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thebluester2020 · 4 months ago

Text

[TWST] "Umbrella"

Summary: You hadn’t had the chance to see Malleus for a while due to your busy schedule as of late. But after Malleus suggests that you two briefly hang out in between your classes, despite it practically raining cats and dogs, you won’t let bad weather stop you from your plans to see him!

Warning(s): Porn with plot ngl, Public sex(In a way? Reader and Malleus do it in the Botanical Gardens but no one's there), Munch Malleus.

Side Note(s): This is what listening to Rihanna’s “Umbrella” on repeat does to a mf. Also, there may some *slight* OOC Malleus in here. I’m still not on the Diasomnia book yet *sigh*

You haven’t had the chance to see Malleus lately. It seemed like everything in the universe wanted to keep you away from him suddenly!

If it wasn’t your classes, it was your homework and when Malleus offered to help you with your homework, you were all of a sudden whisked away to do busy work for Crowley. If those two options didn’t come in your path then you were tired from rushing around campus all day, sitting through lecture after lecture and the toll of being in an unfamiliar world taking it’s toll on you! Sure, the amount was dwindling by the day as you began to forget what your old life used to be like but, you still thought about home here and there.

But in the face of Malleus? Not to mention, the idea of leaving him-

The idea of returning became less and less appealing.

“Class dismissed, pups!” Crewel shouted as soon as the bell had rung, loudly signaling that class was over for the day. You wiped the sweat from your brow, fanning your face too for good measure as the experiment you had to perform with Grim dealt with a ton of fire magic. You were certain that you were going to smell like smoke and flames for weeks on end after this! And yet, once you had packed your things and turned down the long hallway out of the classroom…your day was immediately brightened, all by spotting a familiar set of horns up ahead.

You called out “Malleus!” With a bright grin, as if all the tiredness had left your body in a single instance.

The pair of horns stopped moving, moving left and right before stilling to look straight ahead as you pushed and wormed your way through the crowd before you were standing in front of your boyfriend. He looked as princely and perfect as ever it seemed, even though it was the middle of the day, it seemed that nothing could get even a single hair to get out of place!

“Y/N.” Malleus said your name with such softness that it made your heart swoon and make your mind suddenly feel as if it had been dropped onto a bed of clouds. “How have you been? It’s been-“

“A while,” You finished for him as your face began to flush red. “I…I’m not avoiding you! I-I hope you don’t see it that way.”

The Briar prince then placed a hand on your head, a silent way of comforting you before he slowly shook your head. “I am grateful that you merely wish to be in my presence, nothing could make me think you’re avoiding me.” He said. “And besides, even if such a thing were the case. I would talk to you first.” Malleus then looked around him to see that the crowds of passing periods had mostly died down to nothing but a few late stragglers here and there, as much as he wanted to continue talking to you…stop time right this instance if it meant that he would remain in your presence for but a second longer…he knew that you were busy. Especially seeing as your magic wasn’t your own and you relied on another for it.

"Are you free to spend time together this afternoon? I want to see you." His words practically flew out of his mouth before he could fully think about what he was asking of you. Suddenly, he worried that you would decline, that you would be busy around lunchtime or that you had already made plans around that time! He tried telling himself that the rejection was fine, that you had your own hobbies and friends to tend to but—

"O-Of course!" You responded excitedly, sweeping away his thoughts in a heartbeat as you practically glowed with excitement. Not a single answer that was along the lines of 'no' ever dared to cross your mind as you nearly jumped up and down like an excited toddler. "Where do you want to meet?"

"Near Ramshackle," He said with a soft smile. "There's no pressure, of course, I just...really want to see you, we've barely had any time to ourselves these days. Especially without interruption." You couldn't have agreed more as ideas of what the both of you would do during your afternoon date floated around in your head, all before you placed a kiss on Malleus' cheek. "It's a date then." You nearly burst into flames when Malleus responded via kissing you on the lips, a chaste and fleeting gesture but filled with enough passion and love to power a dozen suns.

"I look forward to our date then."

. . .

When you heard the thunder, you thought the world itself was trying to play some cruel trick on you. When it was close to your last class ending, you desperately tricked and told yourself that it was just your imagination! After all, no one else in the class even thought to react to the sound of an oncoming rainstorm much less your teacher! But...the second the bell had rung and you had stepped out of the building...the sight of rain practically pouring down from the heavens as if someone up there had tipped over a bucket, disappointment and annoyance filled your entire body in a rush. You were looking forward to your date, you didn't want a single thing to take away the possibility of you being able to hang out with your boyfriend after so long.

So, with a strike of determination all of a sudden, you pulled your backpack over your head and began to run as fast as you could through the rain. Yet, with the rain coming down so hard, the ground started to become slippery, your vision becoming blurrier and blurrier by the second it seemed while your backpack was starting to become drenched, all before...you found yourself standing in the middle of the rain, the mist fogging up the distance ahead of you without leaving a single clue as to where you were supposed to turn next.

"Shit..." You cursed to yourself quietly. You almost had a mind to tear up, all you wanted was a peaceful impromptu date! And yet—you gasped when you felt a warm force gently tug you somewhere out of the pouring rain. Before you knew it, your feet were no longer standing on a cobblestone path but soft grass, and eventually...shelter. The smell of flowers and all types of magical herbs entered your nostrils, combined with the misty scent due to the rain, it made for a pleasant yet crisp scent. Eventually, however, you took your backpack from above your head to drop it next to your feet. "Malleus?" You looked over to see him peacefully sitting on one of the benches, smiling as if he hadn't done a single thing.

He gently chuckled as he rose from his seat to walk over to you. "You're drenched, my love." You sighed, embarrassed. "The rain came out of nowhere..." You mumbled.

He nodded his head, doing his best to dry you off with his magic until his eyes widened at your shirt practically being see-through. He cleared his throat and looked away, the sight of his embarrassed expression confusing you for only a brief moment until you blushed yourself and quickly covered yourself as best you could. "S-Sorry..." You mumbled. "Maybe it would have been better to have postponed this—"

"No." He interrupted you. "...I wouldn't want to go any longer without seeing you, but...I didn't mean for you to risk getting sick, having your clothes ruined because of me."

You immediately took his face into your hands, huffing in annoyance. "Don't say that! I'd run through a million rainstorms if it meant that I'd get to see you in the end!" The both of you stared at each other for a long while, basking in each other's presence whilst Malleus basked in the sight of love swimming around in your eyes. He could hardly contain himself from kissing you silly as his hands came to rest on your hips, yet, as his eyes steadily traveled from your gaze and eventually rested on your slightly exposed breasts...a slow exhale left his lips as a familiar warmth started to travel through his being.

Yet, he tried to remain respectful of the fact that you may have been cold. "Forgive me," He looked away from your chest. "We need to get you a change of clothes, you...must be cold, right?" When you felt his grip around your waist tighten, your hands traveled from his face to rest on his shoulders as a smirk steadily crept onto your lips.

"Why don't you warm me up? We're alone." Your sex throbbed at the sight of Malleus' eyes beginning to darken with lust when you tugged him closer to you, feeling the tent in his pants against your stomach. "Are you sure?" He asked, searching for any signs of hesitancy in your eyes before you nodded your head eagerly.

"Please."

He could hardly wait for another second as his lips suddenly smashed against your own, weeks of unbridled passion and longing contained in each breathless moan that left his lips, his hands grabbing at every part of your skin as he struggled not to simply tear through your clothing in order to get to your skin even sooner. "My love..." He moaned. His hands flew to the buttons on your shirt, unbuttoning them with skill and precision before he was graced by the sight of your skin. Like a dog suddenly introduced to a slab of meat, his mouth watered at the sight, almost struggling to figure out which part of your skin he wanted to kiss first until he finally decided on the valley between your breasts.

"M-Malleus—!" You grabbed at his hair when his head suddenly dived down to begin peppering kisses along your breasts, his sharp nails leaving goosebumps in their wake as they teasingly trailed up the sides of your body and eventually to the clasp of your bra. "So pretty, my love." He praised, accentuating each word with a kiss to your chest until he latched onto one of your nipples. The feeling of his long tongue rolling around your nipple made your cunt clench around nothing, slick beginning to pool in the center of your panties before beginning to leak down your thighs. "Malleus..." You continued to whine his name like a prayer as he continued to suck and lightly bite at your nipple, sinfully lewd groans mixed with soft moans and gasps leaving your boyfriend's lips as he looked up at you as if you held the entire world in your grasp.

You wanted nothing more than to sit on his cock, ride him all in an effort to hear more of his delicious noise but...he was nothing if not attentive to your needs first and foremost before his own.

"Please..." You whispered as you found enough strength to weakly move one of your hands from Malleus' hair and to his hair. He groaned at the contact as you gently tugged him from your chest. "D-Down there..." He smirked at your shyness to tell him exactly what you wanted him to do to your cunt. Another time, he'd tease you and urge you to tell him exactly what you wanted to ensure your utmost pleasure, yet...as he began to see the rain begin to steadily let up. He knew he'd have to hurry things along.

"So needy~" He purred. Slowly, Malleus lowered himself to a crouch, the feeling of his warm breath on your clothed pussy as he gently lifted one of your legs to rest on his shoulder making you lick your lips in anticipation. His hands slipped down your sides, eventually coming to rest themselves on your thighs before his fingers found their way underneath your skirt. You were practically dripping, the arousing sight making the prince almost wish that the rain would last forever if it meant that he'd have a chance to sink himself into your heat. Yet, he was willing to take whatever he could get— "You don't have to stare..." Your embarrassed murmur tore him from his perverted thoughts, causing him to chuckle in response.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, my dear—" His finger slowly moved your soaked underwear to the side, strings of your glistening slick still connecting you to your panties while more oozed out from your twitching sex. "—we've done this countless times before, haven't we?" Before you could answer, you felt Malleus' thumb begin to gently rub circles onto your clit before he started to teasingly kiss and lick at your sex, stealing your breath right from your lungs as you struggled to keep yourself standing upright. His grip on your thighs tightened as his soft lips wrapped around your bud, his tongue beginning to flick it and rub it in circles.

Never once did his eyes leave your own as Malleus ate you out, one of your hands continuing to massage your boob while another slowly traveled to softly pet at Malleus' head before coming to grip at one of his horns. He grunted into your cunt, the vibration making you buck into his mouth before...the sight of his hand beginning to travel to free his cock from his pants nearly made you cum right then and there. Malleus felt like a pervert, fisting his cock while he ate you out like a man starved but he couldn't help it! You tasted soooo good and your attempts to keep yourself quiet but ultimately failing only made more pre-cum drip down from his cock and onto the grass below.

"You're dripping, my love, does my mouth feel that good?" You nodded your head, the telltale sign of your orgasm beginning to approach shown in the way that your eyes began to fog over and your thighs began to twitch. He then pushed one his slender fingers into your sex before curling up, finding your g-spot with ease and making you buck even more. Malleus smirk, wrapping his lips around your bud once more to work in tandem with his fingers. "Fuck..." You moaned. "Malleus—"

"I know, my love, I know." He whispered against your cunt, his voice soft and full of lust as he increased the movements of his fingers as he sucked your clit even harder. You were only able to moan and whine as your body shook with pleasure, lewd squelching and groaning coming from between your thighs as Malleus both worked to bring you to your high as well as continue to pleasure himself, slick noises emitting from his fist as he fucked his hand even faster. "M-Malleus...I'm gonna—c-cumming—" Malleus nodded between your legs, quickening his pace as he pressed his face even deeper into your cunt. Your grip on his horn tightened, making him moan as you came with a silent scream.

Your back arched as Malleus continued to eat you out, the slight pains of overstimulation making you whine as he continued to fist his cock, his moans vibrating against your clit before he suddenly stilled, releasing your clit with a lewd 'pop' as he hissed and whined out your name. The both of you stood there for a while longer, letting yourselves fall back down to earth from your orgasms until...the feeling of Malleus pressing a kiss to your thigh and slowly taking your leg from his thigh snapped you from your hazy brain.

Then, the prince chuckled as he adjusted himself back into his pants, standing back up and quickly wrapping an arm around your back to steady you. "Look, the rain stopped."

#twst wonderland #twst #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst fandom #twst fanfic #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus twisted wonderland #malleus x reader #twst malleus #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus smut #twst smut #smut writing

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flawseer · 7 months ago

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Became curious based on a Smaugust piece: What are your thoughts on everyone's favorite royal suck-up, Pike? (also ofc compliments to your writing and art)

Surprise, I am still kicking. And thus my Sisyphean quest to answer all the questions in my inbox continues.

I like Pike. I used to think moderately favorably of him, but pondering this question and then drawing a bunch of pictures of and about him made me realize that, yeah, I am rather fond of him. He is funny and cute in the same way a small, yappy dog is.

I remember once talking to my partner about Pike and I asked: "Do you think the JMA staff has to deal with Pike constantly trying to sleep in the hallway in front of Anemone's room?" Only to then realize, upon re-reading the books, that this actually happens in canon. I was thrilled.

Most of the time when people ask me what I think of a character, they want to hear what my take on them is, so I'll get into that.

Background

I don't think a lot is known about Pike's life, outside him having been assigned as Anemone's (questionably) covert bodyguard. He is one of those background characters that fill out the student roster at JMA but don't get a lot of development, though he is one of the more lucky ones as he gets comparatively more lines and scenes than, say, Barracuda, or Garnet.

We don't ever hear about his home life or familial situation, but I think he comes from a common military family. Not a particularly prestigious one, but rather one of middling significance. I imagine one of his ancestors--like his great grandmother--once made it to captain and ever since the whole family has prided themselves on their military legacy and loyalty to the Seawing throne, even though nobody else really knows who they are.

Pike's parents are both bottom rung palace guards; trusted enough to be stationed vaguely near the seat of government over a remote outpost, but nothing more. As is tradition in their family, they signed up as soon as they were old enough to hold a trident. Pike was expected to follow in their footsteps, and so did the same. He is naturally eager to please, doesn't ask many questions, and knows how to follow orders, so he took to this life relatively well.

One thing immediately apparent when observing Pike is that he is very blunt, headstrong, and reckless. He is prone to self-injury and mishaps, routinely making a tail end of himself during exercises. One day, I imagine, he was out in the courtyard, practicing his combat maneuvers, when he somehow managed to trap himself underneath a training dummy in a humiliating way. Unbeknownst to him, the Queen and Princess were walking past a window overlooking this scene, and the latter happened to spot him.

Princess Anemone, starved for normal social contact due to being permanently leashed to her overbearing mother, immediately took a liking to the clumsy guard and wished to take Pike into her service. The Queen though, hated the idea. Anything she couldn't control with 100% certainty was not to be let near her only living daughter. She didn't even let her own sons approach the Princess for this very reason. So she refused.

But Anemone, sensing an opportunity to finally snatch a tiny mote of control over her own life, didn't relent. She would never overtly defy her mother, but pushed back against her in the most passively aggressive way she could muster. She WOULD have this one thing that was hers, no matter how many times she had to sigh wistfully or forget to eat.

Coral meanwhile still disliked the idea, but after some pondering figured this could work to her advantage. Granting her daughter this favor would make her grateful, and thus easier to keep in check. It was not like the boy would be able to do anything undesirable since she would always be there to watch anyway. And if he ever displeased her, a random guard was easier to dispose of without turning heads, than if she let Anemone play with one of her brothers.

So eventually, she acquiesced, and extracted Pike from the palace guard to assign him to her daughter's protection.

The news hit Pike's family like lightning. Suddenly, after decades of being nobodies with delusions of grandeur, the whole palace was paying genuine attention to them, and the new recruit who, overnight, got assigned to be the Princess' personal retainer. Pike's parents took him aside and impressed on him how important of a task this was. If he did his job well and kept the Princess content and safe, not only would the current Queen think favorably of all of them, but Anemone would remember his service and reward him once she took the throne herself. For his sake and theirs, this was an opportunity not to be squandered.

And thus, Pike shouldered this great responsibility suddenly thrust onto his wings and embraced being Anemone's personal servant and protector. Pushed forward by his sense of honor and loyalty, a desire not to disappoint his family, and the knowledge that, if he were to fail and lose the only heir, Queen Coral would surely kill him.

Day-to-day life

Pike takes his duty very seriously, both out of loyalty to his liege, and because of how much is at stake for him personally. I picture him getting up during the small hours each morning and beginning his daily exercise routine, to stay in shape for his job. His roommate Flame often wakes up to him noisily doing squats in the middle of the sleeping cave and yells at him. "Am I cursed to be tormented by a diminutive idiot Seawing wherever I go!??!" Pike is lucky that his other roommate, Bigtail, is a heavy sleeper. Otherwise the training session would likely be cut short, with Pike tied to the ceiling lamp.

After wrecking Flame's sleep, Pike usually seeks out Anemone and attempts to stay near her at all times. Initially this caused friction between him and the teachers, as he would often skip his own classes to attend Anemone's. He only stopped doing this when Tsunami made it clear skipping classes would get him sent home, and thus away from Anemone permanently.

As they spent time at the Academy, the Princess began to get better and better at giving Pike the slip whenever she got fed up with his overprotectiveness. He freaks out whenever she vanishes, which is often. To help manage his stress, the JMA staff make him attend regular seminars on inner peace and meditation hosted by Fatespeaker. He is not very good at it, but enjoys the exercises that involve listening to running water.

He began to mellow out for a bit after initial growing pains, until the History cave incident occurred. The bombing shook him back into the bodyguard mindset and he began sleeping in the hallway outside of Anemone's sleeping cave. It weirds out Ostrich whenever she has to climb over him. Attempts to get him to stop this have been unfruitful. The current policy seems to be to let him do this until things calm down and he stops on his own.

Anything else

I believe Pike may have a thing for Rainwings. He is generally hyper-aggressive and rude towards everyone he talks to, with two notable exceptions. One of them is Anemone, whom he is sworn to serve and keep safe. The other is Tamarin, whom he is uncharacteristically kind to. My personal impression is that he may have a bit of a crush on her, but keeps himself from pursuing it as to not upset Anemone.

To my knowledge, Pike never really interacts with Turtle. That is a shame, because I would like to know how they would get along. Pike may be greatly disappointed at Turtle's general un-regal-ness, but still begrudgingly respect him out of obligation. I can picture a scene where he berates Turtle for his demeanor, only for someone else to chime in with an affirmative "Yeah Turtle, you suck", upon which Pike turns around and starts ripping into them about disrespecting Seawing royalty.

Concerningly, Pike's future is very uncertain. He is actually in grave danger right now. If Queen Coral ever finds out that he allowed a murderous, seawing-hating ancient wizard to abduct Anemone, she will have some opinions on that. If Coral has one consistent character trait, it is homicidal vengefulness against anyone who fails to protect her children, regardless of circumstance, regardless even if the perpetrator IS one of her children. That means there is a very real chance she will recall Pike from Jade Mountain and try to tear him apart.

I don't think Anemone would allow this to happen, mind you. She has been privy to her mother dragging poor sods out to the plaza to rip their teeth out, enough to recognize the signs of it coming. If she suspected Pike's life was in danger, I believe she would prevent him from leaving.

For now though, he remains at Jade Mountain, doing the best he can with the responsibility he was dealt, acting as Princess Anemone's retainer. It is a difficult, stressful, at times thankless job, but he would not have it any other way.

"Honor, and duty."

#wings of fire #dragon #wof #digital art #wof art #flawseer art #flawseer reply #flawseer talk #wof pike #wof anemone #wof coral #wof seawing #wof headcanon

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night-raven-tattler · 7 months ago

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Just... Just Mc asking Jamil, Trey, Idia and Sebek to do the "painting your nails with your s\o eye color"

I'VE BEEN OBSESSED WITH THIS AND WOULD BE SO CUTE IN YOUR WRITING (。´Д⊂)

-🌙

Hello 🌙! This is an adorable request and Mx Tattly lives for this kind of romantic fluff. Thank you for your request!

Nailing that new look!

Characters: Trey, Jamil, Idia, Sebek × GN!Reader (romantic, separate)

Warnings: minor chapter 6 spoilers, mentions of food in Trey's part, implied body issues in Idia's part

By opening the document, you agree to Mx Tattly's terms of source confidentiality.

-ˋˏ’✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Trey was hard at work, his hands kneeding into the dough and his arms flexing with strain

Despite his physical effort, he was in high spirits, smiling to himself as he looked at the dough in his hands- or, better said, his hands in the dough

His nails were, for the first time in his life, adorning nail polish

But not any nail polish, but one the color of your eyes

Cater was there when you showed Trey a thread on Magicam that showed a cute trend, lovers painting their nails with the color of each other's eyes, and how much you seemed to enjoy the idea

But you didn't dare to ask outright - maybe Trey wasn't comfortable with that kind of thing, which you respected

Yet, the moment you were gone, Trey turned towards Cater and asked him to help find nail polish that matched your eyes and his eyes...

Trey's smile grew even fonder at the memory as he finished with the dough, putting it aside to rest

He was working on some rolls he could hopefully greet you with later...

"Someone's been in a good, spoiling mood lately."

Your voice rung pleasantly in the wing and in Trey's mind as you took a bite out of his rolls

"They're my favorite flavor, too. How did you know?"

Trey grinned as he saw you wipe your mouth the cream with a tissue, his eye color complimenting your nails quite nicely

"I guess I was really lucky this time, huh?"

You huffed in amusement at his answer, both of you knowing he was not honest

But he was smiling in content with the way you almost seemed to show off your nails whenever he looked at you

And you also looved very pleased with yourself when he reached to wipe some cream off your face with his thumb, his nails clearly showing off the color of your eyes

Despite it being a trend, it was like a secret between the two of you

A discreet exchange of words of love between the two of you

『••✎••』

The Scarabia boy didn't really keep up with trends, and internet culture memes usually flew over his head

But you never cared about that, and always explained things to Jamil in group settings so he wouldn't feel too out of the loop

Yet, he kept hearing you talk about this one trend with your friends, a trend you yet had to explain to him, which made him curios enough to look it up himself

As he was reading the first article that popped up, a small devious grin started adorning his face

The master of always being one step ahead of you was cooking up a new way to surprise you...

A usual, silent cuddle session in the evening turned into him taking your hand and bringing it to his lip

His lips on your knuckles brought a small stutter to your heart, making it forget how to beat for a second

You could swear Jamil was a cuddlebug the moment every window and door was closed, and he seemed to get high off of the feeling of having you all to himself

"Your hands are very different than mine."

If your entire attention weren't focused on Jamil, you almost would've missed his words

"Really? How so?"

As to show you the differences, Jamil brought your hands in front of you, putting his palm and aligning his fingers to fit yours

His hands were more calloused, his fingers were quite longer, and his nails were well taken care of

"...When did you start painting your nails, love?"

He smiled at your, a mix of affection and mischief

"Only recently. I felt the need to try something new. Something... different."

It was a peculiar color choice for nail polish, and it didn't go with his general aesthetic at all

"Maybe we should paint our nails together. What do you think?"

His question caught you off guard, but you excitedly accepted his offer

Jamil was a very skilled person, and he definitely knew how to do nails properly

Much to your surprise, he simply reached towards his nightstand and took a small bottle out of his drawer

"You have the color picked and everything, huh? You little..."

Your tease died on your throat when you saw the color of the polish, and suddenly it clicked into your mind

You looked at Jamil, affection and admiratyion and amusement all dancing in your eyes together

"How did you know...?"

He only gave you a satisfied grin, making you blush slightly

Jamil has his way of always surprising you, if always catching you off guard in one way or another, but this was beyond what you expected

Jamil was always so thoightful, so careful with you, and it made your heart swell

...and the payback in kisses almost infinite

『••✎••』

The Shroud family was forced to carry a curse, a punishment extending through generations for the mistakes of just one reckless Shroud

The overly fast blot dissolution leads to his trademark fire-like blue hair, and the blue coloration of his lips, his nails and fingertips

Looking down at his hands and seeing that blue can be hard sometimes, seeing that blue and the weight he's been forced to carry

But the first time he looked down and saw a differently color he kind of jumped until he remembered what happened

He saw every single one of the Magicam videos you sent him, and he has been aware of the trend way before you were

"You can't say that this isn't a bit cringe..."

He pouts as his left hand is receiving a much needed manicure from you while he does his dailies on his phone

"Maybe a little bit, but you still agreed to it."

Your smooth hands hold his gently as you apply the nail polish of your eye color, while you already have that golden hue adorning your nails

Idia grumbled to himself a little bit, his hair glowing more pink the longer you held his hand

Once the first hand was done, you let it go and pushed it towards him

"Careful to not smudge it. What do you think?"

Idia took a few moments to examine his newly painted nails, trying to will his brain into not finding it weird to not see his natural, blue tinted nails

Now they carried a color he could only describe as full of life, as full of something other than dread

And, somehow, they made his hands look more... appealing, like he didn't see the same weirdly long, boney fingers attached to a palm way too narrow

Of course the color of you looked weird on his fingers, but it was the kind of weird that was quirky more than anything

He pursed his lips, his hair turning more pink as he struggled to find the words to say

"...This is the kind of cringe I can get behind."

His voice came out as more of a mumble, a small admission instead of his sigh of defeat whenever you got him to do something coupley like this

You offered him a small smile, pulling his phone out of his other hand and resting it on his lap as you worked on his other hand

"Glad to hear that."

『••✎••』

"Why would I want to paint my nails in the color of your eyes?"

His question sounded rude to some, even as if he was questioning why he'd want to indulge in something so silly

But by this point in your relationship you knew Sebek well enough to know he was simply genuinely confused by the trend you just showed him

"It's a form of... showing devotion, I suppose. We paint each other's nails as the color of each other's eyes to show that, no matter what, we carry a small part of the other with us at all times."

Sebek let those words sink in before he nodded

"So this is why you want to do this with me?"

You nodded as both of your cheeks grew rosy at the small proposal

"I also thought it would be really cute, you know..."

You added, and Sebek mumbled something about "not needing to do cute as a guard", but he loved to see you happy, so he relented

The next day, you were in town, shopping for the nail polish

And, to your surprise, you had to help Sebek make the difference between crimson and emerald... huh

Once you picked the colors, you were ready to leave, yet...

Your eyes lingered on a certain color, a shade of lime that came close to yellow, vibrant that reminded you of a certain heir

"Hey, Sebek."

Sebek hummed at you when you caught his attention, looking down at the bottle you picked up

"This shade is close enough to Malleus' eye color, don't you think?"

It took a few moments for him to catch on, and he was... taken aback by your consideration

And the two of you left the shop as he sung your praises for your observation and quick thinking

Sebek was the type of person who enjoyed symmetry, a clean and neat look

Belief that lately has been contradicted by his mismatched nail polish

When anyone asks, he gets slightly embarassed and stuttery, but to him it's a proud display of devotion

The eye color of his liege adorns his left hand, the hand with which he yields his sword, his baton, his magic

And your eye color adorns his right hand, the hand you always hold when he's busy so he isn't preoccupied, the hand he reaches towards you in moments of danger to push you behind him, offering you protection

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #trey clover #trey clover x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader

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earthsparked · 2 months ago

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Unsurprisingly, Rung’s the first one to notice.

When Rodimus announced the Lost Light would be bringing on a cohort of humans as some kind of security advisors, or something, the mechs had responded in various ways. Mutters of resignation, irritation, curiosity. Whirl had been…Whirl.

We probably shouldn’t leave the humans alone with him, the ship’s psychiatrist had worried, the third time the mech had made one of the organics freak out with his jokes (“jokes”) about squishies, about the various graphic ways their entrails would gum up his inner workings. Half the poor dears outright disliked the mech, and many of the others were understandably terrified of him. What else were they supposed to think, when his only interactions with them were threatening to some degree or other?

So when every mech’s EM field tightened with concern one day in Swerve’s, watching as an overcharged Whirl swaggered up to where the newest member of their organic crew was chatting with Rewind, Rung vented softly and expected more of the same.

Only -

You blinked at the rather direct, messy threats coming your way by the big blue flier the others had warned you about. And chuckled.

You’re forgetting the bones. You guys always forget the bones.

The slag does THAT mean, squishy?

A knock of your knuckles on the table, as Swerve keeps cleaning the same glass over and over, watching this go down, clearly about to ask Ultra Magnus to intervene the second this crosses the line…

You laugh outright under the glaring optic. See, right there. We’re not just viscera. We have an internal bone structure! So when you step on me, it’s not going to be a squish. Not just a squish, anyway. More like a CRUNCH, and a gooey ooze, and some screaming of course. Then a drip, drip, drip -

You dip your fingers in your drink and let drops of it patter to the table, in imitation of that red fluid that is and isn’t like energon at all.

Whirl just…stares. You smile at him, earnest, a little playful. You know what you’re doing, clearly, but there’s nothing cruel to it. Your strange, alien, yet strikingly comparable EM field - which you supposedly can’t even sense, how odd - is as open and straightforward as any he’s encountered. You’re engaging. With Whirl.

Neurodivergent, your mental health records had said when he’d looked them over. He’s no xenopsychiatrist, he’d protested to Rodimus, but after being pushed into reading your species’ own research he has to admit the similarities between your kind and his are so striking, nearly unsettlingly so…

He can’t help thinking, what a lovely word the humans had made.

That differences exist and minds diverge, and it’s not wrong. It’s not stigmatized - or shouldn’t be, the humans say. It could make an old mech like him reminisce on the horrors of Functionalism, the crimes of their past…compared to that lovely word, neurodivergent.

So he knows that Whirl is being confronted by a species, or at least one member of a species, who diverges. Who sees differences as something to embrace. You’re still smiling up at Whirl as he snaps out some further defensive threats, but Rung sees it. Hears it. Wonders at it.

Fine, you can be Crunchy, he snarks, and after a few more vague insults, goes to pick a fight with someone more his size.

You make a face and try to explain as he turns away that Actually “crunchy” has a certain connotation in my society, and I’m definitely not “crunchy.” Uh, but I guess I’ve had worse nicknames. Bye, Whirl! you call, unperturbed. Nice meeting you! I like how blue you are by the way!

Do you realize that you’ve managed to get under the fractious mech’s plating?

Do you see the way Whirl looks over his shoulder as he’s finally getting dragged off to the brig for starting another fight - looking to see if you’d been watching? The same way he tosses out a joke, Hey Eyebrows - looking for a reaction.

Rung sees it, and nurses his drink, and wonders what might happen if he slips a datapad to you about empurata.

#transformers x reader #transformers x human #transformers first contact au #whirl x reader #rung x reader #kinda anyway #bonus: the tiny human storms into his office with pure rage in their field and on their eerily Cybertronian-like features #mixing with a feeling of disgust and sickness #they did that to him you say #cold and quiet and full of rage #for a mech who’d been nothing but cruel to you #and Rung says come in and closes the door behind you #we have a lot to talk about

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grandma-the-ghost · 2 months ago

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~Smoke break~

a shadowpeach ?angst? Fic + art<3 : art & writing by me. Hope you enjoy ~

tw: smoking+minor sh

Swk stood leaning against the railing, smooth smoke rolling off his lip.

It feels like century’s since he’s done this, He started this habit near the end of the journey to help with his stress, and he kinda tapered off of it after becoming somewhat of a hermit.

But history has the tendency to repeats itself now a days.

Thankfully it doesn’t really effect him ,medically, one of the many perk’s of being an immortal!

But It doesn’t not affect him.

It clouds his mind making him feel fuzzy, grounding him in the moment while making his problems blur into the background.

The moment? watching the city that holds the last remaining people who somehow care about him,

The water refracting the flickering Lights making a halo effect on the city.

But of course all good things come to an end,

“Ooo~ what do we have here~” it rung in his ear.

It was a degrading voice that ever since the day he met it love to remind him of every little mistake.

reminding him

Why he’s nothing.

And That no matter how hard he tried he’ll never be enough.

Even when the owner of the voice was gone

It still lingered-

Poking-

Prodding-

Crawling on his back-

It’s suffocating, like it’s holding him down.

…

“What would Mk think”

It was macaque-

“The great sage falling for mortal addictions, how disappointed would he be?~~”

He hummed with a teasing smile.

leaning over the railing trying to get wukong to look him in the eye.

But the king just leaned into his cigaret taking another drag.

He dropped his smile, disappointed.

“Why ARE you smoking” he was more accusatory this time

“You know it won’t help, RIGHT!”

The king Held his breath

“or are you doing this just to forget about your responsibil-“

Apparently smoking makes him even more impulsive too,

Because before he knew It he had macaque by the scarf with their lips pressed together. He letting out a shaky, and agonizingly slow breath out.

Letting The smoke that filled his lungs, fill macaque’s.

His eyes were closed but he could feel macaque lean in, he was trying to tease him, wukong figured.

When he pulled back the six-eared-macaque was wearing an unreadable face.

His eyebrows raised and nit together, eyes wide, pupils small, and mouth slightly agape letting smoke slip out.

He was surprised yet something else, wukong didn’t care to find out.

Breathing in “you can ether LEAVE or SHUT UP and have a smoke” Swk said gesturing to the pack of cigarettes. The pack had been resting on the railing, being the only company he had before macaque showed up, it only had two cigarettes left.

Wukong turned towards the city inspecting the one he already had, It was almost burned out.

He lifted it up, pressing it deep into his neck before twisting it. Making it Let out a sharp sizzle. In the corner of his eye he could’ve sworn he saw macaque flinch, But he knew better.

He closed his eyes and let out a slow sigh. Before tossing it into a nearby trash can.

He turned to grab another, but in one swift movement macaque grabbed the whole box.

Apparently he chose to stay.

While Giving him a glare. He stuffed the box into his pocket while lifting one of the cigarettes to his mouth .

Once his other hand was free it was lifted to the other end of the cigarette.

There was A flash of purple before it started smoking.

“You really are the worst mentor” it was macaque‘s favorite insult nowadays, a guaranteed fight. He just loved the attention didn’t he? But the monkey king just kept looking at the city. Even though Swk would never admit it, macaque was right.

that kid does deserve better

And He knows he isn’t Good enough, yet, but he would be damned if he didn’t try.

So he will become better, or die trying.

——————

AAAAAA- I spent my whole weekend working on this, sorry for the shittty art- I was tearing through art block. Any constructive criticism about my writing though is welcome~

anyway have a good day~~~

#shadowpeach #lmk sun wukong #lmk six eared macaque #lego monkie kid #fanfic #my art #tw: smoking #Tw: minor sh #monkie kid

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joelslastofus · 7 months ago

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[SUMMARY: Coparenting with Joel, he finds out the man you’re newly dating is a danger. ]

PART TWO

Meeting for thanksgiving dinner.

Angst

Just as you turned off the stove the bell rung unexpectedly.

“Joel?” You whispered to yourself as you saw him through the window.

“Did you forget something?” You asked as you opened the door.

“We need to talk” the look of concern in his eyes caught your attention. Quietly you let him in and had him follow you to the kitchen as Everly lay on the living room floor watching tv.

“Dinner is ready, if you’d like I can make you a plate” he shook his head distracted with what he had to say.

“How much do you know about this Henry guy?” You turned to him confused by his question.

“Um, I’m still getting to know him, I know some things-“

“Like what?” You knew Joel, something wasn’t right.

“He doesn’t have kids, he lives alone, he runs his mechanic company- why are you asking me this?” You rubbed your forehead with a puzzled expression.

“I don’t think you should see him anymore-“

“What? Joel-“ you almost laughed. Who was he to tell you who to and not date?

“Look, there’s some things about him that just ain’t right-”

“What things?” You placed your hand on your hip with a sigh.

“What did you do a background check on him?” You spoke sarcastically as he moved closer leaning in toward you.

“And what if I did? He’s around you and our daughter” he spoke low.

“Alright, this is getting ridiculous. Where are you going with this?”

Joel looked towards the door to make sure Every wasn’t near before turning back to you, an intense look in his eyes.

“He’s got a damn order of protection on him from another woman he was with before he met you,”

“Joel-“

“He was stalkin’ her and it wasn’t just her” you looked up at him silently unsure how to take in this information.

“How do you know this?” You asked softly noticing the uncomfortable swallow with your question.

“How?” You repeated.

“Sam-“ you instantly turned walking away.

“I don’t wanna hear about Sam! So your drunk irresponsible friend who’s already got you into trouble before is who you’re trusting with this information?!”

“I don’t think he’s wrong” he walked towards you as you kept your back to him prepping Everlys plate on the counter.

“And what if it’s not the Henry I’m dating? Then what? What if it’s just another one of his mix ups?” Joel stood silent before you finally turned back to him.

“Look I’m sure you don’t like the fact that I’m dating again and-“

“You think I’m lyin’? You think I’d lie about somethin’ like this?”

“No, Joel. I just think you jumped on the wrong information” you could see the frustration he felt that you didn’t believe him.

“You think so? Or you think he really coincidentally just keeps runnin’ into you and Everly?”

“It’s a small town, Joel. Look..” you sighed.

“This week is thanksgiving and I was thinking of inviting him for dinner with you, Tommy…the girls. He’s really nice, Joel, I don’t think it’s him-“

“Are you listenin’ to what I’m sayin’ dammit” he snapped in a low voice as Everly ran up to the door.

“Daddy?”

Joel sighed and crouched down as Everly ran up to him.

“Hi, honey”

“Are you picking me up again?”

“Not right now, baby, soon I promise” he assured her as she smiled and ran out the room. Joel stood back up as you leaned back against the counter crossing your arms.

“There’s no proof on this, Joel-“

“Come on, what are the damn odds in it being the same damn mechanic named Henry?” he whispered.

“I’m not going to argue about this with you without certainty especially with who this came from. I don’t trust Sam, you know that. You either come Thursday or you don’t” you stubbornly responded.

“I’ll be here” his voice was cold.

Joel left you thinking over what he had said. What if it was true? But then again thinking about who it came from…it couldn’t be true. Sam must have it all wrong like he usually does.

It was Thanksgiving day as you spent the day cooking, Sarah rushed over to help you excitedly. You promised her this year you’d teach her how to make a turkey. Joel and Tommy arrived with desserts and drinks offering to help in anyway they could.

You hadn’t spoken to Joel since he had come over a few days earlier yet you could feel the slight tension with him no one else seemed to notice. After finishing up the food you ran upstairs to change before coming back down in a new brown dress you bought with black boots. Joel sat on the floor playing with Everly before Sarah’s comment caught his attention.

“Woah look at you! You look beautiful!” Joel looked up and was completely taken back, captivated by your beauty when the bell rang.

Henry had arrived.

You felt your heart racing as you opened the door. You wondered what the night would be like, how would Joel act?

“Hi” you grinned happily as Henry greeted you with a basket full of cookies and a bottle of wine.

“Oh my favorite” you sighed before tip toeing to kiss him. Joel wasn’t one with a poker face, the sight of you kissing another man wasn’t one he thought he’d ever be ready to see. Tommy nudging him on the shoulder making him snap out of it, he cleared his throat and stood up.

“Guys this is Henry, Henry, you remember Joel,”

“Of course” Henry grinned “this is his brother Tommy and his daughter Sarah”

“Well, it’s great to meet you all” he smiled as Tommy and Sarah smiled while Joel stood rather serious, focused on him.

“So-“ you spoke up awkwardly.

“Are we ready to eat?”

“Been ready” Tommy chuckled rubbing his stomach.

“Let’s eat!” Everly yelled excitedly leading the way to the kitchen. Joel stood behind watching as Henry wrapped his arm around your waist pulling you close.

“Here-“ Joel cleared his throat as he caught up to you and Henry.

“Let me give you a hand with bringing the food to the table”

“Don’t worry about it, I got her” Henry turned to him as you stood rather awkwardly between both men.

“It’s alright, Joel. Thanks” you whispered with a smile before turning toward the counter with Henry.

Joel sat down watching as Henry’s hand settled on your lower back. Sarah and Tommy could be heard joking around in the background with Everly as all of Joel’s focus fell on another man touching you. Henry’s hand slid lower eventually gliding over your ass making Joel straighten himself in his seat, his fist clenched beside his dinner plate. Henry’s hand placement did distract you but him giving your ass a squeeze was what made you gasp.

“Henry” you whispered looking over at him.

“Not in front of them please” you smiled awkwardly.

“Why not?” he chuckled still not removing his hand.

“Please, it’s there first time meeting you-“

“Worried about your ex?” He raised a brow.

“No, it’s just…can you just be respectful” Joel furrowed his brows as he noticed you gently push his hand away but that didn’t stop Henry.

“Oh give me a break” he laughed putting his hand right back where it was and pulling you toward him.

“Let’s just put the food out” you whispered before turning to the table with a smile.

“This smells delicious” Tommy spoke excitedly.

“Well, with Sarah’s help it did come out delicious” you sat beside Henry with Everly on the other side of you in a booster seat.

“Thank you for teachin’ Sarah how to make the turkey, I know it wouldn’t have been the same if I did it”

“Cause you suck at cookin’” Tommy chuckled making you laugh.

“What are you laughin’ at, you used to love my spaghetti” Joel teased, bringing back a memory that made you smile.

“That I did” you whispered almost forgetting Henry was right beside you until he placed his hand on your lap.

“Well-“ you cleared your throat, “let’s dig in.”

Tommy stood up and turned on the radio to play music so thankfully it wasn’t as silent. Everly danced in her chair as she played with Sarah before Joel decided to start asking questions.

“So how’d you two meet?” Joel looked directly at Henry wanting him to respond. It didn’t matter if you had told him, he wanted to hear what Henry had to say.

“Well, she came in one day needing to fix something in her car. I had already been seeing her since she passed by my job on days she walked to work. I’d see her drinking her coffee hoping she’d come in one day , -“ his words leaving you with a puzzled expression.

“You’d see me walking to work?”

“Mhm”

“That’s strange, because usually if I walk I take another route that wouldn’t pass your job, I mean I don’t remember passing it” you sat lost in thought as Joel leaned forward.

“That’s so weird I can’t remember-“

“Must’ve been a while ago then” Henry chuckled nervously.

“But anyway, the day you finally came in-“

“What was it that made her finally come in?” Joel asked as he took a bite of his food.

“Flat tire” he responded.

“Somehow I managed to drive over glass or something that slit it, I swear I have the best luck. I had no choice but to stop at Henry’s, it happened just as I came out of work”

“Hm” Joel squinted his eyes at Henry who looked over at you.

“Ain’t that convenient. Happen to have a mechanic right by you, huh” Joel continued. You could hear the sarcasm in his voice and looked up at him.

“I think Everly is loving the turkey” Sarah said giggling distracting all of you. You laughed looking over at your daughter but could feel Joel’s eyes on you..

Just as dinner was over everyone

moved to the living room to watch TV. Henry and Tommy lost in a conversation about football as you began cleaning up. Sarah offered to stay with Everly as Joel began to help you clear the table.

“I hope you enjoyed everything” you spoke softly without looking at him.

“Course I did” he responded without taking his eyes off you. You could tell there was more he wanted to say but before he could you stopped him.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking.” You whispered.

“He did not do that to my car-“ his shoulders tensed up as you spoke.

“it could happen to anyone” you continued.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” He looked down at you, eyes focused.

“I’m not having this conversation anymore” you began to turn away just as he caught you by your arm when Henry entered the kitchen.

Clearing his throat standing at the doorway, Joel quickly let you go as you stood awkwardly.

“You alright?” Henry approached you ignoring Joel beside you.

“Yes, how about we try those cookies you bought?” You smiled quickly turning away grabbing the basket as Henry looked up at Joel. Joel glared at him before you turned back and led Henry out…you knew the evening was far from over….

(I’m so sorry it’s short!! I’ve been very caught up with my daughter but I wanted to post this today for thanksgiving. I’ll continue it soon! I promise. Thanks for your patience. Some tags did not work so I’m sorry if you weren’t tagged.)

Tags:

@moonpascal @katmoonz @joelsteinfeld @picketniffler @stcrrjoon @itsamandi @starry-eyes-love @theoraekenslover @psychoenergy @joeldjarin @bambisweethearts @baronessvonglitter @guelyury @mynameistokyo @harriedandharassed @locaparapedrito @untamedheart81 @rosaliedepp @illyanam1011 @hopefulatrocity @tikikiki @thewritermj @l0veang3l

@manuymesut

@katiemarieeee @unknownomgg

@secretcheesecakenacho

@missladym1981

@sunnytuliptime

@xmaykeca

@dendulinka6

@wintersquirrel

@malfoycassimalfoy

@scorpio-echo

@orcasoul

@mysteryhexgirl

@locaparapedrito

@alloftheimagines

@mystickittytaco

#pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fan fic

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leclarifies · 8 months ago

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forgive and forget (CL16)

✰ charles leclerc x reader ✰

summary → dating a formula one driver meant that your boyfriend would always be busy, but what you didn't expect was for him to forget your anniversary all together.

genre → angst but gets fluffier towards the end (very short drabble, self-indulgent)

word count → 1.3k words

author's note → honestly, i really like writing angst with charles, i'm sorry dahbdhanda. i just needed a break from writing something with any sort of plot, so enjoy <3

the thunder in the background snapped me from my trance, i've been lost in thought for awhile now. the sky's dark and the day was almost ending, and here i was sitting at the dinner table, alone with food all around me.

the rain was drizzling in monaco, and it fueled the sinking hole in my chest. i knew that charles was a busy man, but i didn't expect him to forget our anniversary together.

somehow, i didn't feel sad, or disappointed. i just felt numb. it hurt of course, seeing your own boyfriend forgetting about your anniversary, something i thought that we would both celebrate together, spend the day together, or maybe just sit in the quiet of our apartment, kissing and touching and ending the day together.

but the fact of the matter was, he was a formula one driver and i couldn't keep expecting him to be there when i wanted. it was a selfish want, and somehow i needed to understand that not all anniversaries can be celebrated, and not all of them will be remembered.

a sigh escapes my lips, i've been waiting for him to come home for four hours now. maybe it was time to let up. i gently took the plates of now cold food and shuffled into the kitchen, putting them into containers to store in the fridge, not wanting them to go to waste. i had lost my appetite in the process, not even touching my own plate of food.

when i was finished putting all of the food away in the fridge, the door of our apartment jingled, charles was home.

"amour, i'm home," his voice had rung out in the apartment as he entered our shared apartment, even though i felt upset, i couldn't help but smile at him, at least he came home, right?

i was never the one to yell, to throw a fit when he forgot about something. even if it was something as important as our anniversary, i always wanted to talk it out, even when it made me upset and charles would always appreciate it, he would always talk to me lovingly even when we had our arguments.

"you missed our anniversary, love," i told him gently as i walked up to him, wrapping my arms around his middle before leaving a kiss on his cheek, his face flashed from surprise to frustration all in one go, he closed the door behind him and sighed, he was angry at himself for forgetting, i could tell. the way his brows were furrowed and his shoulders tensed.

"i-... amour, i'm sorry. things have been hectic, the car is just so shit this season and i didn't mean to—"

i cut him off before he could ramble on about his work with a soft kiss to his lips, "it's okay, i'm not mad at you. i know how things are at work and i understand, i just feel a little hurt that you didn't call or text me at all," i explain to him and he closes his eyes before wrapping his arms around me, he held me close.

i could smell the faint scent of his cologne as we held eachother close, the domestic aspect of it all. waiting for him to come home, cooking dinner for our anniversary even though he forgot.

"how about i make it up to you?" charles asked as he opened his eyes back up, the pretty green orbs of his eyes staring lovingly into me, staring lovingly into my bare soul, "what do you want to do?"

"can you just drive me around in your noisy car?" i laugh as he smiled at my joke, all of his cars were sports cars and they were noisy by default. i had always complained about it but i could never be mad at his love for his team, "just spend the night together, driving in the dark of the night while we sit in each other's company."

charles pressed his forehead against mine, he breathed in before nodding, "i can do that for you, do you want to go now?" he left a kiss on my lips before i nodded.

it wasn't long before i was in the passenger seat and he was starting his car up, i hadn't been in this car yet. i knew that he got it as a gift for his win in austin, i had attended the race and he had excitedly told me about the car once we got home in monaco but i never got the chance to sit in it until now.

"this one is a bit noisier, amour. i apologize," charles had said when the engine rumbled to life, i had settled into the seat as he drove off into the night of monaco, his phone had connected to the bluetooth automatically and his playlist was in the background, serving good ambience in the car.

"i love spending time like this, just the two of us, not really driving to anywhere meaningful," i had spoken up, breaking the previous comfortable silence the both of us were in, charles glanced at me before humming a response, eyes back on the road shortly.

monaco was a small city, but i noticed that charles had taken a particularly familiar track, it was the monaco grand prix track, where he had won earlier this year.

"i'm sorry," another apology leaves his lips, i turn my head to look at him, he didn't have to apologize. i forgave him after he got home, but i appreciated it, "i should've paid more attention, i know how important dates are to you. i should've set a reminder."

"i told you that it's okay, i'm not holding anything against you," i tell him softly, his hand instinctively reaches out for my knee and i let him, setting my hand above his as his thumb gently caresses my knee.

the both of us had spent most of that night going in circles, going on the familiar monaco track, it was almost 3am when charles had decided to go back home. the night drive we spent together was nice, it was peaceful. i loved it.

it wasn't long after the both of us had settled into our apartment, getting ready for bed.

i had sat in my vanity, just doing skincare with charles opting to sit on the floor, his head laid on my lap as i went through the steps for my night routine, my hand periodically going down to pat his head.

"we can go for dinner tomorrow, i have nothing planned," charles mumbles, leaving a kiss on my thigh, i nod, dinner was fun, considering that today's was left untouched.

i could feel his head lift up from my thigh, so i looked down and i saw him staring up at me, with all the love in his eyes, i just smiled at him, "what's wrong love?"

"nothing, i just... i'm sorry. i feel bad. i love you— i love us. i just can't believe that i could forget our anniversary so easily like that," charles mumbled, i pet his head again, i had told him countless of times in the car ride that i didn't hold any ill-intent against him for forgetting. his job was demanding, and something like that could've easily slipped his mind.

although i did feel hurt, he's trying to make it up to the best of his abilities now, and that's all i could ask for.

"how many times have i told you to stop apologizing?" i had told him before standing up, he did the same and the both of us made our way to the bed, snuggling up against eachother.

my head was against his chest and his face was in my hair, softly breathing in and out. i could tell he was tired but still went out to drive with me anyway.

"i love you, amour."

"i love you too charles."

"let's go to dinner tomorrow, okay? i'll make it up to you," charles pressed a gentle kiss onto my forehead and i could only hum back in return, i had my eyes closed and i was close to drifting off to sleep considering it was nearing 4 am at this point.

"okay, goodnight. sleep well."

"goodnight to you too mon amour."

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x yn #leclarifies fics #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 x yn #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst

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wickedwitchofthegalaxy · 1 month ago

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☞𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝑅𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒☜︎

☠︎ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓋𝑒: 𝒮𝓊𝒷 𝑅𝑜𝓈𝒶 ☠︎

𝒫𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝑨𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏(𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒔)𝑿 𝑭𝒆𝒎𝑷𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒏!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: 18+, DEAD DOVE🕊️, Non-Con, Power Imbalance, Rough Sex, Dirty Talking, Emotional Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, Coercion, Mild Blood/Injury, Degradation/Praise, Toxic Dynamics

𝒲𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉: 6.9K (Tehe🤭)

𝒮𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎: What happens here will not be spoken of, but it will leave its mark.

𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈: I’m super excited but also lowkey terrified to share this chapter with you. It’s darker and a bit more intense than before. This was definitely a… complicated chapter to write. Never hesitate to leave a comment, I love hearing from ya’ll. ☺️

Banners by @cafekitsune !

Enjoy🖤

Your instructors told you war happened on the front lines, in bursts of fire and blood. With screams caught between blaster bolts and the split-second calculus of who would die first. This was a more isolated war. This war followed you down steel hallways and gave instructions in a voice so smooth, you mistook it for mercy.

“Left,” Anakin ordered behind you.

Below your boots, the drone of the ship prospers louder, droids move cargo with clanking limbs, and console panels blink rhythmically along the walls.

You turn.

The stairwell yawns downward, and each step sends a sharp jolt through your feet. The alien metal ridges nibble at your soles, the ship reminding you who it belongs to.

You pass a pair of troopers exchanging low banter, one laughing about something you can’t hear. He glances at you.

Doesn’t look again.

“Do they know you drag people down here,” you toss over your shoulder, the rungs of your voice catching on the words as they drop, “or am I getting special treatment?”

It stings, but you push it. Your skin is thick enough.

You can handle this.

This game you’re playing now, it’s the only one you’ve got left. The trick of dominance. The magical delusion that if you say the right thing, smart enough, keen enough, maybe you can tilt the scales.

“Again,” he announces, his voice chipped. “Left.”

You hesitate.

You don’t know what your foot does next; only that it forgets how to be a foot for a second. Your cadence breaks, and your step glitches. A vessel faltering around its sown chagrin, its dread sewn tight behind the knee.

You don’t have to obey.

You could stop. Here, now.

You could, right?

You could turn and cry out, let the accusations blister up from your throat and scald the walls. You could shatter the neat order of this damned metal cage. You would be unapologetic.

They’d hear you.

But what then?

Would they step in? Tell him what he’s doing is wrong? Draw their blasters?

No… they wouldn’t.

You know what name is stitched into the history of this war, of their loyalty.

It isn’t yours.

If they came running, especially if they came running, how would you explain this?

That you followed? That you obeyed, again and again, until your own limbs stopped trusting you?

You don’t have a clean sentence to give them.

There is no bleeding wound to show the medics. No bruised lip to press into a report, nor would there be a soul on this ship that would believe its origin. You don’t have the wording to explain that kind of fear. No description that would fit on a report, no line item that says the silence was a cry.

You don’t have any proof.

Deep within your intestines, where the glare of your defiance rests, that sparks it more than anything else.

Your fingers twitch.

You turn.

Behind you, the pause lengthens, and he, of course, fills it.

“You’re scheming,” he begins, almost like it pleases him. “You’re trying to decide what would happen if you stopped walking.” He answers as if he already knows the flavor of your rebellion. Like it’s a delicacy he’s swallowed and dined on for years.

You flinch, but it’s internal, visceral, gaping, a sliver of memory in the folds of your gut pulling tight like it’s bracing for a blow.

“You want me to tell you?” he asks, his tone delicately barbed.

You try to breathe.

Calm. Control. Focus.

But your chest doesn’t expand; it locks. Your ribs feel like scaffolding; you, a building half-destroyed from the inside out.

“Would you like me to describe what happens next?”

The cadence of his song coiled incantations into your skin.

Don’t turn around. Don’t let him see it on your face.

Your throat tightens. Your body does the strange thing it always does in moments like this: Preserve. Conserve. Contain.

You pull your energy inward, flatten your rage, and tuck your panic into a corner of yourself that doesn’t move. That won’t tremble.

It won't last.

“Stop,” he orders, and you freeze mid-step.

He doesn’t give you time to question it. “Go ahead. Scream. Run. Cause a scene,” he pushes, daring you. You can feel the frigid amusement in his eyes on your back. He's expecting the worst, and wishing for it.

You could cause a scene, you should.

His voice slides back into your ears with menace clotting the letters.

“Before you do,” he adds, and these letters come out darker. A command. “Look around you.”

You make yourself turn your head, your pulse thumping painfully. Every panel along the wall blinks at a beat you can’t keep track of. The clones, those soldiers who you followed around halls similar to these a thousand times, now stare straight ahead, rounding you on either side and pretending not to notice the two of you stopped in the center of the walkway. The droids drift past without a peek. But then there’s a flicker.

One of the clones. His visor is lifted, face visible; young and very tired. He locks eyes with you as he passes. For a heartbeat, he sees you. Yet, the moment his eyes scan behind you, they jerk away, and he too passes you. And then another.

And another.

Anakin steps in closer. You can feel it, the change in pressure before his body even brushes near. A new gravity.

You hear the smirk as he whispers the last words you want to hear.

“They’re afraid of me,” he states, not as a secret but as a low-slung truth.

“Look at them.”

Your eyes move on instinct.

None of theirs meets yours. Not one. The ones that glimpse your way avert just as fast like they’d seen something they weren’t meant to.

“None of them will look me in the eye. They don’t see you,” he says. “Not truly. They’re pretending not to.”

“You could scream,” he starts again, and the sound falls inward, like water down a well with no base. “You could run. But none of them will help you.”

There’s nothing uncertain in it, no trace of doubt, and he waits to let it settle.

They’re not going to save you.

It’s not a question anymore. It’s reality.

“You’ve got five seconds,” he warns, veiled barbs now pricking.

He’s tired of pretending you have choices.

“Decide your path.”

You want to spit an insult back, something bright with venom. But nothing comes. You’re not even sure what language you speak anymore.

There’s rage, but it’s disoriented.

Fire without a direction.

You don’t have to obey. You can fight back.

But your voice is caught someplace profound, chained next to the vertebrae where your dignity lies. And when you try to conjure the scene, your body turning abruptly, your hands a weapon, throat open, you see a version of yourself that doesn’t move. Not paralysis. Absence. The image slips, half-formed, like a dream dissolving. You see static as if your body’s been erased from the moment.

“I’m not angry,” he murmurs, with that infuriating calm he wears as armor. There’s a smile just beneath like he’s humoring more than denying the idea. “This?” he tells, as if he’s clarifying for your sake. “This isn’t anger.”

“You’ve seen me angry,” he clips in, tone dipping like the stillness before a scream, lullaby-sweet but soured.

You have.

That’s the problem.

You know the distance between this and fury; this is worse.

Because this is control. This is him letting you think he hasn’t already decided how this ends.

You swallow. Or try to. It riddles halfway down.

Behind you, steel boots clatter over metal. A voice crackles through a comm link, blurred and indistinct. From above, there’s a burst of laughter.

Life continues.

“Four,” he states.

You grip your forearm. Dig your nails in.

He’s taken everything. Every choice. Every shred of control.

He’s stolen it.

“Three.”

You flinch, and something in him catches on it, either his satisfaction or his sorrow. Maybe both. The lines blur so effortlessly now.

The ship thrums around you, boards blinking like false sentinels as if they’re trying to warn you, or watching. A clone passes. Doesn’t glance. Doesn’t blink.

Anakin steps in again, and the world seems to slope on its axis.

“Two.”

His voice, there’s a split in it, vulnerability cracking inside him mid-word. Not much and not visible, but there.

Your heart should be faster. It’s not. It’s delayed like it’s listening instead of pumping. You feel your hand fall from your arm. You don’t remember telling it to. It’s the smallest movement. But enough. Enough to halve the suffocating stillness.

He notices. Of course, he notices.

“You think I want to count?” The words spill tighter now, like pressure seeping out of him through a seam he can’t seal. “You think this is the lesson I want to show you?”

“I tried to let you go. I tried to leave you alone. I tried to do the right thing. I tried—”

He cuts himself off, voice snagging on the words like they hurt coming out. The space between you sags, like a bridge too long without repairs.

You’re too quiet. Too still.

He exhales once, sharply through his nose, as if it costs him. Like you’re costing him.

"This isn’t about punishment," he breathes, voice sliding thinner, more frantic. "It’s not discipline. I’m not training you."

A pair of clones pass across the upper walkway. One taps a comm. The other checks his weapon.

Neither of them looks down.

"This is about keeping you."

He says it plainly as if it should clarify everything. Like it’s enough.

The word is coming. You can sense it in your bones, vibrating up through durasteel plating, collecting in your spine.

“One—”

Your foot recalls how to move.

Not both. Just one. A twitch forward, like your body’s hauling itself up from a grave.

The word dies on his tongue, unfinished.

The dread inside you feels rehearsed. Your body sets into its marks, each muscle moved by some forgotten script you are bound to, obedience disguised as instinct.

“That’s it.”

It’s a line you’re not certain if he’s telling you, or himself.

Regardless, the words cram your chest with a warmth you won’t dare address. You don’t even consider giving it an ounce of introspection.

You endure a single step, then another, the rhythm falling into place.

“Keep going,” he mutters, and you catch the command returning to his voice. “Not much further.”

He doesn’t rush you again. He watches, content in the knowledge that you’ll do precisely what he’s asked.

You hate this.

The walls ooze indifference, and the air grows denser the farther you go. Saturated with burnt oil and the scent of metal shavings. Overhead lights flash repeatedly as you pass beneath them, sputtering against the recycled air, their dim, sallow light resisting the dark.

A common enemy.

This part of the ship doesn’t feel like the others. No console panels. No shuffling of clones. No droids. Just welded grating, exposed piping, and a low, soulless whine bleeding through the passageways like it’s alive and sobbing.

You can feel it drive into your blood, its pulse in sync with your vibrating heart.

Locked hatches and thick mechanical joints of sealed doors line either side.

This is where things are stored until they’re needed again.

Or never.

You wonder, briefly, if you'll be part of the forgotten things down here.

You speak without turning your head. “Is this where the other distractions all went?”

A pause. The kind you recognize instantly because it means he’s debating with himself.

Anger licks up your throat.

“I’m not your secret to stash away,” you state, harsher now. But your voice doesn’t plug the corridor the way you expect. And then, behind you; half scoff, half exhale. It’s not quite laughter or disbelief, it’s vacant.

“You think I’d hide you?” The words tow behind your steps, as he keeps a steady pace. “That’s not what this is.”

You don’t change your speed, but you listen. Your entire body is on edge to hear his next sentence. It’s infuriating.

“This place doesn’t matter, it's an unused space where no one else gets to look or guess or laugh about things they don't understand,” he continues, “Why are you acting so immature? You did the hard part for me, now no one will question why you’re bruised and shaking when you walk back in.”

His voice stretched out past your skin and found the dish of your vertebrae. You keep moving, despite your spine wanting to spring. Wanting to curl.

The hallway feels smaller than it is; it narrows as the main path gives way to a pressure-sealed junction. There are cleaner welds here, newer lights, but still unmarked. Still buried.

You stop in front of a sealed hatch.

Behind you, his boots halt too. He steps forward, and your head straightens. The moment wrinkled, like time bent a knee to him.

What just happened?

“You want to keep wearing this act of being scared, Y/N? Fine.”

His hand lifts mid-sentence, skimming the access panel. A low chime responds to his presence, and the hatch opens with a groaning hiss. A ruddy light bleeds out in strips across the floor from the opening to your feet, flowing wider as the door parts.

“Be afraid that I haven’t changed—that I don’t want to.” He’s closer, and your mind starts to buzz, a familiar numb yet present impression taking over.

“You want to fear me?” He leans in, his words growing large and reshaping law as you know it.

“Fear that I’ve stopped pretending I don’t need this, and I won’t do anything to get it.”

There isn't a second to move before he shoves you forward.

Your body crashes into the threshold with the sound of metal greeting skin. You instinctively try to catch yourself on the chilled floor, hands splayed, knees jarred.

It isn't clean here. It isn't warm.

You breathe in: coolant, scorched wiring, and grease. A chemical rot where nothing circulates.

Above you, a single bulb sways like a body hanging from a noose, casting red lines across the foundation, and humming with a frequency just off enough to bother the teeth in your head.

Your palms sting and your left is slick. Oil or blood, or both. You don’t look.

Your knees ache. Not from the fall, but from the way they stay planted. Your body understands; do not stand. Not yet.

You hate that.

You hate how natural this all feels.

You shift to sit upright, slower than you want, elbows trembling. Because it’s cold. That’s all. Not fear. Just temperature.

The door hisses closed behind you. Not a slam. A seal.

You keep your eyes trained on the wall.

You already know where he is. He’s an excessive pressure behind your eyes as if he's mapped into your nervous system. Every cell aware.

The silence carries. You expect him to move. To speak again or gloat.

He doesn’t.

Why didn’t you run?

Because you don’t know this ship? No.

Because you had no choice? Closer. But not it.

Because some hideous, blistering part of you wanted to feel him again?

Bingo.

“Is this… what you had planned?”

“Planned?” he echoes, and it’s not really a question. It’s a taste, foam, and corrosion. “No. I tried not to plan this. I gave you space. I let him have you for a while. I tried to be better.”

I let him have you for a while.

The audacity. The ownership buried in the words, offered like a gift.

You swallow down the spike of stomach acid.

“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he tells, above you, like he’s delivering a eulogy. “I swore I’d keep my distance.”

You hear him strip his gloves off, one finger at a time.

The leather creaks.

“You should’ve heard the promises I made.” His voice files like it's being shaved down to something barely manageable. “To the Council. To P—”

He cuts the name off like it burned him and exhales. Almost a laugh.

“Didn’t matter.”

Whose name was he about to say, and what promises were made?

You don’t dare look back. Can’t. Because the heat in your gut is already curving into a shameful knot.

You shouldn’t feel this.

You shouldn’t…

But it’s not new, is it? It’s just undeniable now.

You brace, but it doesn’t help.

You feel his knees frame your back. Wide. Grounded. His boots set apart just far enough to box you in; not touching or grazing, but unmistakably there.

His hand, uncovered now, skin warm and wrong, hooks under your chin.

Your breath stalls.

You don’t lift your head. He does it for you.

Anakin’s arm is wrapped around from behind, elbow locked to his side, using the weight of his stance to tilt your face upward. His body doesn’t press into you but looms just shy of your back.

His cloak is open, parted like a veil around either side of your shoulders. The light wags, slicing the enclosure into bands of shadow and ichor. A gash of light runs along the underside of his jaw, gleaming the faintest stubble on his throat and the hollow just beneath it.

The sharp line of his nose casts a long cloud over your mouth. His cheekbones, usually elegant, and noble, now jut like cliffs from his skull. Sweat has gathered at his hairline, intertwining a few strands against his temple, darker and wetter than the rest.

The blood rays daub his eyes like wounds. You see them from beneath, those skyless cyan irises clouded and cracking. His stare is a much greater consequence than his touch. His expression, it’s not wild. It’s worse than wild.

It’s starving.

There it is again.

You had nearly buried this feeling.

Not submission, obedience comes naturally now. It’s that same muscle-deep urge, wreathed between fleeing and understanding. A soundless, dishonorable abidance you can’t name without flinching.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far,” his tone has no business being soothing, yet it lathers across the room like honey over warm toast. “But the second they handed you off to him, knowing the bond we share, as if you weren't meant to be at my side—”

You don't need to see his jaw muscles flex; the proximity allows you to feel it in your skull.

From this angle, you capture the movement in the cut of his neck, the hard line twitching just under his skin. It shifts his entire face, sets one cheekbone higher, and darkens the stage of his mouth until he doesn’t look like himself.

Except he does. This is Anakin. This has always been Anakin.

“You thought I forgot about you?”

It’s an arterial laceration, a carefully placed first cut in a creed of oaths.

“I should’ve.” His voice kinks, the trembling escaping in the small caverns of the syllables. “I should’ve pulled it out by the root. You. Every trace of you.”

The thought had crossed your mind that you’d been a moment. That he’d blinked and let you go. You expected the Council meeting to snap him out of it, shock him back into his right mind.

Maybe that would be the end.

You were exceedingly mistaken.

“You want to know what I’ve been doing while he’s been wasting your time in that archive?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, the guise of patience has depleted. His breath comes once and he speaks again.

“I’ve been undoing every reason I had not to touch you.”

Your eyes clench shut.

If you see his, words will spill; words you'll regret later.

“Look at me.”

You don’t.

Not fast enough.

His grip closes, but doesn't hurt, it isn’t meant to. You gasp without sound.

“I said,” he cuts in, closer now, “look at me.”

Your lashes lift.

He’s there.

Not angry. Not yelling.

But gone, his restraint dwindled to ash.

His lips barely move. “There you are, good girl.”

His words shouldn’t land like that. They shouldn’t ease your shoulders.

What is this feeling?

This nuisance that turns shame molten. That eats at the only piece of you that remains sane. Their little whispers in your head turn to screams.

You're smarter than this, stronger than this, you should claw your way out.

A Jedi would.

Your actual voice should protest. Your actual limbs should fight. But neither move. You’re not afraid of him. You’re afraid that you aren’t afraid at all.

The next noise is more subtle. Not speech. Not breath. A pruned click. You realize it's his teeth tapping once, against the inside of his lower lip. Unconscious. Edged. Regretful.

It shouldn’t mean anything.

It's a sound that doesn't mean anything.

He's been above you for a lifetime. Long enough for the swelter to rise and stay trapped between his body and yours.

You remember that heat. It doesn’t belong in you. It’s not the calm of meditation or the clarity of the Force, it’s a breach. A wrongness curling down in your abdomen. It tugs at your soul like hunger, but not for food, not for peace.

He tips his head the barest degree. The cartilage in his nose creaks, inaudibly, but you see it in the way one nostril flares broader than the other. His lips part again, not to speak. Just to breathe.

When he finally does speak, it’s in the leeway between drags of air. Almost like he doesn’t want you to know which exhale it came from.

“There are things I’ve done,” he whispers, “to try to forget what it felt like to be inside you.”

The words aren’t thrown. They’re released.

He smiles or tries to.

His grin doesn't lift his face; it’s the kind that drags at one corner, like something is unraveling inside. A single canine glints through the split, catching the blood light just as it breaks across the plane of his face.

“I’ve burned hours in sparring drills I didn’t need. I’ve repeated the Code so many times it doesn’t even sound like words anymore.”

He swallows, listless and dry.

“I’ve meditated for hours,” he continues, “with your voice in my head and my hand wrapped tight around my cock—”

A pause. Not for effect. For composure.

“I can't stop hearing how you sounded when I pushed you open.”

Corruption and manipulation are nonexistent in his voice. That one, that one is a confession.

A truth.

And when your eyes tinge, just slightly, his lashes descend. A racing bead of sweat has made its way down his neck now, catching in the recess where his collarbone disappears beneath his robe.

Anakin’s hand, still tucked tightly beneath your chin, adjusts slightly. Not to lift. To feel. The pad of his thumb shifts to the curve just below your bottom lip, where your skin is delicate.

He doesn’t press.

You feel the pause in him, waiting, wondering if you’ll cower. You don’t. You know you should. That would be the smart thing to do. The right thing.

Perhaps even the safe thing.

‘Safe’ ceased in meaning to you. If it ever had one, you're not sure. Not when it comes to him.

“Say something,” he murmurs, and though it’s scarce, it isn’t an order. It’s softened like it’s not meant to be heard.

For a split second, you nearly do.

A brilliant and cruel retort. Your tongue is sharpened by years of experience in the great arts of insults. You could cut him down and make space between your skin and his heat. You could remind him of the mission. Of the Order.

Yet there’s a chunk taking refuge in your throat.

Lodged behind your teeth and gums; connected to the pits of your stomach.

You remember how it felt, too. How he sounded.

Silence, at least, lets you pretend this chunk is absent.

But then a darkness dresses behind his voice.

That strange duality of him; you remember this as well. The speck of vulnerability suppressed under a far more famished appetite.

His thumb rises, tracing the boundary of your lip once, slowly. Your traitorous lips part, but you say nothing. He inhales again, pointed this time like your speechlessness cut him.

“No,” he corrects, voice rougher now. “Don’t.” The two words land with prejudice; one part blessing, the other warning.

He’s telling you not to ruin it. The illusion that you want this, that you always have, could still hold if you stay quiet a moment longer.

“I have few words for how you feel,” he murmurs, head dipping. His nose grazes your temple, not a kiss, but intimate enough to make your skin weep.

His hold changes.

His hand slides from under your chin, but not without tracing the column of your throat first. It snakes around the front of your throat, palm flat, thumb pressing below your jaw, tilting your head back further.

“You feel like betrayal,” he mutters, closer now, his voice folding into the smooth niche behind your ear and blooming down your nerve endings.

He's crouched, his knees spread just enough for you to settle between them. Your lungs draw in as his metal hand finds your shoulder and drags. He wrenches you back against his legs, tighter, aligning your body where he wants it.

There’s a reason you trained. A reason you were attentive when the superiors lectured about attachments. You learned to handle the rise of appetite without seeking food, anguish without chasing relief, and loneliness without pursuing touch. You learned discipline in solitude. You listened. You obeyed.

What was all the training for?

With one word from his mouth, it’s all erased. One tip of your head, one breath in your ear, and you’re frayed as if you were never trained, like you were constructed for this instead.

For him.

No.

No, that’s not true.

You shouldn’t let this happen.

You shouldn’t.

You whisper his name. A diminutive, broken sound. The final trace of your sanity trying to surface before he pulls you under completely.

“There you are,” he whispers again. “My girl.”

He releases your throat and snakes into your hair, yanking it back, and with his steel hand, he moves your torso, bending it forward just slightly. Just enough to tell your body what comes next.

His thigh presses forward behind you, nudging your knees wider, and anchoring your hips in place.

You hate the part of yourself that arches into his touch. That embraces the positioning, the claiming. That goes flexible, not in dread, but in readiness.

Your body knows this version of him. Too well.

“You dream about me?” he rasps, again not waiting for an answer. “Because I dream about you. Ruined. Sobbing. Still begging for more.”

Ruined—and your center contracts like it wants the damage.

Sobbing—and your lungs seize, filled with too much air, too little dignity.

Begging—and it settles in your hips with a familiar welcome.

You let your spine relax. Not because your mind gave in, but because everything else inside you already has.

He exhales, and it tastes like vindication.

He knew this part of you before you did.

That makes you physically nauseous.

You despise that your knees haven’t buckled in objection.

You loathe that you're still on them, back against his chest, pliant, pliable, willing.

He pushes his chest against your back, solid. There’s no room to breathe, no space to move. His hand slips down your body, metal fingers slick as they trace the outline of your waist.

You want to move, to fight this.

Instead, you feel your chest snare when he changes positions behind you, his fingers curling tighter in your hair as he tugs your head back to expose the bend of your throat.

“You knew,” he says. “Back in that hall. You knew what this would turn into.”

What you don’t know is if you’re trembling from fear or something else, maybe both, but he senses it. He always senses it. And it only makes him move closer.

“You’re not even bleeding yet, pathetic.”

Your knees scrape the floor as you’re tugged, then shoved, your forearms catching your weight. The angle forces your spine to curve as his hand remains knotted in your hair.

You want to scream. You want to resist, to wail, but you don't.

The words slip from your lips, faded and flimsy, “I hate you.”

He doesn’t need to answer, the way he drags you back against him with one swift motion tells you everything you need to know. His other hand slides around your waist, fingers digging into your flesh with no intention of letting you go.

“You hate me,” he declares, a breathless, unstable smirk in his voice. His hand wanders lower, pressing firmly into the fabric of your pants, rubbing what’s underneath. “Is this what hate makes you feel?”

The words are a vicious twist, trickling with ridicule and mockery. His metal fingers rub against you in the most intimate, violating way. You tremble at the sensation, disgust swirling in your chest.

“I hate you,” you breathe, the repetition lurching past your lips before you can stop it.

You want to believe the statement, to connect to it like a lifeline, but the sum of your body betrays you.

“Liar,” he whispers.

Click

You don’t feel the phantom limb of compliance, but the moment you see stainless steel in his fist, the world ruptures. His metallic hand glides from your core to the hilt of your saber.

He holds it out, the polished cylinder’s fresh grip gaping at you with a cheated blood glow.

Two days.

Forty-eight hours of owning that thing, and you’d barely looked at it.

Two long days of page-turning and taciturn disappointment. Of pretending the endless archaic words fed you like combat might have. The saber had felt like a prop, a congratulatory relic earned in name only.

You’d shown Lex and Abby like you were shucking back your skin, exposing weeping tissue. Not pridefully. You offered it up like a wound before it scabbed, just to see if they’d flinch. But they hadn’t. They’d lit up, lit you up, their awe adequately drowning the second-guessing, tugging you into the courtyard with bare feet and joy on their lips.

They pulled you into the plaza and called it amazing. Called you amazing.

That was the only time the saber had felt like yours.

Their splendor pressed into your skin like daylight against a bruise. You could almost believe it then, that this path had been carved for you, not around you, that you were becoming someone to be amazed by.

“Most Padawans sleep with their sabers the first night,” he tells, almost conversational. His hand knots tighter in your hair. You can’t move. Can’t look away. “They light them in the dark. Learn the sound. The weight.”

He lifts it slightly, and the hilt grazes your upper arm. It’s rigid, foreign.

“But not you,” he murmurs. “Too busy pretending to be something else.”

The red bulb overhead flickers once. Anakin stares at your saber, rolling it in his hand.

His thumb brushes the ignition.

He won't—

Snap-hiss

The green blade splits the room. Not emerald, not jade, a more brutal color, like acid flash-frozen midair. It bleeds green across your thighs, across your knuckles as you brace yourself. The light saturates the crimson in the room, bursts the gloaming into slats.

He brings it near your throat.

“They make you build them,” he continues, his voice hushed, as if the blade has made him holy. “So you’ll respect the weapon. So it’ll respond to your touch.”

The ignored chunk blocking your airway is gone, replaced by a dryness. The light licks against your collarbone, projecting green sparks in the sweat on your skin.

“I wonder if it will still answer you after this.”

You feel the undeniable pull of it then, the memory of building it, fingers trembling as the components snapped into place. The crystal knew what you didn’t, even then. It had whispered, don’t fuck this up. It recognized the fracture in you.

Anakin hums, a bottomless rumble in his throat. The saber’s glow washes neon over the curve of your neck. You can’t swallow. Can’t shift to relieve the ache thriving down your spine.

“Take off your pants.”

You blink. Not at the words, those don’t surprise you anymore, but at the cruel finality of them.

You don’t budge.

He clicks his tongue and angles the saber.

The beam kisses the narrow skin of your jaw.

You can smell it burning.

“Now,” he insists.

Your fingers start to move.

You hate how deftly they find the buttons, how easily you pivot your hips to shimmy them down. You hate the sound they make, fabric slinking down your legs, pooling around your knees.

“You kneel like you've done this before,” he rasps, and you want to hate the words. The depth of it. But you can’t because your own saber is still at your throat, and hate is small in comparison.

You don’t cry. Not because you’re strong, but because your body is too focused on surviving. Everything else, everything you thought you knew, is nothing.

“I see pieces of myself in you, pieces that need breaking, or maybe… setting free.”

His hips grind into yours, wanting to feel your body's reaction. He delights in what it responds with, tilting his head to see your face better.

A breath. His voice drops lower, the kind that twines inside you and pulls tight.

“I’m not asking for your permission.” His fingers tighten like a vice, yet strangely reverent. “I’m showing you how to listen. To feel beyond the pain and the fear and the lies.”

His hand abruptly leaves your hair, and your head leans forward from the loss, searing your throat further. Your teeth click down on your cheeks, holding back the yelp in your chest. The copper tange is becoming an all-too-regular taste.

The droplet of sweat dragging down your temple distracts you momentarily from the ruffling of fabric from behind you as it drools over your lip and falls onto the saber, a small crackle emitting and throwing you disturbingly fast back into reality.

It isn't until his bare length is rubbing greedily into your folds that a noise flits from your lips.

Your eyes are fixed on the red walls while your fibers are only aware of the ridges and veins of him, and a delicious, sickening warp inside you.

This isn’t like last time, and you know it.

It's more.

So much more.

There isn’t a single thought or memory that exists here. Not now.

The stretch is brutal. He doesn't stutter, not even when your body spasms and bucks under him.

When his hips finally hit the curve of your ass, you can barely breathe.

The floor plunges from beneath you both, a shared weightless pleasure.

You know because, for a moment, his hand goes slack.

The blade dips lower, singeing your clavicle.

You can feel the blisters forming on your skin, yet it, too, like your memories, are lost. Because his cock is thick and throbbing inside you and his body is scalding and damning. And the sounds.

Oh Gods. The sounds.

Low grunts, resounding, carnal.

Whimpers, depleted, pitiful.

Your hips jerk forward as you try to get away, but he only drags you back, pushing in deeper. It doesn't hurt, not exactly, not the way you expect.

Because you're wet.

Your pussy is fucking wet.

Drenched.

It's shameful.

And then, the blade is gone.

Gone from the fresh wounds, gone from your thoughts, and then—

Crash

Glass shatters across the floor.

The lightbulb above is dead.

It's pitch black.

And he's everywhere.

His arms wrap around your waist, and he fucks into you. He fucks you like it's not his cock between your legs, but the truth and the truth is that you love every second.

The pain and fear are gone.

“There is no emotion, there is peace,” His voice rumbles against your neck, so deep you almost mistake it for a growl, but the words he spoke are ones you've memorized yourself. “Say it,” he demands.

Your mind scrapes at fog, desperate to obey, desperate not to. It takes all the willpower you have to push the words out.

“There is no emotion, there is peace,” you echo, as he pushes further, his hips hitting forcefully and rapid, each one jolting you.

“Say the rest."

You find it. You make yourself find it.

"There is no ignorance, there is knowledge."

"Say the rest."

Your words are barely coherent, the last few words broken and disjointed as he pounds harder.

"There is no passion, there is serenity."

"Say the rest!"

“There is no chaos, the—”

His cock hits inside you, sending a bolt through your spine, and you can't hold back the wail that escapes.

You could die from the humiliation alone.

He chuckles, pridefully.

"What was that?” he goads. “What were you saying?"

You don't need light to know the expression on his face, the satisfied grimace, the gleam of his blue eyes.

You're not sure how you haven't shattered yet, but you can feel it.

Building.

"T-There is no chaos, there is harmony."

There’s a rhythm to the desperation now, a music in the way the body can still move, still dance, even when it thinks it can't. Your hips rock, and you can't tell if you're doing it consciously. Are you doing that? You don’t know.

You don’t know.

"Say the rest." He groans through his teeth. It’s not appealing. It’s not performative. It’s a man who’s too far gone to care.

"There is no death, there is the Force."

Your voice breaks, and you're almost certain that you've fallen apart, but no, no, the pressure is still building.

You don't notice the tears. They're a reflex. A chemical response to stress.

"There you go," he murmurs, a deformed gentleness in his tone. "That's it."

His thumb catches the tear at the rim of your jaw, dragging it down in a motion so soft it feels like a caress, then he slides it to his mouth and curls his tongue around it.

“You don’t have to understand. Just stay.”

The tears aren't stopping, salt-streaked mixing with the moans that rive out of you, each one more dismal than the last.

He doesn't seem to mind if anything, he seems to treasure it, the way your walls are clamping down on him, the way the noises are becoming manic.

“Say it, say you will stay.” he pants, “Tell me you will stay.”

You try. But what comes out is garbled, unmade. Your mouth is a ruin, your voice a trembling gasp of syllable soup.

His thrusts are punishing, searching your body for the answer your tongue can’t form.

"Fuck," he grunts, "come on, Y/N."

You're already gone.

Your body shudders violently against him, and your mouth opens, but there are no words, just wreckage.

Just ruined breath.

He doesn’t wait. He drives harder, chasing the answer your body is giving.

But your voice finds you, just as the pressure peaks. It's not a whisper or a scream this time. Not a sob or a plea, no, a plea would be braver. It would beg. This is not that.

“I will,” you state, and his mouth is on yours before the word finishes.

Not a kiss. Not even close.

His lips crash into you, tongue slipping inside your mouth, tasting the vow.

He doesn’t have to ask if you meant it.

Your body is honest, always.

You're not sure who came first, him or you, but your orgasm is still pulsing when his releases, his length twitching as it empties deep inside you, so hard that you can feel each rope of his cum shoot into you, filling you up.

He slumps into you with a hiss. The sound of a man emptied, not of passion, but of need. You feel it, too. Not just the spill of him inside you, but the silence that follows. The awful, tender silence.

His breath scalds the side of your neck, mouth parted against your skin.

You expect shame. You want shame. A clean and penalizing feeling. It doesn’t come. A much crueler fate presents itself. A frantic calm. Like descending into a lake and deciding not to swim.

His metal hand drags along your waist, a possessive line, and then flattens low over your stomach. You swallow, but your throat’s scraped of any healthy tissue. Your lips are open, but they hold no protest behind them.

“Say it again,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your shoulder. “Just once.”

Every muscle is tight and trembling, but your control is rotted. Thought and will have slipped behind you. You aren’t deciding to speak. Your mouth simply moves.

“I will stay, Master.”

The title falls off your tongue in a daze, drugged.

His breath hitches along your shoulder, and there’s a moment where everything feels even, serene before the next wave hits you.

“You are… the perfect distraction.”

Perfect.

A word that means he sees you as equal, more than equal; you exist in the one place he’s still human.

You break.

Not with sound, you’ve run out. You break in the tranquility. In the way your body seizes and stays. In the way you remain full of him, unmoving, undone, and thoroughly, irreversibly his.

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bloodied-blossom · 1 month ago

Text

You'd do anything for that antichrist, wouldn't cha?

1.5k Words; Ronin x Reader (1/2)

Killer Chat! Fanfic

Ronin is driving you insane, if he wanted proof so badly? You'd give it to him. The devil wants your corruption. And thats just what you give him.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

'Heh'

‘Will you Carve an Aorta out for me? Cut it Filthy and Breathing’

`Do It like the Romantics do`

`i haven’t Forgotten your Need to Prove yourself to me`

`<user> [16:51]`

`I don’t think I need to prove myself to you.`

`< goreboy > [16:51]`

`who’s the one Deciding your fate?`

`i Thought so`

`have fun with your Murder`

`don’t forget to Send Pics`

`in the meantime`

`i’ll be marking the Devil’s name Uptown`

Ronin . God why won’t he get off your back. Oh, right, it’s because he knows. You know he knows. But there isn’t much you could do about it right now. Your thoughts are swirling with ideas.. Should you prove yourself? Is it worth the blood on your hands just to get him to leave you be? He’s corrupting you, and he’s pretty damn good at it. Reading his words again gives you a grotesque idea. ‘Carve an Aorta out for me?’ The thoughts only spiral as you try to push them out. You try to convince yourself that a human life is not worth your sick romantic fantasies.. But you can’t deny the truth any longer. You need this server's trust. You need proof.

If you want the devil’s heart? You’ll have to play the devil’s game. And by playing his game? You’re falling right into his hands.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You had scoped out possible victims. There was a list of shitty people you knew the world would be better off without. This really was a terrible idea. You had on shoes that were three sizes too big, a large coat, a mask, long gloves and a couple of weapons to get the job done. Ronin was driving you mad and yet there was so little you could do about it.

You came into this server for inspiration, and here you are on the brink of murdering someone. It was too late to stop now anyways. You had a victim, you had time, and you had your equipment. You set off in the dead of night, knowing most if not all people, including your victim, would be asleep.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Fuck you’ve done it- You killed the guy. He lay there motionless, the crowbar you used lying beside him. You knew that it was over with and that you should get your photos and leave. But once again, Ronin’s words rung out through your head. ‘will you Carve an Aorta out for me?’ God why had that one sentence stuck? He was going to be the death of you.

You knew you had to do it. Maybe now he’d shut up, maybe now he’d take more of a liking to you. Maybe now he’ll see what he’s done to you, how bad his corruption has affected you. It’s ridiculous really, he’ll only enjoy seeing you break.

You left a mark on the victim's body. Your.. brand. If you will. A missing heart and a mark. How creative. You held the heart in your hand and pulled your mask down. This needed to be deleted as soon as it was sent to the server, you knew that, but that was a problem for later. You snapped a photo of you holding the heart, a twisted smile on your face.

The devil lives to corrupt and shows mercy to none who play with his fire.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You couldn’t send it. It made you sick looking at it when you got home.. Plus it would be too early. This wasn’t some fun game anymore, some stupid role you could play to get your inspiration. You were now a certified murderer.. And despite how disgusted the dead bodies made you feel? There was a thrilling rush to it. God your morality was being tainted slowly but surely. The only way to recover the sanity you lost is to send the photos and move on. Pretend it never happened…

But you made it this far. Why stop now?

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

`< goreboy > [18:28]`

`oh, why not make it reality?`

`why don’t you Kill Someone for me @\user`

`i’m still Waiting`

`here i’ll even Let you Choose`

`that’s my Round Two`

`i Dare you`

You stared at your screen at a loss for words. You already have. You’ve done what he’s acting so desperate for.. But could you even tell them? It’s frustrating. He’s driving you even madder as time goes on. You stand from your desk, you know how to get the frustration out. Ever since that night, you have been more and more into finding ruthless people you could make victims. More and more proof to pile on. You saw your murder case on the news the morning after that night. People weren’t scared of you.. You were growing this want. The want to be feared.

You stare at the crowbar you used that night, the outfit being neatly folded right beside it. You could do it again. Give into the devil’s demands. Rack up all the proof you need, with all your reasons attached. That would be one hell of a fucking blow..

You’d prove yourself to the devil , and the devil will accept it graciously.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You did it again. You idiot. You’re falling for the bait, all the corruption. It doesn’t matter, what you’ve done is over with. You can’t go back. You stared at yet another lifeless body. Something inside of you told you this should stop, but something else felt good about this all. It was so gratifying knowing you were becoming just what he wanted you to be. You marked the body and tore out the heart, taking yet another photo from another angle to ensure the receiver knows it’s a new, fresh kill.

With your blood soaked gloves, you wrote your killer name on the wall. You wanted your chosen name to strike hearts into people. You wanted there to be news articles of you.. But that meant more blood. And you were more than happy to oblige.

Dancing with the devil is no sane person's hobby, but to you? It was your favorite.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

`< goreboy > [15:38]`

`hey ‘user’`

`how about i show you the Art of Murdering with a crowbar`

`i’ll Do it`

`as long as you Be my Victim`

Fine. This little game has gone on long enough. One more kill to prove yourself. One more victim to photograph and send to the devil on your shoulder. One more life to take before you can retire from hurting people. This is the ending you want, though you know won’t happen. You’ve grown addicted. You’ve stalked your friends to see how they do it, you take in advice from multiple sources. You’ve landed yourself so much information from this server it tempts you.

You want to rid the world of disgusting, horrible people. But you also want to be the devil’s little helper. You’ve done more than your fair share of roleplaying and it’s about time that role became a true reality. News outlets are becoming more antsy, you hear idle chatter of this new serial killer, law enforcements seem to be picking up some slack to keep people calm.. You’re doing well.

You already planned a list of people you were to kill if it came down to being something you wanted to continue doing. You know exactly where you’re headed tonight. You got ready as quickly as possible, your heart was racing. This became exciting to you. All of this was exciting to you. You couldn’t wait for Ronin’s reaction. It was going to be priceless.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

It was done. You were smiling like a maniac. You felt.. A sick sense of joy out of this. You took multiple photos this time, one with the heart, one close to the lifeless body, one smearing blood on the wall. You were… treating it like a photoshoot. It was so.. Concerningly fun. You couldn’t wait any longer, you couldn’t wait till you got home. You wrote your serial killer name in blood and stood next to it, snapping one last photo before saving both the previous photos and the newer ones to your hidden album.

You were excited, making sure you left nothing behind and fleeing from the house. It took a bit to get home undetected, but you managed. Your mind was blank, nothing but the last hour replaying in your mind as you washed up your items, clothes and yourself. You hooked your phone up to your laptop and opened up the server. Your heart was racing as you selected each photo.. Leaving out all the ones with the hearts in frame. You hovered over the send button.. After you did this? There was no going back. You stared at the sidebar with everyone’s accounts.. And saw Ronin’s . That was the only motivation you needed to click send.

You switched channels, watching as the little exclamation point showed up, signaling you had a notification from the channel. That could be checked later. You opened you and Ronin’s private messages, sending him only the photos with the carved out hearts. You didn’t wait for a response to the photos before you began typing.

`<user> [01:33]`

`I did as you asked, I carved these all out.`

`Did I make the devil proud?`

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

#killer chat #killer chat!#ronin beaufort x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #ronin beaufort #ronin #killer chat ronin #ronin x reader #kc ronin #x reader #killer chat x reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #second person pov #killer chat writing #🦴; Ronin #🌸; Cherry Writes

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pimpnchips · 1 year ago

Text

Party Girl

Tara Carpenter x G!p Reader

Warnings: Smut

Not proof read!!

Summary: Tara finds you smoking with another girl

The ride home was silent.

Tara and Y/n were leaving a party after a pretty big argument, Tara had a bit too much to drink and saw Y/n sharing a blunt with another girl. So without thinking she went up to them and threw what was left of her drink on the random blonde.

"What the fuck bitch?!" The girl said while jumping out of her seat, drenched in alcohol.

"Who the fuck are you calling a bitch, bitch??" Tara said getting up in the girls face. Anyone could see that Tara was drunk out of her mind.

Y/n stood up and squeezed in between the two girls facing Tara, "baby chill out."

"Chill out?" Tara said looking at Y/n like she was crazy.

"Yeah chill the fuck out," the random girl said, wiping herself off with a towel an onlooker gave her.

"Oh yea? Why don't you say that to my face you fucking cunt!" Tara said walking around Y/n toward the girl.

One thing led to another, which led to y/n and Tara getting kicked out of the party. Y/n had to help Tara into the passenger seat of her truck, Tara still screaming at the girl who was still inside.

Y/n climbed into her truck, cranked it up and pulled out of the party.

"You don't think you could've resolved that a little differently?" Y/n said driving down the dark empty highway, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her dick.

"Yea I could've actually,” Tara said looking out the window. " I could've rung that bitch by the neck, who the fuck does she think she is ?”

Tara started on one of her rants again.

"Babe, babe just shut up please? I have a headache. We drove to a fucking party 30 minutes away just to get kicked out after two hours, all thanks to you."

"Shut up? Shut up??" Tara said with a surprised tone as she turns towards y/n getting up in her face, "What are you some kind of dirty slut now, sharing blunts with another girl who probably get’s passed around more then your fucking blunt."

“Are you fucking serious?” She leans back, shaking her head.

Y/n’s dick started to get stiff, it turns her on when Tara’s mean to her.

Tara looks down and notices y/n’s cock tightening on her crotch, she immediately knows what's happening as she smirks to herself.

"What are you horny now?" Tara says giggling leaning closer to y/n face, " you're my dirty little slut aren't you baby." She whispers into y/n’s ear.

Y/n could feel her breathing on her neck and it sent shivers down her spine. "Fuck," she mumbled.

Tara started kissing her neck, so softly, her tongue grazing y/n’s bare neck. Tara slowly slid her hand down y/n’s chest, and over her groin.

"Shit baby," Tara whispered giggling into y/n’s ear. "you're so hard baby, doesn't it hurt?"

Y/n grunted as she was trying her best to pay attention to the rode, her hands becoming clammy, now having both hands gripping the wheel.

"Let me do you a favor baby," Tara said unbuckling y/n’s belt with one hand, and the other around the back of her neck.

Tara’s warm fingers fiddled their way into y/n’s pants. "Babe.." Y/n said but was cut off by the feeling of her dick springing out of her pants.

Tara’s fingers played with the tip playfully, teasing y/n.

"Babyy," Tara said pouting, "are you still mad at me?”

"Huh? No baby, no, of course not," Y/n said completely forgetting about their argument earlier.

"Good," Tara smiled, then kissing her neck harder then before.

Tara’s right hand now sliding up and down y/n’s long dick, and her left hand sliding underneath y/n’s shirt, gripping her soft titties.

Y/n groaned in pleasure, her dick craved Tara, she was the only one who knew how to make her feel so good.

Tara placed her right hand at the very bottom of y/n’s dick, and started slowly licking the tip. Her tongue dancing in circles around the tip, teasing y/n.

"Mommy.. fuck," y/n moaned in pleasure, barely paying attention to the road at this point. She took one hand off the steering wheel and placed it on the back of Tara’s head, shoving her head down.

Y/n’s head jolted back in pleasure as she let out a loud moan, she could feel her dick all the way down Tara’s tight throat.

Tara popped her head up, and put it right back down. Sucking y/n’s dick, deepthroating it.

"Fuck.. Fuck.." y/n moaned in pleasure, as the car swerved back and forth.

As Tara picked up her pace , and y/n feeling her climax coming, y/n pulled over hurriedly into the nearest parking lot not worried about parking.

Tara popped her head up one last time to spit on y/n’s wet dick, and continued deep throating.

Y/n’s grip on Tara’s hair tightened, as she threw her head back letting out a scream like moan. Cumming all in Tara’s mouth.

Tara sat up smiling, admiring y/n as she was catching her breath. Tara gave her a wet kiss, at first y/n was kissing back softly, but then it turned more aggressive. Y/n grabbing Tara’s neck pulling her closer, her tongue down Tara’s throat. Tara pulled away, now catching her breath too.

"Come here baby," y/n said leaning back in her seat, spreading her legs.

"I am here baby," Tara said giggling.

"No, come here." Y/n said sternly as she motioned for Tara to sit on her lap.

Tara blushed, as she slowly climbed over the middle console. Placing her knees on either side of y/n’s lap, her pussy right above y/n’s dick.

As they stared at each other full of lust and desire, y/n slips both of Tara’s dress straps off her shoulders, revealing her tan breasts.

"You have such pretty nipples," Y/n said as she started to squeeze them.

Tara whined, as her pussy started becoming unbearably hot. Y/n leaned closer to her beginning to kiss, the suck her hard nipples.

Tara let out a soft moan, as y/n began to suck harder and gripping her waist with her toned hands. Pleasure taking over Tara’s whole body.

"Oh baby," Tara said yearning for more.

"What baby?" Y/n said releasing her nipples, now staring up at her, "tell me what you want baby." Tara hesitated a little embarrassed to say it out loud, but her desire got the best of her. "Fuck me. I want you to fuck me."

Y/n grinned as she slowly pulled Tara’s short dress up beneath her waist, revealing her black lace thong. Y/n bent down and kissed her pussy through her panties, then moved them to the side of her pussy.

“What a pretty pink pussy baby, you’re so wet for daddy huh?” Y/n said while dragging her finger through Tara’s folds, then licking them.

Tara placed both her hands on the sides of y/n’s neck, “please. fuck me,” Tara begged.

Y/n gripped Tara’s hips and thrusted into her in a swift motion. Her thrusts in a fast motion. Tara slid her finger’s into y/n’s hair and gripped for her life, her head flew back as she felt y/n’s dick slam against her pussy.

“Oh fuck!” She screamed.

Y/n lifted her up and down making her ride her dick, as Tara’s titties bounced in her face.

A lot of moaning and panting later Tara was laying on y/n’s chest, exhausted. The windows all fogged up, anyone passing by could clearly tell what y/n and Tara just spent an hour doing.

“I love you baby,” y/n said, smiling in her own lworld.

“I love you more, my love,” Tara smiled.

#jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega #tara carpenter smut #tara carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x reader

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anon-188 · 2 months ago

Text

pairing: AJ x f!reader | genre: smut ❤️‍🔥 | wc: 1.7k

summary: one minute you were ignoring your ex. the next, AJ had you bent over, making you forget he ever existed.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), minor violence (one punch), public sex (bar bathroom, alley), rough sex, semi-public risk, dominant!AJ, brief alcohol use, possessive behavior, dirty talk, condom use, ex-mention, explicit language, “casual” hookups.

a/n: something short and sweet (except there's actually nothing sweet about it). enjoy!! ♡

They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?

Well, that’s what you told yourself as you sat at Jake’s bar—your friend Lili’s fiancé. She had asked, no—insistently suggested—that you come out “just for a night” and blow off some steam. A little reset, she called it. You had said no at first, swearing that you didn’t care about your ex, that you were fine, that you just needed to keep your head up and keep moving.

Then came the promise of free drinks—all night.

And with it? That knowing smile from Lili.

The kind that said she already knew your answer before you did.

Which, in a way, she did.

So that’s how you ended up here—sitting at the bar, heels hooked on the stool’s lower rung, sipping your second—no, third—martini. You weren’t drunk, but you finally felt the edge starting to come off. The one you swore didn’t exist. The one you claimed wasn’t there at all.

That was until—

Your ex’s voice rang out behind you, loud and clear, calling your name.

For a second, you thought you imagined it. A trick of alcohol and nerves. But when you turned just slightly, catching the horror flashing across Lili’s face from the corner of your eye, you knew it was real. Too real.

So you did the only thing you could think of: you ignored him. Kept drinking. Kept pretending he wasn’t there, like the sound of his voice didn’t twist something in your stomach. Like his presence didn’t immediately unravel the calm you’d spent three martinis building.

But he didn’t get the hint.

You felt the way the energy shifted as he leaned against the bar beside you. The sour smell of alcohol hit first, heavy and clinging, followed by the same tired apologies you’d heard more times than you cared to count. Slurred, mumbled, recycled lines meant to tug at something in you that no longer existed.

You didn’t even look at him.

You just kept drinking.

You had been done with him for weeks now—really done. And the breakup? Best thing that ever happened to you.

Well… the second best thing. Because then—

“Is he bothering you?”

You turned at the sound of the voice—deep, smooth, irresistibly rich.

AJ.

You’d spoken to him a few times before, always when Lili dragged you out here. He’d bought your drink once—just slid his card across the bar without saying a word and nodded when you tried to thank him. Lili had sworn up and down that he was into you. You’d laughed, rolled your eyes, told her he was just being nice.

She told you AJ didn’t do just being nice.

And now? Now you were starting to think she was right.

“No, man. I’m not bothering her,” your ex slurred.

“Looks like you are,” AJ said, his voice quick but smooth.

Your ex’s posture shifted—squared shoulders, jaw tight. “Mind your business. She’s my girlfriend.”

AJ didn’t even glance at him. He looked straight at you.

“That true?” he asked, voice low, thick with suggestion.

“No,” you said. Immediately. Maybe a little too fast.

AJ smirked, that slow curve of his lips almost daring, then turned his gaze back to your ex. “I think you should go.”

Your ex bristled. “No. We’re talking,” he snapped, then turned to you. “Tell him we’re talking.”

You didn’t say a word.

AJ stepped forward just slightly, body language still relaxed, but the tension was there. “I don’t think she wants to talk to you.”

It all happened fast.

Raised voices. A shove. Then one clean punch—AJ’s fist connecting with your ex’s jaw before anyone could blink. He hit the floor without grace, groaning as the room went quiet.

Jake appeared seconds later, already pulling him off the ground, dragging him toward the door. You heard him shouting, banning him from the bar permanently.

Just like that, your ex was gone—hauled out of the bar, leaving behind only the stink of cheap liquor and the echo of one last bad decision.

AJ turned back to you, casually flexing his hand, like it hadn’t just curled into a fist a minute ago.

And what started as a soft thank you—something small, something shy—ended up with AJ’s hands all over you in the bar bathroom, your backside pushing into the sink. His hands were in your hair, at your waist, gripping your hips like he couldn’t touch enough. Even hiking up your mini dress—not that he had much work to do. The thing was already dangerously short, barely skimming the tops of your thighs when you walked in tonight. Now it was nothing but a scrap of fabric out of the way. One less thing between you.

Your hands were just as restless, clutching at the lapels of his jacket, yanking his tie loose, fingers fumbling hard at the buckle of his belt. You were both eager, neither of you wasting even a second pretending otherwise.

AJ spun you around without warning, hands flattening against the small of your back to bend you forward slightly. Your palms caught the edge of the sink, steadying yourself as you arched your back instinctively.

In the mirror, you caught a glimpse of him all wild-eyed, breathing hard, the barely-there smirk curling his mouth as he dug into his back pocket.

You heard the rip of the condom wrapper, the low rustle of fabric shoved down just enough.

And then he was there—lining himself up, the thick head of him nudging against you, teasing just for a second before he pushed in, slow and brutal, filling you in a way that had your mouth falling open around a ragged gasp.

Your moans mingled with his, a symphony of gasps and curses, echoing against the tile like a song you weren’t supposed to be singing but couldn’t stop. It was messy and desperate, and so goddamn good. His hips thrusted forward again, harder, his grip bruising on your waist as he drove into you.

The sink bit into your hips as he found his pace, but you barely noticed—too focused on the stretch, the pressure, the way he filled you like he knew exactly how to fuck a body like yours.

“Shit—” you breathed out, fingers scrabbling for grip, palms flattening against the mirror as your forehead dropped between your arms.

You whimpered—helpless, wrecked—and tried to roll your hips in time with his, but he was too relentless, making you take every inch how he wanted.

Behind you, AJ groaned deep and rough, the sound thick with satisfaction. And then you heard him—low and taunting, right into your ear:

“He ever make you feel like this?”

Your brain hardly processed it through the pleasure ripping through you. You tried to answer—you really did—but all that came out was a broken, gasping, “N-no—”

AJ chuckled darkly, smug as sin, hips snapping into you with even more force, making you cry out again.

“Yeah. Didn’t think so.”

And it was true. God, it was true. That idiotic piece of shit who had just been dragged out of the bar? He had never touched you like this. Never filled you, never fucked you, never torn you apart the way AJ was doing without a second thought.

When it was over—when you were finished, you were a mess. Breathless, your body thoroughly fucked in the best, most obscene sense of the word. AJ didn’t look any better—shirt wrinkled, belt hanging loose, that same cocky smirk still painted on his flushed face.

Then, like it was the most casual thing in the world, he asked for your number.

You huffed out a breath, part chuckle, part disbelief, still trying to smooth your dress down like that would somehow fix the way he’d left you feeling inside. You gave it to him anyway—your fingers typing it into his phone with a shake of your head—and you told him, voice light but serious:

“This was a one-time thing.”

He didn’t argue. He just nodded, sliding his phone back into his pocket, smirk deepening like he already knew better.

One and done, you had told yourself. Firm. Confident.

You had said it then.

And again the second time, when he pulled you into the alley behind the bar the following weekend—your body pressed against the rough brick, his hands dragging your panties down just enough to bend you over, fucking you fast and rough with your fingers curling against the wall, your moans muffled by his palm when they got too loud. He muttered filth into your ear with every thrust—how wet you were for him, how no one else could fuck you like this, how he knew you’d come back begging for more.

And you proved him right—when twice that week turned into three times, the line blurring, your resolve snapping easier every time he so much as looked at you the wrong—well, right way.

And then came the night you invited him over—your place this time, not the bar, not the alley, not some in-between. You’d told yourself it wasn’t anything different.

But it was.

Especially with AJ’s mouth crashing onto yours the second the door closed, his hands finding your hips overwhelmingly fast. The way you stripped each other bare, stumbling to the couch, knocking over pillows as you climbed onto him, straddling his lap. The springs creaking and groaning beneath you as you rode him hard, his hands tight on your body, his head thrown back as he cursed your name. Your cries filling the tiny space, his name twisting out of your throat again and again just before you fell apart around him.

You kissed him when you came, when your body gave out on top of him, when your nails dug into the tattoos across his chest and you thought, God, this was never supposed to happen like this.

But it did.

Over and over again.

And funny enough?

Somewhere between the rough hands and the rougher kisses, the alley walls and the worn couch cushions, you realized you hadn’t thought about your ex—not once.

Which is exactly how it should be.

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

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13atoms · 5 months ago

Text

The Morning After the Night Before (Declan O'Hara x Reader)

My first Rivals fic! Big shoutout to @stellamarielu and @rivalsispunk, who’s work I wholeheartedly recommend and was, inevitably, inspired by when I decided to join in writing about Declan! <3

Summary:

Bff’s dad!Declan x Younger!Reader

As a friend of Taggie’s from college, you’re invited up to the Priory for the Venturer party. By the next day Taggie and Maud have both vanished, you don’t want to leave Declan alone in that big empty house. [5k words]

Contains: Exposition, feelings, then a bit of smut. Exhibitionist!Declan, big age gap, post!Maud rebound sex, lots of foreplay, Declan is a fiend, 90% exposition, priory!sex

The Priory was quiet the day after Maud left. It was the first day of a new era, of Venturer, rung in with hangovers and that bittersweet feeling of a moment to celebrate passing by unacknowledged.

You weren’t sure why you couldn’t go anywhere else. Taggie had invited you up from London for the party, and then promptly been distracted by an MP with a sharp jawline and foul jokes, only to disappear with Seb at the end of the night. With her departure Taggie left you with the sense you were living in a haunted house, filled with Maud’s books and earrings on sidetables and the leftovers from the party to snack on whenever you could bring yourself to eat. Patrick and Caitlin had found friends to crash with. You knew why they couldn’t come back. You weren’t sure why you couldn’t leave.

Sometime in the early afternoon you had heard movement upstairs, and made yourself scarce, hiding in the lounge, tidying what you could and drifting along the spines of the novels which lined the O’Hara’s huge bookshelves. You’d picked up something that could’ve been Maud’s or Declan’s – you weren’t sure. It didn’t look well-worn. You’d been meaning to read The Shining for years, now seemed as good a time as any to sit at the end of the O’Hara’s sofa, and try not to think about what you had seen the night before.

“I didn’t realise you’d be staying.”

A hundred pages had passed before you heard that thick Irish lilt, rich with that kind of blunt hospitality which had to be imported from Dublin. You knew it sometimes rubbed people the wrong way, particularly in this passive-aggressive pocket of privately-educated England. You liked it.

He looked startling similar to the Declan O’Hara you were used to watching on TV. Not much like the Declan O’Hara who would pick Taggie up from club nights and sleepovers, waving with a sly, knowing smile from the car and asking if you’d be able to get home safely.

“Taggie invited me for the long weekend, but…”

You gestured around with the book at his empty living room. His empty house. There were streamers stuck in the rafters, too high up for you to grab and shove into a bin liner.

“Apologies for my daughter’s lack of hospitality,” he sighed, and sat down heavily in the armchair adjacent to your sofa, face in his hands for a moment.

He rubbed the skin of his forehead aggressively, and when he looked away his face was marked red, his hair thrown into chaos.

“That’s okay, I’m sure she’ll be back. The quiet is nice, after last night.”

Declan hummed, and spread his arms along the back of the chair, reclining. For once, spreading out didn’t make him look any bigger. He was wearing jeans and a smart white shirt, but it obviously hadn’t been ironed.

“You’re reading Stephen King?”

“Oh,” you closed the book around your fingers, showing him the cover, though he already knew, “yeah. A borrowed copy, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all! Please, borrow or eat or steal whatever takes your fancy. It’s the least I can do to make up for this shitshow. And my daughter’s forgetfulness…”

You chuckled, and looked anywhere but Declan. He had such an intense gaze, you wondered how anyone stood their own against him across an interview stage.

“It’s really fine. I’m glad she seems happy, or at least excited…”

Declan huffed, stared at the ceiling, and you couldn’t tell what it meant. His hands came together and met his lips like a prayer.

“Have you read The Shining?” You asked quickly.

He was a master of awkwardness, and of silence and question evasion, but you didn’t want to pressure Declan in his own home. If he were one of your friends, you’d already be crushing him in your arms, letting him break down against you in the fiercest hug you could imagine. Instead, he was Taggie’s dad, who you’d never been able to bear to look at too closely, and watched obsessively whenever he appeared on television. You’d even watched him judge a pagent, for God’s sake, crammed around a kitchen table with your housemates complaining and a VHS Taggie had sent whirring away in the player.

You felt a swoop of pride when he perked up at your question, a glint of white teeth visible as he leaned forwards to take the book from your hands, your page number lost. You’d find it again later, in exchange for that dry brush of his fingers against yours. Declan flicked through the pages, eyes moving quickly.

“I have. That’s my copy, in fact. I don’t think the girls ever ended up reading it.”

Something on the page caught his attention, and he hummed as he skimmed the prose.

“Oh, room 217, gives me the shivers even now,” he raised his eyebrows expectantly, and you frowned, tilting your head.

“I don’t think I’ve read that far…”

“Ah, shit. Pretend I didn’t say anything. He has a lovely time in room 217.”

He was joking, and you laughed to be polite. Declan looked drained. Exhausted, hungover, sad.

“Can’t wait,” you replied dryly, as Declan dropped the book onto the coffee table between you.

“I had to stop reading it in bed,” he admitted, glancing from side to side, as though his secrets might be revealed to some unwanted intruder, “I started waking Maud up, talking in my sleep about a ghost in the room.”

You laughed, again it was because Declan wanted you to – wanted to keep the mood light – but you never quite found the right pitch and volume. Maud. He seemed to remember then, talking about her, what had happened.

“I’m sorry you had to see that fiasco yesterday,” he had shifted his voice, and become formal again, like he was introducing his show.

You remembered his falling face, Maud telling him to beg, bag in hand. You remembered Taggie, putting on a mask after the tears had fallen, and the hollow way she imitated the cheeky eyebrow raise you’d exchange over schoolgirl crushes and flirting in clubs, before she sought out a man old enough to be her father. She’d been crushed.

“No, it’s… don’t apologise for that. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t need to say what for. He shrugged, and stared up at the ceiling. The house was so, so quiet. Declan’s breathing was quiet, but you could see how laboured it was in the rise and fall of his chest.

“Do you think she’ll come back, after rehearsals?” you dared to ask.

“I don’t think she’ll come back after the run’s done, to be honest.”

There wasn’t anything to say. You looked up at the fireplace, ancient and beautiful. In the long centuries the house had stood, you wondered if it had seen any sadder sight than this.

“She’s a fucking star!” he announced, voice too loud and his hands flying up, up, before crashing back to his thighs.

You froze, watching him cautiously. He cleared his throat, and made fleeting eye contact as he glanced at you, suddenly appearing sheepish.

“Sorry, that was… sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

You murmured that it was fine, but in truth you had no idea if you actually said anything. Declan was panting. Tears or rage seemed equally likely, and he looked at you beseechingly. You wished there was anything you could do to answer him. To help him. The silence went on for longer than you wanted, but there was nothing to say. What could you offer?

Not that ‘there would be others.’

Not that ‘she never deserved him’, handsome and sharp and so, so damn principled it made you ashamed.

He was clenching and unclenching his jaw. You could see it, the muscles flaring and thinning. Your heart pounded in sympathy, something hot and nauseating darting around your stomach, and when his eyes met your sympathetic gaze, you couldn’t bear it. You watched the floor by his feet.

“I knew she was cheating on me. This time, I mean.”

“I’m sorry. That’s not fair.”

Declan sighed, and rolled his head, stretching out his neck. You wondered if he’d been drinking, if he was still drunk. You could smell him, aftershave and sweat, but no whiskey. His eyes were clear and sharp, there was something so controlled about him. He was always in control of the frantic chaos around him. Action and madness had always circled around Declan.

“I’m just sorry for the girls. They deserve better than a father who can’t keep their mother. Or a job. Or a house,” he laughed hollowly, and fell back into his sofa again, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Mr O’Hara…”

He smirked at you from where he was collapsed, a twitch of his upper lip hidden by his moustache. You could really see his amusement in his eyes, sparkling. You thought of evenings spent at their London house, Declan making the family roar with laughter over a takeaway while Maud was elsewhere. He was always doing something, when he was with his kids. Inventing clever games and telling stories and beating you all at cards. He was a man in control of every room he entered.

“Please don’t sound like you work for me.”

“Sorry,” you teased back, “but don’t half those people last night work for you now?”

He groaned, head in hands, but it was teasing this time. You knew he was joking. Declan kept his eyes uncovered, checking your reaction.

“Christ knows. I’ve no idea who does and doesn’t. Maybe I work for them? It’s all on my head if it goes tits up, though. That’s the main thing.”

“That doesn’t sound stressful at all,” you collapsed a bit in sympathy, pressing your face to your forearm, laying against the arm of the sofa.

“No,” he groaned, “selfish as it is to say, a runaway wife is the last thing I need right now.”

“At least she’ll be happy,” you ventured, and froze as his stare fixed on you, heart catching in your mouth.

“Sorry,” you rambled, “as in, she’s doing what she loves. Not… not that you made her…”

He stayed quiet, and watched you. It was a poor thing to say and a misstep and suddenly you froze. You’d overstepped, lying on his sofa and reading his books and joking with him like he wasn’t Taggie’s bad.

“I just meant, it might be easier, not worrying so much. That she’s making her own choices, and you’re not to blame for whether she’s happy.”

“Maybe I did make her unhappy.”

“Declan…”

He ignored your plea, his gaze fixed firmly on you, warm and intense and melted-chocolate brown. It was far too much, though you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

“I thought we were doing well. Not, well, per se, but well enough. Well enough that she wouldn’t leave me for London the first chance she got.”

You had no idea what to say. You let him speak.

“Everyone else in this fucking town seems to cheat at their heart’s content – God knows Corinium has herpes in the sofa cushions – and yet… I thought she wouldn’t. They all seem to pretend to be happily married, but my crime? Working too much? With the rate Maud burns through money, there’s no other choice. Venturer was all so I could finally stop being at someone else’s beck and call. She’d have supported that, back then. When we first met.”

When Declan stopped speaking, and let the room fall into uncomfortable silence, you realised you could hear your own heartbeat. It was pounding in your ears. Your pulse was thumping in your throat, and it hurt where your chin dug into your arm. The Priory was old and thick-walled and it absorbed all sound, so the quiet between you was absolute.

It wasn’t right, or any O’Hara home to be quiet. They were the loudest family you’d ever heard.

Finally, when it seemed like Declan was never going to speak again, you could bear to look at him again. He was still staring, but you weren’t sure he’d realised you were in the room. He looked so morose; you couldn’t bear it.

“I think Maud might never have been happy here. No matter what you did. If all she wanted was to be on-stage, what else can replace that?”

“She wants attention,” Declan sighed, “that’s what Maud’s always wanted. To be adored. Maybe she didn’t feel adored enough.”

“I think a lot of women would feel lucky, I mean, watching you with Maud… it was obvious how you felt for her.”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you, and rest his head against the arm of the oversized armchair, mirroring you.

“I’ve often wondered if she needs too much for any one man to give,” he speculated, the gentle rhythm of light-hearted teasing was back in his voice.

You were surprised to realise how much you’d missed it. Still, you weren’t sure what to say.

“She needs hundreds,” he continued, “fawning over her every night, cheering and throwing flowers. And maybe someone to watch her in the odd play as well.”

You laughed, sincerely this time, and it made Declan laugh too.

“God, that’s terrible,” you played at scolding, but had no heart for it.

Declan was smiling, indulgently, watching you sideways with half of his face pressed into his armrest and forearm. He was flexing his hand out absentmindedly.

“True, though,” he scoffed, “I always wondered what you must have thought, when you girls got all dressed up to go out and Maud showed up, all miniskirts and cleavage. You must’ve thought she was a nutter, trying to outdress her own daughters.”

“I actually asked her if she wanted to come out with us once,” you remembered fondly, “I was sure Taggie was about to murder me with a curling iron.”

Declan chuckled. Lethargic and curled up on an armchair, the fierceness of two decades in entertainment melted off him. You could see his frownlines when he raised his eyebrows to listen to you, but they soon smoothed again. Was this how he had looked when Maud first met him, gentle, relaxed?

“I was always glad she had you,” Declan admitted, “I was glad to see you, on the nights you’d all go out together. Knew that meant there’d be someone to look out for her.”

Something had changed, and he was talking to you as a peer. Dissecting a time when you’d been younger, known less. Maybe seeing his wife walk out on him qualified you to speak on equal terms.

“I think Taggie’s the most sensible person I know, I’m not sure she ever needed me.”

Declan sighed, and gestured into thin air, and you remembered how the two of you had ended up alone in the house. The hours of tears over Rupert Campbell Black, a small fortune in phone bills that Declan had paid silently, as penance for bringing his family to the Cotswolds.

“She’s got a good heart. Not sure I’d say sensible.”

You wanted to argue, but you knew Declan adored his kids above all else.

“With their genetics, I’m afraid all of them were going to end up brash. Emotional.”

“Clever, though. And kind. Isn’t that what matters?” you weren’t talking about Maud, and Declan knew it.

“They’re already better people than we ever were,” was all he offered.

You had been completely enraptured by their new house when you visited, and privately fascinated by the ‘countryside’ version of Declan. You had hoped he’d be less stressed, but from what you’d gleaned about his business ventures, nothing could be further from the truth. Nonetheless, there was something different about him.

About how he watched you.

Something self-assured, despite Maud and his kids abandoning the house. Perhaps it was your imagination, but it looked as though Declan was trying to work something out.

“What are you going to do now?” you asked.

“Hang out with you, I suppose. If you don’t mind.”

You remained silent. Declan read people for a living, and he knew that wasn’t what you’d meant.

“I suppose I’m meant to wait for her to come back,” he sighed, “and beg again, perhaps. Try not to catch crabs off whatever actor she’s under.”

You couldn’t help it – you winced.

“Sorry – I shouldn’t say shit like that. Tag would tell me off. I just… I’m not sure how many more times I can take it. It’s humiliating. Pathetic.”

“You’re taking the high road, I suppose…”

“Ah, fuck the high road!” he interrupted you, and threw his head back against the back of the sofa, “I’m tired of the sodding high road. There’s no one there, at the end of it, saying ‘congratulations on keeping your wedding vows while your wife fucked another man’. I know Maud. She’ll fuck around in London, and if it goes badly she’ll crawl back, and mope until she finds another ‘casting agent’ to fuck. If it goes well, I’ll never see her again, and if Venturer ever makes a profit she’ll divorce me to get it.”

You weren’t sure what to say, and when Declan’s brown eyes met yours past the forearm he’d thrown over his face, you realised his eyes were glassy.

“Sorry, you didn’t ask to hear all that. Christ.”

“No, I… I’m glad you’ve got someone to talk to. Declan… I can’t imagine.”

“Do you know what isn’t fair? What really isn’t fair? For all that talk about being abandoned and lonely and bored, I’d come back after work, or sneak back on my lunch break, and it was always ‘not now, Declan’. Every single time. ‘Neglected’ my arse.”

When you froze, it felt like a prey instinct. Declan was talking about his sex life. To you. His lack of a sex life. Christ. The way Taggie complained about her parents, you’d imagined something very different from Declan. You’d imagined Declan a lot, in fact.

“What a fucking hypocrite.”

You weren’t sure if it was your swearing, or your sentiment, but Declan’s face cracked into a grin.

“You’re telling me!”

“God, if I had a man in my gorgeous house, sneaking back on his lunch breaks…” you broke off with a laugh, and looked anywhere but Declan.

“You’d what?”

Was he closer? Declan’s voice was serious, and you had to glance towards him to realise he’d leant forwards, elbows on his knees.

“I’d take every chance I could get,” you finished quietly, and the words seemed to linger in the room forever.

“Atta girl,” Declan murmured.

Fuck. You could hear the shifting of his clothes as he fidgeted in his seat.

For a long time, you remained in silence, wondering if the heat you felt would suddenly dissipate. The air had become molasses thick, and you couldn’t look at Declan. He wasn’t far away, a few feet, when he leant forwards. Finally he slumped back into his armchair, legs spread obscenely far apart.

“Do you have a boyfriend, back home?”

You wanted to laugh. In disbelief. In embarrassment. Your clothes felt too tight against your heated skin. Instead, you murmured a no.

“Good. Not a damn man in London good enough for ya.”

The silence played out a little longer. You wondered whether Declan cared about fidelity at all. If he was going to move at all. For a while you just watched him. Forced yourself not to look down, top see if he was as turned on as you felt. It was obscene, how exhaustion and stress and misery still couldn’t hamper his good looks.

There was something more than look about Declan, though. Something in his mannerism. The intensity he watched you with. The way he catalogued every little time you’d interacted. The way he was letting his eyes sweep across you, his gaze hot and searching.

“I don’t want you to regret this, I’m not…” he began.

“I know what a rebound is.”

Your voice was so hollow, it turned bitter, and surprised you. His lust-drunk eyes widened suddenly, and the tension returned to his face. You could feel your own body respond, growing tenser, startled.

“I don’t know what you take me for, sweetheart, but I’m a damn sight older than the boys you’re used to. I wouldn’t know how to ‘play games’ if I tried. I swear. This is the first chance I’ve had to fuck you, and if you’ll let me take it, you’ll have a good time. I promise, the greatest thing about you is that you’re not my wife.”

He paused for breath, and seemed to struggle for a moment. You noticed his hand gripping his thigh, stopping it from shaking.

“You’re kind, and patient, and you listen to me, and you’ve read bloody Stephen King from my bookshelf without me begging you to care about what I care about.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re gorgeous. As soon as Taggie brought you here, I knew you’d ruin my fucking life. You used to ask me how every show went, do you remember? Back at the BBC? Not even my damn wife did that.”

He held a hand out for you, but you weren’t sure what to do with it once you took it. Fingers entwined, you climbed onto his armchair, straddling his lap. Declan groaned, and latched onto the exposed column of your neck, his free hand enormous as it found your waist.

“Oh, your ego likes me? Is that it?”

“Him too,” Declan murmured, and shifted, so that you suddenly realised you could feel him, hard against the crotch of your jeans.

“You’re too young for me,” he murmured against your skin.

“Who cares?”

He laughed, and you knew it was what he’d wanted to hear. Declan pulled more of your weight onto him until you were practically crushing him, thighs on thighs and chest to chest, and then he kept squeezing until his closeness began to hurt.

You rolled your hips and ground down against his lap, hoping to distract him, and Declan groaned, bassy and gorgeous.

“Tag can never know,” you breathed, and felt Declan’s hand move further up your torso in response, clutching the underside of your breast.

“Never,” he agreed, “never.”

When you wrapped both hands around his face and detached him from the underside of your jaw, Declan only released with a grotesque, went smack. You missed the feel of his tongue, skin chilled where his mouth had been, but it was far more important to pull him to your lips. He went willingly, head heavy in your control, looking up at you with glazed hazelnut eyes.

Declan groaned when he kissed you, matching his hands to your face as he took control.

“Do you know how fucking glad I was to see you yesterday?” he groaned against your lips, migrating across your face until he could return to the sensitive join of your jawline and neck, “and I couldn’t even admit to myself why. Isn’t that pathetic?”

“Honourable,” you mumbled, “I think it’s honourable.”

His hands were back on your body, groping until he could shove your bra up, pinching at your nipples through your clothes.

“You’re not gonna think I’m very honourable after tonight, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?”

You were grinding on Declan, desperate for the flashes of friction you could find against the seam of your jeans. He kept getting distracted, groaning when you found an angle he could feel.

“Think I might make you cry, I wanna see if I can make you tell me to stop. You ever been eaten out?”

When you didn’t respond, he squeezed your breast hard, making you yelp. You could feel the jolt from the pain between your legs. He cooed as he rubbed the pain away.

“Sorry baby, didn’t realise you were so sensitive,” he was mocking you, and it was making your entire body thrum.

A laugh shuddered from you, and Declan finally slid a huge, warm palm beneath your shirt and across your stomach.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come upstairs, and we can get these clothes off, hm? Unless you want people to see.”

He slid a hand to the back of your neck, just firm enough to keep you facing down towards him. With his other hand, he began pulling your shirt up, until it was peaking above the mess he’d made of your bra, flesh spilling out obscenely.

“You’re right opposite the window, you know love, that big driveway. Anyone could be coming up to the house… and see you like this. All mine.”

Even lust-addled, you gasped, and tried to look up, but Declan’s grip on your neck stopped you, forcing you to stare down at him.

“You want me to make you cum here, right in from of anyone? In front of Tony? Or Rupert? The postman? My wife might walk back in right now…”

“No!” you gasped, trying to ignore the feeling of him kneading at your exposed breasts, your bra cutting a tight line across them, “please, Declan…”

“You’re sure? I don’t care,” he told you, glib, as he toyed with whether he could reach his mouth to your nipples, a wet tongue snaking across your skin.

“Declan!”

Finally, you wriggled away, and he gave up the moment you resisted him. You glanced up at the gravel driveway, exhaling shakily at finding it empty. Declan was chuckling to himself, pulling your torso closer again so he could mouth at your flesh.

“I did ask if you wanted to go upstairs, I think you were distracted.”

Finally, you could bring yourself to laugh breathily, pulling your shirt down despite Declan’s wandering hands fighting you.

“Upstairs!” you demanded, and pulled Declan to his feet.

He was walking differently, from how hard he was, and you palmed over his crotch, desperate to feel him. Declan groaned, and reluctantly tugged your hand away, adjusting himself.

“Before you get too mad at me,” he returned to your neck, and spun you in front of him, forearms bracing across your chest and stomach, forcing him against you.

You realised then he was framing you against a mirror, forcing you to look at how ravaged the pair of you looked. And the clear view Declan had of the driveway behind you.

“You’re a bastard, Mr O’Hara.”

Declan laughed, but you could see the colour rising in his cheeks, the gulp which moved his Adam’s apple.

“I told you you’d say that.”

“I’d assumed for better reasons than that,” you teased.

You wrapped your fingers around his belt, and began moving the leather to undo the buckle. Declan groaned and it caught in the back of his throat, rising to a whimper.

“C’mon, old man. You’ve made me some big promises.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep them,” he admitted, “if you keep touching me like that.”

“That’s okay,” you ran your hands along the inside of his waistband, feeling his stomach muscles twitch at the contact. “I know it’s been a while. How about you put that silver tongue to use first, yeah?”

“Christ,” Declan groaned, as you finally undid his fly. You stroked across the fabric of his underwear, and Declan threw his head back. His eyes were clenched shut, and his wandering hands had finally fallen to his sides.

“Do you think you’ll make it up the stairs?” you teased, “or should I just go up and finish this off on my own?”

Finally, he opened his eyes, and encircled your wrist with his fingers, pulling you away from him.

“Don’t say shit like that, love,” he went for your ear again, teeth grazing the skin and his lips salving where he’d been, “I’ve imagined that enough for a lifetime.”

“Oh yeah?”

You drifted your hand across his shaft one more time, and Declan let you, loosening his grip on your wrist.

“Come on then,” you teased, and took off.

He was slow, slower in his current state, but you let him chase you, up the stairs and across the landing, his breathless, deep laugh following you as he gave pursuit.

“I’m not that old,” he insisted, as he finally caught you on the upstairs landing, wrapping his arms around you from behind and briefly pulling you from the ground.

“Never said you were.”

“You’re really making me work for this,” Declan growled, sliding a hand down the front of your jeans. You laughed, safe in his grasp.

“I was just worried we’d never get up those fucking stairs.”

He chuckled, and pulled you against the bannisters, fighting with the button of your jeans. You laughed, and let him struggle, until the moment he succeeded, and his fingers met your clit, slippery and swollen.

“Please, just pick a room,” you begged.

“C’mon, love. Give me one here.”

You realised his gaze was out, across the fields, on the path where any one of the bastards in this village might see the pair of you. They wouldn’t, of course, but that was far from the point.

“Declan!”

“C’mon, just one.”

“Make it quick,” you conceded, and gasped as he let his finger slip fast over your clit. You could see the bliss on his face in the reflection of the window.

“That’s up to you, love. Think you can be good for me?”

“You’re the one,” you gasped, as he changed pressure again, experimenting, “you’re the one fingering me, Declan.”

He kissed you, suddenly, sweetly, on the cheek, fingers still working quickly over your clit. Despite the pressure building in between your hips, you laughed.

“What?” you asked him, catching him grinning to himself in the glass.

“I can’t believe I just heard you say that.”

#13atoms #fic #declan o’hara x reader #rivals fanfiction #declan o'hara x you #i dont think i like the ending of this! open to doing a smut part 2 maybe at some point if i feel like it? idk #i love declan as a character a lot but htere's a lot of work that goes into getting an x reader fic out of him i feel #one of those yknow

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