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writerofautumnnights · 16 days ago

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A Dance with the Devil

*No spoilers. It takes place before the brothers return to Mississippi

pairing: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black!OC

sumary: Lena Pearl, a waitress in Al Capone's world, confronts Elias "Stack" Moore, a man caught in the same violent life she tries to escape. As tensions rise, they both face the uncomfortable truth about their shared darkness. Their connection is undeniable, but will it be their salvation—or their undoing?

warmings: angust, mention of death, internal conflicts, survival and violence. English is not my first language.

word count: 4,7K

The Green Mill - Chicago, 1929

The cutting Chicago wind was no match for the heat emanating from the basement beneath the old barbershop. Lena Pearl adjusted her string of fake pearls as she descended the wooden stairs that creaked under her careful steps. Her emerald-green dress – simple enough not to draw attention on the streets, yet elegant enough for the job – reflected the yellowish glow of the strategically placed lamps around the lounge.

"The princess has arrived," murmured Big Joe, the security guard stationed at the inner door. He was one of the few men Lena allowed to speak to her that way.

"Mr. Capone asked for you three times today."

Lena just nodded, without revealing the weight those words carried. Working for Al Capone was like dancing constantly on the edge of a cliff – dangerous, but impossible to walk away from. There was a strange vertigo in that routine, as if she lived suspended between the urge to disappear and the need to keep being seen.

The Green Mill was buzzing despite it being only Tuesday.

The economic crisis that ravaged the country seemed only to intensify people’s thirst. The saxophone wept on the small improvised stage while white men in expensive suits mingled with South Side workers – all equal in their pursuit of the oblivion only forbidden alcohol could provide. It was ironic – the deeper the country sank, the more vibrant that basement became as a refuge for broken lives.

"Bourbon for table three and a double whiskey for the man with the hat in the corner," said Gina, another waitress, hurrying by. "Oh, and watch out for that new guy. Stack, I think. He’s been watching you since you walked in."

Lena discreetly lifted her gaze toward the indicated direction. In the shadows, partially hidden by the haze of cigarette smoke, a Black man in a dark gray suit stared at her without disguising it. There was something in his eyes – not the usual lust or curiosity Lena was used to ignoring. It was as if he recognized her from somewhere impossible, from a life she had never lived.

She looked back. For the first time in a long while, Lena allowed herself to hold someone’s gaze. There was a restlessness sneaking under her skin – recognition, maybe? Or just loneliness? Elias “Stack” Moore wasn’t just a new man at the bar. He was a living question mark, a reminder that she could still be moved by something other than fear or cynicism.

As she served the tables, she felt the weight of that gaze on her back.

For the first time in ages, Lena felt the loneliness she carried like a second skin. Among so many, she was always alone – it was what kept her safe, what kept her alive in a world where women like her served only temporary, limited purposes. And now, there was a man who seemed to see beyond the role she performed every night.

"Miss Pearl." The deep, controlled voice surprised her as she turned from a freshly attended table. Elias was there, too close, too real. "Allow me to introduce myself, Stack."

"I know who you are," she replied, offering neither a hand nor a welcome. "And I’m working, Jack."

"Stack," he corrected, with a restrained smile. "Just wanted to say Mr. Capone speaks very highly of you. Says you’re the only honest person in the entire place."

Lena couldn’t suppress a half-laugh. “Mr. Capone has an interesting concept of honesty.”

“Maybe,” Stack stepped aside, allowing her to pass – a rare gesture of respect in that place. “But I’ve learned to trust his judgment when it comes to people.”

Before Lena could reply, the back door burst open violently. Two men in overcoats entered, followed by a blast of cold wind. One of them – short, round-faced, and wearing a dangerous smile – was unmistakable. Al Capone removed his hat, revealing his scarred face, and his eyes immediately found Lena.

“Pearl!” he called out, ignoring the bows and greetings around him. “Bring me my whiskey. The special one.”

Stack watched the subtle transformation in Lena, how her shoulders adjusted, how her expression closed off even more, how she became both more present and more absent at once. To him, it was like watching a butterfly retreat into its cocoon at the first sign of threat.

As she walked away, Stack felt a strange pang. Who was that woman, really? Why did she seem so profoundly alone, even in a crowded room? And why was he, a man used to staring death in the eyes – so unsettled by a simple waitress?

“Always on time, Mr. Capone,” she replied with rehearsed formality, already heading to the bar to fetch the bottle kept especially for the boss.

Elias watched her go, realizing in that instant what Big Joe had hinted at earlier. There was something about Lena Pearl that set her apart, not just her undeniable beauty or the dignified posture she maintained in a world that constantly tried to shrink her. It was something deeper, a quiet resistance that seemed to say:

“I’m here, but I don’t belong to this place. I never will.”

Lena returned with the special bottle of Scotch whisky – smuggled in recently from Canada, on a shipment that had cost three men their lives the week before, though no one spoke of it. She carried it on a silver tray, along with a single crystal glass. At Capone’s table, the men fell silent as she approached.

“Here it is, sir,” she said, placing the tray on the table and pouring the first drink with the precision of someone who knew exactly how much pleased him.

“Thank you, Pearl.” Capone looked up, his eyes lingering on her face for just a little too long. “I missed you last night.”

In the background, the piano began a melancholic melody, blues notes weaving through muffled conversations and thick smoke. The saxophonist – a middle-aged Black man with eyes that looked like they’d seen hell – joined in with a wail that made the hairs on the back of Lena’s neck stand on end.

“I wasn’t feeling well, sir. My apologies.”

Capone nodded slowly, not believing her, but willing to accept the lie – for now. He looked at her like a man who believes he owns everything he sees. And Stack saw it. He also saw the pride in Lena as she masked her contempt behind flawless professionalism. That was resistance in its purest form. And beauty. And pain.

Capone’s gaze drifted past her shoulder, noticing Stack watching the scene quietly.

“Stack!” Capone called, his voice shifting suddenly to a louder, more expansive tone. “Come meet the Green Mill’s crown jewel.”

Elias hesitated for just a second before approaching the table – but that brief pause seemed to stretch, as if he were deciding whether to dive or retreat from the edge of a cliff. His eyes met Lena’s, and in that brief exchange, there wasn’t just tension – there was memory. Not real, but instinctive. As if they recognized in each other something long forgotten, a shared pain disguised as strength.

“Mr. Capone,” Stack greeted with a nod. “We’ve already met.”

Capone raised his eyebrows, a smile with more teeth than joy. It was the kind of smile that served as a warning.

“Have you?” he asked. “My Pearl’s charmed you too? She has that effect on men.” He laughed, but the sound held no warmth – it was just noise, like ice cracking. “But she’s different. Not like the other girls around here.”

Lena remained still, like a painting of herself. Her face was neutral, expressionless, but her clenched jaw betrayed the tension underneath. Stack noticed and understood. Capone’s words, though wrapped in charm, were fences. A territorial warning.

“I can see that,” Stack replied, his voice even, but not his eyes. His eyes said something else. They said he truly saw Lena. “Some people carry their own light. Even in the dark.”

The saxophone, almost as if conspiring with the moment, let out a sharp note – nearly a wail. The music captured what words couldn’t: That something there was on the verge of breaking.

Capone took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes following Stack with measured interest. “Stack did us a big favor last night,” he said, his tone taking on a more performative flair.

“That issue with the Irish on the North Side? Taken care of.”

Lena’s stomach tightened at the violence in the memory. That morning’s newspaper headline returned like a punch:

Two bodies floating in the river,

Enough bullets to erase names, stories, families.

Now reduced to mere statistics – and silence.

“Stack has a steady hand,” Capone continued, his pride laced with provocation. “Not like those amateurs who make a lot of noise and do little else.”

Elias kept his expression unreadable, but his eyes sought Lena’s – for just a second too long. And she saw it. There was something there – a tremor, perhaps regret, or the shadow of doubt. Not something that could be said out loud. But it was there.

“I just did what needed to be done,” Stack replied. There was weight in his words and emptiness too. Like a man used to digging holes inside himself.

Capone laughed loudly, slapping the table with delight. “Modest! I like that in a man. Makes doing business easier.”

Then he turned to Lena with that look – the one that always reminded her of her place.

“Pearl, bring us another bottle. I want to properly celebrate Mr. Moore’s success.”

"Yes, sir," she repeated. But her thoughts remained tangled in the truth she couldn’t ignore.

Stack was like the others. A killer. A man who took lives for money, for loyalty to Capone, or for any excuse that helped him sleep through the night. And still… he had looked at her as if she were whole – as if both of them might find some kind of salvation in each other’s eyes. That hurt more than any lie. Because Lena didn’t want to feel that. She couldn’t afford to.

The music seemed to change, as if the room itself could hear her thoughts. It grew heavier, more oppressive.The bass throbbed like a broken heart, while the saxophone cried notes that clawed through the air, sharp with regret.

“Pearl?” Capone’s voice pulled her back. “The bottle?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

Lena turned toward the storeroom where the special bottles were kept, suddenly suffocated by the heat and smoke in the room. She needed air, space to think. To process the disappointment she wasn’t supposed to feel – Because what had she expected? That in this nest of vipers, one man might be different?

“Stack, go with her,” Capone ordered, voice casual, but his eyes calculating. “Show her which bottles we brought back from the Jefferson Park stash.”

Stack nodded and followed Lena, keeping a respectful distance as they moved through the crowded room. The singer had taken the stage now, her husky voice rising above the instruments, singing a blues made famous by Ma Rainey:

“Trust no man, no further than your eyes can see… Trust no man, no further than your eyes can see… For a man’s got a heart full of jealousy...”

The lyrics hit like a warning, a painful truth that echoed in Lena’s ears as she walked, hyper-aware of Stack’s footsteps behind her. Every syllable a sting. Every note a reminder.

When they finally reached the hallway that led to the storeroom – away from Capone’s watchful eyes and his men – Lena stopped abruptly and turned to face Stack. There was fire in her eyes. But it wasn’t just anger. It was fear too. Of him. Of herself. Of all of it.

“The Irish,” she said, her voice low but laced with something trembling between disgust and necessity. “Was it you?”

Stack glanced around, making sure they were alone before answering. His eyes returned to her with the same intensity as before but now, there was a thread of exhaustion in them.

“Is that what matters to you?” he asked, his voice lower than usual. “Or is it just something to help you keep your distance?”

“Don’t answer a question with another question,” Lena snapped, anger rising in her like a rising tide. “Two families lost their sons yesterday. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Stack stepped closer – still composed, but his eyes betrayed a storm beneath. “Those men tried to kill three of ours last week. They were planning to raid this place tomorrow night.”

“Ours?” Lena let out a bitter laugh, but it came out like a blade. “So you're one of them now.”

“I don’t consider myself anything but what I am,” Stack replied, voice quieter now, as if speaking from the bottom of a well.“A man trying to survive in a city that only gives people like us certain paths.”

The music from the club reached them like a whisper, the blues seeping through the walls like the heartbeat of a wounded creature. It echoed everything they weren’t ready to say.

“And what path is that?” Lena asked, barely breathing.

“Killing for money? Doing the dirty work for men like Capone?”

“And what’s your path, Lena?” Stack shot back, eyes burning. “Pouring drinks for men who look at you like you’re for sale? Smiling while dying a little more inside every night? Pretending you don’t see the bodies being dragged out the back?”

Lena blinked, as if his words were wind throwing dust into open wounds. He was right and that hurt more than any lie.

"At least I don’t pull the trigger," she said, steady on the outside, but wavering within. Because she knew – even without blood on her hands, she was still part of that theater of horror.

"No," Stack murmured, his tone now more sorrowful than accusatory. "You just serve the drink that celebrates after the trigger’s been pulled."

The silence that settled between them was thicker than the stifling air of the corridor. It wasn’t just silence – it was the weight of everything they felt, and everything they wanted to deny.

The music outside seemed to swell, as if the saxophone understood the gravity of that moment. A melodic lament, like a warning that what was being said couldn’t be taken back.

"We need to get that bottle," Lena said finally, her voice slipping back into a practical tone. "Capone’s waiting."

"Capone’s always waiting," Stack muttered, more to himself than to her. "The question is: how long are we going to keep doing what he expects?"

Lena didn’t respond. The question echoed inside her like a prophecy. Then she turned and continued down the hall toward the storage room, her footsteps blending with the muffled rhythm of the blues that followed them like a ghost through the dimly lit corridor.

When they reached the door, Stack reached out and gently took her arm. It wasn’t force – it was an anchor.

"Lena," he said, a vulnerability trembling beneath the surface of his voice, "we’re not as different as you want to believe."

She looked at his hand on her arm, then up at his face. And what she saw there – honesty, doubt, fear – scared her more than any threat ever could. Because it was real. Because she was on the verge of believing it, too.

"That’s what scares me," she whispered, almost regretfully. And then she opened the door.

Stack followed her inside. He closed the door slowly, like someone closing a confessional. The sound of music became even more muffled.

The pantry was a narrow cubicle, barely larger than a closet. Shelves of worm-eaten wood supported rows of carefully organized bottles–some with legitimate labels, others with homemade seals, all containing the forbidden elixir that kept Chicago running like a drunken clock. The only light came from a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently, casting dancing shadows on the exposed brick walls.

Stack adjusted the red handkerchief in the breast pocket of his pinstripe suit–a touch of color in a man who seemed made of shadows and restraint. His presence there, in the tight space, was like an eclipse; he occupied no more physical space than necessary, but his aura filled the environment. He was the type of man who had learned to make the minimum seem impossible to ignore.

“Third shelf, second row,” he murmured, approaching Lena from behind. It was strange how he seemed to know the place better than she did, each word measured like expensive whiskey–warm, direct, impossible to forget. “The whiskey came from a shipment we received yesterday. Legitimate Scotch. A man died for it.”

“Just one?” Lena asked bitterly, stretching to reach the bottle. The movement drew attention to the scar on her right wrist, a thin, whitish line that extended across her exposed skin. Her sleeveless dress left her arms completely bare, revealing not only the scar but also the delicate strength of her shoulders.

Stack noticed, but didn’t comment. In his world, every scar had a story someone preferred to forget. He knew that kind of silence well.

“I like to know who I’m dealing with,” he said, his voice low like a confessional. “And so do you, right? That’s why you asked about the Irish.”

Lena reached for the bottle, her slender fingers closing around the amber glass. The liquid inside shimmered under the precarious light like melted gold. Gold with the taste of blood.

“I just want to know what kind of man I’m trapped in a pantry with,” she replied, without turning. “Self-preservation.”

Stack almost smiled. There was something in her calculated coldness that fascinated him–perhaps because it sounded exactly like the lies he told himself every morning when he woke up.

“You asked me if I pulled the trigger,” he said, advancing a step. The space was so tight that the heat from his body reached her back. “You want to know if I’m a killer or a man with principles?”

“Is there a difference in this place?” She finally turned, the bottle between them like a fragile barrier.

The proximity was dangerous. There, in the yellowish light, Lena could see the golden grillz that adorned his teeth, gleaming discreetly when he spoke, the way a vein pulsed almost imperceptibly at his temple, the texture of skin marked by years under the merciless sun. Too many human details for a man who should be just another customer, just another danger to avoid.

“In 1917, I enlisted in the 369th Infantry Regiment,” Stack said, his voice suddenly distant, as if he were reciting facts about someone else. “Harlem’s ‘Hellfighters,’ that’s what they called us. I spent 191 days on the front, without rest, without replacement. More than any other American unit.”

Lena wasn’t expecting a confession. Not there, not now. The entire Green Mill was waiting for them to return with a bottle of whiskey, not with war secrets.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want you to understand,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with uncomfortable intensity. “I wasn’t a violent man before the war. Afterward… afterward, violence began to make sense. Something about surviving changes the way you see the world.”

The smell of old wood mixed with the subtle aroma of whiskey filled the air between them. Outside, muffled by the thick walls, the piano melody continued, an ironic soundtrack for that confession no one had asked for.

“The Irish were armed,” he continued, something trembling beneath the surface of his words. “They were going to kill everyone at the Miller’s Club on 35th Street. There were women there. Children in the back. Employees’ children.”

Lena felt a shiver run down her spine. Stack wasn’t justifying himself. He was sharing a burden with someone he sensed might understand. The burden of impossible choices.

“I’m no better than you, Lena. I’m no worse. We’re just two survivors caught in Capone’s web, trying not to be devoured.”

The light flickered for a moment, as if the building’s electricity felt the weight of that conversation. In the brief moment of dimness, both their faces seemed more vulnerable, stripped of the masks they wore in the hall.

“Your eyes recognized me when I entered that room,” Stack murmured, his voice now almost a caress. “Why?”

The question caught her off guard. It was true–something about him had awakened an instinctive recognition, like an echo from another life. Was it the way he carried his own pain without ostentation? Or perhaps it was just the loneliness she recognized, so similar to her own?

“I know your type,” Lena replied, trying to rebuild the wall he was, without realizing, tearing down. “Men who think they can save the world, or at least themselves, by working for the devil.”

Stack’s lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile–that rare smile Gina had mentioned, like the sun breaking through at the end of a cloudy day. It lasted only a second, but it was enough to completely transform his austere face, revealing the man behind the legend that Chicago was already building around him.

“And you?” he asked, leaning slightly. The space between them diminished with each breath. The perfectly adjusted tie at his neck seemed a contradiction to the controlled intensity in his eyes. “What do you think you’re saving by working here?”

She could feel the warmth of his breath–whiskey and cigarettes, but also something cleaner, like mint. A man who arrived without making noise, who made entire rooms fall silent by instinct, but who cared about insignificant details like his own breath, even in a world of chaos. This disturbed her more than any threat.

“I’m saving the only thing I have left,” she answered with a honesty that surprised her. “The illusion that I still have a choice.”

Stack raised his hand, hesitant. For an instant, Lena thought he would touch her face – a gesture she wouldn’t know how to receive. But he only adjusted a lock of hair that had escaped her careful hairdo, his finger lightly brushing the skin of her temple.

“We all have choices, Lena,” he said, his deep voice carrying the weight of a thousand regrets. “They’re just not the choices we’d like to have.”

The distant sound of breaking glass in the hall brought them back to reality. The world outside continued its course, indifferent to the secrets exchanged in the small pantry.

“Capone is waiting,” said Lena, resuming her professional posture like someone putting on armor.

Stack nodded, taking a step back. The space between them expanded again, but something had changed in the air. An invisible bridge had been built–fragile, perhaps temporary, but undeniably real.

“You know what the hardest part of the war was?” he asked, as she turned to leave. “It wasn’t the combat, the bodies, not even the constant fear. It was coming home and discovering there was no more home. That the place we return to is never the same as the one we left.”

Lena stopped with her hand on the doorknob. Her back was to him, but Stack could see the tension in her shoulders, the rigidity that betrayed that his words had reached some deep place.

“You know that feeling, don’t you?” he insisted. “Of belonging to a place that no longer exists.”

Lena closed her eyes for a brief moment. Images of a simple house in New Orleans, the smell of jambalaya on the stove, laughter of children playing in the yard. A world that had collapsed so long ago that sometimes it seemed to have been only a particularly vivid dream.

“We’re taking too long,” she said, her firm voice contradicting the tremor in her hands. “And that’s dangerous for both of us.”

When she turned, bottle in hand, her eyes avoided his. Stack understood the retreat. He knew that dance too well–the cautious approach, the mutual recognition, and then the strategic withdrawal. It was the only way to survive when you carried more scars inside than out.

“What do you think Capone is really celebrating with this whiskey?” he asked, deliberately changing the tone of the conversation, offering her the exit she silently requested.

“Something none of us wants to know,” replied Lena, grateful for the change. “Ignorance is sometimes the only protection we have.”

Stack held the door for her – an anachronistic gesture of chivalry that seemed almost comical in that setting of criminality and survival. But Lena noticed how he positioned himself strategically, so that he would be the first to enter the dark corridor. Protection, not courtesy. The difference mattered.

As they walked back through the corridor, the sound of jazz grew progressively, like a tide rising to engulf them. The smell of sweat and cheap perfume mixed with tobacco announced their return to the real world– a world of masks and well-rehearsed roles.

“I know you don’t trust me,” murmured Stack, leaning slightly so that only she could hear. “And you’re right. But if you ever need help…”

“I won’t,” Lena cut in, but without the coldness from before. There was something almost like gratitude in her tone.

When they were about to emerge back into the hall, Stack stopped abruptly. Lena almost collided with his broad back.

“What is it?” she asked, alarmed.

“I saw something in the back of the storage room,” he replied, his voice suddenly tense. “Boxes that shouldn’t be there. With military markings.”

Lena felt a chill. Weapons. They could only be weapons. Capone was planning something bigger than the usual territorial disputes.

“Forget what you saw,” she whispered urgently. “For your own good.”

Stack stared at her, the dim light of the corridor creating shadows on his angular face. “Is that what you do? Forget what you see?”

The question hit Lena like a slap. For a moment, the air between them seemed too heavy to breathe.

“I survive,” she finally responded. “It’s what we all do.”

The music in the hall changed to something more lively, as if mocking the tension between them. A loud, fake laugh from Capone crossed the stuffy air, a timely reminder of what awaited them.

Stack held her arm gently, his warm fingers against her cold skin. “There’s a difference between surviving and living, Lena. At some point, we’ll have to choose.”

Before she could respond, he released her and went ahead, emerging into the golden light of the hall like a man without weight on his shoulders, his face already wearing the mask of efficiency that Capone appreciated.

Lena breathed deeply and followed him, the bottle of whiskey in her hands weighing like lead. As she approached Capone’s table, where Stack had already resumed his place, she realized something disturbing–for the first time in years, she felt fear. Not the familiar fear of Capone, of violence or poverty.

It was the fear of possibilities. The fear that perhaps, just perhaps, there were more paths than she had allowed herself to see.

When she placed the bottle before Capone, her eyes briefly crossed with Stack’s. In that silent look, there was an unspoken promise–or perhaps a warning. His eyes, which normally seemed always distant, trapped in a past he never talked about, were now firmly anchored in the present. In Lena. In possibilities too dangerous to name.

“Stack!” Capone’s voice cut through the air. “Where’s your brother tonight? We need the best for tomorrow’s job.”

“Smoke is taking care of that business in the South Side,” Stack replied, his voice returning to its usual formality. “He’ll be here early tomorrow.”

Lena noticed how Stack transformed near Capone–every movement calculated, every expression a perfect mask. It was as if he stacked layers of protection between his true self and the world. Stack. The man who always had something stacked: money, marked cards, too many secrets.

The future was as uncertain as Chicago on a foggy night. But one thing was certain: that meeting in the pantry had planted a seed of doubt that, like the weeds in the city’s abandoned lots, would be difficult to eradicate.

And as Capone raised his glass in a toast, celebrating some bloody victory, Lena knew that something had changed inside her–something silent, dangerous, and irreversible like the tick-tock of a time bomb hidden in the city’s basements.

Nobody knew for sure where Stack had come from, only that he appeared in Chicago–along with his brother–on a night of heavy rain, with a worn suitcase and a look that said he had left more than memories behind. Now, Lena wondered what else he hid behind that gaze which, for a brief moment in the pantry, had lowered its guard only for her.

Heyyyyyyyy,

There's no tag list, I just had to launch something that was burning in my mind as soon as I left the cinema. Feel free to show your love. Until next time 🥹❤️

#sinners the movie #black writers #sinners fanfiction #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #stacks #stackxblack!oc #michael b. jordan #michael b jordan x black fem reader #michael b jordan x oc #ryan coogler #smoke #stackxmary #stackxoc #Elias “Stack” Moore #sinners #stack x black!reader

634 notes · View notes

valeisaslut · 18 days ago

Note

Hey I know you said your inbox is so full right now but I can't get this idea out of my head.

Imagine rockstar!ellie and popstar!reader going to the short and sweet tour and sabrina arresting reader for juno

Plus ellie definitely told reader they are trying the Juno pose later that night!

oh paris. PARIS. you’ve activated something ancient and unspeakable in me with this idea. i’m writing this like i’m on deadline and sabrina herself is standing behind me with a glitter gun. okay so—

IMAGINE COLLIDE'S ROCKSTAR!ELLIE AND POPSTAR!READER GOING TO THE SHORT N' SWEET TOUR!

the short n’ sweet tour. madison square garden. sold out. the air tastes like glitter and overpriced lip gloss. everyone is either wearing little bows or little nothings. sabrina’s deep in her pink glittery bodysuit, hair curled to oblivion, heels high enough to be a safety hazard, walking the stage like it owes her money.

you and ellie are in the VIP section, but it’s not chill. nothing about you two is ever chill. you’re center-left, full view, already clocked by all of the arena. ellie’s in her feral dyke uniform: worn leather jacket. white wife pleaser, low-rise jeans hanging on by a belt and a prayer. sunglasses indoors. gave a shit about the sn's tour dress code. chewing gum like it’s a personality. muttering, “this is gay propaganda” every few minutes.

you, meanwhile, showed up looking like a slutty disco ball. tiny rhinestone corset spelling out “SWEET?” in cursive, miniskirt that keeps riding up, platforms that technically qualify as a weapon. your hair’s perfect, your makeup’s evil. the fans know who you both are. everyone knows.

and sabrina knows who you are.

you’re friends. talk everytime you're in the same award show. follows each other on instagram. she reposted your “please stream short 'n sweet or i’ll cry” story. you reposted her "OMG I LOVED BETTER LIES GO STREAM RN" story. it’s borderline cinematic.

and then—then—the lights go gold. the stage fogs up like a dream. first few chords of “juno” hit like a religious event. sabrina does that slow dramatic hair flip she’s legally required to do before every slutty song, and every single girl in the arena dies at the exact same time. like cardiac arrest, mass gay fainting, someone in section 212 is literally sobbing into her cowboy hat.

and then sabrina starts scanning the crowd, doing her little “juno” hunt. she’s smirking. pacing. absolutely villain-coded. but the second she sees you—she breaks. stops mid-step. flicks her hair, nearly trips over her. looks directly at you.

"omg guys… i got really distracted… this girl is like–so hot i’m going actually insane right now."

the camera cuts to you and it’s over. the entire arena SCREAMS. and you’re mid-scream too, waving your arms, yelling “OMG WHAT THE HELL!! I LOVE YOU SAB!!” like it’s the fucking hunger games and your name just got drawn.

sabrina is cackling. fully turning red. “you guys i think i’ve never fallen in love but... you know... a popstar and popstar relationship goes hard.”

"oh my! my clothes are falling OFF!" then—her long pink glittery skirt drops. unprompted. sabrina just stands there in sparkly miniskirt and boots, shaking her head.

the crowd goes absolutely feral. ellie grabs your thigh like she’s about to restrain you physically. sabrina recovers, smirks at ellie’s direction, and goes:

"i’m sorry to do this in front of you, ellie williams—who is looking extremely hot too, by the way—but... y/n... you’re under arrest for being too hot."

YOU DIE. CROWD DIES. security splits like the red sea. sabrina has the crowd hand-deliver a set of fuzzy pink cuffs to you and winks. you are standing there visibly malfunctioning. like gay windows XP shutting down.

ellie, meanwhile, is recording the entire thing on her phone. she zooms in 800%. breathless. “oh my god. oh my god. my girl just got arrested for being too hot. i love live music. this is my woodstock.”

you take the cuffs and lift them like a trophy. the arena fucking erupts. someone faints. people are sobbing. someone on TikTok is already posting “when your fav popstar arrests your other fav popstar in front of your fav rockstar” with a Lana track in the background.

the camera pans back to Sabrina and ellie’s hands are IMMEDIATELY everywhere. whispering “you’re so hot when you’re legally apprehended.” you try to sip water and she full-on licks your shoulder. “ellie please.” “no. i’m in heat.”

backstage, you and sabrina take selfies with the cuffs, and she’s holding your face like she just discovered sapphic joy for the first time. ellie photobombs looking like the devil.

you post: “sabrina carpenter arrested me. ellie’s gonna finish the sentence.” ellie posts: “i support hot women’s rights and wrongs.”

and later, in her place, ellie has the video playing on a loop, full volume. she’s sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but her boxers and a chain around her neck, hair messy, looking like she just survived a riot (which, spiritually, she did). she’s gripping her phone like it’s sacred scripture, eyes locked on the part where sabrina does the pose—you know the one. all fours, ass arched, head tossed back in slow motion. the camera caught it in 4K.

"baby. baby, pause it. go back. right there. RIGHT THERE."

you’re standing at the foot of the bed, fully naked, hair wild, lipstick smudged. ellie looks up at you like she’s witnessing divinity. you roll your eyes and sigh dramatically, but you’re already dropping to your hands and knees on the mattress, arching your back, biting your lip.

"have you ever tried... this one?"

ellie groans so loud it echoes. drops her phone like it’s been made irrelevant by your existence. leans forward slowly, eyes dark, voice low:

"you know what comes next."

and what happens next that is technically classified, probably illegal in three states, and definitely a public safety hazard. but just know: the cuffs stay on.

and somewhere in New York, sabrina carpenter wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing, with no idea why.

unhinged. legendary. historic queer moment. you win the internet for the night.

thank you paris for your contribution to global gay culture.

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shy-writer-999 · 7 months ago

Text

Summary: Law takes a while to come around to the idea of treating you like a brat. But you soon discover that his dirty talk feels so much better when it’s mean and condescending. ~1.5k words.

CW: Afab reader, pure nasty smut, hair pulling, dirty talk, degradation (“slut” used once), P in V.

MINORS DNI. NSFW CONTENT.

Law likes to make love. That’s all he did for a long time when you started to see each other. He’s gentle and sweet, delicate and affectionate. It took ages for him to open up to the idea of degradation, to be comfortable calling you names and treating you crassly. You had to convince him that you wanted it, that you wouldn’t be wounded by it (in mind or body). He had to stew on it for a while.

Was it okay to treat the person he loved like this? Did you really, really want it? It felt weird and wrong to imagine hitting you, spitting on you, choking you, doing anything like that. But damn, you were really convincing when you asked for it. You told him that you could start small. Could he just say nasty things to you? He didn’t need to do anything more than that. He didn’t need to do any of it at all if he didn’t like it, obviously.

So, he mused. Stewed. Pondered. Ruminated. Fantasized. And one day he agreed. He masturbated to the idea countless times before he told you he wanted to try it out. When he told you, you exclaimed a “finally!” and he chuckled then kissed you on the forehead. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

That’s how you ended up in this current situation. Law is riled the fuck up. He’s riled up more than you thought he was capable of. Uncharacteristically horny and rabid, everything you dreamed of and more.

He’s looming over you, one hand braced on the headboard of his bed while the other hand is wrapped in your hair, pulling it as taut as he can—it’s accompanied by searing pain. Your face is buried in the pillows and he’s fucking you from behind, ruthlessly.

“I know you like it when it hurts, baby, you’re always telling me how good it feels.” Law’s voice is at the same time filthy and sickeningly adoring. It turns out he’s a sadist.

The pain of Law’s hand in your hair emphasizes the pleasure he’s wresting carelessly from your core. Each forceful yank on your strands is met by a guttural moan that rises in your throat. It makes his cock twitch—this is sound that he decides he loves, and it encourages him to pull your hair and ram his cock into you harder.

“Wanna cum L-Law,” his name erupts from mouth, obstructed by the pillows and the fact that your lips turn into an o-shape every time he forcefully plunges his cock into you. It’s as deep as he can get it, fucking into your g-spot so hard that you know you won’t be able to walk after this.

“You wanna cum already? Do you really think I’m gonna let you have it your way?” Law growls and, if you could see them, you’d see that his eyes are feral and scary. He’s hungry for your pleasure, ready to ravage you into oblivion, but you can’t cum yet. You can’t cum until he says so. He hasn’t had his fill yet.

“Are you listening to me? Fucked dumb by my cock already?” His words are broken by an animalistic groan as he feels your walls clench on his cock. He knows you like it when he speaks down to you, when he treats you as some stupid worthless thing that he can’t help but fuck stupider.

You whine and claw at the sheets next to your head. Maybe if you grab fistfuls of the covers, it’ll help you hold off on cumming. That’s always your logic. It never seems to help. As you arch your back, depraved noises trickle through your lips. You can’t form words now, but he can tell by your pitch that you’re begging him to cum.

“You’re really that desperate for my cock? Fucking pathetic, you—you’re a—fuck, fuck, fuuhhhccckkk.” Law is too far gone. His hips clash into your pelvis feverishly, sweat mats his hair onto his temples, and every muscle in his body is tense. He needs more. He hasn’t had enough. It’s never enough.

Law pulls on your hair so hard that you think he’s going to rip it out, and just when it becomes almost unbearable, he releases his grasp and starts to push your head down into the covers. He lets go of his other hand, which is braced on the headboard, and instead brings it to grip painful handfuls of your ass.

He’s rough with you and you like it. It’s like he’s using you for his own enjoyment, completely oblivious to your desires other than the fact that you want to cum and that he doesn’t feel like letting you cum yet.

As you attempt to answer his degrading words, incoherent whimpers escape your lips, stifled and obscene. The nonsensical chokes and yelps spur him on—Law loves it when you lose touch with reality, so fucked out that you can’t think or even look straight. He imagines that the whites of your eyes are the only things visible, and it makes his cock jump.

You’re drooling at this point, fully slobbering on the pillows beneath you. Your cunt throbs around his cock and muffled sounds leave your lips. You couldn’t stop them if you tried. Each pulse of your walls around Law’s thick shaft pushes him closer to his limit.

“You’re so fucking nasty—needy brat, just—fuuuccckkkk, fucking messy for my cock,” his groans are sinful and gravelly as he ruts into your cunt. Every time his head drags on your walls and attacks your soft and gooey spot, more blistering sparks of pleasure dance inside your core. He seeps precum inside of you—it’s an appetizer for what’s to come, namely, the fact that he’s about to fill you up with his seed.

You’re gasping for air amidst the plush covers, whining something desperate that he can’t discern. He gets the basic meaning though—you’re close (again).

“Cum for me,” Law manages to choke the words out, two good thrusts away from exploding in your cunt. “Cream on my cock, you fucking s-slut, milk my cock—wanna feel you cum for me, baby—fuck, fuck— fuck, you’re so good for me.”

His words lapse into affection at the end. He literally can’t help it. He’s degraded the fuck out of you, but now that he’s about to cum, the sweet words spill out. “Your pussy is—fuccck—so wet for me, so good for me, gorgeous, always—fuck, fuck, fuck—always so good for me.”

You finally squirm and writhe under him, toes curling, practically crying, cumming on his cock now that he’s given you permission. While you spasm under him, he convulses and finally reaches his peak. Timing your orgasms so they’re synchronous is like a sport for him. You’re always more than willing to comply.

Delicious and desperate sounds escape Law’s lips as he frantically fucks you full of his cum. When every drop of milky, sticky, salty cum has been squeezed out of his tip into your cunt, when it drips out of your entrance and bathes his cock in hot white fluid, he decides that you can rest. He pulls out of you, and you collapse on the bed underneath him with heaving pants. Your slick and his cum mix into the thick, wiry ring of black hair at the base of his cock.

Law admires the pearly white ring around his cock and watches you crash onto the bed below, limp and smiling. He’s so good to you. No amount of degrading words can convince you otherwise.

“Damn, you’re so fucking needy for me.”

You hum in response, and Law smiles. He savors the sight—his eyes drink up not only you but also what he’s done to you. He sees how he’s taken you apart with lust and put the pieces back together nicely. He’s more than satisfied, one step away from patting himself on the back.

Law decides that you deserve a little bit of sweetness now, because you’re always so good to him, because you were so patient with him, because you indulge in anything he ever wants.

Will it be kisses or cuddling? Perhaps you’d prefer something else? A shower or a massage?

He’ll have to wait to find out, since you still can’t speak, too fucked out from the mind-blowing orgasm he just ripped out of you.

＼(≧▽≦)／this is nothing particularly mind-blowing or spectacular but it is a short and simple smut treat. or at least thats what i told myself as i wrote this. i guess u will be the judge of that >_>

here's my masterlist and here's my posting schedule for october!

also i'll be posting every day from now until oct 31!

finally, trick or treat? (tumblr links)

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watashijeon · 2 years ago

Text

Mon Ange. | KTH

listen while reading — Is there someone else The Weeknd

— I made you mine, or so it seemed. I might as well be two feet tall. You never will love me at all. —

You’re calling out for his name, nothing can kill this moment. He feels sweetness and ease.. never has he let himself slip. But tonight is his birthday or so it was hours before.

Nonetheless, nothing could kill the stillness.

"Hm?" he’s mumbling with his speech, nose buried into pretty flushed skin. He feels confused, feeling you still when your words came out so blurred in his mind.

“I have to tell you something.”

Completely lost now where this was going, he stills his touch. Awkward and stiff, you make eye contact for what you are about to say.

He doesn’t understand the build up, he just wish you would say what it was. Maybe you had to take some time away from him due to your work.. he understood, he didn’t mind that.

"I think we should end our arrangement."

Oh. It’s so different from what he had just suspected, why does his heart feel like it just plummeted to another oblivion of nothing?

Taehyung doesn’t care, he’s undisciplined and chaotic with his very few next actions.

You need to leave. Freezing up, ready for his immediate impulse, because you know him like the back of your hand. The man picks you right off from his lap, rather rough and he would have time to regret on the meanness of it later.

He’s quick to pointing his hand open palm stiff and stern to the now sad wrinkled dress on the floor that laid lonely.

“Well, go on then.”

Your eyes looked at him pained, you had not a clue what his reaction really meant but you moved. Wiggling on your dress, back faced to him before looking once more to see his distracted stare. He is so out of it now, he doesn’t know.

“You understand.. right, Tae?” oh why must you speak so sweet to him using his shorten nickname in that especially nauseating sweet voice, even the way you are ending this is a million times nicer than he has ever ended a fling with a person.

“I do, bye.”

He’s being so mean, harsh and rude.

Taehyung hopes you won’t dwell on it or let it hurt your heart like it will to his very own.

But somehow he wants it to pain you, make you feel the same burn and ripping he feels in his chest right now. What did he do wrong?

“Goodbye Taehyung.” and that was it, the door clicked and so did his very front one. Left with the forbidden but likely delicious and perfect red velvet cake you’ve made, and a gift that sat perfectly next to it wrapped in his favorite color for wrapping paper on his kitchen island.

And indeed you had to make his favorite cake flavor, meaning you remembered the stupid detail when he told you on a night together.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

He remembers so clearly on the morning you stayed after for the first time coming over for six months. The two of you had lazed in his bed between tangled limbs and sheets “I will, I will protect you.” your lips dropped into a pout tracing your nimble finger over the man’s jaw.

How could you even say that when you leave him not much later, he doesn’t get it. This isn’t like you at all. Maybe being in pained denial he couldn’t accept the sore fact that someone made the first move on with abandonment.

You weren’t supposed to lie, it’s uncalled for and unacceptable. But even deep down the man knew he was being ignorant, he’s lied to many people to avoid hurt and it was his own field of career to lie if necessary.. that’s all you were trying to do.

The man can’t dare to muster up to think you have a bad bone in your little body that was filled of nothing less of kindness. But right now he won’t be rational with his assumptions.

He’s angry and selfish with dire need for your presence now all over again, no matter the situation that this is. But whatever really, big deal that you are gone. He will find someone else to fuck his life into, you are no different from any other living human with a hole.

…

He pauses.

Never mind that, fuck that. He deserves a good and perfect reason for why you did this.. leaving him in the dark, quite literally. Taehyung can't stand not talking to you even if he never took time to speak so much into your conversations. He still appreciated all of your efforts and presence you put into whatever what you had was, now it’s all fucking gone.

He used to act upon impulse when he would have multiple play things through out the month. But you, you make him stop to think. It makes him wrinkle his nose because he does not have a clue why you turn him to be this way. It’s simply you being you, no spell.. no great manipulation in your words. Just you.

In the beginning of this arrangement he was reluctant given the age gap, especially with the relation that you were a long time family client of his.

Once he became enthralled with someone.. he could say it took a lot to kill it.

You weren’t the only one that had the privilege, he’s turned thirty two this year and definitely doesn’t have enough fingers to count on with how many girls he has used up and nicely dumped off to the side — kindly.

Sparing the honest reason that he needs to focus on his career before weeks later he would latch claws into his new toy, it’s only painstakingly different now.

Much different because he had never held onto a “toy” for over a few months at a time, the man liked variety and trying new things. With you in the picture, it was sickening at the fact that he grew real attachment to every little thing about you. It made him want you more. While he is nothing great of the sort for you, he was only a warm body to give you what was desired. You gave him your body and time, in return he would give you lust driven pleasure.

He was the one who established what you two were from the great beginning, he was not allowed to feel betrayed and cheated. Someone could hate him and he would cackle at that, a girl could scream at the stoic man and he’d chuckle again. Once you lose his interest there is no winning him back, it's as if getting stuck in a never ending pit of quick sand that could swallow you in pitiful eyes. He thinks it’s valid to feel this way, he’s coming to terms with the whole ordeal of what all this was.

Being your damn family lawyer and you had met him when you were the young age of nineteen, a mere baby. It definitely took some time for him to be ok with the fact that he would end up fucking you almost weekly with your given age — he’s not a pervert.. right? But you were a mature girl as you grew up, he liked you for this reason.. different and good for whatever he wanted and still you set healthy boundaries not letting him walk over your toes.

Time will pass nicely, right? He will be fine and move on — find someone even better. A little reflecting won’t hurt his soul.

It has been a little over two months since the grouch for a man has seen you, turning slowly into the twentieth century version for Scrooge.

Promising himself each day he would not give in and call you, you will be the one to run back.

He’s been saying that to himself since the day you up and left.. now his very once high and wild ego was now dwindling day by day and he is pissed beyond belief, because wow, wowww. You really did leave him as if he planned to do the exact for you in the beginning of meeting with you, that was before he caught a liking and it was only for your body, of course.

Yes.. that’s what is was. It was only really your gorgeous body that gave him pleasure to see you again and again, never mind the fact of your amazing personality or one of a kind glowing aura that brought a sweet genuine smile on his usual crest fallen features.

Broken from his reverie he’s receiving a call, he’s been sat still buried in his office since six am. It’s how he gets through his days to not think about you or testing the waters of calling.

The phone clicks and clatters, he needs to get himself a new desk phone or better yet just buy another smartphone. Huffing and puffing, he inhales and exhales seeing the caller id.

“Hello, it’s been awhile sir.”

It’s your father, he has to fake a front for the sake of niceties and also being civil because your very own damn dad has been using the Kim’s for any law or business relations since Taehyung was probably born, he’ll complain and grumble later on to a nice white wall of his.

“Oh yes! Things have been crazed.”

Taehyung really wonders about that, a hotel tycoon can only get so wild and crazed.. right?

“Hmm, I understand. What can I help you with.”

“Ah, Mr Kim. let’s get down to it—“ the grinch for a man licks and licks his lips again out of great big habit, becoming nervous of the lingering for just how long it takes this man to get to a point. Many clicks and clattering over the other line.. the older would continue.

“So, I need to talk through some paperwork with you regarding about merging contracts.”

“Go on, sir.” he can’t be this vague.. come on. Shouldn’t he know better than to speak so small about important shit, god help his ticking time bomb for patience being not a virtue.

Ping

If silence could kill it would be deathly here and now, he receives the paper work faxed over. A skim and scan later — Taehyung feels his heart plummet to places beyond his comprehension.

It’s just so now, he realizes your father has been blabbering about whatever this whole time.

“What is this all for?”

His eyes ogle and ogle for more than a few times he could count, reading the bold letters of “Marital License and Contract Briefing.”

“Well if it wasn’t obvious, our dear y/n is going to get married next month. We have set her up with the perfect man who is a well respected hotelier heir, a perfect match for our family.”

Of course.. of course your father would set you up with a person that is in the same position of business as him, you probably had no word or real say in this. God, why does he feel wrath and anger. He wants to rip his hair out straight.

He should be happy for you, your new husband to be probably feels like home in his arms.

So much that he bets he mends you with warm healing long hugs, and utterly disgusting kind smiles that remind you of honey mixed into sweet vanilla, your very two favorite things.

He continued to offer your father a tight-lipped smile as if he could see him through the phone, briefly looking up from the contracts on his computer screen — faxed papers sitting nice and crisped on his desk. He thinks it’s best he ends this call now before he yells off.

“Ok sir, I’ll look over them and we will discuss the terms and things that will be strewn.”

“Oh that is great to hear! I invite you over tomorrow for tea, we will discuss all of the paperwork then. Yes?”

He won’t allow himself to think about that, he will agree just to get off this damn phone call.

“Yes sir, I’ll see you then, good night.”

Click.

He’s here, he can’t believe he actually came.

Sat in the way too high ceilings for a living area, he will blame it on why he feels this nauseated. God, he knows you live here obviously. It’s been your parents odd and traditional rule until you were ready to move out when they thought it was best, you always said that was why you still stayed with them. What he didn’t know was the bizarre underlying conditions were marriage.

“Ah Kim, here we are.” The meeting begins and ends with the blink of an eye.

It went awful in Taehyung’s eyes, he really didn’t want to hear about you getting married off for a great three hours. It left the man wanting to seethe and bite his mouth off until the older would finally shut up to take a puff or sip of liquor.

Then on he tried to laugh with your father.. even when it felt as if pearly teeth might crack with only how hard his jaw flexed shut.

Your father welcomes the man to stay over for only awhile longer, he won’t accept it, kindly.

He has to get going.. because someone (Taehyung) couldn’t handle on what all just happened. While the hag of your father thought it was a good idea to step out and take a call.

15 minutes before

It’s been minutes now and your father isn’t back, Taehyung decides to dwell around with his eyes to gawk at the various family portraits hung from generations before and other astray framed photographs of little you and family.

He has the urge to trace his finger along the frames but he won’t, definitely not now.

“Tae..?”

Like clockwork, Taehyung’s head cocks in nanoseconds to the spiraled staircase you stood by, gripping on the bar to keep stance.

You look gorgeous right now, still the same as before. He can’t help but let his eyes trail over your legs, he’s no better than any other man. He decides he can’t stare for much longer though, clearing his throat to cock his head off to the side in mimicking a fake neck crack.

“Hello.” he decides on, licking lips for the trillionth time and resting hands into pockets.

Your stare doesn’t stutter elsewhere, you copy him yourself — licking lips except only slower and more tantalizing. Or that’s how he sees it. He hated confrontation, one of his favorite things about you though.. is you’d ask too many questions every time you were around. He’d act like he hated it, but bathed in the attention and attentive wide eyes you once had all for him.

It’s only none of the many questions you’d ask would ever provoke the man to deflect, bother him up the wall and make him drop you soon later in his own sheer annoyance like usual. It’s happened to others, he’s an asshole but he could care less because at least he is honest.

Seeing you now gives him bitter sweetness for deja vu, the memory to when he saw you for the first time when you were eighteen — never having an ounce of interest in you then. You were a pesky teenager though, ogling the man like sweet candy for your taking. Nothing unusual he hadn’t encountered before.. only ever moving forward to do his job and ignore it.

That helped some.

Both of you finally interacted properly then when you were twenty, clear that you had matured fast and you were well with holding good conversation. While.. your dear father ran around with his head cut off like a chicken and leaving a bored lawyer Kim to wait for set business meetings to be done, you were lovely company at least.

Then somehow.. something happened, the day where he took your virginity in your childhood bathroom — it was your 21st birthday after all.

It was almost too universal how the world wanted you two to be alone at this awful time. But the moment happened so fast maybe too fast if he wants to dwell on it now, only once comforting the weeping girl that trembled in his arms to have you seconds under his grasp.

You had to, just had to look down at him with those puppy dog eyes choking a mere sob of “Am I not important.. is that what it is Tae?”

God he hated how you said his name, so sweet and quiet. Full of vulnerability and sadness.

He couldn’t allow a pretty girl like you, sobbing over something so minuscule on her birthday, he had a great plan of course. Comfort? No.

Fuck the sadness out of you, it will do you well.

It’s shameful at how he’s too old for your young sweet heart that still had much to see and live.. he’s nothing but rotten fruit at best.

But why did he want to stay selfishly so.

Your eyes did it in for him, they always did..

Corny and sappy he thinks.

He tries to move on with the passing thoughts of why do you need to be claimed now when he was starting to think he could have tried. He hopes you had at least one passing thought yourself of the what ifs and hows.

Present

All but nothing of silence settles between the two of you, no words are exchanged past that.

Eventually steps dissipate further from him to hear, you leave after the stare off you both shared — thankfully your father interrupts.

It’s been a few hours since you last saw him, you knew way before he was going to dial your phone. Doing exactly this, after your third attempt to ignore the countless calls you press accept to hear the expectant drawl of your name in stupor.

You’re sure he’s grinning dumb and widely boxy, almost as if youth takes over for these very small tipsy minutes. His vulnerability is clearly yours now, it’s so viable at how bad he is vying for attention.

You prepare yourself, clearing your throat and speaking as clear and stern as one could be.

“Hello?”

“Hmmmhmm, hello.”

There’s a pause, awkward, but he’s drunk so he likely doesn’t recognize the rising tension.

“Yes, Taehyung?”

There’s a giggle..? Oh my god he just giddily giggled at your voice. No, no your heart isn’t doing backflips — you’re just concerned.

“At your door, open sesame.” you can hear him try to knock like a madman — even if there’s visibly a buzzer that’s meant to be there so insiders could hear from the size of your parent’s insanely huge home.

Drunk Taehyung doesn’t know that though.

Fuck well, ok you guess. Thank god your father isn’t home for the night — you begin to panic but you can dissolve situations fine, it’s your strong suit or one of the many of them at least.

You practically lunge from your bed to tumble over down the stairs, trying to keep him half entertained while you tunnel yourself to the door before the maids could see the odd sight.

Being quiet as you can be with unlocking the door, Taehyung makes it no issues to pull a dramatic scene. Already seconds in through the door staring you down, like any other would be scared of the predatory stare.

But this is Taehyung, he would never hurt you.

All you can do, Slowly watching him advance at you skittering back until you’re pressed to the wall. He doesn’t touch you, leaned against the victorian wall with each hand on either side trapping you between him.

He won’t stop there yet, drawling your name out in a drunken purr “Aw-huh. Angel, you got yourself stuck..what are we going to do now?" like no moral was ever created — toes curled into wooden floors from the deep baritone voice awakening all of your weaken senses.

You try, trying so damn hard and ignore it.

Staring hard into empty eyes, his bags are awfully visible and you wonder if he’s even slept lately.

You’re so tiny and frazzled by his abrupt actions, feeling him slide a warm hand up to your stomach to trail barely under your tits. The same said empty eyes sharpen at your slip of a pathetic whine, closing you into the wall a tad too close for comfort to make you both bump into each other’s chest.

“Wanna fuck this pretty cunt again.”

His words boom into you everywhere, from head to toe and places you wouldn’t like to acknowledge that throbbed with need. Doomed, definitely, that’s what you are.

You can only exhale feeling a warm shiver travel down your spine from the daring slip of drunken tongue. Able to pull enough strength to squeak a soft response “L-let’s lay down.”

It was your best bet to avoid from ruining your impending future, you won’t allow no more mishaps to happen. It’s all for your father.

He settled off with a hum, you were surprised he’d backed off. Maybe the man recognizing the nervousness in your tone, “Lead the way.”

It’s quiet now, too tense for your liking but you can’t do anything you think to help the off situation. Laid in your bed next to each other with a foot of space between your bodies.

It’s uncanny how alike this situation reminds you of some movie you watched with the man.

You feel like you’re steps away from saying the infamous line of “Lying Is the Most Fun a Girl Can Have Without Taking Her Clothes Off.”

You won’t have a second to think longer when the big bear decides to speak up into the unknown of silence that had lasted for a long hour, “I get it.. yeah, you don't love me, big fucking deal.”

Silence, absolutely nothing back.

“I’ll never tell you how I really feel, angel.”

Your breath was being held for seconds until he decides to follow with cockiness, there it is.

Always showing a slip of vulnerability followed with the man being plain rude. It’s the way your eyes roll that cause a gasp to stutter from him, almost like he didn’t expect your attitude nor harsh yet honest reaction.

He won’t comment on it properly, never does.

“Hold me.” he mumbles while simultaneously grumbling, trying his definition in hard to get you closer than whatever.. this is. Your brow ticks at him head shifting to properly face his pouted features from his side profile, feeling up for the need to deny him only a bit.

“What? Stop mumbling.”

He won’t take a pause this time, thankfully.

“Hold me goddammit.” he huffs and puffs out even louder — yet incoherently all in the same breath. Taehyung coughs, trying to clear his throat and mocks you with a roll in his own eyes of annoyance, like you did something.

That time you did “hear” him and you did what was asked by the big grizzly bear, only you turned to him closer now — seeing that wry smile on his cruel but godforsaken pretty face.

The spiral begins, you and him are going to give into this hell of fire.. only letting it grow uncontrollable by the end of night.

Are you going to do well without me?

Are we ever going to be okay?

Will we ever be fine?

You were too good to be forgotten in his heart.

It was too quiet in this room, silent and tense.

Taehyung felt nothing but regret, fucking stupid as he closed his eyes and mumbled these pitiful words.

Stupid, as he continued to speak gibberish into the room. I feel stupid. I am stupid.

You finally give up on the swallowing of the never ending silence and endless mumbling under his breath, tongue dry trying to clear your throat so to maybe finally speak — maybe even summon him back, and he does. It works because he lets his eyes finally open back.

You tug him into your chest wasting no more time when there’s not much, arms wrapped tight around his stiff figure that takes only just a minute to loosen once he realized you weren’t going to push him back anymore.

It’s not much different though, his nails still pierced into his forearm with thin lips folded into teeth to feel anything but what this is right now. You were staring at him, Taehyung, your father’s lawyer, your first crush and realization that you really only like and desire older men.

Now wishing you’d rather have gone to therapy instead of pursue that day in the bathroom.

You don’t mean that actually, you just hate yourself at this very moment and so does he.

But this wasn't the Taehyung you knew, wasn't the same man with styled hair and sultry eyes.. looking now as real life death in your arms.

You weren’t trying to be harsh nor hateful, you were worrying your heart out and confirming all the racing thoughts you have figured to be maybe going on. Only for them to come to life. He looks unreal tonight, almost unnatural from his usual sun kissed skin. No more sharpness to his look, the man looks fucking sick.

You want to coddle him to death, your own heart feels like it’s going to lurch right out from it’s chest by any second now if he keeps looking at you with those sad puppy dog eyes. This was not the look you yearned to see, you hated it all so much.

“Well.” clearing his throat, trying to prove something into air. Maybe it’s a lawyer instinct.

You repeat back to him without a beat to really think, “Well..” you use the same tone of voice but maybe yours wavered more in raw pain. The man wordlessly continued to stare like always, holding your hand tight in his grip in bringing it up to his lips. You should reject his warm touch, leave even, run far.

But why are you still laying here.. melting away.

He was being this gentle and just careful, you would giggle if the situation weren’t tense now.

Long fingers playing with lips, digits ghosting over your cheek with a soft caress. You can’t help but shut your own tired eyes, melting more and more and it was just like that.

His control is gone, so fast and fluidly when your lashes fluttered to cold skin. Whispering his name too sweet and soft almost in prayer.

"We can’t.. it would be wrong.” it’s insane how you knew his intentions from the speed his hands traveled to the material of your night dress.

"So fucking wrong," he becomes almost too ready with heavy pants of hot breath kissing your jaw and neck.

Eager calloused thumbs rubbing circles into your hips that were on the brink of trembling.

You whine at the tone he uses, becoming easy to his invasion "Don't.. don't speak like that." Eyes heavy lidded, lips licking with each breath that exhaled from your stuttering chest.

He wants you dead it seems, feeling up your body more and more by every passing second before easy fingers would get to your chest.

"I'm wrong like that.. you like it," the man preaches with determined digits this time skimming back down onto your hips to hear his favorite strangled whines "you want it.”

"Ah.. T-tae” it’s pathetic.. sounding asthmatic in your own ears from mere fingers grazing you rough.

"Who's married? Certainly not you, yet."

You pause to mull it over, eyes falling into his.

He truly doesn’t care now, past gone. Nothing can stop this — you need him.. your sweet eyes tell almost all too fucking well for him to know.

He's moving on autopilot when he pulls you to him with no awareness of anything around him, the man frenzied with his only living goal to feel you wrapped around him. Whether it be with loose limbs or his all well endowed cock buried deep between warm tightness, he needed to feel you again.

Your gasps fall out too soft to be surprised at the sudden roughness, murmuring whining moans that fell into a mantra of "We can't..” tiny cries that quickly later start falling into hungry kisses while neither of you had an ounce of intention to stop, no matter the end of it.

Lips already collided against each other in a perfect mess of motion, tongues lolled out of your mouthes as the pleasure binds you both.

It’s disgusting now, strings of drool dribbling to your chest from every pause he took to pull and nip. The man grabs your scalp, yanking you head back against his shoulder. Jaw slack open to give him the prettiest mouth for him to gladly spit right down onto your tongue, so pathetic all for his demise.

Doing all the nothing but moaning and swallowing, open mouth with all your might.

Leaving a desperate plea in sparkly eyes while you wait impatient for his next move, you missed him. Eyes yearning and lips quivering, legs shaking so early on and yet.. your spine just might go limp quite soon.

You whine almost instantaneously and nothing less of desperate while the devious man began to nibble harshly down on your neck with small bites of love.

Moving on nothing but anger and bubbled feelings at surface, shoes being removed, with the stubborn zipper of your night dress slipping down from your shoulders as hungry lips explored every inch of skin that became exposed.

So quick, licking a wet stripe down your chest to stomach to feeling you shake with desire and need, tasting the want for you on his tongue.

“Hmm, your poor husband to be.”

He hated that, hated the fact that you were about to belong to someone. He knew he wanted and needed you to feel the burn that he had been feeling for months since then.

"I'm not t-telling," you can barely form a sentence let alone a proper sound that didn’t make you sound out to be like a deprived slut.

The man can’t do much other than scoff, you having the strength to use that reassuring tone— with such a soft tone and bat pretty doll eyes in lost of such easy pleasure given.

Looking this fucking gorgeous and it’s going to be all for someone else, not him ever “I know angel, not with the way i’m about to fuck you.”

Like clockwork you moan like a bitch at that, of course. Feeling him sink razor sharp canines down into the squishy flesh of your stomach.

Uncaring completely for the fresh marks, he would hope in your future meeting with that man.. you wouldn’t become so easy to show yourself off for him. Sliding his fingers from your stomach down over to your cunt, slipping long digits between sopping wetness — sticky as if you already had touched yourself earlier.

He’s growing impatient, on the aspect of stretching you out when he so gladly craves to stuff you four fingers full. But he’s a gentleman at his very best, always calling out for him in non-stop “T-tae..” or better yet “Touch me, I’m sorry, I’ll be good.” without any doubt he would answer “Anything for the angel.”

Your thighs already shake from the burn of /slowly/ fucking yourself on long fingers. Tears streaming, overwhelmed by the burning stretch that comes with each motion, soon quiet sniffles and soft gasps turn into sobbing when the man decides to snake his hand and start to tease and slowly circle your clit.

“So perfect, all for me, hm.”

You nod eager to please, blushing all the way down to your toes. Biting your lip, thoughts not holding very well against the feeling of the eager man’s middle finger now slipping out from you to part your cunt and stroke along the sore slit.

“Patient tonight? You must want it bad.” he sighs almost sounding bored, standing tall over you to undo the belt that once looped through his slacks. Long gone leather abandoned to the floor along with his slacks pooled at his ankles, ready, finally.

“You gotta be nice and quiet for me. Yeah? Can you do that for me?”

You’re way past desperate tonight, choking out a broken “Y-yes, fuck! Please.” wild hips winding up for more of the now lost touch.

The older plays coy, smirking lopsided and lazy, kneeling on the bed to line himself up to the pretty plump cunt. Long digits wrapped around his cock, "Open up for me baby."

She obeys immediately, legs opening wider to shakily wrap themselves around Taehyung’s waist. His hips up to slip his cock into the crease of your folds. Grinding there half tipsy now, leaky tip nudging at your clit.

Not wasting another second, the first push of stretch has you whining his name. Long nails piercing into taut honey skin, cock fucking in ruthless at the long thrusts that heat your core up, forming sweat down his neck and shoulders.

“Goood fucking girl.” He drawls with a husky moan, you want to die at how fucking hot he sounds.

He doesn’t care, going faster to no point of being coherent in your mind. Punishing strokes fucking the life out of you, snapping his cock right into your tight cunt. One hand bruised into your hip while the other slipped easily around your neck just enough to have you alert “Look me in the eyes when I’m fucking you.”

Lashes fluttering half open, looking with a fuzzy minded daze. Knowing you look like a slut, feeling drool drip everywhere along with the slickness between your legs. Coming to the reality you would let him do anything and you’d welcome it.

"Just like that baby, shit, taking my cock so fucking good," he grunts almost feral with every punishing stroke "Y-yes, " tiny voice choking out, slamming into you with hips winding harder if that was even humanely possible "Love it so much, I-love your cock.”

“Who’s a whore, uh? Who’s desperate for cock.”

“Tell me.” he growls slowing the roll of his hips into you to pull a desperate cockslut spill a mess of “Me, me, me.” you’re hyperventilating almost with how good he feels “M-me, I’m sorry!” god, the situation is a mess but he wouldn’t be lying if he wasn’t thinking about filling his load in you and pray to the man above that your birth control didn’t work.

feeling walls grow tighter and tighter, knowing the telltale signs you were about to cum.

“Perfect fucking girl, sucking me so tight.”

“S-stop..” you whine in embarrassment with a broken sob when you feel the devil himself sink deeper, balls deep inside you now.

Back and forth, back and forth.

An addictive dance, once friendly boundaries expanding to something that was speaking what will stay unspoken. Taehyung’s cock sliding so good inside your cunt you were dying with bliss for the night.

He can see you struggle to try and put a hand over your mouth, but the man won’t allow that. Snatching your hand in his grasp “Let her hear," he growls, referring to the maids and starts to fuck the life out of your cunt with no care for how loud you moan or scream.

"Y-your slut," you stutter, feeling him start to raise his hips to meet your weak attempt of grinding back, thrusting upward and matching your sloppy speed. "wanna b-be your slut."

His ego growing higher than before and dick hard as ever, Taehyung taunts, already knowing the answer by your dazed features.

“Oh yeah?” he pants grunting with every roll of his hips, and you can do nothing but give him what he wants. On the brink of tears you whine out broken moans, “So fucking bad, please Tae.”

“Come on." the taller’s strokes turning slow and hard, each one pulling a moan from sweet agape lips. "Cum on my cock.” you’re past coherent, cock drunk with drool slipping down your chin.

The ecstasy bursting through your body at an unimaginable rate,legs feel almost numb, smaller fingers gripping your sheets so hard. Taehyung already knew you would rip them off the corners of your bed, seeing how your own skin burned. Orgasm still sending ripples throughout your tiny body. Shaking as you came down from the high, cock buried deep, cum spilling inside as he keeps your body pressed together, skin to skin. His nose buried in the crook of longer sweaty strands of hair.

You begin to feel the feather kisses he mouthed over the expanse of your neck, his body quivering with the last of his cum filling you up.

“Fuck, yeah, ok.” is all he can do to respond, you can only hum in response as you’re being fucked so mind-numbingly good. Body moving along the bed as you’re fucked open for the year.

Your blissed-out state has the man feeling on top of the world, no case he’s won ever given him this much ecstasy for this feeling of high.

Knowing that the same woman he's been getting off to for months, that was only planned to be handed over to someone else is finally getting fucked. His pretty not so sweet angel drooling all for him, ruined for good by just his cock.

The floaty feeling back to how it was, only stronger than ever, the way Taehyung feels so right up against you.

He comes from his feverish moment of just drilling into you, no awareness for how overwhelming it may be. A smaller hand trying to grab his hand to make him stop, he sees nothing less of rage.

"Move your fucking hand.” he snaps with a hiss, snatching your hand in an iron like grasp.

“only I can touch you like this.” he states, hard and stern as if it’s a plead mixed into question. “Yeah?” of course he has to slap you for you to answer, braindead and cock hungry.

“Yes, all for you!” you squeal, body curling into yourself — he begins to dwell how there is not a real thought behind your eyes but his fingers and cock bearing your only passable thoughts.

He wants to laugh, your poor husband is about to be inadvertently about to be cucked.

You moan at how rough he’s being, every yank, spanking and slap getting you more than riled up. Rambling the typical ‘I love you, I love your cock.’

He’s aggravated, not sure why, deep down knowing. "Look at me and tell me what you want.” no way to receive an answer unless he squeezed a generous hand around your throat.

“Y-you, you, fuck!”

It’s not enough, he wants to laugh at his greediness that will not sate him ever.

Again and again, back and forth. Another slap landed across each apple red cheek, going harder each lashing.

“Again.”

You repeat yourself again, hm, still not enough.

He’s done with himself, frustrated and choosing to vomit his words.

“You’re mine, get that through your fucking head.” his thrusts were past hard and fast, bruising now. He grunted and groaned while you continued to moan and whimper beneath him, going so rough he decided to push your skull deep into the bed. Warm palm covering your face whole, feeling you squeeze involuntarily at being used like an object.

“Atta girl.” He didn't stop, not once. You weren’t asking to anyways just screaming his name for more — no mind here with nodding away into a mess full of bedsheets, trying to wind wobbly hips back on his cock to bounce lewdly.

Taehyung does nothing less but snap sharply against your ass, “So fucking tight, mine."

"C-cum in me tae," you moan, seeing white, reaching down blindly to rub your clit in frantic circles, begging at the idea of the older filling you with his cum. "Fill me up, give-give me a baby."

"Fuuuck," Taehyung growls and groans almost feral "Don't fucking say that shit."

"W-why not?" bratty whines beg “F-fill me up? Don't say that?"

Taehyung grunts, pulling you on him, chest to chest, you clamor to wrap shaky arms around his neck. Fuck, he’s holding you upright, bouncing you straight onto his cock. Falling forward with a squeal, crying in pleasure as the tip of his cock hits your cervix with how deep he is inside.

"Want my cum so fucking bad?" he hums, trying his best to sound unbothered. "I'll fucking give it to you then."

Your legs clamp around his waist as he pounds into you, cock hitting every point inside your body and you’re so close you think you’ll die. You feel Taehyung tense, and then a sudden gush of warmth fill you.

"Fuck me, angel. You feel so good." he gasps through l shut teeth spanking you with every thrust he gave.

At the feeling of him actually listening to what you always wanted, your orgasm blinds you in intensity, the tight coil in your stomach finally snaps. Body seizing, moans loud against his lips, whining a final tired cry to slow down.

The baby clip once stuck to hair now hung loose, the feeling of warm hands kneading hips before he would give harsh slaps to your ass.

"What do you think he would say," he spits out the name with nothing but disgust. “if he saw you like this?" He shifts his hips, "You think he'd ruin your orgasm?" tone patronizingly sympathetic. “Or.. let you cum so prettily, like you always do.”

He tsks at watching how disoriented daze eyes go through the five stages of grief. Writhing in pleasure as eyes fall closed, breath hitched when he finally lays you back down on the bed. Thighs sticky and all, he sighs at the sight.

“Want to show this cunt off to the world."

“Y-you can’t..” you pout, his eyes watching you fall apart all over again at just words being spoken to you.

“Good thing for secrets.” he smirks his mouth almost falling into a snarl, it wasn’t even spoken this would continue. One last time you agreed.. but you want him more than ever even if your situation is doomed.

“Bath?” he mutters with a whisper of soft kisses to your temple, you nod.

He grabs for his cigarettes, you hand him his lighter and wait until the deed was done so you could put them back off to the side again.

It’s been long since you both have took a bath together. He stretches his arms after he successfully calmed his nerves, you light the stick for him, eyes on him as he throws his head back to inhale. Blowing smoke out, body lazing while it filled with nicotine.

You like calm men, men who dont shout or break things when they’re upset. Men who talked to you in a gentle, low voice telling you what made them mad or what you did wrong.

That’s what Taehyung is to you, that’s what made you fall.. hard. You think it over all again in your current predicament, comfortable as ever.

Veiny caramel hands pulling your hips up in the bath for you to be settled nicely. A warm hand fondles your ass lovingly with his other taking puffs of smoke to inhale and exhale lazily, “My pretty girl.” he smiles lopsided before tugging your wobbly hips back down in relief, enjoying the way you whimpered and whined in your own way of retaliation.

Taking mercy before planting a wet kiss on your shoulder to whisper “I love you, Angel.”

Both of you decide on staying silent. Your back rests against his chest, deciding mutually to speak once the cigarette burnt into ashes.

“Does he make you feel safe, like I do?”

You don’t answer.

“I want you, you’re mine no matter what.”

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

You are married now.. being due with a fast wedding to no love involved, business as the main goal.

The meets with Taehyung continue and you two make time to fuck when you can — poor Namjoon.

It hurts he thinks.. hurts so bad. Because he’ll have to look at you every month when you come over to be fucked into whatever.

While he is out handling business, leaving him in the spot to fuck you hard and good like he can’t, at least he tried to convince himself of that for his own comfort.

You keep up with the old routine of pillow talk, just to feel the same mundanity this once all was. You think, he doesn’t care what you speak of after he only just poured his dull sad soul into fucking you.

Not caring at how you talk so highly of your new husband and how well you both are adapting with each other. Rambling all on about your blossoming relationship with him, hearing you nervously speak of the plans on having kids together.

Of course not nervous on his behalf, no, no.

Because you are deathly nervous about if you will be a good mother or not, he knows you will, even if things are like this. You think it doesn’t hurt him, when you say genuinely on how he’ll be the “Cool friend of Mommy’s” to your children.

It drives a knife deep into my heart on how you speak so highly of this new life, how well you are adapting. When.. we could have had this.

“Tae..? You there?”

He’s not caring to respond to your rhetoric question that was all well laced of genuine care and worry, Taehyung can be an asshole just this once.

“Do you know what you are?”

You think this is a game of teasing now, he can tell with that pretty smirk plastered on your gorgeous face “What am I, sir?”

It’s too bad that he’s being genuinely serious.

“You’re my girl.”

You don’t take a second to pause, you play into the narrative with a grin that quickly warped into an innocent and sweet smile.

“I’m your girl, Taehyung.”

He only knew that you meant the world to him.. and he, adored you in his mind until it hurt.

#bts fan fiction #bts ff #bts smut #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung fic #taehyung smut #taehyung x yn #taehyung x oc #taehyung x reader #taehyung ff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung pwp #bts angst #kim taehyung angst #bts au #bts aus

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starrdream · 6 days ago

Note

would you be up to doing a nsfw alphabet for Anakin? If so thank you!

Absolutely! Mind you I've never done this so my apologies if I messed some letters up.

Anakin Skywalker nsfw alphabet

A = Aftercare

Anakin is big on aftercare. If he doesn’t take care of his sweet girl after wearing her out so thoroughly then who will? He’ll cuddle you and make sure you’re okay. Depending on time of day you guys make food together or go out to eat afterwards.

B = Body part

He likes all of his muscles, really. He spent all those years training and loves it when you pine over them. On you, let’s be real, everything. He loves absolutely everything about you. But Anakin is definitely a tits guy. Loves sucking, groping and doing literally anything with them.

C = Cum

Absolutely loves to cum on and in you. Likes to do it on your tits when in missionary and your face when you’re giving him head. It just turns him on even more to see your skin soaked in his release.

D = Dirty secret

Before the two of you ever started dating, Anakin was down bad. Since the cheap holovids weren't cutting it anymore, he'd use the force to make visions of you naked and masturbate off of that. Once he even tried to manipulate your thoughts into having rather inappropriate dreams of him. Never really worked though.

E = Experience

Aotc!Anakin is definitely inexperienced and almost completely clueless. Rots!Anakin on the other hand..This man knows what to do, when and how to please you. He probably knows what you like better than you do.

F = Favorite position

Anakin has a few favorites. He fucks you in missionary and cowgirl the most. His absolute favorite would probably be reverse cowgirl because it’s equally hot and intimate-the way he can be as close, touchy and as foul as he wants really gets him going. He can do anything-play with your tits and clit, spank your ass into oblivion. Even better if it’s in front of a mirror. If you guys are fucking anywhere but the bed and the couch he’ll do it doggystyle. It’s the easiest and most comfortable one, especially in the kitchen and shower. Always up for anything you wanna try.

G = Goofy

Anakin is a tease by nature and I feel like he’d drop a harmless tease when he thinks it’s appropriate. Nothing serious that could ruin the mood though.

H = Hair

He’s not the type to be clean shaven 24/7 but he does his best to keep it neat. Same goes for all the other hair on his body-shaved, gets waxed, gets regular haircuts etc.

I = Intimacy

Absolutely yes. He believes that that’s the first and most important thing to worry about in moments like these. He’s usually super caring during sex and will whisper the sweetest things to you.

J = Jack off

Aotc!Anakin would jerk off a bunch. I’m talking as many times he could fit in a day. He is a horny teenager after all. When he’s on missions with Obi-wan and, for obvious reasons, can’t get a few minutes for himself he’ll get annoyed and frustrated.

Rots!Anakin doesn’t jerk off often. Maybe once or twice every two weeks. Why would he need to? He has you. He only jerks off if you’re not there or he’s away. Prefers to have you do it anyway.

K = Kink

Anakin has the biggest mommy kink but absolutely refuses to acknowledge it because he thinks it’s embarrassing. You definitely know and he acts on it subconsciously. Besides that he’s definitely into praising as well as degrading you. That goes for him, too. He loves being praised especially after a long day.

Also, you can’t convince me he wouldn’t use the force inappropriately. He is the chosen one after all, why not use his ‘special’ abilities for more than good.

L = Location

His favorite is obviously in the comfort of your own home-in your bedroom, kitchen, shower, living room..But if there’s a chance to slip you panties down in a public bathroom or his speeder you best believe he’s taking it.

M = Motivation

Sometimes the mere thought of you is enough to turn him on. He’ll get all hot and bothered if he walks in on you changing/showering and you pay him no mind, just going on with your task. If he hears you let out one of those soft moans when you wake up, especially in the morning, he’ll be as hard as a rock in seconds. Big on foreplay too, he loves it.

N = No

He wouldn’t be down for anything that’ll hurt you (knife play etc..). He also looks like someone who wouldn’t enjoy threesomes that much. Why share when he can have all of you? He’d hate to see some other guys shoving himself down your throat and such.

O = Oral

He’s a sucker for head. He could never get enough of the way your soft lips feel wrapped around him. Loves to see you on your knees, struggling to fit him all the way in as tears blur your vision.

Loves to eat you out too, more for his pleasure than yours. Came just from the noises you make while he’s sucking and lapping at your pussy more times than he’d like to admit.

P = Pace

Always depends on his mood. If you pissed him off earlier in the day or something happened, he’s definitely rough. On every other occasion he asks or goes off of your reactions. If you’re enjoying yourself while he’s slow-he’ll keep it that way. If you ask him to go harder, he will.

Q = Quickie

Depends on the situation. He doesn’t like to rush things with you because he wants it to be special and feel good. But if you’ve been teasing him all day and he’s half hard minutes before he has to leave for a meeting or a mission he won’t think twice before blowing your back out against the wall. He’s always down for it, even in the bathrooms of the Jedi Temple.

R = Risk

If there’s one thing that Anakin does consistently it’s take risks. If the Council is having a meeting in the room next to you, he’ll fuck you harder and faster, make sure you’re one loud mess before placing a hand over your mouth to shut you up.

He’ll definitely look forward to fucking you somewhere semi-public. Just the thought of being able to get cough turns him on even more.

S = Stamina

Considerng he’s spent a lot of time in training, he’s got quite the stamina. But because he’s afraid of hurting you he’ll go for as long as you’ll let him. I feel like he’d be able to last a good 4-5 rounds before it becomes too much and borderline uncomfortable.

T = Toys

Doesn’t use them on himself nor you. Not the biggest fan of them. Why would he waste money on stuff like that when you have each other? I think it would take some convincing to get him to try it and he wouldn't be the biggest fan of it.

U = Unfair

He is unfair. He’ll edge you for as long as he can, either completely denying or drawing out your orgasm. To top it off he’ll be super encouraging and sweet, only making it worse. Likes to tie you up and make you watch him masturbate or lazily tease you with his fingers while typing away at his data pad.

V = Vocal

Absolutely. Anakin whimpers like a baby and I will die on that hill if I have to. It doesn’t matter if he’s top, bottom, receiving or giving head you can hear him always even if it’s soft grunts and puffs. And he’ll be all proud of it, not even attempting to tone it down because 1) the Jedi Temple walls are thick; and 2) he knows you’re a sucker for it. He’ll be all up in your ear moaning and huffing with every thrust.

W = Wild card

I previously mentioned Anakin using the force. Sometimes he’ll think his skills (both bedroom and Jedi) aren’t enough and he has this weird fantasy of making you cum just by using his mind-aka the force. He’ll sometimes try to do so while you guys are already having sex, just to see if he can make you cum faster. And boy, it does not disappoint when you’re basically shaking under him in seconds. Definitely boosts his ego.

He’d never admit it because he doesn’t know how to approach the whole conversation and is afraid of your reaction, but he’s been thinking about fucking you in your sleep. A lot. He’ll wake up randomly throughout the night or earlier than you in the morning and be painfully hard. He’s never acted on it because he never asked and he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries. There’s just something appealing about you completely submitting to him and not being able to do anything about it. He doesn’t even have to fuck you properly, if you let him slip his cock through those thighs he’ll be more than happy.

X = X-ray

I’m thinking somewhere around 6.5-7 inches. Nothing huge-just big enough for you to feel full. It’s thick so he definitely stretches you out good before stuffing you full of him. I’d say he has prominent veins you can feel wether you’re stroking him or sucking him off.

Y = Yearning

Anakin is the textbook definition of yearning. This man would do anything for you. He’s cuddly and clingy in the comfort of your own home it’s weird to see him so serious and stoic in meetings or in public. Though he’s definitely not afraid to display affection in public. He’ll leave a lingering kiss, wrap an arm around your shoulders and stare at you with those love-sick eyes like there’s no tomorrow. He’s very proud to be with you and makes sure you know you’re his priority at all times.

Z = Zzz

I just know he already has issues with sleeping because of his nightmares. That doesn’t mean he won’t be knocked out in a span of 5 minutes if you guys have been at it for a while. He would try his best to never fall asleep before you do though, he needs to make sure you’re satisfied and just as sleepy as him before he lets himself rest. Very cuddly in his sleep too.

A/n: Sorry for not posting I was busy studying for mocks. Honestly I got so cooked I should’ve just written fanfiction instead😭😭

#star wars #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #sw anakin #anakin skywalker smut #anakin fanfiction #haydenchristensen #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker x you #hayden christensen x reader

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stellaspectral · 17 days ago

Note

Can you do a Bayverse Raph x Childhood best friend reader who's kind of a girly girl (loves pink, knows a lot about makeup and fashion, likes dressing up in pretty and cute outfits, and is an absolute sweetheart).

During when the tower is falling (reader isn't here for this) and Raph is cofessing, is where he spills that he's loved the reader for years but never said anything because he felt like he wouldn't be good enough for her and that she deserves better is also around the time they just landed on the ground and his brothers as well as April know the truth about Raph's feelings for her, and reader feels the same but also didn't say anything because she was worried it would affect their friendship in a negative way.

The way they confess to each other could be very similar to Lumity, where his brothers set them up on a 'mission' together. Which is actually a set-up date that Raph destroys out of embarrassment and fear of getting rejected, which makes the reader sad because she thinks he doesn't like her. But after something goes wrong and protects the reader from it is when they finally tell each other

A/N: Hello, anon! I haven’t watched The Owl House in a hot minute, but I tried my best to capture the vibe of *that* episode in a TMNT context. Thank you so much for the request; it was fun to finally write some Bayverse turts!

Rooftop Confession (angst/fluff)

❤️ Bayverse Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Near-death situations (past & present), angst/insecurity, mutual pining, first kiss, happy ending. Takes place between the first movie and Out of the Shadows. All characters are aged-up.

The memory still hits Raph sometimes, sharp and sudden. Hanging onto that crumbling tower, the world tilting beneath him, the certainty of oblivion pressing in. He remembers that moment when, with everything stripped away, the raw truth clawed its way out.

“I … I shoulda told her,” he remembers choking out, the words torn from him by fear and regret, barely audible over the roar of destruction.

Leo, Donnie, and Mikey—they heard it. April, clinging nearby, heard it too.

“I always loved her. Since we were kids. But she deserves better. Someone … normal. Not a freak like me.”

They survived, somehow. Landed hard, bruised and battered, but alive. The confession hangs in the air between him and his brothers, an unspoken acknowledgment. They know. April knows. The only one who doesn’t know the depth of his feelings for you is … you.

❤️ Some Months Later ❤️

You adjust the bow on your pastel pink crossbody bag, humming softly as you follow Leo through the lair’s entrance tunnel.

Tonight’s outfit is one of your favorites: a soft, lavender A-line dress with little white flowers embroidered on the hem, paired with cute white sneakers that have delicate ribbon laces. You’ve also done your makeup—a shimmery pink eyeshadow, a touch of blush, and your signature strawberry-scented lip gloss.

Dressing up always makes you feel happy, even if you’re just hanging out in a sewer lair with your giant turtle friends.

Especially one giant turtle best friend specifically.

Your heart does its usual little flutter-kick when you see Raph leaning against a wall, arms crossed, looking characteristically grumpy. But you know him, know the slight softening around his eyes when he sees you, even if he tries to hide it. You’ve been friends since you were both kids—you, the bright-eyed human girl fascinated by the shadows. And him, the equally fascinated mutant turtle hiding within them.

You share secrets, scraped knees, and watch terrible late-night movies together. And somewhere along the way, your childhood affection has blossomed into something deeper. Something you are terrified to name for fear of shattering the precious bond you already have.

“Alright, team,” Leo says, clapping his hands together. “Quick recon mission tonight. Donnie picked up some unusual activity near the old waterfront warehouse district. Could be the Foot stirring things up, so we need a quiet approach.” He looks pointedly between you and Raph. “Raph, your strength might be needed if things get heavy. And you—your observational skills are top-notch. And frankly, you blend in better than the rest of us. But make sure to keep comms open and report back.”

You try to ignore the way your stomach flips at the idea of working closely with Raph tonight. “Just us? Are you sure, Leo?” you ask, tilting your head.

Mikey practically vibrates with suppressed energy behind Leo, giving you an overly enthusiastic thumbs-up. Donnie adjusts his glasses, looking suspiciously focused on a scanner that isn’t turned on. April, leaning against Donnie’s desk, offers you a small, encouraging smile.

Something feels … orchestrated.

“Positive,” Leo answers firmly. “Now gear up, you two.”

Raph grunts, pushing off the wall. He doesn’t meet your eyes directly, which is odd. Usually, he’d at least give you a nod or a gruff, ‘hey.’

You grab Donnie’s enhanced binoculars and a pair of comms devices from his desk, attaching one to your dress. You hold the other out for Raph, who takes it without a word. His thick fingers brush yours for the briefest second, and a pleasant jolt zings up your arm. He recoils as if burned, shoving the device into a belt pouch before storming towards the exit and muttering under his breath.

You follow him out, casting a quick, slightly bewildered glance back at the others. Mikey is practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, Donnie is suddenly very interested in polishing his glasses, Leo gives a sharp nod that feels more like a dismissal, and April just winks.

Okay, definitely orchestrated.

You hurry after Raph, your sneakers quiet on the concrete floor. “Raph? Everything okay?” you ask softly as you catch up in the tunnel leading out.

“Peachy,” he grunts, his voice tight. He won’t look at you.

The silence stretches between you as you walk. Usually, these tunnels echo with your shared laughter or Raph’s rumbling complaints about Mikey’s latest prank. His shoulders are rigid, his sais held tight at his sides, radiating a tension that has nothing to do with the upcoming mission. It prickles against your skin, making your own nerves fray.

You risk a sideways glance at him. His jaw is tight, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. The usual grumpy facade is there, but underneath it simmers something else—something agitated and uncomfortable. It hurts, just a little, this sudden wall between you. He’s never been this closed off before.

“So,” you try again, keeping your voice casual. “Waterfront warehouses. Creepy. Think we’ll see any ghost pirates?” You’re referencing an old inside joke, a ridiculous B-movie you watched together years ago. Normally, it would earn you at least a scoff, maybe even the faintest hint of a smile.

He doesn’t break stride. “Focus,” he grunts, the word clipped.

You bite your lip, feeling a flush creep up your neck. Fine. If he wants to be all business, then so can you. “Right.”

You adjust your bag again, suddenly self-conscious about your dress and sneakers. Maybe dressing up wasn’t the best idea for potential Foot Clan trouble. But Leo knew what you were wearing …

You pull your own focus inward, scanning the tunnel ahead, trying to push down the disappointment churning in your stomach. Why is he acting like this? Did you do something wrong?

You emerge from the sewers near the waterfront. The air here is cool, carrying the distant sounds of the city—a lone siren, the rumble of traffic on a far-off bridge. Ahead, the hulking shapes of the warehouses loom against the night sky, their windows dark.

“Okay, Leo said quiet approach,” you murmur, more to yourself than to Raph, pulling out the binoculars. You scan the nearest rooftop, looking for movement or any sign of Foot activity.

Raph moves ahead, his enormous frame surprisingly silent as he hugs the shadows along the alley wall ahead. He pauses at the corner, peering around it cautiously before gesturing for you to follow. As you move to join him, your sneaker catches on uneven pavement. You stumble, letting out a tiny gasp.

Instantly, a large, three-fingered hand shoots out, steadying your arm. The touch is firm, grounding, and sends another jolt through you. You look up, surprised, straight into Raph’s eyes. And for a fraction of a second, the wall is down.

You see the worry in his gaze, the familiar protective instinct overriding whatever else is bothering him. His grip tightens almost imperceptibly, a reflex honed over years of watching out for you. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

He snatches his hand back, turning away sharply. His shoulders tense up again, maybe even more than before. “Watch your step,” he mutters, his voice rougher than usual. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just melts back into the shadows at the corner, resuming his watch.

Your heart skips a beat, though it’s tangled with confusion. That brief moment—that flicker of the Raph you know—only makes his current behavior more baffling. He’s here, right beside you, but he feels miles away. And whatever this mission is, you have a growing suspicion that the real challenge tonight won’t be finding the Foot.

It’ll be navigating the strange, sudden distance between you and your best friend.

You activate your comm. “Okay, Leo, we’re topside at the waterfront. Area looks clear for now. Anything else we should be looking out for?”

There’s a crackle, then comes Leo’s voice. “Negative, just keep your eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. How’s … uh … how’s the teamwork going?”

You glance at Raph’s stiff back. “It’s … quiet,” you say carefully.

“Good! Good! Quiet is good for recon!” Leo replies quickly. Then you hear a muffled shuffling sound and what might be Mikey whispering, “Ask them if they’re holding hands yet!” followed by a sharp “Mikey!” presumably from Leo or Donnie, and then static.

Your cheeks flush. Okay, now you know for sure. This isn’t a mission. This is a set-up. Raph’s brothers—they’ve thrown you two together out here. But why? And why is Raph acting like he’d rather wrestle Shredder blindfolded and unarmed than be alone with you?

“So,” you say, deciding to push forward with the charade, mostly because you don’t know what else to do. “Rooftop access?”

Raph grunts and points at a rusty fire escape ladder on the side of the nearest warehouse. “There,” he says, moving towards it.

He tests the lowest rung, satisfied when it holds his weight, and begins to climb without a word. You follow, hoisting yourself onto the first rung. You focus on the climb, placing your feet carefully, acutely aware of his broad back moving steadily above you.

Normally, Raph would check back, offering a hand even though he knows you’re capable, grumbling about making sure you don’t fall. Tonight, he just climbs, putting distance between you—and the hurt twists a little deeper in your chest.

You reach the flat, gravel-strewn roof, panting slightly. Raph is already crouched near the edge, his silhouette stark against the faint glow of the city lights reflecting off the low clouds as he scans the cluster of warehouses. You join him near the edge, keeping a respectful distance, the silence stretching taut between you.

The rooftop overlooking the warehouse district is surprisingly nice, in a way. The city lights glitter in the distance, reflecting off the dark water. There is even a small, neglected rooftop garden across the street with overgrown planters. It feels almost … romantic.

You take a deep breath of the crisp night air. “It’s actually kind of pretty up here, isn’t it?” you offer, trying to break the tense silence.

Raph swats away a loose piece of gravel. “It’s a rooftop. Concrete and pigeon crap.”

You wince slightly at his tone. “Right. So, uh … any signs of Foot activity?” you finish lamely, pulling the binoculars back up to your eyes, though you’re not really looking at anything.

He shifts beside you, sweeping away another stone, sending it skittering across the rooftop. “Nope,” he grunts. “Place is dead quiet. Just like Leo probably knew it would be.” There’s an edge to his voice, a raw frustration that goes beyond simple grumpiness.

Lowering the binoculars slowly, you turn to face him more directly. You can feel the thump of your own heart against your ribs. “Raphael,” you begin, your voice softer than you intended. He flinches, just slightly, like the sound of his full name startled him. He finally glances towards you, though his gaze lands somewhere near your shoulder, not quite meeting your eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He stiffens immediately, crossing his thick arms over his plastron. “Nothin’s wrong. Told ya. Just doin’ the mission.”

“No,” you persist, finding a little more firmness. You know him too well to buy that. “Something is wrong. You’re barely speaking to me. And you’ve been acting weird ever since we left the lair. Did I … do something?” Your voice trembles slightly on the last question.

His head snaps up slightly at the tremor in your voice, a flicker of alarm crossing his features before he clamps down on it. “No!” he says, the word sharp, almost explosive. Then, quieter, more strained, “You didn’t do nothin’. It’s just … this whole thing is stupid.”

“Stupid? The mission?” you ask, latching onto the excuse, even though your gut tells you it’s not the entire story.

“Yeah! The ‘mission’!” He practically spits the word out, gesturing vaguely at the empty warehouses spread out below. “Leo sends us out here for nothin’. Just … gawkin’ at empty buildings in the dark.” His frustration is palpable, rolling off him in waves. He still won’t quite look at you.

“So you’re mad at Leo?” you probe gently, sensing you’re circling the actual issue.

He scrubs a hand over his face, his expression a turbulent mix of anger and something else. Embarrassment? Conflict? “Yeah. Mad at Leo.” He pauses, then mutters under his breath, almost inaudibly, “and Donnie. And Mikey.”

“Why?” The question hangs in the air, though the orchestrated nature of the evening has become blindingly clear. “Because they sent us out alone?”

Raph finally looks at you.

The raw emotion swirling in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s frustration, yes, but tangled with a vulnerability that mirrors the look you saw when he caught you stumbling in the alley. He is watching you, a strange mix of frustration and something softer flickering in his eyes before he quickly looks away, scowling harder.

“This is dumb,” he growls, suddenly rising, pacing back and forth. “Just standin’ around. We should be doing somethin’.”

Your usually bright demeanor dims again, and a knot of disappointment forms in your stomach. Usually, even when Raph is moody, he isn’t this dismissive towards you.

You hug your arms around yourself, the pretty dress suddenly feeling even sillier. “If you don’t want to be here with me, you can just say so. Leo can send Donnie or Mikey.”

Raph stops pacing, looking genuinely taken aback for a second. “What? No, it’s not … It’s not you. It’s this whole … mission.” He gestures vaguely again, looking flustered. “It’s pointless.”

His words, meant perhaps to reassure, land wrong. This—being here with you—feels pointless to him?

Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you quickly blink them back, turning away to stare fixedly at the skyline. “Oh. Okay.” Your voice is small.

Raph opens his mouth, then closes it, running a hand over his head in frustration. He looks utterly miserable, caught between his fierce feelings and his equally fierce fear. He hates seeing you sad, especially when he knows he is the cause. But the thought of confessing—of seeing potential pity or rejection in your eyes—it paralyzes him.

This whole set-up by his brothers is backfiring spectacularly.

Suddenly, a low groan echoes from the structure beneath your feet. Not metal stress. But something heavier, older. Concrete shifts.

“What is that?” you ask, glancing down nervously.

Before Raph can answer, a loud CRACK splits the air. The section of rooftop near the edge, right where you are, buckles violently. A chunk of concrete the size of a small car breaks loose, plummeting towards the alley below, and taking the patch of roof you are on with it.

You cry out, stumbling backwards as the ground disappears beneath you while Raph roars your name.

In a fraction of a second, all his awkwardness, fear, and frustration vanish, replaced by instinct. He launches himself forward, his massive green hand clamping around your wrist like a vise just as your feet leave the stable part of the roof. He hauls you back, stumbling himself but managing to pull you against his plastron, shielding your body with his own.

You land hard against his chest, the air knocked out of you, heart pounding against his like a drum. His arms are iron bands around you, holding you so tight you can barely breathe. Dust fills the air. Below, the chunk of concrete smashes into the alley with a deafening crash.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. You are trembling, clinging to the rough texture of his skin, the solid reality of him beneath your hands. He is holding you as if his life depends on it, his breathing ragged.

Finally, he loosens his grip slightly, tilting your chin up with one finger, his eyes scanning you frantically. “You okay? You hurt?” His voice is raw, thick with adrenaline and fear.

“I-I’m okay,” you stammer, tears finally spilling over, born of shock and relief. “You … you saved me, Raph.”

Seeing your tears, his expression crumples. “Aw, hell, I …” He trails off, looking down at you cradled in his arms, so small and fragile compared to him. The nearness, the lingering danger, almost losing you—it breaks down the last of his carefully constructed walls. “I’m sorry. For before. For bein’ a jerk.”

You shake your head, still trying to catch your breath. “It’s okay.”

“No,” he insists, his gaze intense, locking with yours. “It’s not okay. I ruined it. This … this whole thing.” He takes a shaky breath. “Leo an’ the guys—they set this up. This wasn’t just recon. It was supposed ta be … somethin’ else.”

Your eyes widen slightly. Like … a date?

“I panicked,” Raph admits, looking deeply ashamed. “Because … look at ya. You’re amazing. Always have been. So bright, and kind, and perfect.” He gestures at himself. “And I’m just … this. And I freak out, thinkin’ there’s no way someone like you can ever”—he pauses, swallowing hard—“feel the same way about someone like me.”

He finally echoes the words he confessed on that falling tower. “I’ve loved you for years. Since we were kids, watchin’ cartoons. But I was scared. Scared I’m not good enough. Scared I’ll ruin everything. I think you deserve … better.”

Waves of emotion wash over you—shock, understanding, overwhelming relief. The tears flow freely now, but they aren’t sad tears.

You reach up, your hand trembling slightly as you cup his cheek. “Oh, Raphie,” you whisper, using his old childhood nickname. “You idiot.” A watery giggle escapes you. “You big, strong, wonderful idiot.”

Now, he’s the one whose eyes widen in surprise.

“You think I didn’t feel the same?” you continue, your voice gaining strength. “You think I didn’t spend years wondering if you saw me as anything more than just your human friend? I was scared too, Raph. Scared of losing you, losing our friendship if I said anything, if I misread everything. Scared I wasn’t tough enough, or cool enough, for you.”

You press your forehead against him. “You’re not ‘just this.’ You’re brave, and loyal, and you protect the people you care about more fiercely than anyone I know. You have the biggest heart, even if you try to hide it under all that grumpiness. How can I not fall for you?”

He stares at you, his usual scowl completely gone, replaced by stunned vulnerability. “You … you mean that?”

“Every word,” you breathe.

Slowly, tentatively, he leans down. You meet him halfway, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that is hesitant at first, then deepens with all the years of unspoken longing. His hands are infinitely careful as one cups the back of your head, the other resting gently on your waist.

And when you finally pull back, breathless, you are both smiling.

“So,” Raph mumbles, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “This, uh, date kinda sucked hard until the end.”

You laugh. “Yeah, well, the ending was pretty spectacular.” You feel safe and warm nestled against him, the earlier hurt completely forgotten. “Maybe we can try again? Somewhere more structurally sound?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he says, tightening his arm around you protectively.

Your comm crackles to life. “Uh, guys? Everything okay?” Leo’s voice sounds cautious. “Donnie lost your signal for a minute after that tremor.”

Raph glances down at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he switches on his own comm. “Yeah, Leo. Everything’s fine. More than fine.” He pauses, then adds, unable to resist, “Mission accomplished.”

You giggle, burying your face against his plastron as you hear Mikey whooping victoriously over the comms. The set-up might have gone disastrously wrong, but sometimes, it takes a little chaos to finally knock down the walls and let the truth come tumbling out.

And looking up at Raph’s relieved, smiling face, you know one thing for certain …

This ending was worth the wait.

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pedriscroquettes · 10 months ago

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𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 ✮ K. YILDIZ

summary. an old friend of yours is in need of cheering up and it’s your job to fix him.

warnings. none! except reader is ferdi kadıoğlu’s younger sister and kenan is v sad in this.

gabri speaks! i’ve been seeing so many videos of the hate kenan is getting and just felt like writing this. oops.

THE NOISE OF scattered footsteps on your way to your brother’s room was enough to grab your attention. as you turned the corner in hopes of finding out what was causing such commotion you came across half of the team huddled around one of the rooms. your face instantly filled with confusion wondering what they were doing there and who’s room were they gathering around. were they planning some sort of prank?

“guys what are-” you try to ask but you’re shushed before you have the opportunity to finish your sentence.

“shh!” your own brother scolds you as you stand there bewildered. you quickly smack ferdi on the arm before joining the guys. you had nothing better to do anyways.

“wait, your sister!” bariş yells. “she’s a girl.”

you immediately turned towards him with a face of disbelief wondering what the hell was going on. not to mention your brother’s teammate had decided to just state the obvious and you were beginning to get anxious.

“she’s a girl?” your brother repeated mocking him.

“i meant that she understands feelings better than we do maybe she can help. maybe she can get him to catch his flight. it’ll be even worse for him if he gets in trouble with his club too.” and now you’re wondering who the hell he’s talking about.

“okay, ferdi you better tell me what’s happening before i call mom and tell her about that vase of hers you broke trying to impress sera.” you scold him earning a glare from him.

“it’s kenan.” you freeze at the mention of his name. “he hasn’t left his room since we got back and arda noticed he was reading some of the comments on his post. we think he’s upset but he won’t talk to any of us. he has a flight back to italy in six hours but he hasn’t so much as gotten out of bed. maybe you can help? please?”

it takes a lot of pleading and begging from the players but soon enough you’re carefully opening the door to his room. you’re careful to not trip on anything or cause the slightest little noise in an effort to not bother him. although you conclude that as soon as he realizes you’re in his room he might be bothered. your relationship with him wasn’t the best and the last time the two of you had talked he’d made it clear the two of you would never be friends.

you spot him laid down on his bed with a hoodie covering him. he lays still but you’re quick to notice the rhythmic beating of his chest. he’s either asleep or completely zoned out. either way it’s not good. you notice all of his belonging scattered around the room and his suitcase completely empty meaning he was more than ready to miss his flight. you felt bad.

“kenan…”

you notice his body tense at the sound of your voice but he doesn’t move. he stays still hoping you think he’s asleep, but you know better, you know him better. you had been friends once and although that was left in the past you remembered things. he was clearly upset and not just about the loss there was something more. you manage to catch a glimpse of his phone. it was replaying the same video over and over again and you noticed the comments open. every single one criticizing him. he’d probably spent the last few hours reading all of them. you quickly shut off his phone placing it on the counter, away from him.

“kenan, you need to get up.” you beg him but again he stays still.

you take matters into your own hands and walk towards his side of the bed. you spot his hazel eyes staring away into oblivion. it’s obvious he hasn’t slept at all but before you can reach out to him he rolls over. in any other situation you probably would’ve laughed and playfully smacked him but you weren’t even his friend anymore.

“you can pretend i’m not here but i’m not leaving this room without you.” you scold him.

he budges at that sitting up straight next to you. it’s oddly comforting the way the two of you sit next to each other. you notice he hasn’t taken his hoodie off and recall some of the comments that scolded him for touching it. you wondered if that was the cause of him having his hair hidden. you knew kenan, you knew he was confident, and this? this wasn’t him. you know it’s risky but you place your hands on his trying to break a barrier to make him comfortable. there was a time you’d hold him close and hopefully you could again today to help him. surprisingly he lets you.

“why are you here?” he whispers remaining still.

“ferdi told me that- they’re all worried- we’re all worried about you.” you struggle to say.

“why? i’m fine.” he scoffs.

“no, you’re not-” you’re once again interrupted by his loud voice.

“how would you know? you don’t know me anymore.” he scolds you.

“maybe we’re not friends anymore kenan, maybe we don’t make fun of ferdi’s messages to sera anymore, but i still know you and i know you’re upset.” you rub your thumb on his palm. “i’m here because i still care.”

there’s a brief silence between the two of you almost like an understanding. he knew you cared but he was scared to be vulnerable in front of you. he didn’t want to be hurt in front of you just in case you left again but he can’t keep his feelings in any longer. he’s leaning into you until his head is resting on your thighs. he seeks your comfort once again like he used to before.

“they all hate me.” he whispers. you begin to rub his back at that trying to soothe him. “it’s all my fault.”

“no, kenan it’s not. they’re just upset about the loss and using you as an outlet because all their girlfriends find you hot.” he laughs a little at the comment but you can still spot a little resentment in his voice.

“they’re right though i should’ve played better, i should’ve created more chances, i should’ve scored.” he ranted. “it hurts more because they’re right.”

“okay. you should’ve played better okay that’s fine but laying here and rotting into your bed isn’t. you want to be better? fine, but moping around isn’t going to get you anywhere. you want to prove yourself? let them know that you’re better than that? you need to get on that plane in six hours and become juventus’ greatest young talent.” you try and motivate him.

“what if i can’t?” he chokes out.

“sit up.” you demand and shockingly he does. “look me straight in the eyes.”

you’re careful with your next moves not wanting to invade his personal space so suddenly but you don’t feel that you have a choice. you grab him by the cheeks making sure he’s looking directly at you, making sure he’s attentive to your words, and making sure that he knows you’re on his side.

“hey! do they know you? do they know the sacrifices you put in day in and day out to be where you are today? do they know the pressure you put yourself through to be better? no, but i do. so i know that you can prove yourself to them. kenan, you are a star and you can’t let some silly comments about your hair take that away. you made mistakes so what? we all make them. there’s always a next time. especially for you. you’re one of a kind.” you look into his eyes hoping he absorbed in all of your words. you let go of his face soon after hoping you weren’t too pushy.

“you should be a motivational speaker.” the two of you laugh and that’s when you realize that he’s going to be okay. maybe not right now but he would be.

the two of you spend the next couple of minutes joking about and chatting. the two of you catch up with your lives mentioning future plans and past events. it feels like you have your best friend back with you. the conversation is flowing and secrets are shared once again between the two of you. and with that so are secret glances. as soon as you turned away he found time to admire your face and when he would turn his face another direction you’d do the same. you hardly noticed but his fingers would touch yours every once in a while practically begging to be enveloped by yours.

it’s not until you’re on the way out the door ready to announce to everyone that kenan would be out soon that she stops you. he’s finally taken his hoodie off and you can see him completely. it was comforting to see him like this, all joyful and less upset.

“be there for me.” he blurts out.

“what?” you stare at him dumbfounded.

“when i doubt myself again, when everyone is saying i only care about my looks, when i move leagues, be there for me. i want you there.” he pours all his emotions out for you.

“if you provide with the tickets yeah.” you joke no understanding the depths of his words.

“no, you don’t get it. i don’t want you there every other match. i want you there every match with my jersey. i don’t want you there as old friends or just best friends. i want you there as my person. i need you there as my person.” he confesses. “i let you go before i won’t do it again.”

“kenan…” you can’t finish your sentence because you’re leaning in. his hands are on your waist and yours are on his cheeks again. his hazel eyes bore into yours pleading to give in. your lips are full of fervor as they move against his. you can’t fully comprehend that you’re kissing kenan after all this time but it feels amazing. he tries to deepen the kiss but you stop him.

“kenan wait. i want this i really do but you’re still upset. i don’t want this to cloud your feelings.” you express.

“yeah, okay. you’re right. thank you.” his cheeks are crimson red as you separate from him. “i’ll text you before i head out so i can say goodbye.”

the guys wait anxiously as you slowly walk out of kenan’s room. you manage to hide your emotions as you head towards their large group. ferdi and bariş are dying of anxiety waiting for your words that will let them know what’s wrong with their friend.

“he’ll be out soon don’t worry. it’s probably best if you reassure him of his abilities in football, yeah?” you ask them and they all nod. how sweet.

“so, what’d you do to make him talk?” semih curiously asks you.

“i made out with him.” you say with a straight face. you receive a couple of gasps, some laughs, and a few screams.

“you what?” ferdi asks but you ignore him and begin walking away from him. the rest of the team watches in amusement as you walk away from your older brother. he is genuinely distraught as he chases after you and it’s quite hilarious. “did you actually make out with him? did his lips touch yours? answer me!”

from that the day forward you exchange weekends from istanbul and turin. one weekend with your person and the other with your protective brother. when you walked into kenan’s room the day you didn’t expect to walk out with a soulmate. unfortunately for you your brother is always there to remind you that the only reason you and kenan are together is because he forced you into that room. it’s a shame he’s right but you’re grateful for it because now you have your person and now you can be as annoying as he is with sera.

#soft gabri fic??? who would’ve thought #anyways hope he’s doing ok fr fr #kenan yildiz #kenan yildiz x reader #kenan yildiz fic #football fic #football imagine #gabri writes

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fashionteahouse · 6 months ago

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which way - embry x reader

AN: part 1 is here enjoy part 2 :)

Your face was into a frown. You had high hopes. You wanted to show him off. You begged but the answer stayed the same. Sadness was starting to creep into your soul.

“Are you sure you can’t call off?” you ask him again through the phone, not wanting to take no for an answer.

“I can’t. I’m really sorry.” he says into the line.

“It’s okay. I can just pass your picture around, I guess.”

This makes you both chuckle, bringing light.

Hanging up with each other, you both sigh.

Embry entered Sam’s home, he was confused. Confused that Sam asked him to not come shirtless, instead to dress appropriately for the average human eye.

“What’s the occasion?” Embry asks as Emily placed snacks onto the table.

“A friend of ours is coming over. She doesn’t know about the pack yet.” Sam says.

“So, why are they coming?” Embry asks.

“She knows all of us. That’s the funny thing.” Quil says, he then placed the back of his hand on Embry’s chest quickly, “You can finally get a girlfriend.”

Embry rolls his eyes, “Would you quit it?”

“You will just see. You two would look good together.” Quil says back. Agrees float through the room as Embry is instantly annoyed.

Hearing a door close, Embry placed a potato chip in his mouth and crunched down.

”Y/N’s here!” Jacob says and Embry froze. His heart dropped below his stomach as he heard the familiar name, whipping his head around as you came in the home with a huge smile. He felt like his world was crashing down on him.

You were bombarded with hugs, making you laugh.

“One at a time.” you say as everyone tried to tug you in different directions at the same time.

“We can finally introduce you to Embry.” Leah says as she won the battle, able to hold onto your hand and leads you through the home.

“Embry?” you repeat the name.

“Yeah. You’ll like him. I promise.” she answers back.

You couldn’t speak as the familiar face was looking right back you. You both were frozen. Both looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Um..” Leah says as she looks at you two. She wondered why you two were just standing there, gawking at each other.

You step forward closer to him with your hands slightly up, “I thought you had work?”

“I didn’t know you were friends with them.” Embry says, still not believing that this was happening.

You shake your head and just leave the room. You regret coming. You thought you two were going so good but, he was already lying to you. This action stabbed you like a knife, you never thought the blow would come from him.

Embry does follow after you, trying to stop you from leaving.

“You didn’t have to lie to me. Just tell me that you’re ashamed of me.” you say as you’re outside with tears prickling your eyes. You didn’t let him get a word in. You were deeply hurt.

Embry sighs, not annoyed but he knew it looked so bad.

“There’s a lot to explain.” he says as he tries to rack his brain to show him the best way to explain it all without freaking you out. He wished it didn’t come down to this.

“Well, save it. I’m not interested in hearing it.” you say as your throat is closing up.

He wasn’t going to let you leave. He knew you were going to try to avoid him if he let you.

“Come on, just hear me out. If you still feel the way that you feel, I will leave you alone, I swear.” He says moving close to you, “Come on, Y/N.” he says again as your arms are crossed and you’re avoiding eye contact.

You follow him quietly to the beach, sitting on a large rock. You both are silent until you rudely tell them, “So, explain.”

He doesn’t take it to heart. He understands how you feel.

That’s when he let it all out. It felt like he was cleaning his insides out. He no longer had to carry the secret of shapeshifting, his “work” of actually protecting people of the danger that lurked to everyone’s oblivion, and how he never wanted you to be involved in it. Not because he was ashamed, but because of how dangerous the life was. He missed the life he had before devoting his life to being a shifter, you were his outlet. You reminded him that the supernatural world wasn’t his entire world.

You were silent as you processed everything. You felt sad.

“You didn’t have to hide this.”

“I did. I would’ve scared you away. I really want us to be end game.” he says as he interlaced his fingers with yours.

“No more secrets. Okay?” you say to him. He nods and agrees to this.

“I see they tried to hook us up all along.” you say with a grin. He grins as well as he shakes his head at their behavior. He should’ve known.

“So, now you have to tell me how you met all of them.” he says and this makes you laugh.

“It’s a long story.” you say.

“I have time.” he says, his words coated in double meaning. He soaked in the moment, happy that you didn’t run away or push him away. You instead smiled as you debrief each encounter with each unique individual pack member.

#embry call #embry call x reader #x reader #embry call imagine #embry call fluff #y/n #fanfic #twilight wolfpack #twilight wolves #y/n imagines #x y/n #twilight x reader #y/n fanfic #twilight fanfiction #fanfiction

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hersuniverse · 3 months ago

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KITTEN

SevikaxReader

warnings: MDNI 18+, PWP SMUT!!!, scissoring, masturbation (r), cunnilingus (r!receiving), reader is quite desperate and pervy a lil idk?, afab!reader, no use of y/n, mentions of drinking/alcohol, reader isn't described physically (does that make sense?), reader is younger than Sevika but still of age

author's note: I don't know how to feel about this one guys? I rewrote it like 3 times. This is my first actual smut attempt so please, SPARE ME 😭🙏

You remember the first time you’d laid eyes on Sevika, you were young, early twenties and she of course was older than you were but that didn’t bother you all that much.

You’d admire her from afar, only hoping she’d somehow sense your presence and take you in with open arms; though you knew that’d never happen. You’d see her with Vander most of the time, of course that was before Zaun fell apart. The night she emancipated herself from Vander you watched her in all her glory, the tall broad proposed that Zaun should strike back against Piltover to which Vander disapproved, you didn’t hear too much of what they were saying, far too focused on the woman’s physique.

Life wasn’t easy to navigate, always feeling too out of focus to grasp reality but there was one thing you understood about yourself and it was when you craved something or someone; and for you, that someone was Sevika. You also knew how controversial it would be for you to be with a woman of such age and power, but something deep down hoped she’d overlook that and keep you safe in her pocket like a silk handkerchief she’d use when she needed one.

You could only imagine what she was like, her personality, her habits, her smells and her flavours, it made you all that much more curious.

As Zaun grew dark, you grew older and with age came what some would call wisdom and knowledge but to you it was simply life experience and common sense. You got a job working at ‘Marty’s Muck’ stand, it wasn’t easy standing in front of hot stoves for hours but you needed to survive somehow. That didn’t stop your mind from clouding with thought of Sevika, you hadn’t seen her since her argument with vander all those years ago but you kept thinking.

Thinking turned to dreaming, fantasizing about how you’d interact with her, would she indulge in someone like you? If she did you wouldn’t stop her, you’d do everything in your power to keep her happy. You’d cherish her even if she didn’t do the same for you, you just craved to be in her space as someone more than a friend.

You’d lay in your bed, the only light from the signs shining outside your window. Breath’s heavy, heart racing and a killer ache that you couldn’t seem to ignore. You’d squeeze your eyes shut trying to think of other things to focus on but the only thing that came to mind was her. You sighed in defeat, opening your eyes and staring at the white oblivion above.

“Forgive me,” You’d whisper to yourself before slowly slipping a hand down your night shorts, an embarrassing amount of slick had built up and the need for release had only grown. You shut your eyes once more letting your mind run wild with inevitable thoughts of the woman, you relished in the idea of her using you solely for her own pleasure.

She’d flip you every which way, take you anywhere and with absolute pride. The image of her sly smirk flashed through your mind, your hand picking up speed while you gripped the pillow you rested your head on.

She’d be good at what she did, of course she would at her age she’d know the spots on you that you didn’t know existed. You’d dig your nails into her back leaving scars that she’d wear with pride, she’d leave hickeys in places only you’d be able to see and run your fingers over when you’d miss her. Your stomach tightened, yet you still kept up the pace knowing what was soon to come.

She wouldn’t be rough all the time, no, there’d be nights where it would be simply passion and not stress. She’d make a mess of you and you’d wonder where your place was in this world, she’d make you feel dirty but in the best way possible. Maybe she’d bring you out to a brothel, pay one of the girls and have you sit back and watch what it means to please. Your back arched off the mattress, you moved your hand from your pillow to your mouth, biting down on the skin in hopes of muffling your noises.

She wouldn’t let that happen, she’d make sure every single sound was heard and she wouldn’t care how overstimulated you were; if she wanted to fuck you she would.

And there it was, the wave bliss washing over you like the sun coming out from behind a dark cloud. It felt fucking amazing, of course it wasn’t the first time you’d acted so pervy but you just couldn’t help it; the idea of Sevika was insatiable.

You arrived to work two hours late the next day, your orgasm from the night before was clearly needed. You frantically apologized to Marty and claimed it was your alarm clock, which was a half truth you didn’t set the clock before blacking out last night but you would’ve done so if you weren’t so fucking horny.

“I’ll work late tonight, promise!” You offered, which you would later regret.

The stand was dead, and it was as late as ever. You were tidying up the place when you heard a harsh thump from behind you. You let out a quiet huff “What can I grab for you toda-” You turned around to find Sevika, beaten and battered and with a mechanical arm sitting down at your stand.

“Can a lady get a hand here?” She groaned, clearly out of it.

You didn't know what else to do, so you quickly locked up shop and attempted to safely get her back to your place. It wasn’t easy seeing as she weighed three times your size but you didn’t care, you wanted to help. You spent that night patching her up in your living room, you tried to ask her what happened but she kept dodging your questions with snarky remarks and those stupid sexy smirks of hers.

Funny, the woman you were just getting off too last night was now in your house. You patched her the best you could, you tried to stay focused but the contorted faces she’d make whenever you’d apply rubbing alcohol to an open wound only made you more curious.

Once you’d fixed her up to the best of your abilities, you took into account the large metal arm she now had. It was damaged and you weren’t exactly a handyman, you reached over to the damaged prosthetic trying to get a closer look.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll fix it…” She stirred in her spot on the couch trying to get comfortable, her heavy eyes slowly shutting. You didn’t bother disturbing her, simply grabbing an extra blanket and draping it over her sleeping figure. Pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, you admired her bruised face, noticing what you assumed was a vein that had raised and was glowing purple a bit?

You discarded the detail, you returned to your room changing into your pj’s and laying on your bed, you stared up at the ceiling. You felt guilty and a bit perverted after the night before, the thought of your behaviour made you curl up under the sheets and hope you’d somehow feel a bit better.

The next morning was lonely, when you woke up you’d walked out to the living room expecting Sevika to still be there whether she was awake or still asleep. Unfortunately for you that wasn’t the case , she was nowhere to be found when you entered the living room, just a discarded blanket and an open window.

That would be just the beginning, you started dropping by ‘The Last Drop’ usually just to get one drink for the road but you’d never stick to that plan, especially when she came around. The first time, she joined you at the bar side, thanking you for your good deed and offering you another drink which you took thankfully.

That would become a regular occurrence for the two of you, when you’d catch her at the Bar of course. Some nights you’d go home unlucky because she’d be out at work, you didn’t know exactly what she did for work but you didn’t bother to ask too many questions.

That was until one night in particular she joined you at the bar, rather giddy compared to other nights and a bit handsy too. Sometimes she’d put an arm around you or your chair for that matter, rest a hand on your shoulder when trying to be dramatic or rest her hand on top of yours; not tonight though.

She slunk her hand around your lower back as she listened to you intently with a smile, you’d catch her eyeing you sometimes which you tried to ignore but how could you with such close proximity and that same ache between your legs.

She’d say subtle things, like how much she liked your outfit and how cute you were. You wondered if she could see you squirming in your spot, trying to fix your slicked underwear, anything to make it feel a bit more comfortable. She smirked.

“You’re so cute and bright eyed, like a kitten.” You could feel your heart ready to burst.

She later offered to walk you home and of course how could you turn down an offer like that?

The walk was something, you guys walked around the lanes taking your sweet time to get home. You admired Sevika in the street lights, over the past few weeks you’ve been taking her in little by little, spotting more details about her as time went on. Her little reaction to things, scratches in her prosthetic arm and patterns in her drinking habit.

There was so much you were learning about her, but there was still more that you had yet to learn of.

Once you finally reached your door, you stood in front of Sevika, there was a thick tension all of a sudden; if you hadn’t noticed it earlier you sure did now, you bit the inside of your cheek feeling a bit embarrassed at your feeling of need.

“Are you still with me, kitten?” You had zoned out on her, you apologized claiming you were just tired after a long day and she smiled at you. She told you goodnight before starting her walk away from you.

“Sevika wait,” She stopped dead in her tracks before turning back to you, you moved quickly pulling her into a needy kiss and thanked whoever was above that she returned the same gesture. She pulled you into her and started to walk backwards to your door.

You both wasted no time, discarding your garments after stepping through the front door. You stumbled over to the couch where she kept you pinned beneath her, she travelled down your body quickly, your desperation got the better of you as you were unable to lay still as she did.

She couldn’t be more charmed when she pulled your underwear down your legs, revealing your cunt that was humiliatingly drenched. You whined at the feeling of your core being exposed to the cold air, which was soon followed by a sharp gasp at the feeling of warmth between your thighs; Sevika was going to town.

It was just like your dreams, messy yet perfect. Her tongue worked miracles that you could only be thankful for, you bucked up into her so much to the point that she placed her hands on your hips to keep you place, helping her leverage, you felt the cold metal against your skin, causing shivers to coral across your skin. You raked your nails through her scalp before reaching the back of her neck, you dug your nails into the nape while throwing your head back. You could feel her chuckle against you.

You hadn’t gotten a good head in a long time, or at all for that matter. What Sevika had done was more than just regular pussy eating, no, this was an art form one she’d probably practiced on many other women just to get it right but you could care less. The woman of your dreams was in between your thighs devouring you like a last meal, your dreams were playing out before your eyes and god where you happy.

Things were picking up, you could feel that knot building but it wasn’t the same, of course it wasn’t it wasn’t your hand rubbing circles into your usual spots; this was a woman with the intention of making you come for her own pleasure and you wouldn’t deny her that.

With an arch in your back and a loud moan of her name, you tipped over the edge you’d been teetering on. It was like heaven, you didn’t bother fighting or holding out, you didn’t want to disappoint her after all. You caught her looking down at you while cleaning her mouth and licking your residue off her fingers.

“You can do one more, right Kitten?” You nodded frantically as your chest heaved trying to catch your breath, you were desperate to please and be pleased. She pulled your bra down, freeing your boobs and giving them a light squeeze. “So soft,” she commented. You rested your hands on her wrists as she gave you a quick massage. Once she’d let go, it didn’t take long for her to remove her own underwear and toss it somewhere in the room, she spread your legs giving herself enough room to settle between them, the cold metal causing you to suck in a short breath.

She held one leg over her shoulder as the other rested against the couch. “Ready?” giving her another nod, you pulled your bottom lip in with your top teeth, watching her settle herself against you. A noise escaped you both, the pressure from her cunt on top of yours was everything, you tried moving against her but she had other plans.

She grinded against you with no desire of being gentle, she just wanted to fuck you and you let her. “Fuck!” You moaned as she began picking up her pace, the room was filled with moaned profanities coming from you both and the sound of your two slick coated cunts rubbing against each other.

You moved your hands to her hips, trying to ground yourself as you felt like your mind was slowly melting with each hump. You watched Sevika fuck you, letting the image burn itself ito your mind for later purposes. Your pussy was glossed in juices from the both of you, you couldn’t remember the last time it’d looked this good against someone else.

You could feel yourself approaching that same edge again and you could tell that Sevika was too, she was slowly getting sloppy with her thrusts and had placed a hand on your waist to stay balanced. “Go on, Kitten, give me what I want.” And you did just that.

Your back arched off the couch once more, if not higher this time, you gripped the couch cushion for dear life as you threw your head back, she could feel you twitching against her as she delivered her last few grinds against your core. “Vika!” You called, she perked her head up, caught off guard by the nickname but still coming nonetheless.

She laid down on top of you, both of you breathless and coated in a light layer of sweat, she rested her head on your stomach. “That was good.” You said, trying to coax a conversation out of her before you both fell asleep.

“I know.” She hummed, obviously tired. You moved your hands to her back, caressing different shapes into her skin. Sevika was soon sound asleep against your skin, light snores filling the room. You smiled to yourself before joining her in her slumber.

You felt whole for a moment, like nothing bad could ever happen to you because she was there with you. You slowly close your eyes and drifted off to sleep, your dreams were filled ith the image of Sevika fucking you dumb, whether it was over a counter or in your bed your mind showed it all.

Once you’d woken from your wet dream saga, you found yourself on the couch alone. The same blanket you’d let her borrow draped over you. You sat up confused, hugging the sheet under your arms and rushing to get up and look around.

“Sevika?” You called a numerous amount of times as you searched your place, she was just nowhere to be found. That’s when you realized the window was open, letting in a light breeze, you felt slightly hurt by the gesture but who knows, she probably had work.

You searched around your living room picking up your clothes from last night in attempts to start tidying but seemingly unable to locate…your underwear?

#vi arcane #arcane #arcane 2 #arcane season 2 #caitlyn arcane #jinx arcane #arcane sevikas #sevika #sevika my love #sevika arcane #arcane sevika #x reader #sevika x you #sevika x reader

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woso-dreamzzz · 11 months ago

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Pillow Fight

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Magda comes home to war

When Magda opens the door, she's greeted to giggling.

Your giggles and Pernille's.

Magda pops her head into the room just in time to see you smash one of her pillows right into Pernille's face.

There are pillows strewn around the room. Pillows from the sofa and pillows from your bed and the spare bed and the Big Bed.

Magda's pretty sure that all of the pillows in the house are in her living room as Pernille retaliates with her own pillow.

You fall sideways off her lap and safely onto the sofa, giggling ecstatically as Pernille instantly attacks you with tickles.

"Momma! Momma!" You say, laughing uncontrollably," Stop it! This isn't the game!"

"Oh? It isn't?" Pernille feigns oblivion, her fingers not letting up their assault on your sides. "Really? I could have sworn it was?"

"No, it isn't!" You shriek with laughter, legs lashing out to try and kick her away.

"No, no. It was hit the other person with a pillow and then tickle them. Those are the rules!"

"No! No!" You can't stop giggling though, your head moving wildly to get away, which is when you spot Magda. "Morsa! Tell Momma she's cheating!"

Magda pretends to think, tapping her bottom lip with a finger. "I don't know. Are you sure those aren't the rules?"

"They aren't! They aren't! Morsa, they aren't!"

"Oh, well I guess if they aren't the rules..." She goes teasingly stern, wagging a finger in Pernille's direction. "I guess you need to let her go, Pernille. It's rude to cheat, you know."

"It is!" You insist when Pernille stops tickling you and you've got the opportunity to catch your breath.

You grab a pillow and immediately whack it across Pernille's face while she's still off guard. You move in quickly, hitting her again and again in retaliation for her tickle attack.

Pernille could easily restrain you but she doesn't, pretending to be defeated by your admittedly weak pillow hits.

"Get her, princesse!" Magda says," Get her!"

You frown. "Morsa," You say," You pillow is flat."

Magda frowns too. "What?"

"It's not a fat pillow like Momma's."

You hit Pernille with the pillow to demonstrate the way it just kind of deflates against her face, the bottom flopping to the side from the impact.

"Momma's pillows are fat."

Pernille takes this moment to demonstrate, hitting your lightly on the body and Magda's treated to the way that Pernille's pillow doesn't flop about and stay firms.

"Oh...er..."

"Do you eat the stuffing?" You ask, the only explanation your young mind can come up with.

"No!"

"Then why's it so flat?"

"Because your Morsa sleeps on it weirdly," Pernille explains and you throw away Magda's pillow.

"Can I use yours please, Momma?"

"I don't know. My pillows are special. I can't give them to an enemy, can I?"

"No," You admit. You're silent for a moment before turning to look at Magda. "But Morsa's the enemy too! We can be on the same team now and beat her up!"

"Hey! Wait-"

"That's a good idea, Princesse."

"What?! No-"

Pernille sets you down on the floor, armed with a pillow and sends you off to attack.

Magda scrambles to grab her own, a random one off the floor that ends up being one the decorative cushions from the sofa.

You strike first, whacking her in the tummy a few times before Magda slams the pillow down onto your head.

Pernille's up as well with her own answering strike that hits Magda right in the nose.

"This isn't fair!" She says as Pernille keeps hitting her in the face and you get her body," It's two against one."

"Like on the pitch," You say," When you and Millie go up against Viv. That's not fair either but you still do it."

Magda doesn't really have an answer for that and she's toppled over onto the carpet by you, landing safely on top of another mountain of pillows.

You're quick to sit on her tummy, now in prime position to whack her in the face with one of Pernille's pillows.

"Say we've won!" You demand.

"Never!"

Your hits don't hurt and it doesn't stop Magda from laughing either.

"Say it or no more Momma kisses!"

"You can't do that! You're not Momma!"

"Only I get Momma kisses anymore! Say! We've! Won!" You punctuate each word with a hit from the pillow.

"Alright, alright! You win! I give up."

"Good." You get off Magda's tummy and hit her with the pillow once more for good measure. "Momma! Morsa said that we've won!"

Pernille laughs. "I guess that means Morsa should make us dinner!"

You pump your fist into the air in triumph. "Yes!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #the big adventures universe

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aabluedragon · 5 months ago

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Sancho and the Cradle

I am so tickled at the idea that Sancho, after drinking from Oblivion, blearily did some hardblood arts to lock herself into the lighthouse and never thought about it again. So many things happened in the lighthouse that absolutely wouldn’t have made sense to a human’s sense of time or needs, but being a Bloodfiend who doesn’t really know exactly how much time is passing, she never felt the need to bring it up!

For example, watching time pass while writing to decades-old Fixer publications and getting letters back from the very same. I heard somewhere that Sancho was actually aware of the Cinq Association first being founded, which may or may not have come with its own publications. These figures were immortalized in print and Sancho likely continued to see their letters long after the average human would have fallen to obscurity. Not that she knows that.

Logistically, Sancho wouldn’t have been getting food or water deliveries considering that she and “the fixers” have been exchanging letters though a small gap in her hardblood door and her ensuing brainrot would sate her bloodthirst. This, she does not mention to any of the sinners because—

It never came up

Well, they have food now

It’s not like she was hungry (she does this in her Lantern EGO too, commenting that she’s taking her lunch because her suit is hungry)

—and I think that’s comedy gold.

The idea that Sancho, henceforth known as Don Quixote, just casually did hardblood weaving and other immortal behaviors because the habit is just ingrained in her body without ever questioning why nobody else did it and therefore never catching on that no, she’s not normal, actually is the funniest thing.

Speaking of her name — I need to double check how she signed her letters — if I remember correctly, she only “found out” her name was Don Quixote by the writing on Rocinante’s sole. In an alternate universe, we might have been looking at LCB Sinner #3 Rocinante instead…

Now we combine all of that into her being utterly clueless about not being human because she lacked other common Bloodfiend features such as MDDABB (Major Depressive Disorder Abated By Blood) and my favorite ironies are being scratched. Love that soggy beast.

Lastly, to address her sog, my dumb ass finally connected that this sequence is probably Sancho first entering the lighthouse. In short, she deflated over time. Rest in peace. She never did her hair again.

#go my sogcho!#limbus company #lcb #don quixote lcb #limbus don quixote #sancho lcb #dra talks

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luimagines · 5 months ago

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Undivorcing by Twilight

Another commission!

Same concept as the other one. A 'fix it fic' for the Divorce Headcanons for Twilight which you can reader right here!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

“Can we talk?”

Those were the first words you’ve said to him after nearly a year of total silence on your part.

Instantly, his heart in his throat and his stomach has fallen through the floor. Link thinks he might vomit. He’s got half the mind to lurch over and slam the door in your face as he attempts to collect himself.

The bout of instant dread is worse than if he was punched in the gut. Instead of slamming the door in your face like he wants to, he finds himself frozen. He’s back where it all started, in the kitchen with a piece of paper in your hand as you read out loud all his faults and sins. Every piece of evidence that equivocates him to a bad husband in your mind comes back to the forefront of his as he stares at you.

You’re staring right back at him, fidgeting your hands nervously like you were asking him to a first date instead. You gulp and rub your palms down your shirt, running your hands through your hair soon after.

Frankly, you look horrible.

Matted hair, dark circles under your eyes, holes on your pants and stains on your shirt. You look thinner than before and you’re certainly paler than how he remembers you- what happened to you?

“Link, please?” You gulp again, hugging your arms around your chest. “I- I know you have every right to slam the door in my face, and I have no right to ask this of you. …But I just… I couldn’t not do this.”

“You want closure.” He assumes and takes a deep breath. The knot in his stomach only gets tighter, but he wants to think he does a good job of keeping the way he wants to cry off of his face. He thought he was doing better. He thought he was getting over you.

One look at you and his armor shatters into oblivion.

“Well… yes and no.” You try to correct him. You shrink down on yourself and struggle to meet his eyes. The shame is clearly written all over your face.

“...What do you mean by that?” Link lean on the door frame. The angle makes his look angrier than he feels, colder than he bleeds- he’s just using it to make sure he doesn’t fall to your feet.

“I was just…” You bite your own tongue. With the way you wince afterwards, Link is tempted to assume that you’ve made yourself bleed. “I wanted to apologize. You deserve an apology. I was a monster. A cold hearted serpent with ice in my veins.”

You take another deep breath and force yourself to look at his face. You open your mouth but no sound comes out. Link can see you struggle to keep eye contact but he’s afraid to show the same amount of vulnerability. “...I’ve missed you.” You gulp. “I… I was wrong. I shouldn’t have asked for the divorce. …I want to start over.”

Start over? Something cracks. Twilight isn’t sure if it was his heart or his mind but it allows him to stand up straight and meet your eyes with a gaze he’s never directed at you before.

You can see the storm you start and pre-emptively flinch, taking a step back. “Link-”

“You want to do what?” He says quietly.

It sounds like cannon fire in the otherwise quiet corner of the village.

Link runs his hand through his hair, choking on the laugh that tries to leave his lips. He can feel bouts of hysteria begin to build within him. Are you serious? Do you hear yourself right now? Couldn’t you hear yourself the day you read out loud the list of why you wanted to leave him?

But isn’t this what he wanted? Didn’t want you to get back together? Hasn’t he missed you too?

No. Not like this. Somehow this feels like an even worse scenario than he thought it would be.

Link takes a deep breath, dragging his hand through his hair again and down his face. He inadvertently claws at his skin, leaving angry red lines on his cheek. He gets off of the door frame and moves away from the entrance, beginning to pace in the house, your house.

“Do you-?” He speaks, cutting himself off as he turns back to you. “Do you have any idea how long I spent waiting for you?”

That is not what he meant to say. Link has no idea why those were the words that left his mouth when that wasn’t remotely on his mind. He takes another deep breath, rubbing his cheek in an attempt to get his head back on straight. He can’t afford to let you in so easily. That’s how he got his heart broken by you the first time.

You begin to cry. “I don’t. But I can guess. I’m sorry, Link. I’m sorry. I know you loved me. I know I was the one that ruined us. I ruined everything. I know it’s my fault.”

You take a deep breath, smothering the tears over your cheek in your attempt to wipe them away. You smear dirt on your skin. Link has never seen you this filthy. You continue talking, keeping your head hung low in shame. “I know I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve a second chance. I know I hurt you. I hurt you badly. But I was wrong. I was so wrong. I’m sorry. Please-”

Link says your name softly, choking on his own spit. “Where did you even go?”

“Far.” You admit without missing a beat. “I couldn’t stand the looks that the village gave me when they learned I was leaving you. I already knew that if they had to pick, that they would choose you over me. I knew that. I still did it. I was still bracing myself for it but I couldn't take it in the end and left Hyrule.”

You hiccup. It sounds pathetic. “I went to Hebra for a while. I didn’t go to Castle Town because everything there reminded me of you as well. Your stupid hero’s legacy is imprinted everywhere you look… It’s not stupid. I’m sorry. I know it was hard for you.” You wipe your face again, getting it dirtier. “I stopped by wastelands for a month when I was feeling my lowest. The whole time I wanted comfort and a hug and someone to talk to and found myself looking for you when you weren’t there.”

Link clenches his jaw at the sight of you. He’s adult enough to recognize that he’s never hated you for what you’ve done to him. He could take the humiliation, the multiple hits to his pride and his heart and the echoing silence that now fills the house you once shared. But he could never hold onto the thought of something happening to you. He always prayed for your safety, your health and your wellbeing.

And he’s never been able to stand your tears.

Sighing, he steps closer and reaches his hand out, intending to wipe the mess you’ve made on your cheeks. You take a step back, hugging yourself close and shrink into a small ball of shame and self loathing.

“Don’t cry.” He says instead, placing his hands on your shoulders to keep you in place this time. He wipes the wet streaks from your face with the backs of his fingers. “You’ve always kept your head held high. Don’t stop now.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Don’t-.. I don’t-”

“Shhh…” He says, tucking your hair behind your ear. “If you’re expecting me to start yelling, stop it. I don’t want to get loud.”

You gulp, sniffling and whimpering pathetically as you struggle to keep yourself from crying some more. “You should. I’d deserve it. You can yell at me if you want.”

“But I won’t.” Link pulls you closer to him and against his better judgment, begins to lead you into the house. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. You can tell me the whole story when you have decent clothes on and some food in you.”

“Link-”

“This way.”

He leaves no room for argument, pushing in the direction of the bath with a towel and some spare clothes of his. You don’t ask if there’s anything of your clothes left in the house. Of course, he knows where they are, but he doesn’t want you to know that he didn’t bother to toss them out. He put them in the corner of the closet where no sunlight, moth or dust could touch them.

He’ll wash them later and give them to you.

While you focus on cleaning yourself and getting all the dirt and grime off of your body, Link decides to fight off the building panic by making Yeto’s soup. Cheese, milk, pumpkin- does he have everything?

The smell permeates through the air quickly, filling the home once again with comfort and warmth despite the unforeseen circumstances that had brought you back to him. He’s not sure if he should be grateful to the forces that may be, or if he should tear his heart out for a second time before it can be trampled on for old time’s sake.

You emerge in an old shirt that Link isn’t sure where it came from and with pants that clearly do not fit you. Then again, why would they? They’re also his.

You look a lot better. You took the liberty of using his comb to tidy up your hair while all your new lines and edges of your face highlight just how not well you’ve been doing. You’re no longer crying at least. The dirt is gone and your skin has gotten a little warmer in tone, no doubt from the warm water.

The soup is almost done at least.

“Link-”

Link says nothing, pointing to the table for you to sit down.

You look over and notice that there’s still two chairs on a very empty table. Head down, you wordlessly go to sit down at your old chair and make yourself comfortable. Or at the very least make yourself as physically comfortable as you can be in a moment like this.

Within minutes, Link walks over with a steaming bowl of soup and places it in front of you. Without another word, he walks to the other side of the table and takes his place on his chair. He leans back against the back of it and crosses his arms. “Eat.”

You gulp, your mouth and throat feeling incredibly dry since you’ve arrived at the old house you’ve once shared. You take the spoon and very slowly begin to feed yourself the soup that Link has offered you under his supervision. It’s weird. You feel conflicted. It’s awkward and tense.

Link takes a deep breath, relaxing enough that you won’t know the difference if you were to look up and see him. He feels better to see you eating. The bruising under your eyes hasn’t gone away but surely it would look better after a good night’s sleep.

The pregnant silence weighs heavily on the both of you. The only thing to keep it from stagnating is the quiet clinks of your spoon against the bowl and your collective soft breaths.

“...Were you serious?”

Link surprises himself by speaking first. You almost jump from the sudden sound but manage to keep your reactions to yourself.

A sniffle. A nod. “I understand if you don’t want me back. I was so-”

“Stay then.” He says, gulping down the emotion that threatens to override his reasoning. “...If you truly think we can still work-”

“You’re going to forgive me?” You say breathlessly. You don’t believe him. “After everything?”

Link bites the inside of his cheek but nods.

“Why? Why give me another chance to mess this up?”

“...Because I still love you.” He whispers. “Stay.”

Tears pour over your eyes again.

“...I will.”

#not written to be explicitly LU #can just be normal TP Link #linkeduniverse #link x reader #linked universe #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #lu twilight #legend of zelda

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