now, they’re back. Loud and smug, clambering onto Rafe’s pristine boat with beers and big mouths, laughter echoing across the marina. The sun’s low, the water shimmering like gold, but all you feel is panic — because you’re on your knees, lips wrapped around Rafe’s cock while he lounges like sin itself on a plush leather bench, head tilted back, fingers tangled in your hair.

❝Fuck, baby… just like that,❞ he groans, hips jerking up. ❝Sloppy little mouth’s so good.❞

You whimper around him, cheeks hollowing. Your cunt pulses around the little pink Lovense toy nestled inside you, slick dripping down the backs of your thighs. The boat rocks gently with the water, but your world only tilts when you hear the clatter of shoes on deck.

❝We fucking knew it,❞ Topper shouts.

Your eyes go wide. Rafe stills. You’re frozen, lips still parted around him, panic blooming in your chest. You scramble up, shame crashing over you, trying to cover your face, your thighs, your everything. But it’s too late. Topper and Kelce are just standing there — wide-eyed and horrified, but smug. Because they were right. ❝Get downstairs,❞ Rafe growls.

You nod, tears already spilling, and you flee below deck, heart hammering. You curl up on the bed, sobbing, still wearing nothing but a ruined shirt and the now-silent vibrator. Every sound above feels like thunder in your ears. Upstairs, Rafe pulls on his shorts, slow and furious.

❝You want to die today?❞ he snarls.

❝Man—❞

His fist cracks against Topper’s jaw, sending him reeling. Kelce raises a hand, stumbling back, but it’s no use. Rafe's a storm now, all rage and violence and snarled threats. ❝You think this is a game? You think you can fucking laugh? I’ll put you in the ground if you ever open your mouth about her.❞

Kelce tries to reason with him — badly. Something about being friends, about not meaning it. But Rafe is beyond words. He drives Topper into the deck again, blood already staining the pale wood. ❝She’s mine. You don’t look at her. You don’t talk about her. You forget you ever fucking saw her.❞

His voice is low now, terrifying in its calm. ❝You’ll keep your mouths shut. Or I’ll shut them for you.❞ By the time he’s done, they’re coughing, stumbling, bruised and bloodied, dragging themselves off the boat with no more jokes.

Then it’s quiet again.

Rafe moves below deck, breathing hard. The second he sees you, curled up and still trembling, his entire demeanour shifts. He kneels beside the bed, gently brushing your hair back.

❝Hey… look at me, angel.❞ You blink up at him, tear-streaked and shaking. ❝It’s okay. They’re not going to say anything,' he murmurs, voice soft now, hands so gentle on your face. ❝I handled it.❞

You sniffle. ❝But… they saw…❞

❝Doesn’t matter,❞ he interrupts. ❝None of it matters.❞ He pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like armour. ❝We’re fine. It’s still okay. ‘Because I said it is.❞

And you believe him. Because you always do.

And because no one crosses Rafe Cameron — and walks away the same.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : this one had me in a chokehold angels — not gonna lie, i struggled a bit with making it feel realistic while still capturing the vibe. wasn’t sure if you even wanted a whole scene out of it, but once i got started… well. you know how rafe gets. anyway, hope it hits <3

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

[sunnyjeon]

Call me when you get Hong

with Joshua Hong (another fluff drabble + fake texts!)

Trying something new! This is not proof read, your thoughts are very much appreciated. Thank you for all the love on my recent fics. The duality of Joshua Hong, I swear it's going to drive me crazy!

A Saturday night filled with friends and laughter, you reflect on the overwhelming love you continuously receive. And when Joshua finally makes his way to you, you share a sweet and chaotic reunion. Fluff, humor, and drunk SVT!

It was another Saturday night spent apart—this was normal for you and Joshua. With his ever-busy schedule and continuously succeeding career, and you just beginning to reap the fruits of your own labor, time together had become a luxury.

But tonight marked a shift. You’d finally ruled out late nights at work—your overtime had paid off in the form of a well-earned promotion. One less thing to stress over, you mentally celebrate.

The other? Life itself. That bitch. Between chores, doctor’s appointments, family functions, and personal errands, it all piles up and gets you by your throat.

Still, not once have you ever doubted what you and Joshua share. 

After all, he always goes above and beyond to show you how deeply you’re loved. It’s in the constant messages and FaceTimes across time zones. It’s in the flower arrangements he handpicks and sends to your door. The little gifts, always accompanied by a handwritten note.

It’s in his letters—his words, written with care, that you read in his serene voice in your head. It’s how soft he is with you. How gentle. Sure, he’s like that with everyone—but with you, it’s different. Deeper.

Joshua would drop everything and anyone just to be with you. He rushes to see you the second he lands—no matter where you are. Even if it’s just to wait for you at work, he shows up with your favorite snack and a few sweet kisses. He doesn’t mind doing nothing. To him, simply being in your presence is a blessing.

“-- then she goes and pulls out a fake gun! She’s insane.” 

Playful banter pulls you back to reality. Shaking your head, you smile to yourself—even in a room full of people who love you, you’re thinking of the one who loves you most.

You’re celebrating with friends, in your little flat in the city. Warmth from the alcohol flushes your cheeks and bites a little against the cool night air. Maybe drinking on the patio isn’t the best idea—but it’s alright. It’s beautiful out here.

Spring has arrived. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom. Pink petals sway gently in the wind and fall gracefully to the pavement. It reminds you of Joshua—somehow, he’s everywhere but here. How ironic. How beautiful must someone be for even the mundane to sound poetic when you think of them? 

“Aigoo, our little Y/N-nie is drunk and smiling to herself,” one of your friends teases.

You shrug as your smile deepens. “What? I’m just happy.” 

“I can tell,” she replies, her gaze softening. “And I’m really happy for you.” She tips her glass toward you in a quiet toast. You clink back, letting the bittersweet taste of wine linger on your tongue — a warmth that blooms and settles deep in your chest.

Her words squeeze at your heart in the gentlest way. You glance down, biting your lip as warmth bubbles up in your chest. You can feel it rising—this quiet, overwhelming gratitude. Your cheeks flush, your eyes shimmer, and for a second, the joy is too much to hold.

So you just blink the tears away, smile through it all, and send a silent thank you to the universe.

Another friend chimes in, “Bleurgh, when did y’all get so cheesy?” She dramatically pretends to gag, sending the whole group into laughter. What a night, you think.

The gathering ends with the rest of your group buzzed. Not drunk but tipsy enough to send them all home giggling– just perfect for a Saturday night. You dish your phone out from the kitchen counter, forgetting you left it there while grabbing drinks.

The device blows up with notifications– mainly from your lover. And well, your lover’s lovers. 

“Call me when you get Hong?” you laugh, amused. He must be really drunk to forget you were celebrating at home. Walking to your door, you tap on his contact and hit call. He picks up immediately.

“My love! My heart! My Ynie!” he greets dramatically. “I missed you.”

You bite back a giggle. “Hello to you too.” In the background, chaos unfolds—muffled voices chatter over each other, some clearly on the verge of arguing.

“Where are you?” you ask, straining to hear.

“I’m in the car! I—wait.” There’s a shuffle as he looks around. “Guys, tone it down, please. I’m talking to Ynie,” he shushes loudly.

“Ynie?! Give me the phone! I wanna talk to her!” a drunk Seokmin yells beside him, reaching for the phone.

Joshua holds it out of reach. “Nooo! She’s mine!”

Then comes Mingyu’s voice: “Hyung, give me your phone. Let me talk to her, please.”

“Ya~ get your own! Why are you trying to talk to my girlfriend?” Joshua snaps sassily.

Covering your mouth to hold in your laugh, you lean on your front door as you listen to their banter over the phone. 

“Oh my god, we are never getting home,” Mingyu sighs, completely over it.

“Ynie!” Seungcheol suddenly yells into the background. “If you can hear me, please call me instead. Shua’s too drunk to give directions—we’ve been circling the same street for thirty minutes!” he cries out.

“Or,” Jeonghan offers casually, “we could just drive to my place and have him sleep over.”

You roll your eyes at the idea. It’s silly how Jeonghan jumps at every chance to hog Shua’s space. You really can’t blame him, your man is adorable. 

“I wanna go hooome,” Joshua pouts pitifully. “Baby, can I come over? Please?”

“Of course.” you say, smiling at how eager he sounds.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to do for the last hour, cheesus!” Mingyu groans.

Shua giggles, triumphant. “We’re going home!” he announces, leaning back with both fists in the air like he’s just won a championship.

Seokmin copies him. “Going home!” The chaos only grows louder as they chant it together; “Going home! Going home!” Punching the air like frat boys on a mission.

You hear Jeonghan laughing, while Mingyu lets out the most exhausted sigh of the night. Feeling bad for their poor designated driver, your hands swipe your screen to text Seungcheol your address.  

You shake your head at their silliness. Their monthly meetings are getting more and more chaotic over time. It’s befitting, you’d argue. These boys are the most hardworking people you know and having one day off the calendar to celebrate their hard work feels well deserved.

It wasn’t long until an SUV pulled up in your driveway. Seungcheol parks and Jeonghan gets out of the passenger seat, beelining to you. You hear Mingyu shouting for help as he balances a giggly Joshua in one hand and a passed out Seokmin on the other. Seungcheol rounds the car, opening the car door for him, careful not to splay Seokmin on the ground.

Jeonghan sprints to you, “Hey, you,” he mumbles as he gives you a tight embrace. 

“Hannie,” you greet and return his hug. “Aren’t you going to help them?” pointing to the others.

“I would but my time with you is limited,” he sighs “let me soak in your presence first before someone hogs it–” 

“Baby!” Speak of the devil. You both crane your necks towards an overly excited Shua, wobbly running over to you. Your smile grows impossibly wider at how cute your lover is.

He sports a plain white shirt and jeans. The short sleeves folded, deliciously hugging his defined biceps. The wind—clearly a paid actor—presses his shirt against his skin, tracing the sculpted lines of his torso like it knows exactly what it’s doing. He runs with arms wide open, eyes almost disappearing from his smile. His face– a bright red. He looks a little disheveled but nonetheless, still breathtakingly gorgeous. 

Jeonghan runs a hand on your arm and pulls you back in his embrace, “Ya~ I got her first,” he teases. You roll your eyes and laugh at his antics, never passing up an opportunity to tease and get a rise out of anyone– not even his twin is excluded from this.

Before you get the chance to break free from him, a hand wraps around your waist and pulls you from behind. Your boyfriend’s familiar scent welcomes you along with his  thick arms wrapping around your frame. 

Your back hits his chest, he nuzzles his face on your shoulder and lets out a sigh. “Mine,” his grip tightens. “All mine.” 

No matter how often and openly your boyfriend expresses his devotion, his actions still earn a blush from you. Jeonghan chuckling at your reaction.

“Get a room!” Mingyu shouts and you laugh.

“I’ll see you, love birds.” Jeonghan bids goodbye and makes his way back.

Seungcheol waves at you, “Ynie, we’ll leave you to it!” getting in the car again.

You wave at them– the best that you can with your arms caged in Shua’s, thanking them for taking care of your lover. “Good luck, Ynie!” Mingyu’s voice echoes as they drive away. 

“Baby,” your boyfriend calls out. His voice reverberates on your body, his face still planted on your shoulder. You respond with a sweet hum, your hands caressing his arms as it loosely falls on your hips turning you to look at him. 

He lifts his head and meets your gaze– and as always, time freezes.

The cold that bit your cheeks earlier was replaced with a familiar warmth, Shua’s hand– sliding  up your arms to caress your face. Your hand follows in harmony, leaning into his touch, you rest yours atop his. 

The wind blows but no chills follow. His gaze lay heavy on you, enveloping you like a heated blanket on a stormy day. He smiles, his thumb drawing circles on your cheek. He stares, drowning you with his overflowing adoration. 

Gravity pulls you closer— Joshua leaning in, your foreheads resting on each other. You feel his other hand, laying on the small of your back. Squeezing your shirt, he mutters “God, I missed you so much,”. And closes the gap between you two, kissing you feverishly. Melting you physically, mentally, and emotionally.

You can’t think of anything. In this moment, you just feel. 

You feel his skin on yours, his warmth that defies the cold wind.

You feel his lips on yours, gentle and yearning.

You feel time stopping, yet the world is spinning faster. 

You feel dizzy but still. 

You feel weak but stronger at the same time. 

You feel drunk, and maybe you are. Utterly, hopelessly drunk in love with Joshua Hong.

[littlelovelunette]

hihihihi :3 (sevika x (dead) reader)

could you do where the reader gets badly hurt and ends up dying..?

but after the death, she's(sevika) convinced shes gone insane when she sees the reader or hears their voice. she thinks readers haunting her for not saving them, but really the reader is watching over her..?

(IM SOSO SORRY IF THIS IS BAD YOU DONT ACTUALLY HAVE TO WRITE IT)

One Last Time, Please

Tags: @elyxir1zz @pornoangelz @emobunn @riverripley @burntoutghost @djstinkyfartz @veasvka @kierqnslim @ilyforeverxox @aprilshireath

Summary: Sevika and you once worked under Silco, but as his shadow, she rarely saw you. Despite the little time spent together, it was love at first sight. Sevika never thought anyone could understand her until one day you were brought in gravely injured, impaled and bleeding. Sevika, overwhelmed with concern, stayed by your side day and night, but despite Shimmer treatments, your condition worsened. After wishing her goodnight, Sevika knew your eyes wouldn’t open the next morning. Sevika's convinced she's going insane but all it is, is that you're watching over the love of your life.

Contains r's death, hallucinations mentioned, depressed Sevika, angsty

You were the light of Sevika's life. Sevika hated the world for taking you away in such a slow, painful manner. Her hand rested on yours which was ice cold compared to her own. "Please, don't leave." Sevika muttered, she wasn't one to plea yet she did. Her grey eyes had angry tears at the corners, tears that spoke volumes of how much you meant to her.

"I'll always be there." You replied, your voice a weak rasp as your hand rested on her chest where her heart was beating albeit slightly irregularly and unhealthily fast. "In here. Always." You smiled although your facial muscles felt too tight.

Sevika wanted to wail, sob and do anything that would keep you conscious but she could see you fading away there in her arms. "I love you." Her voice broke when she uttered your name with her confession.

Your mind was flashing with all the moments you had had with Sevika. Every little gift you'd gotten from her. Every little date you've been on with her. Although, work had always been heavy on your mind and hers too, you both had somehow managed to spare time for each other. "Oh, Sevika." You whispered her name, your breath feeling more laboured than before as your eyes looked up with great difficulty, lids burning to just close and get it over with.

Sevika, the woman who had tended to you even though she knew you'd die, the woman who never gave up on you simply because you understood her in a way she claimed no one else ever had before.

"You'll be okay." You said, corners of your lips curling weakly, "I love you too, Sevika..." Your eyes were growing blanker with every passing second. Sevika held you in her arms, your body cradled on her lap as she hugged you but she didn't wail. She silently mourned you. Her rough, calloused fingers were gentle on your face when she slowly closed your open eyelids, "You can rest now." She whispered and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

The funeral was the saddest part of it all, she wasn't ready to say goodbye to you yet. She wasn't ready to stand firm and tall while you would be six feet under. She just wasn't ready to see you off.

"I'll meet you on the other side. Soon, I hope." She thought over and over again. However, what only added to her sadness was the fact there was no family that turned up for your funeral. It was just her. No family, no friends.

She dug your grave with shaky hands, sweat mixing with her silent tears. Sevika had never cried this hard over anything or anyone before. As she took one last look at you in the casket she heaved a deep sigh of regret, she should've been there to protect you. The casket closed a bit later and was lowered into the grave, Sevika wanted to dive right in and bury herself with you but she still had sanity so she didn't.

"Rest in peace." She said, her voice hoarse.

Every day, she came to your grave. Every day. Every single day, she'd just stand there with a bouquet of roses and daisies as she stared at the sight of the tombstone. Sevika told you about her day, how she doesn't like drinking or smoking as much as before but tries to force herself into it in an attempt of getting over your death. But it didn't help.

Sevika explained how she didn't even feel the itching need to gamble when she went to Last Drop anymore, all tasks purely work focused now. "I never thought I'd be alone in this again." Sevika said, "I thought you'd really stay, I was almost convinced by that too." She paused, looking up at the cloudy sky so her tears wouldn't dribble down her cheeks.

"Dammit." She wiped them away hastily. "Still crying." She chuckled humourlessly before setting down the daisies on top of your grave. "I'll go home tonight. I don't know how long I can bear staring down at you and hoping you do wake up."

Sevika contemplated whether to kiss your tombstone or not but she didn't, instead she just gave you one last look, mouthing, "I love you." Because her throat was so dry, the words didn't sound out. She adjusted her red poncho over her body, starting to walk out of the cemetery.

As she entered the house, she exhaled deeply. It didn't feel home without you. You were her life and soul. Sevika ran a hand down her face and slumped onto bed. Her eyes closed, the burning feeling of her swollen eyes sinking in finally. She hadn't eaten anything in a long while, how could she when she knew you hadn't?

It was silly, it really was— atleast to her. But she couldn't bring herself to eat, a meal you wouldn't have cooked. It didn't settle right with her. "Goddamnit! Why did I even let her join Silco?" Sevika covered her face with her hand. As Sevika buried her face in her hands and settled onto the pillow, she tried to force herself to drift off and get some sleep. But she kept hearing your voice.

A faint echo somewhere. "It's okay, my Sev. It's okay, it's not your fault. I'll be waiting for you." Sevika turned over on her side, "I'm going insane. I'm hearing her voice." She muttered.

She turned over her other side, feeling restless. Her eyes shut tight for a second before opening, she swore she felt a touch. "Nuh-uh." She got up, grabbing her keys and put on some decent clothing, putting her poncho on and left the apartment, locking the door after herself. She needed to get to Silco's office. Atleast, there if she experienced any hallucinations, well, she wouldn't be the only one.

"Just as I thought you'd be here." Silco said when he entered his office and saw Sevika seated on the couch, downing a bottle in one go. "Feeling depressed? Or are you wondering if you could've done anything to stop it?"

"I should've been there." Sevika said in her deep voice. "I should've been able to protect her. I failed her, and I don't know how you even handle trusting me to protect you at this point." Silco raised a brow hearing those words from Sevika.

"Sevika," Silco breathed. "Guilt is one thing, grief another. You can't fuse both of them together." He walked to his desk, sitting down and crossing his legs, gesturing to the bottle of alcohol in Sevika's hand, "Or it turns out like that."

Sevika looked away. She didn't want to be getting judgement for drinking her sorrows away. It's how she handled things. Silco continued. "Death is a blessing sometimes. Would you rather she suffered the injuries longer than she did?" Sevika shook her head.

"I just— I hear her." Sevika said looking down at the ground, fixing it with a partially angry, partially tired look. "I hear her at home so I came here." Silco opened his mouth to say something but then decided against it. Instead, he said, "You can stay."

The following day was almost worse than the one before. Sevika felt your stare. She felt your warmth somewhere but she couldn't exactly locate where. Sevika was sure she smelled your natural scent as well. "I'm going insane." She looked at her face in the bathroom mirror, hands resting on each side of the sink.

Groaning, she rubbed a hand down her face trying to knock the sleep out of her mind. Her dark hair was pulled back in a half updo, messy. Little strands stuck out here and there from the restless night she spent. Sevika pulled the hair tie down, looking at her hair now framing her face. It reminded her of how you had always complimented how pretty her hair was.

"You should take care of yourself." Sevika wildly turned to try to spot where your voice came from. But there was no one in the bathroom with her. Just... An odd sense of warmth. "Am I becoming like Jinx?" She rubbed her temple with her damp hand. "Should get my ass back to work." She mumbled.

Work. Work for Silco, something that killed you. Painfully, slowly. In her arms. The feeling of your dead body resting in her arms flashed through her head and she squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to scream at it to stop, but she knew just how maniacal it would make her seem so she didn't. She cursed again and leaned against the cold wall. You died in her arm because of something, and with that exact something she was trying to distract herself from grieving your death properly. Although, the amount of grieving she was doing was probably unhealthy, it still seemed inadequate to her considering she blamed herself for your death.

Sevika squeezed her own frame using her flesh hand as she remembered how cold you felt against her in the tub. She bathed you one last time before the burial. "It's your fault." She could hear your voice in her head. "You weren't there. You promised you'd be next to me whenever I needed you the most."

Sevika looked in the mirror, she wanted to bust it, rip the sink off its place and throw it across the bathroom. "I'm going crazy." She breathed, mechanical arm whirring as she bundled her hair and tied it back hastily. The air in the bathroom was stale and she could feel her tears building but she didn't cry. "I'm going fuckin' crazy."

She needed to accept it, this is how her life was going to be for the rest of her life. But it didn't feel okay to accept the fact that you were gone already. Sevika felt like there could've been so much more she could've done to prolong your stay in the world. But Silco's words rung in her brain like a siren. "Death is a blessing sometimes."

Sevika didn't want to take a personal day off work, she needed it to distract her from the lingering sense of loss clawing at her chest. So she forced herself out of the bathroom and back to Silco's office. "Sir." She strode inside. "I'm ready."

"Sevika." Silco said calmly. "You look like you've gone through hell and back, are you sure you can do your work without sulking too bad?"

"I'm certain, sir."

"Alright, so be it." Silco said before starting Sevika's day off with some of the most challenging tasks of the week. He knew it would be hard for her but it would serve as a better distraction than tedious tasks.

Little did any of the two know, you were always watching her. She was, after all, the love of your life. And you simply needed to make sure she was safe. Even if it meant occasionally haunting her.

[sturnsblogs]

THE OTHER WOMAN (SEQUEL)

Matt Sturniolo X Wife!Reader

Word count- 1650

Warnings- Slight angst.

READ PART 1 HERE

The mirror reflected a version of you you barely recognized.

It had been months since you’d slipped into that little black dress buried in the back of your closet. The one that made you feel something close to beautiful. The one you used to wear when Matt still looked at you like you were the only woman in the room. You carefully did your makeup, brushed out your hair, spritzed on perfume that wasn’t your usual vanilla body mist but something heavier, sultrier.

You told yourself you were doing it for yourself. For your friends. For a night where you could pretend you were someone else. But deep down, a part of you wondered if you wanted him to notice. If you still craved the ghost of his gaze on you.

You walked into the living room where he sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone. Probably texting her. Evelyn. The woman with the perfect nails, the French perfume, the smile that haunted you.

Miley was with the sitter. You made sure of that. You made sure he had the night free. You didn’t say it, but he knew. You knew. You always did.

You straightened your dress. “I’m going out tonight… with the girls,” you said casually, like your heart wasn’t shattering just at the sight of him sitting there, looking so detached.

He barely looked up. “Okay.”

“And Miley’s with the sitter… so, if you… if you wanted to go out too. You know, with… her. You can.”

Silence.

The air was heavy. Tense.

You turned, about to leave. You didn’t want to see his face when he grabbed his keys to rush to Evelyn’s arms.

But before you could take a step, you felt it.

His arms around your waist.

Warm. Strong. Familiar.

You froze.

He pressed his chest against your back, his breath tickling your neck.

“What if… I don’t want to see her tonight?” His voice was low, almost a whisper.

Your heart stuttered.

“What if I want to go out with you instead?” His lips brushed your neck, lingering there, like he was trying to remember the taste of you.

You turned around slowly, confused, searching his face for answers.

“What… Matt… why…?”

He smiled. Not the hollow smile he wore for Miley. This was different. Softer. Sadder. Like he was apologizing for years of damage he couldn’t undo.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “Let me take you out. Just us. No pretending. No acting.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them back. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

“What about Evelyn?”

His jaw tensed. “Not tonight.”

You wanted to scream, to tell him you weren’t going to be his second choice for one night of pity. But his touch disarmed you. It always did.

And God, you were tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of hurting. Tired of not being enough.

Maybe tonight you could pretend you still had him. Just for a little while.

So you let him take your hand, let him kiss you softly—like he used to.

You let yourself melt into the lie.

Because even if he didn’t love you anymore… tonight, he chose you.

And you weren’t strong enough to say no.

—

The city lights shimmered like stars as Matt opened the car door for you.

It almost felt like old times. Like you were on one of those rare, magical date nights you used to sneak away for before everything fell apart. He held your hand the whole drive, his thumb brushing slow, lazy circles over your skin, like he was memorizing the feel of you again.

It was easy to forget, in moments like this, that things weren’t as perfect as they seemed.

He took you to your favorite rooftop bar—the one you hadn’t dared visit since before Miley was born. The one that made you feel like the world slowed down just for you two.

He pulled your chair out for you, ordered your favorite drink without asking, and the way he looked at you under the dim string lights made your breath hitch.

He laughed at your jokes, leaned in close when you talked, whispered in your ear like you were the only one in the room.

It almost convinced you.

But then, every so often, you caught it.

His phone buzzing in his lap.

The quick flicker of guilt in his eyes when he glanced at the screen.

The subtle way he typed back a message under the table.

You didn’t have to ask who it was.

You already knew.

You smiled anyway, even as your heart clenched. You laughed louder, drank faster, tried to drown the bitterness with sweet, syrupy cocktails.

And the more you drank, the easier it became to forget. Your giggles turned into real, loud, messy laughter. You leaned over the table, head tipped back, the sound of your joy echoing into the night sky.

Matt watched you.

His gaze softened. His lips curled into something almost tender.

“You’re adorable when you’re drunk, you know that?” he murmured, brushing a thumb across your cheek.

You rolled your eyes, grinning, cheeks flushed. “I’m not drunk. I’m just… happy.”

Another lie. But what was one more on a night full of them?

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “God, I missed this version of you.”

You wanted to tell him you were always here. That he was the one who stopped looking. But instead, you giggled again, letting him wrap his arm around you, letting yourself lean into his warmth.

Because tonight wasn’t about the truth.

Tonight was about pretending.

Pretending you weren’t the woman he forgot about the moment his phone buzzed.

Pretending you weren’t the woman who had to drink herself numb just to feel loved by her own husband.

Pretending you were still the woman he chose.

You knew tomorrow, you’d wake up to the silence again.

You knew the texts he sent under the table would still haunt you.

But tonight, under the glow of city lights and half-spoken promises, you let yourself fall into the dream.

Because God, it was easier than facing the reality.

And maybe, you could let yourself believe—for one more night—that Matt still saw you.

—

You couldn’t feel your feet by the end of the night.

The drinks had long caught up to you, making everything around you dizzy and sparkling, like the stars themselves had poured into your veins. You stumbled over the curb outside the bar, giggling uncontrollably as Matt caught your arm.

“Okay, okay, lightweight,” he chuckled, steadying you.

You leaned into him, your laughter spilling into the night air, your head resting against his chest as you hiccupped. “I’m not drunk… I’m just, um… happy, remember?”

He rolled his eyes, but there was something soft in his gaze as he looked down at you. Something you hadn’t seen in forever. Like you were still the girl he used to chase barefoot in the rain.

“You can barely stand, baby,” he murmured, brushing your hair from your flushed face.

Before you could argue, he scooped you up in his arms—bridal style—holding you like you weighed nothing at all. You squealed, kicking your legs as he carried you toward the car.

“Matt!” you giggled, nuzzling into his neck. “You’re such a—like—a prince or something.”

He smiled into your hair. “Guess that makes you my very drunk princess, huh?”

By the time you got home, you were an absolute mess—laughing, rambling, falling over your own heels. Matt sat you down gently on the bed, shaking his head like he couldn’t help but find it adorable.

“Stay still,” he told you softly, grabbing a makeup wipe from the drawer.

You blinked up at him, cheeks still glowing from the alcohol, and obeyed.

He settled on the bed, letting you straddle his lap like old times, and as gently as if you were made of glass, he began wiping the layers of makeup from your face.

His fingertips grazed your skin with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“You’re still so damn beautiful,” he whispered, almost like he was mad at himself for noticing.

Your breath caught in your throat, but you didn’t say anything. You just let him take care of you. Let him peel away the paint, the walls, the mask you wore every day.

Once your face was clean, he helped you out of the dress, slipping you into one of his old t-shirts and soft pajama pants. You felt like you were floating—tipsy, drowsy, and wrapped in his scent.

He tucked you into bed, crawling in beside you. For a moment, it felt normal. Safe.

You turned to face him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Why are you… being like this tonight?” you whispered, your voice cracking despite the drunken haze.

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, his hand reached for yours, threading your fingers together.

“I don’t want to do this to us anymore,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t want to keep breaking you… breaking us.”

You blinked, heart pounding in your chest. “Matt…”

“I want to try. I want to fix this. Go to couples counseling. Whatever it takes.” His voice was raw. Desperate. “I don’t want her. Not anymore. I’m sorry it took me this long to see what was right in front of me.”

Tears blurred your vision.

“I love you,” he breathed, his forehead resting against yours. “I never stopped. I just… forgot how to show it.”

The words sank into you like honey, sticky and sweet and slow.

And maybe tomorrow you’d still doubt them. Maybe you’d still wake up afraid.

But right now, lying in his arms, hearing the words you ached for all these years… you let yourself believe.

Maybe…

Maybe you weren’t the other woman after all.

A/N- Did this for the one and only @jacksonsturniolo

[prettyfilmz]

SWEET LIKE CANDY • JEY USO

author’s note: did someone say new mini series ? 👀 well yes! although writing is gonna be quite slow due to school starting backup, I wanted to leave you guys with something cute starring our 2025 royal rumble winner jey uso🤭 forgive me for not giving you smut in this first part but trust me when I say it’ll be worth it in the long run. I hope you enjoy this my loves, and happy reading💗 (p.s. I made a playlist to go along with it, you can shuffle it up too🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ you can find it here)

synopsis: in which a celebration at the strip club leads to the beginning of a love affair between a wrestler and a dancer.

pairing: jey uso x black fem oc!cherise aka candy

tags: 18+ (there’s no smut but still has suggestive themes), slow burn, drinking, lap dances, lewd conversations, teasing, lots of touching, kissing, pet names (baby, mama, pretty girl. baby girl), flirty banter, jey falls for her at first glance.

word count: 2k words (somethin’ short n sweet😌)

The bass reverbs through the strip club, rattling the walls like a second heartbeat. The air was thick with marijuana smoke, spilled drinks, and anticipation. It was the kind of place that dared you to loosen up, a melting pot of the desperate, the indulgent, and those just looking to forget about the realities of their day to day lives.

Jey, sitting on the edge of a low velvet couch, nursed a glass of hennessy, his dark brown eyes surveying the scene with feigned disinterest. Jimmy, on the other hand, leaned back beside him, grinning like the damn Cheshire cat, a few shots in and already loving every second of the night.

“This the spot, Uce,” Jimmy drawled, gesturing at the stage. “Told you. Ain’t no better way to celebrate your Rumble win than seeing a few bad ones tearing it up on the stage.”

Jey wasn’t convinced. He leaned forward, elbows on his jean covered knees, his silver chain glinting in the low light. “Man, you know this ain’t my scene. I only came ‘cause y’all don’t shut up. Coulda stayed home, kicked my feet up, and played my game.”

Jimmy clicked his tongue. “Nah, Uce. This is a night of celebration. Tonight’s the night we get you to let loose.” He raised his glass in a mock toast.

Across the room, Trinity —or her stage name called her—Naomi. The long-legged, dark skinned goddess with waist-length black & neon green braids and thighs to die for worked her magic. She straddled some middle-aged white guy in a button-down, grinding with a confidence that made her the club’s crown jewel. She caught Jimmy’s eye and gave a sly smile with a wink for good measure.

“Yo, there she go!” Jimmy grinned, practically bouncing in his seat. “My girl, Trin. You see that, Jey? That’s art. Respect the glow.”

Jey rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smirking. “Bruh, you actin’ like she your girl for real.”

“She is though,” Jimmy shot back, the grin never leaving his face. And it wasn’t a joke. He wasn’t even subtle about it. Whenever Jimmy showed up, Trinity made a beeline for him, and they always disappeared into the VIP section.

Jey chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “You wild.”

But his attention shifted when the next dancer strolled onto the stage.

“Alright fellas, hold onto your Benjamin’s ‘cause it’s about to get sweet up in here! Coming to the stage, she’s sugar, spice and everything nice, with curves so delicious you’ll forget your own name. Be careful though, she might leave you with some cavities by the end of the night. Give it up for the lovely Candy!”

The second she stepped out, the crowd of men leaned forward, like hungry sharks. She wasn’t like the others though. She was new, fresh-faced, and a bundle of nerves. But that didn’t matter right this second. She played the part, masking her shyness behind a seductive smile that could melt anyone with a pulse.

Candy was beyond gorgeous. Her smooth, brown skin shimmered under the stage lights, and the crimson two-piece she wore clung to every dip and swell of her body. Her hips swayed to the R&B song, deliberate, teasing.

“Goddamn,” Jimmy whistled low. “New girl got somethin’ fierce, huh?”

Jey was speechless, he couldn’t look away. Her curly hair was pulled into a updo, soft coils framing her soft, heart-shaped face. Full lips painted glossy pink parted into a playful pout as she ran her hands down her figure, playing to the crowd. But her eyes. Those big, dark, and doe-like eyes held a hint of innocence she couldn’t quite shake.

“Yeah, somethin’ for sure,” Jey muttered under his breath, heat pooling low in his groin.

Candy noticed him immediately. She was used to clients ogling her—most of them practically drooled or disgustingly grabbed their crotch in front of her—but he was different. He had this calm, magnetic energy, like he was letting her come to him. It made her stomach flip, even as she forced her most sultry grin.

When her set ended, and the applause faded, Candy slipped off the stage. But not before glancing over her shoulder and locking eyes with Jey.

♡

"You heard who's out there tonight, right?" Trinity grinned, her deep brown eyes glinting with mischief as she adjusted the thin straps of her bra. "You about to be real blessed, baby girl."

Cherise arched a perfectly sculpted brow, feigning disinterest. "Oh yeah? Who?"

Trinity sucked her teeth, nudging her shoulder. "Don’t act cute, Cher. The man of the damn hour is in VIP. Your VIP, might I add."

Cherise played coy, but her stomach did a little flip. She’d already heard that Jey Uso was here tonight. And apparently, he was her very first private dance.

Her pulse raced.

"He cute or whateva,” she said, glossing over the fact that she was a fan. She’d watched him claw his way to being a singles star. And now he was here, in her club, about to have her in his lap.

Trinity laughed, low and knowing. "Oh, he real cute, baby. And he got that mouth on him. Knows how to talk to a woman, make her feel good." She winked, nudging her shoulder with her own.

Cherise rolled her eyes but smiled. "You sound like you speaking from experience."

"Nah, Jimmy got my full attention," Trinity purred, licking her lips. "Speaking of which, you know that man is gonna be deep in this pussy before the night over. So if you hear me make any noise, mind your business."

Cherise giggled, shaking her head. "Y’all so damn nasty."

Trinity flipped her braids over her shoulder. "Mmhmm, and you 'bout to be nasty too. Just don’t let Jey have you falling, mama. These wrestlers? They dangerous."

Cherise smirked. "I can handle myself."

Trinity just laughed, giving her ass a playful slap before strutting off toward VIP.

Cherise exhaled slowly, fixing the sheer, sparkly robe draped over her curvy figure.

Showtime.

♡

The VIP room was warm, lit with soft purple lights that shined against the dark leather couch and mirrored walls. Private, sensual. The kind of space that invited sin.

Jey sat in the middle of it, legs spread, shades still covering his eyes, hands resting on his thick thighs.

He looked too good, too comfortable, like he belonged there with his chains glinting under the dim lighting. And he was waiting for her.

Cherise stepped inside, hips swaying slow, the confidence she wore so well settling around her like perfume. She was used to this, knew the game, knew how to keep them entertained just enough to keep ‘em hungry. But this was Jey.

And she already knew—he was different.

Jey’s gaze dragged up her body, slow like drizzling honey, lingering on her thick thighs, the way her curves filled out the soft red lace she had on. He smirked, licking his lips. "Damn, mama… that’s what they lettin’ you walk around in back here?"

Cherise stopped in front of him, rolling her hips to the bass-heavy R&B music vibrating through the walls. "You like it, baby?”

"Shit…" Jey let his head tilt back against the couch, eyes dark, hooded. "I love it."

Cherise bit back a grin. "Flatterin’ me ain’t gon’ get you nothin’ extra, baby."

"Who said I was tryna get somethin’ extra?" He grinned. "I’m just speakin’ my truth.”

She let her hands trail over chest, feeling the solid warmth of him and the occasional thump of his heartbeat. "Mmm…I bet you be runnin’ game on every girl in here.”

"Nah." Jey licked his lips. "I’on even be in places like this, baby. My brother dragged me."

"Mmhm." She slid onto his lap, her thighs bracketing his, their faces inches apart. "So if I ask the bouncers how many girls you pulled back here, they gon’ say none?"

Jey exhaled a laugh, fingers flexing on her hips. "They gon’ tell you I been sittin’ in that VIP all night, mindin’ my business."

Cherise hummed, her fingers playing at the chain around his neck. "So what makes me special then?"

Jey tilted his head, watching her close. "You tell me, baby girl." His voice was deep, lazy, smooth as melted honey. "I ain’t the one who picked this dance. You did."

She smirked. "That’s cute."

"Ain’t it?" His grip on her hips tightened, dragging her a little closer. "Nah, for real, I can tell. You move different. You one of them girls that don’t let just anybody dude here, huh?"

"Mm-mm." Cherise dragged her nails lightly over soft curls on the back of his neck. "I’m picky."

"Yeah?" His fingers slid up her back, teasing at the base of her spine. "How I make the cut then?"

"I dunno…” She let her lips brush his jaw, just barely. "Maybe I got a thing for wrestlers."

Jey chuckled, low and deep, squeezing her waist. "You watch me, huh?"

"I keep up."

"Ain’t that somethin’." He leaned in, pressing his nose against her cheek. "And here I was thinkin’ I had to make you a fan."

"Mmm, you still might have to work for it." She pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, slow and teasing, right before she rolled her hips against his.

Jey sucked in a breath, his grip turning just a little rougher. “Aye, don’t play wit’ me, pretty girl.”

"Who’s playin’?" She dragged her lips down his throat, slow and deliberate, her hands traveling up his body, feeling the soft tonedness of his stomach. "You like that, Joshua?"

Jey froze.

His hands tensed on her ass, and she felt the shift, the way his whole body reacted to the way his real name left her lips.

"Damn…" He exhaled a quiet laugh, pressing his forehead to hers. "That’s how we doin’ it, huh?”

"Mmm…" She kissed the corner of his mouth. "That’s how I’m doin’ it."

"You somethin’ else, Candy…” His lips grazed hers, barely there, his breath warm against her mouth. "You gon’ drive me crazy, ain’t you?"

"Guess you’ll have to wait and see."

Jey groaned, squeezing her thigh. "You know what’s wild?"

“Enlighten me.”

"You sittin’ on me, talkin’ shit, got me damn near ready to risk everything in this bitch… and you still ain’t tell me your name."

Cherise laughed, slow and sweet, sliding a hand up his throat to his jaw. “You ain’t ask right."

"Oh, so I gotta ask nice?" His lips ghosted over hers again, teasing, taunting, barely touching but still driving her crazy. "That what you want, baby girl?"

"Mmm… maybe…" She let her tongue flick out, just barely tasting his lower lip.

Jey growled, deep in his throat, and finally…finally closed the space, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that was slow, deep, and damn near dangerous.

Cherise melted into it, letting herself enjoy the way he tasted—Hennessy, something minty, something just Jey. His grip on her waist turned possessive, fingers digging in the flesh of her ass, rolling her just right against him.

His tongue slid against hers, slow and deliberate, like he was trying to memorize her taste.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Time’s up!"

They both froze.

Jey groaned, pulling back, licking his lips like he was pissed about the interruption. "Damn…"

Cherise smirked, slipping off his lap, dragging her fingers down his chest as she stood. "Guess you’ll have to come back if you wanna finish."

Jey leaned back, legs still spread, watching her. "You somethin’ else, girl."

She paused at the door, hesitated then turned back, biting her lip. "Cherise."

"Huh?"

"That’s my name."

Jey exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he watched her walk to the door. She gave him one last look with a small smile perched on her kiss-swollen lips, “Get home safe, Joshua.” and finally exited the room.

"Cherise…" he repeated under his breath, the taste of her cherry flavored lip gloss still plaguing his taste buds in the most amazing way. "Yeah, I’ma see you again, baby girl.”

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[1800titz]

The vacay piece I teased ages ago. One night stand :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, oral, brief size kink (if you squint), praise kink, this one’s p vanilla.

WC: 2.5K

It starts like this:

A bohemian beach with a high riding tide, where ripples surge and flood the shore. Sand tears from its home, coasting the verge in the breeze like a fog under the overcast, and when the clouds split open, the rays hug her skin. 

She’s sprawled over a chaise lounge in a little red thing that’s all skimp and no cover besides the intimates. When she rolls onto her side and tips to her tummy, he eyes the flash of skin behind dark tint. His arms brace over the porcelain border of the pool that overlooks the beach up ahead — he’s watchful from a distance. Someone swims up to the bar behind him. Chlorine laps at his back, teeming over the grout between the tiles as he wraps his lips over a straw and nurses something cobalt and strong.

By the time he culls a second one, she’s up, all glistening skin in the sunshine, hips swaying as her toes make doughy prints in the sand. She trails to the sea, and the ocean eats her until she’s just a little silhouette in front of his sunglasses with water-slicked hair and lines that cinch and swell in all the right places. 

He sees her like that, outlying his bubble, in brief pieces like the flashes of skin. Fragments in the horizon, like the border of a stranger’s leg in the background of a photograph. He sees her in slivers where eyes interlock from across the room and linger. This bohemian summer is painted in teal, and it’s waves swathing the coast, warm skin coated in cocoa butter. 

It ends on a night where the teal metamorphose indigo, and then nearly denim, with orange on cords, glinting like miniaturized, splintered orbs of the sun have been caught to glare forever on strings in the night. Harry sees her through that indigo, this stranger’s bare leg waltzing in the depths of his touristy snapshot, mingling in the dancing horde. He trails closer, shouldering through the throng and squeezing through in polite gaps, and she twists like it’s fate — just enough to smuggle a glimpse in her peripherals. 

Eventually, Harry leans in to murmur, “What are you drinking?”

The plush of his mouth ghosts over the cartilage there, and his cadence smooths over like honey, low and deep over the pounding bass of the music. Waned tobacco and spice; a warm, pleasant musk in the flurry of scents. 

She doesn’t immediately respond, observant like she’s weighing whether the invitation is worth entertaining. It only takes a second. Then, there’s a hand over his pec, like she’s already made friends with the filth of his intentions. His red-lycra-skimp mystique rolls up on her toes. 

Harry twists his head just enough for her to respond, “It’s a Blue Lagoon.” 

Saccharine — rich and lux and smooth, something that has her skin glowy and sweeps up her throat, tucks behind her ear, enough so that the scent billows off with the motion of her hair as she flips it over her shoulder. 

Harry casts his gaze to the drink. A red straw is tucked into the ice, and the only remnants of the beverage mingle at the bottom. The ice shimmers in faded teal, much like water sloshing over the flat tides. Her fingers cradle over the cup, and that’s where soft, thin lines of gold coil. Despite the broad array, there’s no wedding band. 

“Can I grab you another?” 

That’s when she does the thing; this patently flirtatious, brazenly get-under-my-crocheted-midi-skirt sort of thing, lashes coy in their sweep and eyes innocuous as the tips of her manicured fingers pinch at the straw and siphon it to her mouth. There’s an elegant presentation to the polish — neat, short lines with a nude base and a white tip. 

The remnants of the beverage vanish until all that’s left is crushed ice painted with blue curaçao. Harry watches the straw. He watches her lips, the way they unlatch and the way the pink tip of her tongue offers a glimpse before it hides away behind her front teeth. 

When she pulls the drink away, she tips her head — an inclination for his ear again — and when he ducks his chin for her answer, she tells him, “Can you make it worth my time?” 

A tongue swipes — his — like it’s already hungry and yearning. Dimples form beside the curling edges of a mouth after the pink muscle retreats. Home in its hungry cavern; limitlessly craving. He doesn’t bother going for her ear again, instead opting to fix eyes that have wandered, all week, onto her face. Definitive, close. Mesh of saccharine and spice. 

“I’ll make it worth your time,” Harry assures. 

His eyes are virid, even in the indigo, under all the miniature suns as the lanterns throw them back into a roll of blue — it climbs over the crowd and seeps with the music. They’re virid and intent. They’re virid, and there’s something lewd that dances in the mottled talc. 

She watches him. A set of eyes flits to his mouth and stays, brief like a fragment. She nudges the cup — the fragment splinters and fades — extending it against his chest until he raises his hand and his ring clad digits curl over it slowly, wet with condensation. 

“Blue Lagoon,” sweet mystique reminds him, a little curl to her mouth. 

Harry heads to the bar. He orders a Blue Lagoon and refreshes his tequila. Double. He winds through the half-clad crowd, prodding and slipping through sweat-slicked bodies until he finds her again. 

He makes it worth her while when they’re dancing, when her arms are slung over his shoulders and the tips of her fingers graze at the little curls at his nape, like an intimacy beyond a summer fling, or maybe like a restless hunger — its touches only test the waters with dips of toes under lapping ripples. He makes it worth her while when his hand cups the meat of her hip, and she tips her head up for their mouths to meet, when their dancing slows and the kiss turns feverish, cushiony mouths teasing at the seams until they split. 

He makes it worth her time when they make the stroll back to his room, heels clicking over tile and bouncing off from lofty wall to lofty wall, a good bit of distance between them strictly for the sake of avoiding shagging in the middle of a hallway. He makes it worth her while when he braces his wrist band to the lock over the door, when she’s leant against the wall with her irises lingering on him and her lashes batting coyly. She’s well-behaved, hands tucked behind her back like a combat to handsy temptation. 

It’s a different story behind the door. 

He makes it worth her while when her fingers toy at her crocheted halter, index perusing at the fabric below cleavage and brushing over chalky yarn. He makes it worth her time when he steps into her space all slow-like, face tipped down and the pink below his cupid’s bow worked into a soft curve, lengthy, deft digits working over the buttons of his shirt. An untamed tendril teases over one of his brows. Her hands meander from fondling at her own tits, at rogue pieces of yarn in the stitches, to straying up his ink-etched forearms. That’s when he lets her take over the work, when his arms snake over the vale of her waist. When his colossal hands cup lower, when he nudges forward and their mouths brush again. He licks into her mouth and rolls into the gap between her teeth.

Filthy kisses are shrouded behind closed doors, even in the easy ambience of a resort. Furlough on the greedy pursuit of pleasure, on some secluded island with crystalline waters, plus tequila — that’s practically a petri dish for hook up culture. But filthy kisses are saved for the bedroom, and there it’s taste buds doused in citrus limon and gray goose, a tip of a tongue swiping along a row of teeth, basking in the ridges. 

“What do you like, little minx?” Harry murmurs. He climbs the column of her throat with the ruddy border of a hungry cavern, and her pulse murmurs back under his mouth. “Hm?” 

The blunt tip of his forefinger traces her collarbone, follows a line of cleavage, toys at the cinch in her top; unravels her. It splits down the center, and the straps follow limply down her shoulders. Harry pinches a nipple and scrapes his teeth over her neck, humming again. 

Behind closed doors, his red-lycra-mystique (bare, her tits are bare now, in the backdrop of his picture) gets denuded to flesh when she shimmies the dress down her hips. He helps her and then tears his own shirt over his head. It’s hasty, like disrobing takes too much time from a place where time moves slower, riding the water in leisure. Harry still doesn’t know her name, and she slips to her knees, batting her lashes, and takes his buckle apart like unslotting puts the last of the puzzle pieces together. 

When her tongue rides under the ridge of his tip, delving and dragging over the prominent vein jutting on the underside of his shaft, he cranes his neck back and makes a sound like she’s torn into his chest with the tips of her french-polished manicure. He punctuates every pornographic, wet sound with dialogue.

“Christ, you’re a dream.” 

“Fuck, you’re pretty with cock in your mouth.” 

“Yeah, that’s it, just like that, sweetheart.” 

“—Y/N,” red-lycra-mystique supplies, gaze bouncing from the twist of her wrists at his base to his face, and then sweeps his bubbling head over her bottom lip and swallows him down halfway. 

“Y/N,” Harry mirrors, tone bathed in the same sweetness she radiates at his feet. 

And then she trails the very tips of her blunt nails up his sac, and the shiver that rolls up his spine short-circuits every feasible attempt of formulating something in english. Just… gone. Something splinters. 

Harry doesn’t cum all over her tongue, despite the pretty mental image he’d cherish of Y/N on her knees with ribbons of silky white coating the insides of her mouth. He thinks about the way he’d dip the pad of his thumb against her tongue, the way he’d stir and scrub it in. He thinks about her lips latching and her cheeks hollowing. 

He’s got immense willpower, particularly when she takes him all the way down until her nose nearly brushes the neatly-trimmed tuft of hair the tributary of his happy trail pools into. Because then, she pulls off, chin sloppy with saliva, mouth wide, and stares up at him with this wickedly indelicate curl to the corners of her mouth as she gasps in breaths. Like she wants him to. 

Instead, they make it to the bed. He splits her thighs with his palms and spits where she’s puffy and warm, leaky with longing, toying at the seam of her hole with his digits. Smooths the wetness with his thumb when he tucks two fingers in and laves his tongue at the crease between her inner thigh and her cunt. He bumps her clit with the tip and rolls, and her spine arches like the highest point of her torso peaks at the clouds of nirvana. 

“You’re a good girl,” Harry tells her, and his voice is so soft, like he’s reassuring an animal that’s backed itself into a corner, “Want you to drench my face.” 

And she does, because when he holds a placid, unwavering hand out and talks her so sweetly, lips suckling in a vacuumed ‘o’ between her thighs, what can she do besides roll her hips against his mouth in little, desperate juts, face creased before bliss spumes through every major artery.

When Harry sits back, his chin is sticky, glinting in the buttery cast of the lanterns drilled into the ceiling. He kisses her again until her jaw is stained with her own slick, and despite the entire basis of a one night stand, his tongue meddles into her mouth with the same passion of a man carving a piece of her open. A cozy lacuna just for him in the depths of her chest, something that’ll linger and yearn. A hungry chasm that’ll grumble when her cunt pulses — when he’s not there to fill it. She’ll think of him; a stranger’s leg flitting like a passing speck in the background of her photograph. 

Y/N’s cunt hugs him like it can’t get enough. 

Eventually. 

Because at first, it’s: too big, won’t fit, pleated brows when he’d split her spongy walls apart on the latex-coated tip, stretching to tuck in and hovering to imbibe in miniature ticks of her expression. A twitch in her lashes, a shift in the line of her mouth, a little swallow bobbing down the column of her throat. 

“You’re a good girl,” he’d crooned, smoothing a thumb over a rib and then her clit, just to see her squirm more over his cock. 

Eventually, she clambers over his lap, planting her palms back over inky, firm muscle. It’s leverage as she bounces to fill that starving cavity — the one he’d drilled with his tongue, like the shape of him can fill every square inch of space before they never see each other again. Hungry, hungry, hungry. 

“Come on, baby, come on,” Harry coaxes, a low groan mottled with breathy pants, “—Shit.” 

Momentarily, he pauses the guiding grasp he’s got over her hips to drag the pad of his thumb over his tongue lewdly, smearing spit over the digit and swiping circles over her clit, instead. In response, the rolling pace Y/N has set stutters, knees jolting, and her mussed hair spills off her shoulder as she cranes her neck back. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Yes, yes, yes—“

His eyes flit from her cunt to the ethereal line of her neck, the borders of her shoulders, the shape of her tits bouncing. 

Ultimately, of course, his gaze winds back down to ogle where they connect, because that’s the view — that’s where she swallows his cock, thighs splayed and trembling, gliding from the tip until about midway before rising and repeating the cycle. Rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat. He draws his thumb lower, lets it meddle where they merge, where her hole flutters and rolls over him, gleaning the sticky arousal that coats his shaft and bringing the pad of it back to her clit. His eyes linger. Flicker up. Return to watch her ride and nearly roll back into his head. 

He’s carved the void, and later, when she tips forward and her nails scrape over his pecs, feral, she whittles her own. Later, the space between his thighs aches and heats. Something pulses on the underside of his balls. It yearns for blue curaçao, pellucid, crashing waters, and a skimpy red bikini. 

[sweetheartsofpanem]

The Club - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

putting the cut sooner than i usually would because the nightmare is kinda graphic

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 2.05k

series masterlist | main masterlist

Darkness folds around you, thick and suffocating. Then the scene shifts.

You’re small again, curled up in the living room of your childhood home, knees tucked to your chest. The screen flickers in front of you, the Capitol seal shimmering before the footage begins. The sound of the anthem rings in your ears, but it’s distant, muffled, like you’re underwater. You don’t want to watch, but you can’t look away. You are here. You are a child, just as you were then—small and powerless.

But the Dewydd on the screen is not the boy you knew. He’s smaller, dressed in a black jacket and dark jeans. His eyes are hollow, his face sharp with hunger and exhaustion. He moves differently now, every step sluggish, like his body is betraying him. You want to scream at him to run, to hide, to do something—but you can’t speak. You can only watch.

The Games have already worn him down. His collarbone juts out from beneath his shirt, his lips cracked and dry. Blood stains his temple, though you don’t know if it’s his or someone else’s. He stumbles through a forest, his breath ragged, his limbs heavy. He isn’t fast enough. You see it before he does—the girl emerging from the trees, a jagged knife clutched in her hands. He turns just as she lunges, but he’s too weak, too slow. The blade sinks into his stomach, and a choked sound tears from his throat.

You want to scream, but your voice is gone.

Dewydd falls to his knees, the knife buried deep. The girl doesn’t stop there. She rips it free, and blood spills from the wound in thick, dark waves. His hands press against it instinctively, but it’s useless. She kicks him onto his back, breathing heavily, then kneels beside him. You think she might finish him, but instead, she watches him struggle, watches the life slip from his eyes.

“Please,” you try to beg, but no sound leaves your lips. “Please stop.”

Dewydd’s breath shudders. His body trembles violently. His mouth opens, lips forming a word too quiet for the cameras to catch. But you see it.

“Y/N.”

Then he goes still. His hands fall away from his stomach, stained red. The cannon fires.

You shoot upright, your chest heaving. Your breath is loud in the silence of the room, too loud, like it doesn’t belong here. Your hands grip the couch beneath you, fingers digging into the fabric, grounding you.

It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. But the images won’t leave you. The blood, the knife, the way his lips had formed your name.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but all that does is make it worse.

It takes you a second to remember where you are. The weight of exhaustion and grief makes your thoughts sluggish. Then it settles. The Victor’s Village. The empty house that’s been given to you.

If Dewydd had won his Games, he would have lived here.

The thought crashes into you like a blow, knocking the breath from your lungs.

If he had come home, if he had survived, he would have lived in one of these twelve houses. Would it have been this one? Or one further down the row? At the time of his Games, Haymitch had been the only District 12 victor. The other houses had been empty. The thought of Dewydd filling one of them—of him standing in a kitchen, staring out a window, waiting for you—makes your chest ache so badly you feel like you might break apart.

He would have been here. And eventually, you would have been here too.

You think about what he’d said during your goodbye, the words full of hope but his eyes lacking any. You were too young, not even teenagers, but the idea had been there, resting between you like something fragile, waiting to be real.

Would you have married once you were older? Would you have had children one day? Would this house have been filled with warmth and love instead of this crushing emptiness?

You will never know.

A sob catches in your throat, but you swallow it down. There’s no point in crying now. It won’t bring him back. It won’t change the fact that you are here, and he is not. That he never will be.

You press your forehead against your knees, letting the silence of the house settle over you.

You mourn the life you never got to have.

After a while, the weight in your chest begins to ease—just enough for you to move again. You push yourself off the couch, your limbs heavy, your body exhausted but your mind too restless to sleep.

The stars.

You remember how beautiful they always were in District 12, how they always managed to shine through the constant smog of smoke from the mines. Before everything changed, before the weight of grief and loneliness made the world feel so small.

The thought of them pulls you toward the door.

You step outside, the night air cool against your skin. The village is eerily silent, the empty houses standing like ghosts, but above them, the sky stretches wide and open. The stars gleam, bright and sharp, scattered across the darkness like distant promises.

You sink onto the porch steps, your legs stretched out in front of you. The quiet settles around you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself just exist.

Then, the sound of footsteps breaks the stillness.

You tense, your breath catching slightly. A figure stumbles into view, moving unevenly through the dim light of the village.

Haymitch.

He’s not falling-down drunk, but it’s clear he’s had more drinks since you left Katniss’ house. His steps are unsteady, his posture loose. When he spots you, he squints slightly, then makes his way toward your porch.

“Can’t sleep either, huh, kid?” His voice is slurred but not unkind.

You shake your head, not trusting your voice. He huffs out a breath, then nods toward the spot beside you. “Mind if I sit?”

You hesitate, but then you shrug. He lowers himself onto the step with a groan, stretching his legs out in front of him. For a few moments, there’s only silence.

But you can feel his gaze on you.

“Y’know,” he says suddenly, his tone dry, “most kids pick less dramatic hobbies. Knitting. Playing the flute. But you? Looks like you went for something a little more—” he makes a vague gesture toward your wrist “—artistic.”

Your stomach clenches, but there’s no cruelty in his voice. Just that same biting humor he seems to alway carry. You glance down at your arms, the white, slightly raised scars catching in the dim light.

You exhale slowly. “I was young. Went through a lot of shit. It messed me up.”

Haymitch nods like he already knew that. “And you stopped?”

“Last year.”

He hums. “Well. Guess that’s better than me. My brilliant solution’s still going strong.” He lifts his flask in a mock toast before taking a swig.

You don’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t seem to expect a response.

Silence settles again, but this time, it’s not uncomfortable. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, and for once, he doesn’t seem like just the bitter, drunken victor everyone sees him as. There’s something else there, something tired and worn but… real.

Haymitch leans back slightly, taking another lazy sip from his flask. “You ever try anything else?” he asks after a while.

You hesitate. “Like what?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Whatever people do when they’re trying not to fall apart.”

For a moment, you consider lying. Shrugging it off like you don’t have an answer. But you’re tired of hiding—especially from someone like him.

So instead, you exhale, glancing down at your hands. “I was an alcoholic,” you admit, voice quiet but steady. “Got sober last year. Same time I quit cutting.”

Haymitch doesn’t react right away, just watches you with a look you can’t quite place. Then, he huffs a short laugh. “Huh. Guess that makes one of us.”

It’s not self-pitying. Not even bitter. Just the truth.

And somehow, that makes you feel… lighter. The awkwardness that’s been knotting your stomach around him starts to unravel, easing into something more natural.

You glance at him, then let out a small chuckle, the sound surprising even yourself. “You wanna know something funny?”

Haymitch lifts a brow. “Doubt it’s actually funny, but sure. Knock yourself out, kid.”

You shake your head slightly, still half-smiling. “When I was fourteen—that’s when I started drinking. And that’s also when I disappeared from school.” You pause, fingers tracing an invisible pattern on your thigh. “Every time I went out, I was usually drunk. And I’d always hear the other kids whispering about me, saying how I was gonna end up alone, drinking myself to death.” You glance at him, your lips quirking wryly. “Like Haymitch Abernathy.”

Haymitch snorts, but there’s no offense in it. If anything, he almost looks amused.

You shake your head again, exhaling another quiet laugh. “Kinda funny that I’m sitting here now with the person they thought I’d become.”

He smirks. “Well, congrats, kid. You made it.” He raises his flask in a mock toast before taking another swig. “Hope you’re enjoying the view from rock bottom.”

You roll your eyes but don’t fight the grin tugging at your lips. “Not exactly what I’d call an honor.”

“Yeah, well.” He sighs dramatically, leaning back against the porch railing. “Can’t all be as lucky as me.”

The silence that follows isn’t heavy. It isn’t awkward. It’s just… there. Easy in a way you didn’t expect.

You’re talking about nothing in particular when Haymitch seems to notice the sudden shift in you. You’re vaguely aware of it, but don’t want to fully acknowledge the way your words come easier now, how you don’t hesitate before speaking. You’re still quiet—your voice never really raises above a certain level—but there’s something different. Less guarded. More natural. You feel him watch you for a beat, then he smirks.

“Knew there was more to you than just the awkward, skittish kid.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, there’s depth. But it’s mostly just rambling, sarcasm, and self-loathing. Nothing too special.”

“Ah, self-loathing. My favorite personality trait,” he drawls. “And here I thought I was the only one who had it mastered.”

You tilt your head slightly, glancing at him. “You may have seniority, but I give you a run for your money.”

He snorts, taking a swig from his flask. “You’re only twenty. You’ve got plenty of years to catch up, kid.”

You exhale a quiet chuckle. “Maybe. But I’ve been ahead of the curve for a while. My mother made sure of that.”

Haymitch doesn’t say anything to that, just nods and lifts the flask to his lips again. “Well,” he mutters, “guess that means you’re in the club.”

You hum in response, turning your gaze back to the sky. The stars are bright tonight, sharper than you remember them ever being when you were a kid. You’ve always loved them—how constant they are, how they don’t change no matter how much everything else does.

“They look clearer,” you murmur. “Brighter.”

“No more ever present smoke from the mines to drown ‘em out,” Haymitch replies.

You nod, and for a while, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t uncomfortable. It settles between you both like something familiar, something easy.

Eventually, Haymitch breaks it. “You ever gonna explain how you became an alcoholic so young, or are we just skimming past that?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “It’s not that interesting. I was fourteen, my best friend and my dad had just died, and I wanted to stop feeling like my entire world had collapsed. Fiza’s mother was an alcoholic. She gave me my first drink, and after that… it just kept going. Drinking helped. Until it didn’t.”

Haymitch nods, like he understands exactly what you mean. He probably does.

“And now that you’re sober?” he asks.

You shrug. “Now I sit on porches and talk to washed-up victors instead.”

He smirks. “Yeah, real improvement.”

You just smile, small but genuine. For the first time in years, you feel… comfortable.

Next Part

[riddlesb1tch]

Mistaken Betrayal

Mattheo Riddle x reader

summary: Y/n sees an incriminating photo of her boyfriend with another girl and confronts him about it.

warnings: cheating, yelling, fighting, swearing.

“How could you do this to me, Mattheo?” you yelled, barging into his room, voice trembling with anger and betrayal.

Mattheo was lying on his bed, a book resting open in his hands. At your outburst, he snapped his head up, brows furrowing in confusion. His wide, startled eyes searched your face, waiting for you to explain. When you didn’t speak for a few seconds, only standing there with your hands shaking at your sides, he hesitantly asked, “Do what?”

You let out a humourless laugh before thrusting your phone in his face. On the screen was a picture of a guy and a girl, lips locked in a way that made your stomach churn. The guy had his hands tangled in her hair, pressed against the wall, completely lost in her.

And he looked exactly like Mattheo.

Mattheo’s expression flickered from confusion to realization to sheer panic in the span of a heartbeat. He stood up too fast, hands raised as if trying to calm a wild animal. “Y/N, I know how this looks, but I swear to you, that’s not me.”

You scoffed, a bitter sound that made his heart clench. “Not you? Mattheo, are you serious? Do you think I’m an idiot?” Your voice cracked at the end, betraying the heartbreak coursing through you. “I can fucking see that it’s you!”

Mattheo took a cautious step closer, as if approaching something fragile. “Sweetheart, listen to me—”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me!” you snapped, stepping back, away from him. “I thought things were finally going well! I trusted you!” Your voice dropped to a whisper, the words trembling, raw. “I loved you.”

Mattheo felt his stomach drop. The past tense sent a fresh wave of fear through his veins. “Y/N, please,” he begged. “You have to believe me. I would never—”

“Then how do you explain this?” You held up the phone again, your hands trembling. The more you looked at it, the more the image seared itself into your mind, branding the betrayal onto your skin. “If it’s not you, then why does it look exactly like you?”

Mattheo opened his mouth but no words came. He ran a hand through his curls, frustrated, desperate. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the uniform, maybe it’s the hair—”

You let out a choked laugh, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Right. Because there are just so many guys at this school who look exactly like you.”

“Y/N—”

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I need to go.”

Panic flared in his chest. He reached for you, but you flinched, and that hurt worse than a curse to the heart. “Please, don’t walk away,” he pleaded. “Let’s talk about this.”

You shook your head, swallowing back a sob. “I need time, Mattheo. I need to process.”

And then you turned and walked away.

Mattheo watched you go, watched the way your shoulders curled inward as if shielding yourself from the pain. And the worst part was—he had no idea if you would ever walk back to him.

The days without you were unbearable. You avoided him like the plague, dodging his gaze in the hallways, slipping out of rooms the moment he entered. He tried—God, he tried—to talk to you, but every time, you brushed past him like he was nothing more than a stranger.

And it was killing him.

“Aww, Matty’s whipped,” Theo said teasingly. This resulted in a death glare from Mattheo, making Theo’s smile bigger.

“C’mon, Matty boy, don’t look so bummed out. She’s just a girl,” Draco teased further.

“I’m gonna whip your ass if you don’t shut the hell up, Malfoy,” Mattheo said angrily. He sighed in frustration, resting his elbows on his knees. “It was just a stupid misunderstanding. I don’t know how it got so blown out of proportion,” he vented.

Blaise, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward. “Wait, you said she showed you a photo, right? Do you still have it?”

Mattheo pulled out his phone, the cursed image burning his retinas.

Blaise’s eyebrows shot up, a devilish smile taking over his features. “Oooh,” he took the phone from Mattheo, turning the screen towards Theo. “That’s a different home being torn down here,” he remarked.

“What do you mean?” Mattheo asked.

“That’s the chick that cheated on her man,” Theo said to Mattheo, taking the phone from Blaise. “What was her name again?” he directed that at Blaise and Draco.

“Camille, I think,” Draco replied.

“Yes!” Theo affirmed.

Mattheo’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“The girl who cheated on her boyfriend,” Theo clarified. “And if it’s Camille, then the guy in the photo isn’t you.”

A spark of hope ignited in Mattheo’s chest. “Then who is it?”

Camille happened to walk by at that moment. Theo waved her over, grinning. “Hey, Camille, who’s the guy you cheated with?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “How do you know about that?”

Blaise simply turned the phone toward her. Camille blanched. “Where did you get that?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just give us a name and the photo will be forgotten,” Theo said smoothly.

Camille exhaled sharply. “Fine. His name is James McCallan, fourth-year Slytherin.”

Mattheo didn’t wait to hear anything else. He was already on his feet, sprinting out of the common room, his pulse hammering. He was going to fix this.

Twenty-five minutes, eighteen different inquiries, and one nearly broken nose later, Mattheo found James McCallan—snogging a Ravenclaw in an empty classroom.

Without hesitation, Mattheo grabbed him by the collar and dragged him through the halls. “What the hell, mate?” James protested, struggling.

Mattheo didn’t let go until they reached your dorm. He shoved James inside, making you jump in surprise from where you sat at your desk.

“Mattheo, what—”

“That’s him,” Mattheo panted, chest heaving. “The guy in the picture.”

James frowned. “What picture?”

Mattheo turned to you. “Show him.”

Your fingers trembled as you pulled up the photo, handing him the phone. James barely glanced at it before shrugging. “Oh yeah, that’s me.”

Silence fell over the room. The weight of your mistake crashed into you all at once. You had spent days ignoring Mattheo, hurting him, when all along… he had been telling the truth.

Tears welled in your eyes as you turned to Mattheo. His face was unreadable, but there was something raw, something aching, beneath the surface.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out, stepping toward him. “I— I didn’t—”

Mattheo exhaled sharply, and then suddenly, his arms were around you, crushing you against him. “I thought I lost you,” he murmured into your hair, voice thick with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, to see the pain you had caused lingering in his dark eyes. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his lips—desperate, aching, a silent promise that you would never doubt him again.

Mattheo held you tighter, deepening the kiss, pouring every ounce of relief, love, and agony into it.

Because he almost lost you.

And he never ever wanted to feel that way again.

masterlist

[cineatros]

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ who am i really?

"I'm a goddess on stage"

pairing.ᐟ sophia laforteza x reader

about.ᐟ a goddess on stage that lost herself from her true form.

genre.ᐟ angst

wc: 1009

"Human when we're alone"

Sophia stood alone in the grand dressing room, her reflection shimmering back at her from every gilded mirror. The golden lights illuminated the contours of her face, highlighting the perfect planes that the world adored. Her glittering gown hugged her curves like a second skin, her makeup a flawless masterpiece. She looked every bit the goddess her fans had christened her—the Sophia Laforteza, the international idol, the untouchable star who brought the world to its knees with her voice and her presence.

But the room felt unbearably empty, as if it were mocking her. She clutched the edge of the marble vanity, her knuckles white against the cold stone, and stared into her own eyes. Beneath the glitter and glamour, they were hollow.

She felt like a fraud.

A soft knock on the door broke her trance. “Soph?” your voice called from the other side.

Sophia froze, her heart seizing in her chest.

Y/N.

Her Y/N.

Taking a deep breath, Sophia turned to the door. “Come in.”

You stepped inside, your presence immediately filling the room with a warmth that clashed against Sophia’s growing sense of isolation. Y/N was dressed simply, a black turtleneck and jeans, her hair down. She was the opposite of Sophia’s glittering world, a grounding force that once made her feel like she could belong to something real.

But tonight, there was something different about the way Y/N held herself. Her brown eyes, usually so soft and open, were guarded, her arms crossed over her chest. Sophia felt the void between them widen, and she didn’t know how to bridge it.

“You were incredible tonight,” Y/N said, her voice quiet, almost hesitant. “You always are.”

Sophia tried to smile, but it wavered. “Thank you.”

An awkward silence stretched between them. Sophia’s stomach churned, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice trembling. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor. For a moment, Sophia thought she might not answer, but then Y/N exhaled, the weight of her words escaping in a single breath.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Y/N said, her voice breaking.

The world tilted beneath Sophia’s feet. She reached out to steady herself on the vanity, her pulse roaring in her ears. “What are you saying?”

Y/N looked up, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I love you, Sophia. I do, but I don’t think you love me the same way.”

“That’s not true!” Sophia cried, her voice sharp with desperation. She took a step toward Y/N, but the other woman held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Isn’t it?” Y/N said bitterly. “You’ve spent so much time being her—this perfect, unattainable goddess that the world worships and I...I think I fell in love with her, too, but that’s not who you are, is it?”

Sophia recoiled as if struck. “I...I don’t understand.”

“You’re different offstage,” you continued, your voice cracking.

“You’re quieter, more unsure of yourself. You’re vulnerable in a way that terrifies me because it makes me feel like I have to hold you together, but I don’t know how to love this version of you, Sophia. I’m sorry.”

The words hit Sophia like a physical blow. She stumbled back, her hands clutching at her gown as if it could protect her from the pain tearing through her chest.

“I’ve tried,” Y/N whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I’ve tried to be enough for you, to love you for who you are when the lights go out, but I think I was always chasing the version of you I saw on stage and that’s not fair to either of us.”

Sophia shook her head, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. Y/N, I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always hiding from me?” Y/N asked, her voice raw. “Why do I feel like I’m only seeing pieces of you, like you’re afraid to let me see the whole picture?”

Sophia couldn’t answer.

She didn’t know how to explain the fear that had haunted her since the day they met—the fear that if Y/N saw all of her, the messy, imperfect person behind the goddess, she would leave and now, that fear was coming true.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said again, her voice breaking completely. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t feel like I’m losing myself trying to hold onto someone who doesn’t know how to be real with me.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell. Sophia’s knees buckled, and she sank onto the velvet stool in front of the vanity. Her reflection stared back at her, shattered and unrecognizable.

“Y/N, please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Don’t go. I’ll try harder. I’ll be better. Just…don’t leave me.” she begged, trying not to cry.

Y/N’s sob caught in her throat, and for a moment, Sophia thought she might relent. But then she shook her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“I think we both deserve more than trying to fix something that’s already broken,” Y/N said softly. “I’ll always love you, Sophia, but I need to love myself, too.”

With that, she turned and walked to the door. Sophia wanted to scream, to run after her, to beg her to stay, but she couldn’t move, her body frozen in the suffocating grip of her own despair.

The door clicked shut behind Y/N, and the silence that followed was deafening. Sophia sat there for what felt like hours, the weight of her grief pressing down on her until she could hardly breathe.

Finally, she looked back at her reflection, her tears blurring the glittering goddess into a ghost.

“Who are you?” she whispered to herself, her voice trembling.

For the first time, she had no answer.

a/n: i told y'all its not that angsty

[smutmind]

A continuation of jisoo would be bangers

Tongue and Memory

Jisoo X OC Male

The rehearsal hallway echoed with her heels, each step crisp against polished tile.

Jisoo, twenty-eight, global popstar and idol alum, stood taller now. Fame hadn't changed her curves or the slight sway in her hips, only refined the edges. The old company building smelled of pine cleaner and frayed nerves. It hadn't changed.

She hadn't expected the new vocal coach to look so young.

He stood in Studio B, correcting a trainee's pitch with calm precision, his posture relaxed, confident. She didn’t know him. But something in his stance—the way he tilted his head, hand tapping a tempo on his thigh—pulled her under.

The memory came like a bruise pressed.

She was nineteen, anxious, still chasing the impossible.

It was after hours. Most had gone home. Her vocal coach, Mr. Seo, stayed late under the guise of helping with her phrasing.

"You hold back too much," he said, leaning in, his breath too close. "Singers have to open everything. Mouth. Throat."

She nodded, unsure.

"Have you ever practiced vocal control under pressure?" he asked.

"Like how?"

He didn’t answer. Instead, he sat on the edge of the piano bench, unzipped his trousers.

Her body locked.

"It’s all breath. You breathe through your nose, tongue relaxed. It’s not about sex. It’s technique."

She hesitated. "I don't think this is right."

He pressed a hand to her shoulder, steady and silent, guiding her down—her knees hit the floor soft, thighs trembling as she looked up, lips parted, waiting.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t loving. His grip tightened in her hair, not cruel but firm—demanding. He tilted her chin just enough to meet his eyes.

“Keep them on me,” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. “Nowhere else.”

Her lips parted, and he pushed forward—not waiting, not easing in. Her breath caught, a muffled sound around him. The moment her eyes flickered, he tugged harder.

“Eyes. On. Me.”

Every thrust was a claim, deliberate and deep. Her fair cheeks hollowed, jaw stretched, mouth slick. Her pupils widened as she blinked through the tears gathering at the corners.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. He watched her fall apart and still hold his stare. That was the game: devotion measured in gasps and obedience.

Spit smeared across her lips, dripped from her chin. Her throat convulsed.

“Good girl,” he rasped, voice fractured with need. “Don’t you dare look away.”

She gagged once. He sighed.

"Choke on it. That’s how I know you’re trying."

She swallowed air, tears threatening, her knees on the cold studio floor.

"Bare it. That rise and fall tells me everything."

She hesitated just a second—then up came the fabric, revealing delicate curves and a flush spreading fast across her chest.

"That’s good. Look at me now."

He didn’t warn her before he came. She choked, pulling back too late.

"You can spit," he said, his voice sharp above her. "But don’t waste it."

She stayed kneeling—bare legs trembling against the cold floor, hands limp at her thighs.

"Open."

Her lips parted, slow. Cum shimmered on her tongue, thick and still warm. Her eyes flicked up, wide and wet.

He crouched, gaze hard. "Show me you’ve got it."

She tilted her head just enough, letting him see.

"Good," he said quietly. "Now swallow."

Her throat moved once, painfully.

"Again."

She opened her mouth—empty now.

He smiled, cruel and quiet.

"Don’t look at me like that. You wanted to be taught. Now you know."

She left that night without taking her coat. The studio light buzzed overhead as the door closed.

Back in the present, Jisoo leaned on the mirrored wall, arms tight across her chest.

The new coach turned, offering a polite nod. "Nice to meet you. Big fan of your work."

She forced a smile. "Thanks."

His voice was nothing like Seo’s. His gaze didn’t linger. But the shape of the room, the hum of the lights, made her stomach twist.

He turned back to the trainee, correcting her vowels with patient rhythm.

Jisoo stared at her reflection.

A face grown older. Harder. But still haunted by the notes of a song no one else heard.

[georgiapeach30513]

Two Good Reasons, Part 13

Summary: Ransom takes Audrey with him and Tatum

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Audrey Huffman

Rating: 🥺🥺

Warnings:  Audrey....18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.8K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*Dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Ransom’s fingers tap along his steering wheel as he keeps glancing in his rear view mirror watching the tiny girl. Audrey hugs the doll close to her chest as she looks out her window, but never says anything. Of all the times that he’s been around her, Audrey is rarely silent. Or still. It’s like her little brain couldn’t comprehend her father���s behavior. She is obviously in her head, and Ransom feels out of his element, and misses the sweet bubbly girl she usually is.

“Audi?”

“Hmm?” She asks, slowly looking towards the mirror. Her normal smile isn’t present on her mouth, she just stares quietly. Her face is too solemn for a child’s. Despite her size her eyes show the age of someone triple her own.

“I think you should call your mom?” Her brows furrow for a split second before she looks away from the mirror. “Just let her know you’re okay, and tell her what we’re going to do.”

“Do you think,” she takes a deep breath, clenching her eyes close, and he sees a shimmer of a tear bubble at her lashes, “Do you think Daddy has felt the babies before me?”

“I think they’re waiting on the best big sister I know,” her lips tilt up just a small amount, and while it isn’t her normal smile, it was better than her sad pout. “You know how to call her.”

“I’m five,” finally, a little laugh as she covers her hand, stifling her giggle.

“You don’t have to hide your silliness with me, five years old,” he says, passing his phone back to her. She taps on the phone, and puts it up to her ear, “You’re very smart to know her number.”

“I know yours and daddy’s — Andy’s — daddy’s, too. Hey, mommy.”

“Oh, baby,” you sigh, pressing a hand on your chest. “I missed your voice.”

“I missed you,” you’ve never heard her voice sound so defeated. You make a vow to yourself that she will never have to experience that ever again. “Umm, has he — daddy felt the twins?”

“No, baby. Not even Suedey has felt the twins. Where are you heading?” You already know. But anything to distract her from her thoughts is what you’ll do. Keeping her in a conversation so she doesn’t have to worry why her dad was behaving like that.

“Um, Uncle Ann is taking me to a dog shelter. We’ve talked about it, but can I actually get a dog today?”

“Yes, baby. An — Daddy is going to the shelter and filling out some paperwork while you guys eat lunch,” you don’t want to cry, you want to hold her so tightly. Hoping that all the love you have for her can radiate into her body and she doesn’t have to feel any of this turmoil. “Make sure to find you a sweet dog.”

“Well, the dog can be for everyone, but can it sleep in my room?”

“Of course. Remember, you already picked out a spot,” she nods her head, and it’s like this motherly instinct that you know she’s doing it. “Can you do me a favor today, sweetheart?”

“Yes-huh.”

“Can you have fun today?” It’s a tall order to ask when she was made to see her father, and then left there in such a dramatic and traumatic way. But she’s with her Uncle Ann. She’ll have Miss Tatum, and the prospect of a new dog. One she has talked about. Her little protector.

“I will try,” her voice deflates again, and you need her in your arms. “Is Suede taking a nap? It’s quiet there.”

“No, he went with Daddy. I’m making us some soup for dinner. Make sure to ask Ann and Miss Tatum if they want to join, okay?”

“Oh, yes! I will. I will like that very much. Mommy, I think we’re at Miss Tatum’s apartments,” her voice goes into a soft whisper, and you hear Ransom chuckle. “He knows where my teacher lives. Uncle Ann, have you been here before?”

“Yes, princess,” Audrey giggles, and it comforts you knowing she is becoming herself again.

“Why are you driving to my teacher’s house?!”

“Why are you worried about it?”

“Mommy, I gotta go. I can’t stay in the car, and Uncle Ann can’t either. We have to be professional and walk up to her door, okay?” Andy had taught her that. The way he wants to show your sweet girl how people should treat her is the sweetest thing.

“Okay, my beautiful girl. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Audrey hangs up the phone, and lifts it up for Ransom before she unbuckles her seat. Waiting so patiently for him to open her door, and immediately she lifts her hand for him to hold. “How many times have you been here?”

“I am not answering that question.”

“Have you had a slumber party with Miss Tatum?”

“Not answering that one either.”

“Have you kissed her?”

“Not on the mouth.”

Audrey gasps, stopping in her tracks as she looks at him. “What does that mean?”

“I kissed her cheek,” she stares up at him through squinting eyes, not fully believing him. “And her knuckles.”

“Why?”

“It’s a sweet gesture.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to be sweet.”

“Why?”

Ransom laughs, forgoing holding her hand to lift her up, and hold onto her. “Why are you being so nosy, turkey?”

“You like her don’t you?”

“Describe like?”

“You want to kiss her lips.”

“Yes,” both lips. Audrey grins so big, and quickly hugs Ransom.

“Hmm, so this date — are you using me to be cute?”

“What do you know about that?”

“I know that daddy says that me and Suede were a cute positive for wanting to date mommy and kiss her on the lips. Sooooo, we worked on him,” Ransom shakes his head. Even if she and Suede weren’t part of the equation, that man is always going to be devoted to you. He’s never seen a man pine after a woman the way he did you.

“Andy has always been in love with her. He always mentioned to me about the one that got away, and the reason he never married before your mommy,” Audrey gives a giggle, leaning into Ransom, and resting her head on his shoulder. The cute factor really worked on Ransom.

He never saw kids in his future, much less kids that weren’t his. He never saw working this hard for a woman. Or imagining himself being with someone and having children. But if they could be as amazing and perfect as Audrey and Suede, surely it can’t be so bad.

“Oomph, Audrey,” Ransom groans as Audrey plops in his lap at the restaurant. She pulls her coloring sheet and crayons over in front of her, while Ransom smiles up at the swooning Miss Tatum. She has been extra smiley, and giggly with Audrey present. The cute factor must be working on her, “What are you doing, princess?”

“Have you sat in Uncle Ann’s lap before?”

“I can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure,” Tatum smiles at Audrey, but peeks up at Ransom. He looks even more handsome with a child in his lap. It just looks right.

“Don’t sit in his lap,” Audrey says, picking up a green crayon.

“Oh,” Ransom shakes his head at Tatum, and quickly gives Audrey a kiss to her head. “Well, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m his girl,” she drops the crayon in front of her, and leans back into his chest, showing dominance over his lap. “You can be the girlfriend, but remember, I am his girl. And I sit in his lap. Not you, okay?”

“I will never sit in his lap, Audrey,” Ransom’s face falls while he looks at Tatum, “But is it okay if I sit beside him?”

“Hmm,” Audrey’s finger taps along her chin as she smiles. “If I’m not here. If I’m here, I am in between you two.”

“Can I sit in his lap if you’re not around?”

“No! You’re not listening, his lap is for me,” she taps a finger on the table, and leans forward. “Do you want to kiss Uncle Ann?”

“Audi,” Ransom groans, realizing this is becoming less cute by the second.

“Because he wants to kiss you,” Ransom covers her mouth with his hand, making both Tatum and Audrey giggle at his embarrassment.

“Okay, princess, that is enough from you. We don’t need to be talking about this before lunch. Look, it’s a cheese straw. Try it.”

“I would very much like to kiss, Uncle Ann,” Audrey pulls Ransom’s hand off her mouth where they both gape at Tatum.

“Yeah?” Ransom sheepishly smirks, and his cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink.

“Then you will have to get married. My mommy and daddy got married. But — they did kiss before then. Hmm, I may have this backwards. Okay, you can kiss him,” both Ransom and Tatum nod too quickly. Looking up at each other smiling, and she leans over the table. “Not right now! No, you don’t start kissing while I’m here. You can kiss when I’m not here, and if I walk in and see you it’s okay. But don’t do that while I’m here.”

“Princess, I think you’ve been around your parents too much,” he mouths an ‘I’m sorry,’ to Tatum, but she is beaming at him. She’d never seen Audrey be so open with him. And he cares for her. It’s a simple bond, but strong. And it makes her melt. She’d been feeling for Ransom, but seeing him with a child solidifies it.

“Do you love him?”

“Audrey,” Ransom warns, gritting his teeth.

“I think it’s too soon for us to talk about love, Audrey. But what I can say is that I really like him. And I like him a little bit more seeing just how sweet and patient he is with you,” Audrey smiles, wiggling in his lap. The cute factor. At least she can turn on the charm.

“See, I told you that the cute stuff works well.”

“So did you and Uncle Ann plan this to get my attention?” Audrey peeks back at Ransom, shaking her head more at him than her teacher. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“There was an incident, and I needed time with Uncle Ann.”

“An incident?”

“It’s nothing,” Ransom lays his arm over the table, and grips Tatum’s arm. “Well, her parents have got it under control, and Audrey doesn’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s okay. I just don’t want to be around my Scott dad. He’s not very nice right now. But Uncle Ann is taking me to get a dog to help with my emotions,” Tatum gives Audrey a regretful smile, flipping her hand up to hold onto Ransom’s. “I have a good mommy and daddy though. It’s okay if I call Andy daddy, right?”

“I think you, Suede, and the twins are the only ones allowed to call him that. I tried one day, and he didn’t like it,” Ransom laughs, thinking about how irritated Andy got with his constant ‘Daddy’ all day long.

“You shouldn’t call him daddy, you’re older.”

“Only by six months. Oh, look, your grilled cheese and fruit are here. You want to slide over,” Audrey shakes her head no, smiling, and reaches for a strawberry. “I guess you’re sitting in my lap for lunch,” and she nods again. “Enjoy your non-plant cheese and pineapples.”

“I just have to make sure I wash my hands really good, Miss Tatum. It’s okay.”

Ransom lets Audrey run ahead in the shelter, while he quickly grabbing onto Tatum’s hand, and he weaves his fingers with hers. The new iPad mini was already ordered, and being delivered to your house, so now he gets to lazily watch a little girl happily look at dogs.

“Uncle Ann! I need them all!” She gives him a little pout, looking up at him. “Please?”

“No.”

“We could keep some at your house.”

“No.”

“You don’t want a dog in your bed?”

“No.”

“But you sleep alone, you need something to keep you cozy.”

“No.”

“Ugh,” she grumbles, turning to walk deeper into the little babies. Taking a brief moment to look at each one. Smiling and waving at them before continuing on her journey. “Daddy said when I know, I’ll know, and I just don’t know. I should take them all.”

“No.”

“You’re being no fun.”

“And you’re acting like a dramatic Suede,” Audrey holds a hand up to her mouth and giggles. Stopping her dramatic ways as she looks some more. “I do sleep alone.”

“I know you do, Ran,” Tatum knocks into him with her shoulder. “We’ve fallen asleep talking to each other.”

“I’m just saying — the kid has been laying it on thick, and I did not ask her for that,” his free hand goes up as he shrugs, “I think she just knows that I like your company.”

“So…if I were to have a slumber party at your house, would I get to sit in your lap?”

“That depends,” Ransom smirks, and his cheeks start turning a bright pink. “The princess can’t be there.”

“Of course not.”

“I’d need to kiss you first.”

“And I’d prefer to sit on your lap with no clothes,” Tatum says before dropping his hand, and quickly running up to Audrey, while Ransom stands there gulping. He blows out a long breath of air as he watches the most amazing woman he’s ever met squat down to see what the cutest little girl he’s ever met is staring at.

“Uncle Ann, it’s her,” she stares, pointing at a kennel. “Daddy said I would know, and I know.”

“Ma’am,” Ransom spins to look at the worker, “Can she hold this dog?”

“I don’t need to hold her, that’s her,” he walks over to the two of them, and the dog, and Audrey sits on the floor, scooting forward, and holds out her hand. A little chocolate lab. She isn’t quite a puppy puppy, but still small enough to learn and grow with Audrey. “I need her.”

The little dog licks at her hand before starting to scratch at the kennel, “See, she wants me,” looking up at Ransom, he gulps again. Her eyes look so round as she stares at him. Glittering with the tears that fill in. “I need her.”

“This is our little Rosie,” Audrey awws, as she scoots back for the door to open. As soon as it’s open enough the sweet puppy trots to her lap, and crawls on top of her. “Funny,” she smiles watching the puppy lick all over Audrey’s cheek. “Your dad was in here earlier with your brother. He ran off from him, and came right to this kennel. Your dad mentioned he hopes you picked her.”

“I love her,” Audrey giggles as the dog keeps rubbing her scent on her. “My little Rosie.”

“She won’t always stay little. She’ll be a big dog, but not giant, huh, angel?” The employee gives the dog a few head scritches before standing up. “Okay, well, we’ve got the carrier for you. Your dad is a very thorough and smart man. You are one lucky little girl, Miss Barber,” Audrey’s face lights up as she looks up at her, and snuggles the dog closer to her.

“Come on, Rosie. Uncle Ann is going to take us home. Miss Tatum, can you come with us? Mommy said she’s making soup. I know it’s still pretty cold, but we have games we can play inside. Me and Suede still need help, but we’re good players. Can you?”

“I think I would love that,” she smiles, standing up with Ransom. She extends a hand down to Audrey who smiles, standing up as well.

“Your dad left a pink collar and leash as well. He said it’s your favorite color.”

“My daddy knows everything about me because he loves me. He’ll love you, too, Rosie. And you can sleep in my bed. And you have so much space to run around. And Suede is funny. And my mommy is so good at making food. Come on, Uncle Ann. I want to see if I can feel the twins. She’ll let you touch her belly, too, Rosie. We’re going to be first though, not daddy, okay?”

She had a traumatic day with a beautiful start to the end of her trauma with her dad. Surrounded by people that love her, and now a dog that she can hold. A dog that can learn to read her stressors and anxiety spikes. Hopefully, she won’t have to continue to be around Scott. She can start to heal from her past traumas. Learn to cope, and live with a man that will do anything to protect her, and make sure she’s happy.

Ransom knows that Audrey will be okay. He also knows that Scott’s reputation continues to tarnish. He’ll choose himself over his children. He’s already proven as much with Suede when he gave him up. Now if he’ll only learn to let Audrey go as well. That way she could officially be Miss Audrey Barber. Until then she can be excited and giggle over her new best friend Rosie.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy

@hisredheadedgoddess28 @capswife

[pisskuna]

gojo satoru x reader (gn)

wc ! 1.1k cw ! it was meant to be nerd!gojo but i gave no indication lol, piss !!, dubcon in the sense reader makes him piss his pants when he doesn’t want to but needs to go, reader is mean, public setting, dacryphilia, getting caught, err, noncon voyeurism? note ! i think i tagged everything lol edit: apologies i posted the wrong ver at first my bad folks

“please—”

“please what, satoru?”

he shifts uncomfortably where he stands, hands clasped together tightly between his thighs. you can’t help but laugh, the sound piercing through the air. it causes him to scramble, reaching out with one hand to grasp at your wrist.

“please stop, i don’t want anyone to see—they’re going to hear you.”

snatching your hand away, your eyes narrow, looking at him like he was nothing but a piece of gum stuck to your shoe.

“why, what’s wrong?” you tease, though there’s no hint of playfulness in your voice. “don’t want anyone to see you piss yourself?”

“s-shut up!” he looks like he’s about to cry, teeth biting into his lower lip hard enough to nearly draw blood. his blue eyes shimmer under the bright lights, and you’ll do everything you can to see those tears pour from his eyes.

you were tucked away in the back between two stacks. no one was around this far back, but you could tell satoru was still afraid.

“make me.”

“this isn’t—i can’t—”

“you can and you will,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest, a slow, cruel grin tugging at your lips.

“i really can’t,” he hiccups, a lone tear tracking down his cheek, and it makes a rush of arousal shoot straight through you.

even if you want to, it’s too late for him. he’s shaking, teeth clenched as he tries his best to hold in his piss. you knew if he even dares taking a step he’s going to lose control.

“satoru you want to make me happy, right?”

“i’m sorry, but i can’t—” he knows what you’re asking of him, and it irritates you that he’s still fighting it.

“either you piss yourself now, or i’ll have no choice but to call the librarian over and let her see you ruin yourself.” you warn. and you would, either he does it in front of you or you call for an audience. either way you’d be more than satisfied.

he looks up at you with watery eyes, jaw falling slack while he pants softly. you know what he’s thinking. that you intend to go through with your threat, one hundred percent.

so you watch as he digs the heel of his hand into his cock, the other wrapping around his midsection, and then he’s letting go.

“there we go,” you praise, delighted to see him ruin himself.

“oh god,” he lets out a broken whimper, sniffling slightly, then relieved moans spill from his lips when his bladder finally loosens.

“does it feel good, satoru?” 

warmth spreads down his legs, the darkening patch on the front of his jeans growing larger as the seconds tick on. the sound of piss hitting the floor is loud, impossibly hard to ignore, but even worse is the sound of your laughter ringing out. “s-stop. it’s not—”

it fills his shoes, forming a puddle beneath his feet, and all he can do is whimper softly, hand reaching out to steady himself against the shelving.

“c’mon, satoru,” you say in a mockingly gentle voice, “tell me how it feels.”

“it’s—a-ah,” he can’t speak, a whine spilling from his throat while his free hand extends towards you, frantically grasping at the air as if saying he needs you.

the corner of your lips quirk, walking forward you allow him to tug you closer, wrapping his arms around you. his forehead meets your shoulder, soft, incoherent babbles leaving his lips, his fingers flexing against your back while he continues to relieve himself.

“shh,” you whisper softly, running your fingers through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp.

there was a shift in the air, a sharp inhale that has your eyes darting towards the end of the room. he’s just turned the corner, nearly dropping his books as he locks eyes with you.

a predatory grin pulls at your lips, cheek resting against the top of satoru’s head as you continue to stroke his hair. there’s a challenge in your eyes, one that dares him to look away.

the guy does, briefly, only to look down at the mess on the floor where you stand. he swallows thickly, gaze drifting back up to yours.

you’re quick to notice how he shifts where he stands, sliding the books he was holding over his crotch, mouth dropping the longer he stared. it made your grin widen, knowing he’s affected by the scene in front of him just as much as you are.

there’s a tug in your gut, arousal brewing. it’s when satoru finishes, a full on shudder hitting his body, that you pull his head back to have him look at you.

his eyes are slightly swollen, tears streak down his face, and there’s a pretty blush across his cheeks.

you bring him in for a kiss, and he gasps into your mouth the sudden action temporarily throwing him off guard. his hands hesitantly slide up the back of your shirt, fingers digging into your skin.

it’s messy, and satoru can barely keep up as you dominate his mouth, quiet whimpers passing through his lips.

when you part, there’s a thin string of spit connecting your lips. it snaps when you reach a hand up to swipe at his bottom lip.

then you’re looking over his shoulder, the guy from before still stands there, and his eyes meet yours again. he blinks hard as if snapped from a trance, then he’s slowly backing away, gesturing over his shoulder with a jerk of his thumb.

he gives one last once over, a brewing heat in his gaze as his eyes linger on the ruined mess that is satoru’s lower half, before he’s nearly tripping on his feet to leave.

there are no words because his gaze said it all.

“w-what are you looking at?” satoru’s quick to check behind him, nearly hurting his neck in the process. when he sees no one, he deflates, shoulder sagging as he turns back to you.

you give him a fake smile, one that doesn’t give away the moment you had with that stranger. instead you cup his face, rubbing your thumbs under his eyes.

“that wasn’t so bad, now was it?” you say playfully, gaze still piercing.

his blush darkens, and he shakes his head. “i—no.” then he’s looking at you with an adoring, but heavy gaze, as if you didn’t just make him piss himself in the public library.

unfortunately for poor satoru he still has the difficult challenge of leaving here without being noticed.

[hgfictionwriter]

Ache - Part Two

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: You and Jessie just couldn’t stay apart. How do you make up for lost time?

Warnings: I’m back to it, y’all. What goes better with a little pining than smut?? So, warning, lots of smut.

A/N: Part one is available here

Credit to @stargirlsfc for the gifs. And that second one. My god. Imagine her walking towards you like that…!?

“So, will you have me?”

Jessie’s brown eyes shone under the hue of the street lights as she waited for your response. The mixture of hope, fear and affection swirling within her was evident.

Jessie wasn’t really one to speak openly about her emotions. She often showed her love and devotion in other ways, so to hear her speak so vulnerably and passionately caught you off guard - for many reasons.

Before you could fully process a reply, your legs carried you over to her in long, hurried strides. They closed the distance between you so quickly you hardly had time to register the way her eyebrows lifted and her mouth began to open in surprise.

You flung your arms around her and surprised yourself with how a sob rose and caught in your throat. Though shocked, it was only a moment before Jessie’s arms wrapped around you and she soon clung to you tightly. You squeezed her closer in response, burying your head in the crook of her neck. An overwhelming wave went through you as you inhaled her scent, the one that had long faded on the pillow next to yours.

“Y/N.” She said your name with a voice that trembled and strained with emotion.

You stayed like that for several moments, relishing the feeling of having her in your arms again. Soon, you pulled back, grateful that her arms stayed tightly wrapped around you and you searched her face momentarily, a smile subconsciously forming on yours as you took in the familiar sight of her freckles and the light brown flecks in her eyes. You leaned in and kissed her.

A rush went through you as soon as your lips were upon hers. Your shoulders rose in elation as her arms encircled you further and she deepened your kiss.

When you pulled back and her eyes fluttered open, an aching, but sweet sensation filled your chest upon seeing her eyes glistening with unshed tears. You cupped her face tenderly with both hands, internally noting how cold her skin was from waiting outside for you.

“I love you. So much,” you told her, somehow breathless. A smile broke out across her face and the nervous frown weighing down her brow lifted. You blinked back your own tears and hugged her close once more, astounded and grateful for the way she immediately pulled you back into her.

A lump formed in your throat as you spoke. “I didn’t know if we’d ever see each other again.” You subconsciously tightened your hold on her. “But I never stopped thinking about you. I missed you every day.”

A small whimper bubbled up in your throat as she let out a shuddering breath and tucked her head into your neck, all the while clutching you ever closer as if you’d disappear if she didn’t hold on.

After a few moments, she inhaled shakily and tilted her head back just enough to look at you.

“Can we try again?” She asked, eyes wide, shimmering and hopeful. You nodded with a watery smile.

“I’d love to. I’m not saying it won’t be hard, but I’ve missed you so much it hurts. I want you and I need you in my life.”

A grateful smile broke out across her face and she laughed softly, nodding in return.

“Okay.” A blush formed on her cheeks and she looked down shyly before meeting your gaze once more. “Can I kiss you again?”

You laughed affectionately and caressed her cheek with your thumb. “Of course. I’d love nothing more.”

Despite how much time had passed, it felt so natural to be back in her arms and to have her lips on yours.

“You’re cold,” you noted as you pulled back. Her nose was red from the chill. She shrugged.

“I’m okay. I completely forgot actually,” she said with a small laugh.

“You could come inside,” you ventured. Her brow furrowed in response, and her tone was tentative when she spoke.

“Are you sure? I know I showed up unannounced and this is a lot that I just dumped on you. I don’t want to overwhelm or push.”

You tilted your head and gave her a look.

“I couldn’t have dreamt of anything better than you coming here and saying the things you did. You have no idea.” You took a step back, but held her hands. “Now, come inside.”

You entwined your fingers as you made your way into the building. You noted that her touch lingered on you in some capacity the whole way through, whether her hand in yours, a hand on the small of your back, or gently brushing your hair out of your face. After being apart so long, you needed to be close to her, and apparently she felt the same. You leaned into her as you waited for the elevator.

The door opened with a ding and you both stepped inside. As you waited for it to close, her thumb began grazing the back of your hand, sending a shiver through you. You looked over at her and couldn’t help still needing to partially process the fact that the woman you loved and had been pining over for so long was now next to you holding your hand.

“What?” She asked softly with a laugh.

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” you replied with a trace of wonder in your voice.

Her smile quieted and she looked at you earnestly. “I shouldn’t have ever left.”

You took in this incredible woman before you and closed the distance between you with a kiss. It was chaste at first, but as it lingered the pull between you grew. You shifted so you were flush against her and wrapped your arms around the back of her neck.

As the elevator rose, your kiss deepened. You bit back a small moan as her grip on your waist tightened just so. You were both slow to break away, a few kisses lingering as the elevator jostled to a stop. You smiled at her and bit your bottom lip. Heat settled on your cheeks and you had to remind yourself to get out of the elevator before it closed again.

You headed down the hall hand in hand and you nearly fumbled your keys when she moved her hands to your hips and rested her chin on your shoulder while you unlocked the door.

You looked back at her and gave her a fleeting kiss as you opened the door and stepped inside.

You watched as she took in your apartment. It had been many months since she’d been here.

“Not much has changed,” you told her. She looked around a moment longer and nodded.

“I kind of like that,” she said.

“Mmhm,” you responded somewhat distractedly as you stepped into her arms once more and her focus shifted entirely to you. You looked at one another, just taking each other in before the corner of her lip tipped up into a gentle smirk.

“Hey, baby,” she said softly. Your eyes closed for a few moments at the term of endearment.

“I’ve really missed hearing you call me that.” You kissed her slowly.

“You don’t have to miss it anymore,” she promised between kisses, which soon deepened.

“I’ve missed you so much, Jessie.”

“I’ve missed you, too, baby,” she replied in a breathy voice. You had to swallow another moan as she then ran her tongue along your bottom lip. You couldn’t, however, stop yourself but dragging your fingers down the back of her neck. You bit back a smile as you felt her knees weaken for just a second.

“I love you more than anything,” you told her, desperation starting to creep into your voice as you began to kiss her harder. “Do you know how hard it’s been to not see you? Kiss you?” Her fingers dug into your waist in response.

You reached up and began unzipping her jacket, pushing the shoulders down her arms and it dropped to the floor. You took your jacket off as well, ensuring not to break your kiss.

The softest moan escaped Jessie’s mouth as you pressed your hips up against her and kissed her with renewed fervour. Her fingers raked down your back over your shirt and you instinctually arched into her. A small whimper escaped her and she dug her nails in as she stiffened.

“I’m sorry,” she said in shaky voice as she rolled her forehead against yours, her eyes closed.

“What are you apologizing for?” You asked in confusion, though not allowing it to deter you from running your hands through her hair.

“I-” She stammered slightly, swallowing audibly before continuing. “I’m just-. We just got back together…,” she trailed off and you locked eyes. “I’m trying to be good.”

A wave pulsed through your core instantly.

“What if I don’t want you to be?” You asked as you leaned in to kiss her again. She reciprocated immediately before a low tone rumbled in her throat.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” she told you, worry weaving its way into her voice.

“Baby.” You chuckled affectionally and kissed her anew. “You aren’t pressuring me. I promise.”

She followed your lips, before forcing herself to pull back. Her brows knit together in concern and her eyes studied you in apprehension. When she spoke, her voice was thin.

“What if you change your mind about us?” She took a quick breath. “You haven’t had much time to think or process. I don’t think I could stand losing you again.”

You cupped her face with both hands and kissed her tenderly. A twinge went through your chest at how her jaw clenched, a telltale sign that she was fighting back emotions. You pulled back and looked into her eyes.

“I’m not changing my mind. I know that for a fact. You know why? Because I spent a year trying to fall out of love with you, and it didn’t work at all. The second you came back I was yours all over again. In fact, I think you can safely say I was never not yours. And I’d be lying if I said I haven’t wished for this. I love you, Jessie. I can’t love anyone else.”

Her eyes shimmered and her jaw tensed and relaxed as she absorbed your words. You kissed her slowly and she melted into your touch. A small smile crossed your lips as you leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“And what if I told you that I’ve dreamt of you countless times, kissing me,” a kiss to her ear, “on top of me,” a nip of her earlobe, “inside of me,” trailing your tongue along the shell of her ear.

A growl surged from Jessie’s throat and you let out a small gasp as she grasped you tightly and lifted you into her arms. Your legs instinctively wrapped around her waist and you looked down to see her eyes were now dark as her gaze bore into you. You couldn’t hold back a cry as her body pinned you to the wall and she began to kiss your neck hungrily.

You panted as she sucked and nipped at your neck, all the while slowly grinding her hips into you. Your hands gripped her biceps, appreciating the flex and definition in them as she held you up with ease. You felt her chuckle softly against your skin.

“Like what you feel, baby?” She asked as she flexed her arms further for your benefit. You released a small groan.

“You know I do,” you affirmed as you bit your lip. “Jessie,” you breathed and wrapped your arms around her firm shoulders. “Oh my God. It’s been so long.” She moaned in agreement.

“And it’s been too long since you’ve called out my name.”

A small, breathy chuckle escaped you.

“That’s what you think,” you teased.

She growled again and sucked hungrily on your neck, marking you.

“Fuck, how did I ever think I could be without you.”

Your head lolled back against the wall and your jaw fell slack at her proclamation. You tightened your legs around her waist.

“Oh god, Jess. I’m so wet for you already.”

Her nails dug into you immediately, viscerally, as a strangled breath escaped her. She ground against you further, pushing you up the wall with slow, steady thrusts.

“Are you sure about this?” She ventured one last time while continuing to work the sensitive skin of your neck.

A whimper of frustration escaped you as you ran your fingers through her hair.

“Jessie.” Her name coming out pleading. “I need you. I need all of you.”

She pulled back and leaned up to kiss you hard. Her tongue pushed inside your mouth and your tongues explored playfully. She broke the kiss after a while with a disbelieving shake of her head coupled with a faint smile.

“I love you. I’m never going to stop telling you.”

“You better not,” you retorted as you ground down to meet her gyrations.

Jessie inhaled deeply and you felt her fingers dig into you once more. She was holding back.

“What is it, baby?” You asked. She took a moment before releasing a measured breath. “Don’t be shy, baby. Tell me what you need,” you coaxed. The smallest moan escaped her throat.

“Tell me you’re mine,” her voice steady and almost terse. You smiled.

“Why don’t you remind me that I’m yours.”

Suddenly, Jessie set you down and kissed you deeply. Your heart began to race as she wasted no time in stripping off your clothes. The urgency in her movements left you breathless.

You were about to complain that she was wearing far too many clothes when she gave a quick tug of your bottom lip. She then gave you a lingering kiss and knelt down before you and lifted one of your legs to rest it over her shoulder.

“Oh God, Jess,” you found yourself saying as your breath quickened and you felt yourself growing wetter by the moment.

She began kissing up the inside of your thighs and her strong hands steadied you at the first shudder that went through your legs.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered tenderly as she continued to lay now languid and teasing kisses along your increasingly sensitive skin. “Mm. I’ve missed you so much, baby,” she said as she worked her way upwards. The waves of her hair now brushed against the uppermost part of your thighs and you shivered as you felt her breath on your heat. “Right between your legs is where I should be. I can’t wait to make you mine again. And again. And again. Until the only word you can manage is my name.”

“Jessie.” You panted her name as you began to run your fingers through her hair. You were pulsing with need and you were positive that you had to be dripping wet by now.

She smirked. “Good start, my love.”

A shuddering gasp fell from your lips as her tongue started teasing your entrance with a light touch. “I missed your scent,” she said, before dipping the tip inside and then slowly tracing up your folds to flick your clit. “I missed your taste.”

Your knees buckled at the pleasure that immediately raked through you, but you hardly moved under Jessie’s steadfast grip.

She dove in, alternating between laying her tongue flat against you, tracing between your folds and flicking and sucking on your clit. You moaned in ecstasy as she soon ate you out with fervour, her actions punctuated with moans of her own that sent extra waves of pleasure through you.

“Jessie,” you whimpered as you dug your fingers into her hair. Your eyes fluttered open and you glanced down to see this amazing woman on her knees for you, looking up at you with those bright, brown eyes that were full of love, lust and adoration as she ate you out. You ground your hips into her face and she groaned in approval and lapped at you more vigorously.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” she mumbled into you. “I’ve missed this so much.”

You gasped as she planted herself firmer on the ground and reached up to begin tracing a finger around your entrance. When you gripped her hair tightly, she gently slid a finger inside - the nails on her other hand now digging into your thigh - before adding a second.

“Oh God, you feel so good inside of me,” you whispered as you moved your hips against her fingers and her tongue. “I love you so much.”

A tremor went through you as she moaned deeply into you. Jessie loved giving praise, but she may have loved receiving it even more.

She picked up her pace and the sounds of her fingers sliding in and out of your wetness filled her ears, driving her wild. From this angle, it was easy to get carried away and she had to be mindful not to be too rough, but even then her arousal grew as she watched how she rocked you up and down against the wall with each thrust. She curled her fingers inside of you and sucked greedily on your clit, adoring how you writhed and moaned for her.

“So fucking good,” you panted as she sent wave after wave of pleasure through you and brought you closer to your edge. Your hips bucked and your knees weakened.

A cry fell from your lips as she moved your other leg over her shoulder so you were fully straddling her face and resting on her strong shoulders. She gripped your legs and lifted you up to devour you further. She moaned into you again and rolled her head side to side as she closed down on you completely. The sensations she elicited from you were so incredible that soon you were clawing at her and the wall.

“Oh my God. Jess.” Your voice was high and thin. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

She groaned in approval and continued her ministrations unwaveringly. Soon your legs tightened around her and your core started to spasm. She moaned again and dug her nails into your skin as she continued to work on you and help you ride out your high.

When your legs relaxed around her, she gently set you back down, guiding you to the floor and setting you in her lap as you both recovered. She quickly wiped her chin before leaning up, laying a few slow kisses on your neck.

“I love you so much. I missed you more than you can ever imagine,” she told you between ragged breaths. You cuddled into her, your heart still racing and faint aftershocks still going through you.

“I love you, too. And God, you’re so fucking good.” You exhaled and tried to catch your breath. “Even better than I remember,” you chuckled.

She gave you a smirk as her hand ran along your leg. “You know I’d hate to disappoint you.” A couple of beats passed as a small blush began to form on her cheeks. “I’m sorry - I’m sure you were hoping for something a little more romantic. I just…couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t wait.”

“You mean you wanted me so badly you had to fuck me up against the wall? Couldn’t even make it to the bedroom? That’s kinda hot, actually,” you told her with a smirk. “And again,” your voice softened as you leaned in and kissed her neck, “you underestimate how much I missed you.” You leaned in to whisper in her ear, “Or was I wet enough to give it away?” You nipped at her ear. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’m entirely convinced that I’m yours. Maybe you can remind me again.”

“Fuck, babe,” Jessie replied, both awe and a growl in her voice. “I’ll show you anytime you want.”

——————————————

A/N: Part 3 for more soft dom, possessive top Jessie. (Or let me know if you would like to see something else). And I know - every time I write these stories, I just think to myself, “I need Jesus.” But what can I say? Jflem’s got a hold on me.