#flows almost too freely from them

[dreamsteddie]

I think Steddie both have pretty high levels of rizz, just never with each other

Let me explain.

When Steve is flirting with someone he's usually able to strike that balance between embracing himself just enough for them to be endeared and suave enough to compliment them in sweet, charming ways. While he does strike out from time to time, he's mostly able to score the dates he wants.

Eddie is too much of a freak for anyone in Hawkins to take him on, but he can lean into the theatrics and "bad boy" image enough to charm some people against their better judgment, similar to how he flirted with Chrissy. He doesn't usually get the date, and usually isn't even angling for one, but he does get himself out of some potentially sticky situations (as well as create some new ones).

When they start trying to flirt with each other? They both enter their flop eras hard.

Steve becomes clumsy and bumbling in a way he's never experienced before. He's tripping over imaginary runs in the carpet, smacking into door frames, and biting his own tongue whenever Eddie is around. He tries to lean over the counter at work to look up at Eddie when he comes into the store and his elbow lips, leaving him with a busted chin for almost a week.

Eddie, on the other hand, who prides himself on his eloquence suddenly can't get a correct sentence out of his mouth to save his life. He goes to Steve's house with a complete choose-your-own-adventure style script ready to woo Steve, he's prepared for every possibility, but when he gets there he accidentally implies that Steve's sweater is ugly and that Eddie can't do simple addition all in one disaster conversation.

Their lack of ability to flirt with each other delays their inevitable admittance of feelings by at least three months. If not for the heavy intervention of all the party members plus Corroded Coffin, they may still be pining to this day.

[rafasbride]

愛 ⋮ you love teasing rafayel .ᐟ

you don't really tease him, at least not that much.

but when you do, he absolutely loses his mind.

he's in... heat.

and you found that, he is more desperate and whiny during these seasons hence you plan to take advantage of it.

as your straddle him, his cock larger than usual, you feel him shudder below. "uh..." he'd close his eyes, salivating at the feeling of your naked pussy sitting down on his cock.

you're simply atop, pussy not yet enveloping his dick inside yet the amount of pre-cum that has leaked from his tip is such a satisfying sight knowing your effect on him.

"you're so sensitive, baby." you smile at him, arching your back to lean down as you kiss his hot cheeks. "your fault," he says breathless.

smirking, you slowly move your hips to rub your clit on his wet cock—distributing your wetness around the skin as he groans, hand finding your face as he holds your cheeks to push them together, your face making a small pout.

"fu—uuuck, put it in, please..." he's such a big baby, all begging and almost teary eyed. such a complete different person from when he isn't feeling all needy and shit.

a glint in your eye was subtle but rafayel noticed yet didn't do anything, knowing his body is too pliant to react. "nope."

one word, one answer.

his cock twitched.

"wha... why?" his face scrunches to something akin to a frustrated child. you chuckle at his cuteness, grabbing the hand on your face to intertwine them with yours.

"wanna tease you first," cackling quietly, your hips continued their ministration on his heavy cock, watching his reactions; the gasps, the whines, the grunts, the moans, the way he says your name—oh, it was everything.

"cutie, you're... k-killing me h-ereee..." little hics leave his bitten lips, saliva falling down the side of his mouth. you'd catch them with your tongue, starting from the side of his chin up to his open mouth. you'd suck on his sinful tongue, accumulating your own saliva before transferring them to his as you watch how it'd fall down the depths of his throat, his adams apple bobbing indicating he swallowed the liquid.

"so hot..." whispering, you kiss him. hard and desperate just how you both like it as your cunt pulse while rubbing up and down. the almost rough texture of his coxk paired with the prodding veins gave your clit enough stimulation as you moan with him.

"haaah..."

"rafa, so good..."

"fuck meee, oh shit,"

at this point, the entire room was scented of sex and sweat mixed with the smell of the lavender refreshener that you gifted him.

this went on for a few minutes before you start breaking apart before him. now it was rafayel's turn to watch you—mind now a little more clear but still fogged with lust and love.

"gonna cum, darling?" his voice wavered, but despite it, he grabs your disheveled hair to gaze up your eyes.

now you're crying, when it should've been him.

"wanna... cum! fuck, s-sorryyy..." tears freely flow your eyes, nails dragging along his bare chest, leaving red marks on their wake.

he chuckles at your reaction, his own eyes filling with unshead tears. you're so fucking adorable.

he really wanna fuck you into oblivion right now.

all rights reserved, rafasbride 2025

Ი︵𐑼 % dividers from @/cafekitsune

[manicandobsessive]

You’re my lady, I’m your fool | L.H.

Summary: Logan missed his girl.

Warnings: fluff fluff and more fluff, the man is lovesick, cursing, pet names, SUGGESTIVE, mdni please, reader is shorter than logan, based on a wham song, not really proofread im lazy, kind of rushed ending but its still cute

WC: 1.5k+

I had a vision after listening to this song and I wrote this in approximately 1 hour. I’m a wham girlie.

Home. You. Dinner.

That was the mantra Logan chose to repeat in order to remain sane on his drive home. Pedal to the medal, at least 30 over the speed limit at all times. The truck rumbled and groaned with the weight of years of memories and use under him, but he continued his trek home regardless.

Gonna have to change the fuckin’ oil soon, too. He thought. The mere inconvenience adding to his already ever-present irritation.

Every douchebag in Canada had decided today was the day to test his patience. From his dumbfuck coworkers at the lumber yard to the asshole currently riding his tail. He’d had enough. He wanted to be home with you. His girl. His sweetheart, angel, darling, the list goes on. The thought of you was the one string pulling him back to reality. The tether to his life he cherished with every bone in his aching body. He truly didn’t know where he would be if he didn’t have you.

Probably jail.

But you taught him the beauty of kindness. Yours being a beacon of hope for him when he accidentally spilled beer on you at a dingy bar. He’d been staring at you anyways, but humiliating himself wasn’t on the agenda for the night. Yet you didn’t scoff at him, didn’t look at him sideways, not even a curse under your breath. You didn’t bat a fucking eyelash and without skipping a beat, you asked if he was okay. The first example of many showing your unwavering selflessness. It was admirable, you were the better half of the pair of you- in his opinion. He often found himself frustrated with your lack of regard towards yourself, brushing it off like nothing. He’d tried time and time again to tell you to take care of yourself, not to worry about him. And you always, always told him the same fucking thing:

“Can’t control it, Lo. Just care about you.”

Hugging him tightly around the waist, resting your chin on his pecs and looking up at him with that sweet, sweet smile. Your bright eyes and soft face making him huff as he instinctively moved his own arms to hold you closer to him. He never could find himself angry with you.

He reminisced on those memories often. On top of plenty of other moments with you that brought a pleasant smile to his face.

He had no idea that accident at the bar almost 3 years ago would bring him to this point, but fuck if he isn’t overjoyed that it did.

Love was never on Logan’s radar. Written off as another extra thing he didn’t need to bother with. He was certain that life would never be for someone like him- that he’d never find someone to accept him for what he is. For who he is. And you did without a second thought. You’d blown life right back into him, showing him what real happiness is. He swears that when he met you the sun shone brighter each day. Something you would always roll your eyes at, calling him cheesy. But he wholeheartedly believed it- which is saying a lot coming from a man who no longer believes in much else.

The soft glow of your shared cabin came into view, practically calling to him by name. The visual had already calmed his racing heart, knowing you were waiting for him. Probably in one of his flannels and old socks. Your hair flowing freely and your entire demeanor relaxed. It was his favorite look on you, other than when you were begging for him, caged between his thick arms. An endeavor for later, to say the least.

He slammed the truck door shut, moving with a newfound purpose to the front door. He kicked off his boots, leaving them on the front porch. If you took care of the house, the least he could do was be mindful of it.

And laundry, he knew you fucking hated laundry.

The door swung open. Logan made a silent note in his head to oil the hinges of that thing, the creaking got on his nerves.

He’d heard faint music from outside, the notes only getting louder the closer he got to where he needed to be- near you. He knew you were cooking, he could smell the various seasonings and vegetables. But most of all the music. You always had something playing, but it was only ever this loud and upbeat when you were in the kitchen. He’d found you dancing and singing enough times to know what the deal was.

And tonight was no different.

He knew you loved this song, something your dad had you listen to as a kid. A song you grew up on and still loved to present day. He was never a big fan of 80s pop, but whatever you enjoyed he was right there with you. Bopping his head along or tapping his foot lightly, it always made you giggle.

He leant against the wall, watching as you moved with ease throughout the kitchen. How you weren’t an extraterrestrial being was beyond him. He swore you had a halo sometimes.

The grace of your smile, the lightness in your steps, even your voice as you sung along to the music entranced him. Like a siren call. He made his way into the room, smiling when you weren’t even phased in the slightest at him catching you mid concert.

He was however surprised when you pulled him in by his arms, swinging them back and forth as you laughed. He was so caught up in your smile he didn’t even register you telling him to dance with you. Slowly but surely he gave in, a deep, warm chuckle erupting from his chest as you jumped and sang with the energy of a kid on Christmas morning. Your soft hands and sweet scent making him all the more taken with you, if that was even possible.

He spun you, lifting you off the ground in his arms as you let out a squeal.

“Logan!”

He put you down, not bothering to even try removing his arms from your waist as he looked down at you with the most lovesick expression on Earth. Scratch that, every universe. There wasn’t a single one where he hadn’t been head over heels in love with you.

“Hi baby.” He smirked when your face flushed as it always did when he called you that. He loved seeing it, it gave him butterflies. Even after all this time.

You slowly inched your arms around his neck, entangling your fingers with the hair on the base of his neck. He hummed and buried his face into your own, making you giggle. He pressed feather-light kisses on your neck and jaw before pulling back to look down at you once again.

You sung along to the rest of the song, Logan even joining in for one part:

“You’re my lady, I’m your fool.”

He sang, making you smile as you pecked his lips and he drew you in for a much deeper kiss.

“How was work?” You asked as he rested his forehead against yours. He groaned, not bothering to ruin the moment with the laundry list of complaints he’d had about people.

“Hell.” He simply replied, “Missed ya too much.” He mumbled against your lips, kissing you yet again.

You hummed in contentment against his mouth, pulling him impossibly closer. He was so intoxicating you nearly fell to the floor every time he kissed you. Always making you forget your name with the way his lips and tongue moved against your own.

He slowly walked you backwards, not breaking the kiss as he led you to your bedroom. He’d needed to show you how much he missed you since he left this morning. He was a lovesick fuck, and was damn proud of it.

You obliged without hesitation, allowing him to take control and softly rest you on your back on the bed. He kissed your eyelids, cheeks, nose, forehead. Anywhere that was accessible to him, he worshipped it- worshipped you. Your breath hitched, arching into him. You’d nearly forgotten you were in the middle of cooking when he came home. The realization hitting you in the face as you squirmed.

“Lo, dinner.” You huffed, trying- and failing- to push him away so you could finish cooking. Of course, you couldn’t fight off a man with a metal skeleton, let alone want to. You needed him, desperately. But you also wanted to make sure the house didn’t go up in flames.

“Logan.” You groaned, he growled against your skin. Pinning you down effectively as he continued his trail of kisses down your body.

“Logan Howlett.” You said with all the authority you could muster up in the moment. He stopped, lifting his head from your stomach and looking at you with a raised brow and that stupidly handsome smirk.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I gotta finish dinner.” You tried to look as stern as you could, but the way his rough hands were gently stroking your thighs made it impossible. Not to mention the look on his face. You knew him well enough to recognize it. Whatever he was about to say would solidify the one thing you knew: you weren’t leaving this bed anytime soon.

“I’ll cook. Jus’ lemme have this, sweetheart. I missed ya.”

[angel-writes-skz-here]

I'm Yours

Felix x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: A broken heart and former friends with benefits. What could go right? Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v (Be safe!) fingering, oral (both rec.) pet names (sweet girl, etc), slight angst if you squint? A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this one!

Tears stream down your face as you flee the shared apartment in the pouring rain. Catching your boyfriend in bed with another girl was not the most ideal way to start your weekend. The two of you had been dating for 8 months; so what’s a girl to do when her heart gets broken?

Go see her best friend.

You knock on Felix’s door rapidly, heart pounding in your chest from the adrenaline. He opens it, noticing your rain-soaked body.

“Woah, what the hell happened to you?”

You can only sniffle in response as you shake slightly from the cold. Felix pulls you inside, bodies colliding as you cling to him for dear life, letting the emotions flow freely as he shuts the door behind you, tears soaking his now damp shirt.

“He-he was with another gi-girl,” you hiccup, arms around Felix’s waist. Felix sighs, wrapping his arms around you.

Felix had warned you months ago when he met the guy that he didn’t like him. And he swore up and down it wasn’t just because you two would no longer have your arrangement.

You and Felix had decided to be friends with benefits almost a full year ago. Both swore to never catch feelings, which you did about 2 months in, but you never told him that. Both of you swore to keep it casual, and if one or the other dated, you couldn’t touch each other. And over the 8 months, it had been extremely difficult for the both of you. You couldn’t be under a blanket together, it was super hard being alone, not that your boyfriend let it happen too many times because he swore up, down, left and right that you and Felix had something at some point.

Something you denied.

When you started dating your, now, ex-boyfriend, it was an attempt to stop your arrangement with Felix because feelings were becoming too involved for you, and how could they not?

He didn’t just fuck you and leave. He would wine and dine you, buy you gifts, both small and large, cuddles and wonderful aftercare after sex, made you feel safe, secure, seen and heard. He made you feel everything a boyfriend should. And yet he was your friend.

“Hey, come on, let’s get you out of these clothes before you get sick.”

Oh yeah, and he was probably the most caring and considerate man you knew. He was never one to rush, never one to ignore your needs, any and all of them. You needed a jacket because it was cold? Done. You needed a different angle for Felix to make you feel good, he’s happy to oblige. You wanted a chill night away from home, he was ready to pick you up within the hour.

You nod and let him lead you to his bathroom where he draws a bath for you, a bath bomb, essential oils, and candles. You go to peel off your wet clothes, but he lightly pats your hand away.

“Let me do it, you just relax.” His low voice drawls. You give him a tight-lipped smile and he slowly, methodically, helps you out of your clothes. You’d seen each other naked so many times, and yet Felix looks at you the same way he did the first time; like you’re reverent, holy, something to admired. As you step out of your underwear, you’re looking down at him as you steady yourself on his shoulder.

He looks up at you, like a man who’s thanking God he gets to be in your presence. Like he’s grateful to simply adore you. Like he’s devoted to you and you only.

He slowly stands up, helping you into the tub. Your foot hits the hot water as you slowly sink down, you can’t help the moan that escapes you.

“Thank you,” you whisper as the water blurs the image of your body for him. He bends down grabbing a loofa, soaping it up, lightly dragging it over your shoulders and down your arms. You relax against the back of the tub, allowing him to take care of you, washing away the stress.

Once he finishes washing you off, he kisses the top of your head lips lingering for a moment or two longer than necessary, before getting up and brining you some clothes. He leaves the room, allowing you to get dressed and blow dry your hair the rest of the way.

When you walk out, Felix has set up a blanket fort and there’s soft music playing in the background. You smile softly to yourself as you see his head pop out similar to that of a cute little gopher.

“You like it?” he asks eagerly, resembling a cute puppy who’s just found something brand new in life; excited and not afraid to show it.

“It’s great,” you giggle as you walk over moving the blanket to sit down. There are snacks, drinks, and a laptop to watch whatever you want.

“Lix, you didn’t have to do this,” you smile at the sentiment. He grins sheepishly.

“Seemed like you needed it. Now, you wanna tell me what happened?” You go into the whole spiel about how you had your suspicions when you found deleted messages on his iPhone between him and some random number. The texts weren’t explicit but they were flirty, how he’d been coming in later and later after work and then finally you caught him in bed with her. Felix frowns when he see’s the tears prick your eyes and he pulls you close, kissing your temple.

“I’m sorry, y/n.” he whispers and you sit with him for a moment, underneath the soft lighting, music still playing softly. Felix begins to hum quietly, a sound that you feel vibrate through you and you close your eyes for a minute, enjoying the soothing sound of his voice.

You move to his lap, arms around his neck, face cradled in the crook of it, breathing him in. He smells sweet; like home.

“I should’ve listened to you,” you whisper out brokenly.

“Don’t do that, don’t blame yourself,” he says as his arms wrap around your body.

“I missed you, Lix.” You whisper in his ear before nuzzling your head against him. He bites his lip- God help him he missed you too.

Every single part of you. He places his lips on your clothed shoulder, a simple show of affection. But he stiffens when he feels you place your lips on his neck, soft, barely there at first, as if the two of you are silently asking each other the same question.

You both pause; the tension between you building. Frozen in time; both of your heartbeats wild.

You pull your head from his shoulder looking into his sweet dark eyes, one’s you found yourself missing when you didn’t get to see them every day. Your fingers comb through his hair, gently as you look between his eyes, your fingers resting in the ends of his hair, delicately playing with it.

Felix cups your cheeks and you lean into his touch.

Slowly the two of you lean in closer, Felix being the one to connect your lips, a soft moan escaping your mouth as he does. It’s soft, slow, and sensual. Your fingers tangle in his hair, his hands resting on both sides of your face.

He tastes just like you remember, sweet like sugar, and yet something that’s so inherently Felix. Your hips shift in his lap, grinding against him and he lets out a deep moan.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he says between kisses. You only tug on his blonde locks slightly, causing him to chuckle.

“Felix,” you say breathlessly. He looks at you inquisitively, a brow arched.

“I want you,” you breathe, arousal and desire flowing through your bloodstream.

“Please,” you almost whimper before he lays you down on your back.

“I missed you so much,” he confesses as his lips start to leave open mouthed kisses down your neck.

“You missed my body, Lix,” you chuckle lightly. Felix tenses, lips stilling on your neck for a moment.

“Felix?” you ask quietly. As if snapping out of a trance he immediately continues, but he puts his lips on that sweet spot he remembers used to drive your insane. He nips at the skin, and you gasp, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers card through his hair. He sucks a mark onto your neck, licking over it after he bites down again.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, desire coursing through your veins as your hips lift up, desperate for friction.

You can feel him smirk against your skin. Felix has decided tonight isn’t just about having you, it’s about making sure you know you only need him. Something about seeing you run back to him tonight made him realize he doesn’t want to play games anymore, and he never wants to see you that upset over some stupid guy again.

His hands slip up under the shirt he lent you, your skin erupting with goosebumps under his touch. He pulls the shirt off your head, revealing your upper half to him, he hunches over, finding your lips in a passionate, hard kiss.

“’m gonna make you feel so good, baby.” He breathes before his tongue flicks out over your hardened nub. You gasp out a moan, feeling his tongue flick gently as he sucks it into his mouth, his hand coming up to play with the other.

“Felix,” you whine as your hips shift up again. He lets your right one go, giving the left the same treatment.

He chuckles against you as he then begins to kiss down your sternum, lips dragging against your skin as he looks up at you through his lashes. A sight that causes you to clench around nothing, a wet and warm sensation being felt between your legs.

Then he gets to the waist band of the underwear he’d let you borrow. His teeth go to it, dragging it down slowly.

He groans at the sight of your body beneath him, ready and willing and to take whatever he’s ready and willing to give it.

“You want me baby?” he asks as your underwear is discarded onto the side.

“Yes,” you squirm as you watch him.

He settles between your legs, taking in a breath.

“God you smell so good,” he breathes, eyes closed and savoring the moment.

“Missed this pretty pussy, these pretty legs, my pretty girl,” he rambles, and he’s not even tasted you yet. You feel the heat rise up your neck at his pet name for you.

“Lix, please.” You lift your hips near his face, and he can only smile. He opens his mouth dramatically, showing you his tongue flattened out, before spreading your folds. He lets out a guttural groan when he tastes the bit of arousal that’s already collecting at your entrance.

“Better than I remember,” he mumbles to himself before his tongue begins working on your clit.

Your back arches as his tongue works in circles, up and down and side to side on your bud, your fingers find his hair, pushing his head deeper into you.

“Fuck,” you whimper as you feel Felix slowly insert a finger and curl it, making the come-hither motion, hitting your sweet spot as his tongue’s speed only quickens.

“Felix,” you whimper, hips shifting. He places a hand on your lower stomach and to keep you from moving too much, tongue doing figure 8’s now as he adds a second finger. Felix relishes in the time spent between your legs, while he knows you and your ex most likely slept together, he’s bound and determined to show you he’s better, that he knows you better. That was the other thing about Felix, he took the time to get to know your body, to learn what makes you tick, learn what you don’t like, and learn what you love more than anything.

“Oh, God,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head. Felix teases you a little, stopping his tongue, focusing on working your hole.

“No, don’t-fuck-,” you gasp, “do that thing with your tongue,” you plead.

“This?” He asks cheekily before resuming his movements, making you cry out in pleasure as you feel the tightening in your stomach.

“Fuck yes, that, please don’t stop,” you gasp, breathing coming in heavy pants. Felix can sense that your getting closer, feeling the way your walls clench around his digits.

“Come on baby, cum for me.” He encourages in his deep voice, the sound only helping you get to your orgasm. With a few more flicks of his tongue, you’re falling apart, thighs squeezing his head as he fucks you through it, dragging it out as your hips roll. He cleans you up with his tongue, your hips jerking as his nose bumps your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He begins circling your bud again, sharp gasps and whimpers falling from your lips.

“Lix, too-too much,” you gasp as your head digs into the mattress and your hips roll, despite the painful pleasure.

“Ah, God,” you fist his hair, trying to push him away.

“You can take it, baby. One more for me.” He encourages before working your nerves again with his mouth.

You whimper out. He smiles and continues his assault, drawing yet another deep, hard orgasm from you. You’re breathing heavily, aftershocks hitting you as he kisses back up your body, leaving a few love bites on your hips. You bring him down for a passionate kiss, tasting yourself in the process.

The world feels like it stops turning whenever you’re with Felix, that time doesn’t exist, that it’s your world and the other people just live in it.

Felix pulls back to take off his shirt, abs on full display and your hands, like a reflex, reach up to feel them. You notice his smirk and blush as you raise up, kissing his stomach, tongue swiping over his abs every now and again.

You work on his pants, pulling them down, allowing him to spring free. He’s hard, leaking and red from the sheer need of friction and release.

“You don’t have to,” he says but is cut off by the warm feeling of your mouth. Felix falls back, careful not to tear down the romantic scene, as your head bobs up and down, tongue swirling around him, his taste saturating your taste buds.

“Fuck, baby I need you,” he moans with his eyes shut, hand on the back of your head. After a few more pumps of your head, he’s pulling you off, laying you back where you were and hovering over you. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand as you watch him closely.

Felix looks into your eyes, searching for any signs of hesitation.

“Look at me,” he whispers when you get bashful and look away from him. Your eyes meet his as he pushes in, both of your mouths falling open as the sheer pleasure of being connected. Felix stills for a moment, your foreheads resting together.

“Fuck I missed you so much,” he breathes before capturing your lips softly.

He begins rocking his hips, his head falling to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he grunts as your legs wrap around his waist.

“You don’t need anyone but me, baby.” He whispers, in your ear, “ah,” he hisses, “so fucking tight. Look at how well you take me. Such a good girl for me.” He moans.

“You hear me? I’m all you need, day or night, rain or shine, I’m fucking made for you, and you’re made for me. Ah, fuck,” he groans as he feels your walls clamp down at his words. Your fingers are splayed on the back of his neck as you hold him close, kissing and nipping at his shoulder as he begins to thrust harder.

“Ah, fuck,” you whimper, nails slightly digging into his neck and shoulder.

“So fuckin pretty, mine. You hear that? You’re mine, I’m not letting you go.” He says as his speed increases.

“Say it,” he growls.

“I’m yours, Lix. I’m yours.” You repeat breathlessly, but he swallows the last word with a deep, sloppy kiss.

“My sweet girl,” he says softly as he pounds into you, skin slapping against skin, the air in the fort smelling of sex and sweat.

“I’m close,” you whine as you feel the muscles in your body start to lock.

“Fuck me too,” he kisses you, holding your pelvis up and pounding into you, causing you to see stars as your orgasm crashes into you and Felix groans as he fucks you through it. You cling to him as your body shakes, aftershocks of your orgasm having you frozen in place for a moment, your face in his neck as he hits his own orgasm as you come down from yours.

He groans as his hips thrust sloppily, both of you breathing heavy as his body stops.

“Fuck,” he breathes out before kissing you again. You giggle against him tongues grazing each other softly.

“God you’re perfect,” he says as he pulls away. He slowly pulls himself out of you, both of you shuttering at the sensitivity.

“Oh shit, y/n I’m-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he looks panicked once his senses are back down on earth.

“It’s fine, Lix. I’m on the pill.” You shrug as you sit up on your elbows. He sighs, carding a hand through his hair.

“I’ll be right back, ok?” you nod, face slightly flushed. Your heart is hammering and when Felix comes back, he has a warm wash cloth, snacks and drinks. He proceeds to clean you up, carefully wiping away the mess. Slightly fixated on how it looks dripping out of you.

“Uh, Felix?” you giggle noticing his eyes.

“Huh, oh s-sorry.” He blushes as he continues wiping the mess up, making sure you’re clean. He discards the rag, helping you under the blankets. He grabs a bottle of water, opening it, helping you drink to hydrate, before taking a sip for himself. Felix fits in beside you, letting you lay your head on his chest. For a few moments, the two of you drink in the moment together, his arm around you, his hand on top of yours with your fingers interlocked.

“That was incredible,” you whisper in awe. Felix chuckles.

“You really were.” He kisses your forehead.

“I meant what I said, though.” He says slowly.

“You don’t need anyone else, y/n. Watching you go out with him,” he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face, “It was torture. I know you’re still hurting, I know it’s gonna take time, but I want to be with you-,” you swallow his words with a deep passionate kiss.

You pull away, the two of you searching each other’s eyes.

“I don’t wanna be your friend, I don’t wanna be your fuck buddy.” He whispers.

“I wanna belong to you, I want you to belong to me. I want us, and I’m willing to wait, work and do whatever it takes to get it, y/n, because I’m crazy about you and I know you feel it too.” He says finally. You look between his eyes before your mouth cracks into a smile.

“We’ve been kidding ourselves, if we think we didn’t already belong to one another, Lix. I dated him because we both swore feelings wouldn’t get involved and they did. So, I tried to back out without having to explain why.” You admit.

Felix grins before kissing your forehead.

“No more pretending. No more games. No more acting like this means nothing,” he murmurs.

“You’re mine and I’m yours.”

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader @crystal005

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[girlfromflor]

part 5 | supersoldiers!141 x f!reader

after you shared your first kiss with johnny and kyle, things started to shift within the group. it was clear that physical displays of affection were a thing now, but it was more than that. they all started to act more affectionate with each other in front of you – you knew they shared these moments, they just never really explored that in front of you.

you were grateful they did, because now you could relish on watching them rather than being watched. you liked that they were attentive to you, but you liked this natural flow of things better. they stopped worrying about what you'd think and simply acted according to what felt better – and probably that was the closest to seeing what they were like before you, that you'd ever get.

you walk freely around their house now, and they come and go from yours. sleepovers started happening, you catch them cuddling each other on your bed and you casually fix the blankets around them tighter. you started seeing soap give ghost a peck on the lips through the mask, john's hand on kyle’s thigh under the table during dinner, ghost hugging kyle by the waist while whispering things in his ear – things that were very imaginable considering the way you felt arousal building inside you out of nowhere –, and john pulling johnny to sit on his lap using the excuse that “there's no place in the couch for everyone”.

john and johnny were a special duo. maybe it was because johnny has too much energy and john is more responsive to it than ghost and kyle, but johnny truly acts like a needy puppy around the captain. you've seen johnny act like that with simon and receive a groaned “you're such a needy mutt” enveloped with lust and want, and you could feel johnny’s satisfaction at having such attention. but john clearly scratched a deeper part of johnny's mind. you were proved just that when you walked past the hall of their house unannounced on one afternoon. you could make out some murmuring from the kitchen, busy taking your shoes off which gave you enough time to make out john’s voice, you don’t know who he’s talking to – but you could imagine.

“would you like that?” it's low and seductive, and you've never heard john speak like that. there's no response, but given his next words the man had either nodded or shaken his head, “then be a good boy and do as you’re told, yeah?”

“yes, sir,” you hear johnny's voice and your stomach is completely taken by butterflies. johnny was breathless and for a second you’re afraid of stepping inside and disturbing an intimate moment, but you heard them moving and decided to do it anyway.

they are standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, john is staring at soap like he's a five course meal and johnny looks almost flustered – that's new.

“uh… hi, guys,” you whisper and the response is immediate – john moves too quickly for you to react, fast and determined.

“baby!” he greets you with a bright smile – the one he usually has when he's up to something –, pulling you by your hand to stand closer to him. “be a sweetheart and give your captain a kiss, aye?”

you turn to look at johnny, to take a hint on what to do – he's too quiet, what were they talking about? –, but john moves faster and holds your cheeks with one of his big hands.

“ah, ah, tha’ what i told ya to do?” he asks, still smiling – condescendingly so – and you shake your head as an answer. “that's right, love,” he places both his hands on your hips, pulling you closer – and you have to put your hands on his chest to ground yourself. “now, what was it that you were supposed to do? huh?”

you're not sure if he wants a verbal response. maybe he does but doesn't want to push you too far, because you stay silent as you stand on the tip of your toes to kiss him and he accepts. you barely acknowledge the fact that this is the first time you're going to kiss john as he hums and moves down to brush his nose on your cheek. you close your eyes, then soon enough the feeling of his lips on yours overtakes your senses – but is johnny's moan that wrecks you. you gasp and john's tongue finds its way inside your mouth, his own sound of pleasure echoing in your mind.

the first thing that you do when you pull away from the kiss is search for johnny’s eyes – only to see him shamelessly palming his cock through his sweatpants while watching the two of you –, and that results in a hard squeeze of john's hands on your hips. you whimper in surprise, and you can hear johnny mimic the sound from where he stands – and fuck, you want to look at him so bad, but john is completely taking over you thoughts.

“sorry,” you blurt out instinctively, not actually guilty but it's a way of showing you're not disregarding john for johnny.

“‘s okay, love,” john answers and gives your lips a brief kiss, lovingly. when he lets you go he turns to johnny, “think you can behave?” johnny nods and is funny how he does it like his life depends on it. but then john tsks and orders, “words, johnny.”

“yes, sir,” soap answers, soft and pliant and so attractively, your thighs press themselves together.

“c'mon, then,” price motions his head for johnny to come closer and the scot doesn't hesitate to obey.

as soap approaches the two of you, john pulls him by the waist for him to step between you. then he whispers in johnny's ear “go on,” in the most unbothered tone, and johnny – with his back pressed against the captain’s chest – bends down to kiss you in a heartbeat.

the kiss is a mess. it makes the two of you breathless too fast but it's too good to stop. johnny's hands touch your waist, your neck and your face before dropping to your hips and you can't help but squeeze the muscle of his arms underneath your palms. john pulls soap further back in his chest as a warning and johnny pulls away from you with a whine. you blink slowly watching the men in front of you – john presses a kiss to the scot's cheek before saying, “good boy.”

johnny blushes at the words, his eyes on you like he's half expecting you to laugh at him. you bite your lip and decide to break the silence after a moment, “i thought you were out grocery shopping…”

johnny smiles and john chuckles saying “simon and kyle went. they should be back in an hour.”

later that day, you found yourself in their kitchen again. john was the only one there finishing dinner when you arrived and he said, “sweetheart, can you go get the lads?” you answered with a nod before making your way upstairs.

you had gone back to your house, taken a shower and done some of your chores. simon and kyle came back after you left, so you hadn't had the chance to talk to them. ghost's door is the first one in the hallway, so naturally there’s where you go first, not even bothering to knock because it was already wide open.

“simon, john told me to—” you stop mid-sentence as you walk past the door frame, stunned at the sight in front of you – a maskless simon, flushed and panting, caging kyle in between his arms and the dresser.

he turns his face to you slowly, clearly having trouble breaking eye contact with the younger man. “yes, luvie?” simon voices out, nonchalantly like you hadn't just caught him and kyle in the middle of something.

“you're– you don’t have your mask on,” you deadpan, failing to address kyle, who's still pressed against the furniture and looking at you.

“very attentive of you to notice,” he smiles, and is like he's taking pleasure in your surprised expression.

“shut up—” you take a few steps forward, but halt halfway – what were you going to do, kiss him? – and instead of going to them you whisper, “you're beautiful…” only to be met with a smirk and a look that says ‘i know’, so you do your own playful teasing. “well, not as much as kyle—”

“oi! you little shit!” he laughs and lets kyle go to move in your direction – probably to grab you and do god knows what – but you take a step back.

nervously laughing, trying to stop staring at simon's handsome face, you look at kyle, blurting out the first thing that comes to your mind,  “were you two making out?”

“why?” comes kyle’s voice instantly, and you squeeze your eyes shut for a second – what a dummy. “would ya wanna join?” kyle adds, moving to you much like simon is. 

you step backwards once more, answering defiantly, “as if, i've kissed you already,” but it's more of a gasp than anything – it's also a mistake with the way simon’s eyes darken, he took it as a challenge. “i don’t want to be scolded by john,” you say, remembering that you were supposed to be calling them for dinner.

“i think you’d quite enjoy his punishment, love,” simon states, and he's too close for this conversation to be considered appropriate. so instead of facing them you turn on your heels and sprint to johnny's room in the end of the hallway, the sound of their feet thudding behind you as they follow.

you open johnny's door fast, not bothering to close it before throwing yourself in the bed where he was laying, watching tv. johnny doesn’t  have time to question what's happening before simon and kyle come barging in, laughing.

“what did ye do, bon?” he asks then, side eyeing you.

“she owes me a kiss,” simon answers for you and motions his head in your direction, exchanging a glance with johnny. 

johnny moves instantly, sitting up and holding your arms, pulling you to press your back against his chest with you sitting in the middle of his legs – shit, you're fucked. kyle sits down first, by your side, hand stroking your cheek. and then comes simon.

he finds his place between your legs, parting them to fit himself more comfortably. “word is you kissed everyone but me, luvie, that correct?” simon questions as his face grows closer to yours and you squirm in johnny's arms – you can hear kyle chuckling by your side.

you nod regardless, before saying “in my defense, your mask worked like an imaginary wall between us.”

“yeah? what about now?” he whispers, breath fanning over your nose. you stay silent, not knowing what to answer. he chuckles, “no excuse now, huh?”

you pout, lips involuntarily moving and it catches his attention. he moves down to brush his lips on yours and you move forward trying to press them together. he backs up with a smile, “ya wan’ a kiss, luvie?”

you nod, and maybe you do it a bit too desperately because kyle groans from where he's watching and johnny places his hands on your hips. simon hums, moving to peck your lips – and it's supposed to be just a peck, but you can't help yourself. you launch forward, lips pressing more vigorously on him and he groans. one of his hands cup your cheek to move your head, guiding you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing yours in a passionate caress.

when he pulls away, you take a moment to ground yourself. you are too drown in your arousal and simon’s – and also johnny and kyle's. the amount of horniness taking your senses makes you want to hump yourself in johnny's legs until you're crying and the four of you have to forcefully think of something else to try and balance it out since john is not there to help shift the emotions, and that's when you gasp,

“fuck, john is going to kill us.”

series masterlist a/n: is it weird that i've posted three days in a row? | taglist: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @little-mini-me-world @bath1lda @imthatone-annoyingfriend @night-shadowblood-writes2 @z-wantstowrite @kentuckyhobbit @supernova2205 @thatghostlykid @reggiesslut @reap3erslov3

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - III

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: The only problem with being in love with a flame is that you can actually get burned if you get too close… ✦ Warnings/tags: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Blowjob, angst with no comfort, cunnilingus, talking you through it, fingering. Reader has some self-esteem issues. Mention of difficult past relationships. ✦ Words: 5,1k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. Hope this won't disappoint after all this time! AO3 link here!

Part I - Part II - Part III

Wet noises and moans. The wood near camp is filled with them, contrasting with the tranquil, usual melody of the forest.

"Jesus, girl, easy…" Arthur hisses, pleads, even. His voice is low and raspy and so deep, close to that tone he has while taming a horse, but with that desperate urgency hidden inside.

You let go of him just for a few seconds, his tip tilting up on its own, twitching in nothing as he gasps sharply from the sudden change; boiling volcano to harsh, frosty air of this fresh dawn. He instantly misses the sweet and warm sensation of your mouth wrapped around him.

"What, you want me to stop?" You grin, teasing, your lips still close –too close– to his cockhead, brushing against its soft and wet skin, rosy color glistening and beading in the sunlight like an unresisteable treat for you to suck on.

He let out a short sigh, somewhere between a laugh and a snarl. "Hell no, but y'know I ain't gonna last long if ya- aaah"

Your lips had opened and eaten him and the last of his words whole, fully and voraciously. He curses, too loudly for his own ego not to frown at him, but what could he do? He had never been able to resist you since the very first time he had seen that silhouette of yours; now how could he, watching you on your knees, head between his thighs, his cock buried inside of your velvety throat. Every time, you were making him get closer to Heaven, achieving the miracle of opening the Gates once more.

A big hand gently falls on your head, fingers messily tangling in your hair, while he lets his hips succumb to the irresistible rocking they're urging him to, his fat shaft pulling in and out of your mouth. Not too brutally, never. You can feel the hardness of it against your tongue, against the back of your throat, and you smile to yourself noticing just how close he indeed is already. Your hands hold his shirt from each side of his waist –that overused blue shirt he hadn't stripped from, his member only fished out of his pants and union suit. Funny, how you noticed meaningless details in moments like those. Remnants of reality to keep you grounded on Earth, maybe. How the abused cotton feel under your fingertips. How his body and cock smell strong and manly and fucking divine. How the few dark curls escaping his clothes tickle your nose every time you push your face to his base. The way he tastes under your tongue, salty and heady. How the tip of his fingers feel against your scalp.

"Oh god, damn it, how– how can ya be so good every' goddamn time…" He rasps, his eyes closing as he feels his orgasm coming at him with the force and speed of an avalanche; his hips thrust a bit faster, but it's subtle. You know he doesn't allow himself to be rougher than that with you. Invisible threads braided from his own problems, insecurities and griefs holding him back, pulling on his limbs as if he were only a puppet of theirs. His speech flows more freely, though, like to compensate, sinful, incoherent words flooding and flooding and flooding as he praises you again and again to the very end…

"Yeah, such a good girl, so god-damn perfect, taking me so good darlin'." His hand tightens in your hair, "Aaaall that' dirty mouth, jus' for me." His hips shudder, his eyes shut close as he pounds one last time and stays right there deep in your throat. - Oh, shit!"

His dick hardens as he spills inside, unable to stop it, secretly not wanting to. And it's so perfect, his head almost gets dizzy from it, his free hand holding the tree against which he's leaning to stop himself from collapsing. His cum warm in the back of your throat as he sinfully paints it. Balls empty, as almost constantly now, a stark contrast to their painful fullness of a few weeks ago, he groans softly in pleasure and fatigue, breathing in and out heavily through his nose in this blissful state.

His hand travels from your hair to your cheek, caressing your skin in a tender gesture. A gesture of gratitude. Thank you for making me feel like this. Thank you for doing it every day. For stopping the pain in my bones from burning me more, even just for a few minutes. For bringing solace to both my body and my soul.

Of course, no words ever cross his lips as he helps you stand up. His legs almost go weak again when he catches you swallowing with that proud, self-satisfied grin of yours. A nymph, he had thought of you the first time you had slept together. More like a succubus of Lust, he corrects and chuckles to himself.

"You're a wild one." He states, buttoning back his union suit, then his pants.

"You like that about me."

"Probably more than a' should, dalrin" … Ain't proper for a man to fancy a girl that much."

"Takling about that, it ain't proper neither to cary yourself with a cock that big…"

His hands fumble with his belt he had just picked up from the ground, his Volcanic revolver suddenly falling in the grass with a loud, muted sound. His head snaps up to look at you, his cheeks tinged a beautiful pink as a teenage boy getting his first kiss right on them. He's genuinely flabbergasted for a few seconds, his mouth slightly open in confusion, thin lips hanging a bit dumbly. It reminds you of that night you had caught him in the act in Rhodes, and you let a chuckle escape.

"Ya shouldn't say stuff like that, 'specially not a few feet away from camp." He protests, his usual frown settling deeply between his brows, instinctively rejecting your praise. He finishes buckling up his belt as he intended to in the first place, trying to brush off the primal, manly feeling of pride your comment had ignited in his guts. His enormous pistol he shoves back into his holster isn't helping with that either.

"You weren't that bothered about sound a few seconds ago…" You remark, brushing your knees then trying to fix your hair not to look too disheveled -as if you hadn't just sucked the hell out of the gang's toughest enforcer just a few seconds ago.

"Hush now, woman." He replaces his hat straight on top of his head with one hand, an amused smirk pulling his lips up. He looks down at you, gaze full of softness, deep blue color the only witness to the meanderings of his thoughts.

Looking at those eyes was like looking at the depths of a lake from above. You could always tell there was some life and movement under the water's surface, but couldn't point out what mysterious creature was swarming in those abyssal, muddy waters.

"I'll take care of ya tonight. 'm gonna make that cheeky grin disappear."

You shiver at the promise. You knew just how good Arthur surprisingly was at taking care of women that way. Biting your lips, you whisper some sultry last words in return, saying how you couldn't wait, before turning your heels and walking off to the numerous amount of chores still waiting for you.

Arthur doesn't bother to ogle at your ass as you do, your hips swinging subtly under your dress, the movment hypnotizing as you had almost reached camp. You both really should have walked further away from it, but damn it he couldn't had waited a second more with how hellish you were making his life at camp be. Stealing secret kisses, bending just in front of him, purposely getting your clothes wet, sometimes even downright caressing his crotch when no one was looking. And at the same time, you made it all heavenly, as some sort of devilish salvation. He scratches his jaw and walks the opposite way, not wanting to appear too obvious with the both of you coming back from the same spot together. There probably was not much to save, but still. His cock soft and satisfied and comfortable in his pants, his heart light, his good mood pushes him to accept Javier's friendly invitation to go fishing.

He can't help but let his thoughts get back to you, though. It had become more than a habit at this point, it was an obsession. Tasting your flesh, touching your skin, making love to you, and making one with you, it had all made him a devotee. He was a preacher who had the unthinkable privilege of having met his God.

He isn't catching much fish compared to Javier who was emptying the damn pond by himself. But he didn't care at all. It was a good, sunny day. One of the best he was having in a long time.

Your face isn't hiding the euphoria you're radiating with. All the contrary. Sat under the girl's tent not too far from the lake's shore, bucket of soapy water between your legs, you even hum a tune that makes Tilly smile next to you, her mending on Hosea's jacket a little less mundane. You don't complain even once about your tiring chore as you usually do. In fact, it feels like there's no worry in the whole world. Like those quiet moments of peace, pleasant good weather between two storms. The frogs croaking from the lake, the birds and chickens chirping, Pearson and Grimshaw in deep conversation a feet away from you. Uncle's banjo. Not even Micah's filthy shirt covered in blood from a few moments ago could bring you down; the now-washed and mended cloth hung on the thread to dry along the dozen other ones you had taken care of.

"You're quite in the mood today, mh?" Tilly asks, an amused expression on her young face, with that light tone of voice you had grown to love dearly.

"Could say so…"

You voluntarily stay elusive, too proud and happy with yourself about all that had happened between you and Arthur since the gang had settled here. The thought of him emerges in your head once more as you realise the next piece of clothing to wash is one of his workshirts, the torn and dirty red fabric feeling coarse between your hands. It reminds you of earlier. The strong smell of his sweat fills your nose. It should have disgusted you more than anything, but all the contrary made your body grow hotter. You let a small chuckle escape you.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

"Is Arthur's shirt covered in some unknown substance again?"

"No, it's just…" You start, unable to resist the urge to finally tell someone about it, words simmering in your throat like an agitated pot. "It's just I can't help but think about what's actually under it, you know?" You hold the large shirt in front of you, eyes studying it with an obvious interest.

Tilly laughs quietly, her eyes still fixed on her knitting, slowly nodding with a knowing smirk. "Oh, trust me, sweetie, every girl here thought 'bout it at least once -

"No, I mean, I know how he actually looks… Without any clothes on…"

The needle stops in the air, and she turns her head to you, the biggest smile on her face, her eyes burning with that flame of curiosity that swallows everything once you've discovered the surface of something utterly interesting, a gold digger unable to stop searching for more. Her eyes dart quickly between the two of yours, as you can watch in real time the wheels turning in her head.

"Girl, are you serious right now?"

"We did it. Like, a lot of times." You drop a bomb, for the third time today. You can't help but love the way she's reacting, your heart swelling with pride, your brain bubbling from getting that sort of attention.

"I knew it! I just knew it! It was so obvious, I mean," the young girl expresses with the speed of a train, "Just the way he was looking at you, spending more and more time at camp, following you everywhere!"

You feel your cheek slightly burn, and your chest rising higher. Why was it all so important to you? You didn't exactly know, but it felt great hearing Tilly, a friend, maybe a sister even, expressing her excitement.

"Yeah, well, it was just for fun, you know? I guess he really needed to blow off some steam, and I was there, more than happy to help…"

"Oh my God, this is so exciting!" She puts her needle and Hosea's garment aside. "Tell me more! How is he like?"

"In bed…? Well, a bit like his usual self, I guess. Rough at times, but always… Gentle."

Tilly nods slowly in agreement, her lips still pulled into a mischievous grin.

"And he's needy and eager, oh my Lord Tilly, you have no idea how much he–

You were about to put Arthur's shirt in the laundry bucket and spill another juicy information before you're pulled off your perfect little cloud.

"I can't believe you're bragging about all this."

You tilt up your gaze, and you're met with Mary-Beth. She, so sweet and delicate, who had been so close to you since the first days you had joined the gang. Who had always treated you with kindness and understanding. You had never heard her talk to you this way.

Seeing you're not answering anything, Mary-Beth continues, her hands on her hips.

"Arthur's not your little toy to play with, [Name]. He's been through much more than you can imagine, and his heart should be nursed, not fooled."

Her tone isn't purposely mean, but it's still firm. It holds a deeper truth in it, something unsettling that puts you right back face to face with your flaws and responsibilities. She's scolding you like a mom would with her favorite daughter who had disappointed her. And it's moving, as difficult as it is to admit.

"I… I didn't think-

"Listen, I know you're not a bad person, and you don't think you're doing anything wrong," She starts, her arms now crossed on her chest, her eyes leaving you no escape. "But Arthur is fragile when it comes to love. I know he doesn't look like he could be fragile about anything, but it's the truth."

You search for words to answer, but nothing comes; it is as if you were trying to get out of quicksand with no branches strong enough to pull you out of the mess. You simply look at the ground, unable to hold her gaze any longer.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't break his heart, please."

And she vanishes as quickly as she had appeared, heading towards Pearson's wagon. You can still see her from afar, and a weird, nauseous feeling settles in your throat. No words from Tilly, trying to reassure you in multiple ways, saying Mary-Beth is probably jealous or too worried, and that you should do what you want, could make it go away. She tries to cheer you up and ask some more questions, searching for the blaze of excitement and amusement from before, but the mood has definitely shifted.

You finally put Arthur's shirt in the bucket, its ruby color turning into a brownish, muddy one as all the dirt lifts off in the water. You watch it swirl in thick whirlpools of mud and foam intertwined, and you start to wonder. Was he falling in love with you? Were you about to break his heart? Was he searching for more, for something serious?

You had always thought Arthur was not the type to fall easily for someone. In fact, you had never seen him being romantically enterprising with a woman since you had known him. And between the two of you? It was all so recent. It all happened so fast. Inevitably, your thoughts travel to your past relationships. How they had failed, every time. How those men had left you, all without exception. How you had been deceived and cheated on and lied to. After years and years of it, you had come to the only conclusion. You were cursed. You were not enough. You weren't meant to be loved that way. To build something stable. You were sure of it.

"His heart deserves to be nursed."

That was certainly true.

But what happens to hearts that can't be saved or loved? What happened to hearts that had been dropped too many times, and left alone to shrink in the dark? Do they slowly fade and rot after so much time spent unused? Do they gather in a graveyard to die altogether, like a melancholic last procession before the unthinkable?

Are they capable of nursing another heart, although they haven't seen one in what felt like ages? Although they're already doomed?

Like a trap of glue engulfing you whole, those questions and reflexions stick to your skin and take up all the space in your mind for the rest of the day.

Arthur's tongue has no mercy for you. Well determined to give you a taste of your own medicine from what you had done to him in the woods near camp the same morning, he had been quick to shorten his dinner and usual evening around the campfire, not so subtly commanding you to come and join him in his tent.

You didn't even know the flaps could close before. Now, they're closed almost all of the time, guaranteeing the two of you a semblance of privacy, or at least a shield from the other's nosy gaze. Tonight it would save them from seeing you lying on your back on Arthur's cot right now, legs spread open, his huge, coarse hands keeping them in place, his head buried in your center as he drank from you like he would have from the purest and freshest of water from a wild cascade. Slowly, almost lovingly –and the thought brings back the knot in your throat– his mouth kiss and licks relentlessly your entrance, before laping all the way up to your clit, lips suckling at it as if wanting to suck poison from a snakebite.

You moan, the feeling delightful, the sight mesmerizing. Oh, those two blue eyes looking at your face from between your legs, those golden brown locks falling on his forehead, his lips red and wrapped around you, his crooked nose buried in your folds. You can almost feel how afire he himself is, like every time he takes care of you like this. And it doesn't surprise you. Arthur, the protector. Arthur, the giver. Arthur, the man who could spend a whole month outside in the wild if it would benefit Dutch or the gang. Arthur, the man who knocks giants down when they get too close to the girls and rips families from their lifetime savings, destroying his honor and dignity for his own folks. No wonder Mary-Beth was so protective of him, in return. Arthur could and would move mountains for them.

For you.

And it hits you, right in the middle of it, as this man is giving his soul to you, more dedicated to your pussy than you had ever seen any men be, eating every inches of it and thanking the Gods for allowing him to, lips litteraly french-kissing your slit with his eyes closed and his brows tilted upward as if tasting the most incredible meal he had ever tasted, drunk from it.

Of course. Of course, he was a head-over-heels romantic too.

Your brain starts to get caught in that glue trap again, but hopefully for you, it's the exact moment when he decides to brush a finger against your entrance. Pressing gently, reverently, his fingertip softly swiping against your skin, collecting your arousal and his saliva in a sinfully wet noise. And he sighs deeply. Oh God, how could you not have noticed before? Every gesture from him is a prayer to you. To his deity. He looks at you, attentive to your every reaction. Wanting to make sure you're feeling good, that you're feeling perfect.

He must have noticed you're not in your normal state, your teasing and provocative comments missing from the picture. He leave your cunt just for a few seconds, and his lips rubs gently against it as he talks, stubble softly scratching,

"You okay there, darlin'?" You can feel his warm breath against you, your legs going weak at it.

"All g-good, don't stop. Arthur, please…"

I don't want to talk about it. Please, please don't ask anything else, just keep going.

"Relax, sweetheart, everythin's alright, okay?"

And something in you almost breaks at how tender he is. He doesn't even know what's bothering you. But he notices it. And he cares about it, about you. Like he would do for a scared mare, he gently comforts and praises you, resting his cheek against your inner thigh as he regains some of his breath and uses his fingers to take over.

"That's it, girl, juuuus' like that." He groans in an affirmative tone as he feels your inside, warm and silky and softer than velvet. "Yeah, let yaself go, honey, come on." His index finger penetrates you in a slow, very slow push, every inch of it filling you little by little.

"Good."

His first finger is quickly joined by his middle one, and their tip directly reaches and starts to brush against that spot you like so much, making you arch your back and moan for his own delight.

"That's it, y'see? So perfect, lettin' all go for me." He hums in approval. "Ma' girl." He adds with a curl of his digits.

His girl.

Do you want to be his girl? Are you ready for this? For commitment? The questions are back in your messy brain. You will screw this up like always. Every time you had trusted a man, he had shattered your heart into a million pieces and had danced on it. The same heart beats fast in your chest, and you're afraid the baldly patched up pieces won't hold.

A weird mix of feelings overwhelms you; your soul a painting that uses too many colors that don't fit together at all; a grotesque blend of green and pink, and black and red. Every brush stroke covers you one by one like waves wash the shores -pleasure, fear, excitement, panic, affection, affliction.

"Let it go, darlin'," Arthur whispers again, almost begging you, his fingers curling again and again, brushing exactly where you need them every time, the pleasure reaching vertiginous peaks. This time he looks at them, shoving them in you, then retrieving and again, like in a trance. He's almost drooling at the sight. It's impossible to resist him. To resist this.

And it is so good that it finally suppresses anything else - a bucket of red paint splashed all over the canvas. One of your hand instantly reaches for his head, roughly bringing it back to your clit, and he happily complies, still groaning his praises when he feels your pussy pulsing around his fingers or hears your moans getting louder, the smell of your sex filling both his nostrils and his animalistic appetite.

His tongue finally finding again that nod of pleasure on the oustide, along with his two broad fingers that easily feel like a whole cock fucking that spot on the inside, the red leaks from the canvas and swallows everything in its path. He pumps and pumps and pumps faster and fasterand with a few more hard licks against your pussy, you finally come all against him, his mouth answering with a warm deep growling sound of pleasure coming deep from his throat.

A few moments of relief, when all that is heard is the camp's life around Arthur's tent, the frogs croaking from the lake, unaware of your inner struggles, and your heavy breathings.

Then the red curtain rises, and everything's back, in an even stronger way. You wish there were a way to stay in that sort of foolish, satisfied, dumb post-sex state. But Arthur using his black bandana to gently cleaning up your cunt grounds you to the inevitable reality. He hasn't even bothered to clean himself up first, his mouth and chin glistening in the dark of the evening. Once done, he gets up into a sitting position at the edge of his cot.

"Did ya like it?"

No man had ever asked you that. Nor looked at you with those big, shining, expectant eyes. Almost like a puppy. You want to tease him, as you had taken the habit of, as your nature was telling you to, but now, Mary Beth's words were resonating into your head, caging you once again. You shouldn't even be there in the first place. Both of you were going to end up hurt. You were convinced of it.

"Yes."

You can't say anything else. He looks at you while quickly wiping up his mouth and beard with his bare hand, waiting for more. But if you start talking, you know it won't end up well. Your body is screaming at you to flee. You don't even know why. Everything is jostled and tossed about in your head. So you listen to the irrational. You get up and reach for your undergarments, dressing back quickly. You wrap yourself up in your red shawl, covering the last piece of your skin from his gaze. And into your shell you go. The scarf feels like it's strangling your neck.

As you are about to wish him goodnight, one of his strong hands grabs your arm, holding a bit of the fabric too.

"Wait, [Name]."

You slowly look up at him. He's still as expectant as before. Your heart tightens.

"I erm… Y'know I thought… I thought that you could stay here a bit?" The puppy eyes again. There's a softness in this picture that makes your own self spit at your face for knowing you'll destroy it just in a few seconds.

"You mean, stay here and sleep with you tonight?"

"Well, yeah, if you want t-

"I can't."

An awkward silence slowly falls after your words and cuts deep through his flesh.

Your heart still beating powerfully in your chest, you feel like the roles are reversed from that unforgettable night at the Parlor house, this time you feeling like you've been trapped, or exposed, you don't really know, but like a frightened animal, your panic is getting the better of you.

"What d'ya mean you can't?"

"Arthur, I… This is complicated, I can't, I…"

I can't offer you what you need. Tell him. Just tell him. Why are you stuck like this, fucking tell him.

Both up facing each other, his hand still holding you firmly, your eyes cross his and there's a thousand unspoken words shared between your two souls. Flying and clashing silently like a meteor shower crashing against another one a thousand light-years deep in space, sound lost but consequences devastating. And you're a coward. His beautiful, rugged features are shutting, satisfied grin long gone. The blue of his eyes forever inscrutable. Your feet are acting on their own. You need to fly away, now. Getting too close is going to destroy absolutely everything. Run away. Now.

"I'm sorry."

Those shitty, dumb words fall from your mouth as some tears threaten to fall from your eyes. You walk away, his fingers closing in on your shawl. You almost run out of his tent, leaving it behind.

You don't even try to look back. You can't. You don't want to verify if you're actually destroying him right now, doing the very same thing your past lovers had done to you. Maybe he doesn't even care after all. You don't hear him say a word.

The painting inside you is saturated. A few new colors added: shame, guilt, sadness. It doesn't get better, as you take refuge in the girl's tent, not wanting to sleep right next to his. You see the form of the others on the floor, and as you lay and curl up to your side, you whisper for Mary-Beth to hear, or for you to ease your conscience and be able to sleep,

"I've stopped it before it was too late."

The days after are out of time for you. As if isolated in another dimension away from the real world, things are happening around you but it fly high above your head. People talking to you, chores, Abigail and John arguing, music notes from an instrument, you weren't not even sure which. And, to your awful surprise, your throat still feels tight and knotted. Frustrated, you try to ignore your own urges, too, your body screaming from the sudden lack of sexual satisfaction you had granted him more than daily, as if you had stopped smoking all of a sudden and were physically needing a sweetly burning cigarette at all costs. But as much as you think about him, you try to avoid Arthur.

It's only for the better.

Every morning, you keep repeating it. Trying to convince yourself you had not made a complete mistake. But truth be told, not talking to him feels heavier than you had thought. Seeing him going out of town with Sadie and coming back laughing with her, too.

Heav heavy heavy. Heavy to hold for this shrunk heart.

On the seventh morning, you're convinced you've made the worst decision that night. But you weren't one to let life bring you down. You could fix it. You would fix it. At least, would try and talk to him again. Be friends with him again. Was it even possible? You didn't know, but you had to try. Arthur's absence felt too heavy to keep living your life like this.

And, to be honest, the poor man deserved at least a proper explanation.

That was settled. Determined, searching for him to break the mutism in which both of you had fallen is the first thing you do after breakfast. Soon enough though, life's revenge smacks you in the face when Hosea informs you you wouldn't be able to find him in camp because he had just gone on a mission with Dutch and Micah. Something to do with the O'Driscolls, apparently.

No matter. You were sure of yourself now. You would talk to him as soon as he came home and get off his horse.

But you should have known it by now. Life is having a fight with you, and it always is one step ahead. Because Arthur didn't come back that night.

Nor the day after.

a/n: Sooo 5k words again, guess it is a habit at this point. Also super stressed again because this series is definitely having some attention and I'm so scared of disappointing. Also, having Reader's pov and reversing the usual roles is a bit of a challenge so I'm even more nervous about it, hope it was enjoyable!

Oh, and also as always, please let me know if there are any typos! This isn't proofread!

Anyway, thank you so, so much for the amount of love you're giving to those fics, guys!!

tag list: @a-court-of-valkyries, @redwritr, @cassietrn, @esquilone, @starlightt180, @narcoticv3nus, @thoughts-of-bear, @emjiroki, @prettyundeadgirl, @eternalsams @amyispxnk @babybatss-blog @ardeniaa @sauvignon-velvet @sweeterlilith @arthurmorganist @blueskies664 @tranquilty @stilliwait @maxiismp @stottlemorgan @lizynownow (I tried to tag people who had shown interest in part3, really sorry if I missed anyone!)

[rafesbabysweet]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ SLOWLY; Rafe Cameron

Summary: today was supposed to be a lazy day, but to rafe, it can’t be a lazy without some slow sex!

cw: smut, older!rafe, praising, groping

It was a sweet Sunday morning, the big rising sun shining through the blinds of you and rafes shared bedroom. It was dressed up in all your little trinkets, and of course rafes desk that was full of papers and his laptop, and the shelf’s on in filled with a few things like photos or things he cherishes

You and rafe were laying in bed, white and polished duvet draped over the both of you. The tv was playing a movie Rafe decided to put on before you woke up, and now that you were awake you were both watching it peacefully. You were laying between rafes legs, his arms wrapped firmly around your waist as he rubbed gentle circles on your stomach

You could feel the rise and fall of rafes chest, his broad torso providing and excellent pillow that was suitable for moments like this. He took the day off of work, figuring you two needed a lazy day together. You presumed you two would just lounge around all day, and so far that was what you guys were doing

But rafe being rafe, he couldn’t help his wandering hands from palming your swole breasts that were concealed by your thin little sleep shirt, that had matching shorts that too clad you body. You didn’t mind it, after all he had been doing it for the past two years of your relationship

But you did start to mind when his other hand trailed down your stomach, fiddling with the hem of your shorts before slipping his hand under the fabric. “Rafe what’re you doing?” You asked, your pedicured hand coming atop of his to stop his movements. “Cmon, jus’ let me play with her” he said, his voice almost a whisper in your ear

You tried to wriggle your hips; but rafe quickly stopped that by putting a firm hand on your pubic bone, stopping your little squirms. “S’okay, promise I’ll go slowly.” He cooed, letting his fingers slip underneath your lacey panties, gently taunting your swole clit

You whined, mind starting to go fuzzy at his touch as you nodded, letting him do what he wants as per usual. He rubbed his two fingers along your slit, teasing the sensitive area before pushing two fingers inside, making your hips twitch up. You let out a moan of delight, feeling the delicious stretch of his thick digits

“Tha’s it, good girl” he said, starting to work his fingers in and out of your tight hole. The push and pull motion of his fingers sent you into a frenzy, your body melting into a pliable pile of limbs as he whispered sweet little praises into your ear, working you up for his cock. It was delightful, his fingers filling you up full already

Your whimpers, cries and moans filled the small space of your shared bedroom, as well as the soppy noises coming from your pussy that was now leaking over rafes fingers. He loved it, and truly cherished the way your juices flowed so freely down his fingers. He loved it when you were messy, and that was almost every time you two had sex

It didn’t take long for you to come undone, not when it was rafes fingers plunging into you. You let out a cry, eyebrows furrowing and back arching as you came around his fingers, a glob of cream oozing out onto rafes fingers. He rode you through it, fingers still thrusting gently before he pulled them out, bringing the dripping digits to his lips and sucking off your juices, the taste sweet on his tongue

Rafe gripped your hips, manipulating your body underneath his as he pressed a sloppy kiss to your lips, cock hardening in his slacks as you moaned into his mouth, taste settling on his tongue. You could taste the gentle reminder of your orgasm on his tongue, but you didn’t mind. He removed one hand from the flesh of your waist, instead using it to pull down his pyjama pants and boxers, freeing his half hard dick

He keep his lips pressed firm on yours, intoxicating you with the feeling of his tongue in your mouth to distract you from the way he was pumping his cock in his hand, getting it fully erect before plunging it into you. You were oblivious, head aired out and lips too busy to speak

That was until you felt rafes mushroom tip run through your soft folds, lathering them in his precum. He kept pumping himself, breaking the kiss and pulling back to spit on his length, using it as a lubricant. You stared down, breathing quickening in excitement

He stopped his teasing, his tip now prodding at your entrance as he slipped it in. You both moaned in unison, heads lolling back at the feeling of each other. You were moaning at the stretch, where as he was moaning at the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in like a vice

He worked his tip inside you, earning soft moans as he loosened you up. He leaned down, his forehead resting in the crook of your neck, his lips just grazing your pulse point. “Your so tight ain’t ya baby?” He whispered, breath hot against your neck. You whimpered in response, feeling him inch in a little deeper

He made sure to keep a slow and steady pace, keeping his promise as he worked his cock deep into your tightness. Your lips parted, letting out a squeal of pleasure at the harsh stretch. You should’ve been used to it by now, but each time always felt like the first. “Shh baby, s’okay” he cooed, voice strained as he fought to keep his composure, his hand coming to stroke your hair

He was so gentle, understanding of your boundaries during intimacy and always keeping them in mind. And that showed, especially now when he was being slow and gentle, laid back just how you asked him. That was a perk of dating someone older, he was mature and kept himself in check, unlike the silly boys your age who didn’t care about you and just wanted a quick flick

He worked up a pace, set perfectly for both of your pleasures. It was slow, deep, and passionate. Rafe was whispering praises into your ear, placing soft kisses to your cheeks and neck. It was all perfect, and rafe could tell by the sound of your moans. The little joyful squeals and pleasured whimpers, the moans of delight caused by the pleasure that coursed through you

His cock moved deep inside you, dragging in and out of your warm and wet walls. The feeling had him groaning and moaning in your ear, as well as occasionally nipping on your neck. He never held back with his noises, he wanted you to know that he was also enjoying it, and he also shared that by mumbling praises of how good you felt into your ear. “Oh baby, this pussy feels so good” he’d murmur, making you shiver in pure delight

Your hips started to move against his as well, his pubic bone brushing against your clit with each thrust, creating a delicious friction that you obsessed over. The noises you began to make were almost pornographic, but neither of you cared, in fact Rafe adored it. He loved hearing how good he made you feel, it inflated his ego to no height

“Atta girl, taking this cock so well” he praised you, placing a soft peck to the side of your parted lips. It felt ridiculously good at this point, especially now that your orgasm was approaching. An all to familiar cord in your stomach started to tighten, as well as the walls of your pussy. Rafe felt the clench, the newfound tightness, and knew you were close

He grinned to himself, moving his hips that small bit faster, just enough to drive you over the edge. “Oh rafe! Gonna cum!” You cried out, fingers curling into the sheets as you held on for dear life. The band in your stomach snapped, and a thick ring of cum formed around rafes cock

That was all it took to trigger rafes orgasm, a loud groan rasping in your ear as his hot semen poured into your womb, filling it with life. You were panting, and so was he as he worked both of you through your orgasms before slowly pulling out, bring gentle as to not disturb your sensitive pussy. He grabbed a few tissues from the bedside table and wiped his cock before wiping your now weeping pussy, then throwing them into the trash

He tucked himself back into his boxers, pulling up his pyjama pants and laying down beside you, pulling your body close to his. “You did so good baby, took me like a champ” he whispered, large hand caressing your hair to calm you down. He held you close, his warmth sheathing you like a large blanket. He was soo sweet, and you loved it. He took care of you, and gave you the best orgasms of your life. What more could you want?

[passengerprincessblog]

“Trophy Room” Lando Norris x Reader

Warning: smut, NSFW, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex.

Summary: Lando Norris throws a party in hopes of getting closer to Y/N, a girl he’s been crushing on, introduced by mutual friends. Amid drinks, dancing, and flirtation, their chemistry culminates into a moment away from the crowd, hinting at something deeper between them.

WC: 2,000?

Lando’s POV

The two weeks off couldn’t have come at a better time. After months of relentless training, race prep, and following a strict diet, I was ready to relax a bit. It’d been ages since I let loose, and tonight was all about unwinding. But honestly, the real reason I was throwing this party had less to do with relaxation and more to do with her. Y/N.

I don’t know what it was about her—something about the way she laughed or how she didn’t seem fazed by the chaos around her. She’d come into my life through Max and Pietra, his girlfriend, and since then, I’d found myself scrolling through her Instagram, even browsing her Spotify playlists just to feel like I knew her a little better. I was surprised to find out she didn’t have a boyfriend. Not that I was checking specifically… but, okay, maybe I was.

The music was already pumping as people filled my penthouse. My mate Martin was on the DJ deck, setting the perfect vibe, and the drinks were flowing freely. The weight of the day’s workout still lingered in my muscles, but the buzz from a couple of shots was loosening me up. I was taking a shot with Max when I saw her walk in, and—well, let’s just say I almost choked on my drink.

I couldn’t stop myself from calling out to her. “Y/N! Shot?” I grinned, holding up the vodka bottle.

Y/N’s POV

Walking into Lando’s penthouse, I immediately felt a bit overwhelmed. The place was packed, and the music was loud enough to make the floor vibrate. I scanned the room for Pietra; she was the one who convinced me to come in the first place, promising me a fun night and a chance to unwind.

Before I could find her, though, I heard my name being called. I looked over and saw Lando, smirking, with a bottle of vodka in hand, waving me over. He had this look in his eye that told me he was already a little tipsy. The group around him started chanting my name, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, okay… fine!” I made my way over, and Lando immediately started pouring me a shot, spilling a bit as he did. He was definitely drunk, and he was being flirty in a way that caught me off guard.

“Don’t look so scared, it’s just vodka,” he teased with a grin. “Come on, cutie… I’ll pour you an extra large one.”

I laughed, trying to hide the fact that his confidence was making me blush. “I think I can handle it, thanks.” I downed the shot, my face scrunching up as the vodka burned its way down.

He burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, was it that bad?” He watched me, his gaze lingering a little too long, and I felt his eyes sweep over me. It was like he was taking in every detail, from my dress to the way I was reacting to him.

“You never followed me back, by the way,” he said, pouting in a way that was both ridiculous and kind of cute.

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “Didn’t know you were checking, Mr. Norris.”

“Oh, I’ve been checking,” he replied, leaning closer. “Just waiting on you to notice.” His words were playful, but his eyes had a glint that made my stomach flutter.

He poured me another shot before I had a chance to protest, grinning as he held it out. “One more. Think you can keep up?”

I raised an eyebrow, taking the glass. “Are you challenging me?”

“Maybe,” he smirked. “Let’s see if you can handle it.”

I took the shot, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread through me. The music seemed louder, the lights dimmer, and everything around me just felt more alive. I was definitely feeling the buzz now.

As more people arrived, the party got even more crowded, and every time Lando moved away, I’d find him gravitating back toward me, like he wasn’t content unless he was close. Eventually, he reached for my hand and pulled me toward the makeshift dance floor.

“Come on!” he yelled over the music, his grin infectious.

I laughed, letting him lead me, and he immediately started dancing, his movements exaggerated as he tried to make me laugh. His energy was electric, and soon I couldn’t help but match his enthusiasm. At one point, a few people bumped into me, and he quickly grabbed my hips, pulling me closer. I could feel his breath on my ear as he leaned in.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmured, smirking as he looked down at me.

My face heated up at his words, but he was already pulling back, that same cocky smile on his face. “What?” I challenged, trying to keep my cool.

He shrugged, giving me a look that was equal parts daring and mischievous. “Just stating facts.”

Before I could respond, he tilted his head, giving me a mischievous grin. “Wanna see something cool?”

“What do you have in mind?”

He leaned in, lowering his voice. “I wanna show you my trophies.” He held my gaze, and even in his drunken state, I could feel the sincerity in his eyes.

I felt my stomach twist in excitement and nerves, but before I could second-guess, he grabbed my hand, leading me down a hallway. His fingers laced through mine, and I could feel the warmth of his hand, grounding me in the moment.

He opened a door to a room that had a display case filled with trophies, awards, and helmets. The room felt quieter, the music from the party faint in the background, and for a moment, it was like we’d stepped into a different world. He watched as I took it all in, a proud but slightly shy expression on his face.

“You’re really good at what you do,” I said softly, looking back at him.

He shrugged, his usual confidence wavering slightly. “It’s just racing… I dunno, sometimes it feels like people only see this side of me, y’know?”

I nodded, understanding more than I expected. “Well, it’s impressive. But I think I’m seeing another side of you tonight too.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “You mean the drunk idiot?”

“No,” I laughed. “The Lando who cares, who’s goofy and… real.”

His gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “I’m really glad you came tonight, Y/N.”

My heart pounded as he looked at me, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something warmer, something… real. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his hand lingering for a moment.

Without thinking, I found myself leaning in, and he met me halfway, his lips soft and warm against mine. It was a gentle kiss, both of us testing the waters, but as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer, the kiss deepened, filled with the energy and intensity that had been simmering between us all night.

He pulled me closer, his drunken confidence fueling his actions. With a sudden force, he pushed me back against one of the trophy cases, his lips hungrily claiming mine. I was taken aback, not expecting this level of intensity from Lando. His teeth nipped at my bottom lip, sending a shiver down my spine as he sucked on it fervently.

His hands roamed down my body, finally settling on my ass. He gripped it tightly, pulling me flush against him. I could feel his hardness pressing against my core, evidence of his desire for me. My mind was reeling, trying to process the abrupt change in our dynamic. I hadn't realized Lando wanted me this badly, but I found myself responding to his touch, my body melting into his.

As he continued to kiss me passionately, I felt a sense of excitement and nervousness coursing through me. This wasn't what I had anticipated for tonight, but the thrill of the unexpected was intoxicating. His hands slid under my dress, caressing my thighs, inching closer to my most intimate area. I let out a soft moan, the sound muffled by his lips against mine.

Lando abruptly pulled away from our heated embrace, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. He grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the trophy room, his steps hurried and determined. We stumbled down the hallway, our laughter echoing off the walls as we made our way towards his bedroom.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he pushed me onto the bed, his body following suit. He hovered over me, his eyes dark with desire and his breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. "You're so fucking beautiful," he slurred, his words slightly jumbled. "I want to devour you, my little puppy."

I couldn't help but giggle at his drunken attempt at dirty talk. "You're drunk," I teased, playfully swatting at his chest.

He chuckled, his hand grasping mine and pinning it above my head. "Maybe I am, but I know what I want, and I want you. All of you." His other hand trailed down my body, slipping beneath my dress and caressing my skin.

I squirmed beneath his touch, a mix of anticipation and arousal coursing through my veins. "Then take me," I whispered, my voice laced with desire. "Show me what you've got, Lando."

With a growl, he captured my lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into my mouth with a fervor that left me breathless. His hand continued its exploration, sliding up my thigh and teasing the edge of my panties. I gasped into the kiss, my hips instinctively bucking against his touch.

Lost in the heat of the moment, I surrendered myself to Lando's drunken passion, eager to see where the night would take us.

Lando's lips trailed hot kisses down my neck as his hands continued to explore my body. He nipped and sucked at my sensitive skin, leaving a trail of marks that I knew would be visible in the morning. His drunken dirty talk continued, each word sending a shiver down my spine.

"Fuck, you taste so good," he mumbled against my skin, his hands fumbling with the hem of my dress. "I want to taste every inch of you, my little puppy."

I could feel his eagerness, but I noticed him struggling with my dress. A mischievous idea formed in my mind, and I gently pushed him back onto the bed. He looked up at me with a confused yet amused expression.

"Let me help you with that," I purred, my fingers deftly unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans. His smirk grew wider as he watched me take control.

"Little puppy's not so shy now, huh?" he teased drunkenly, his voice low and husky.

I hooked my fingers into his waistband and slowly pulled his jeans down, revealing his hardness straining against his boxers. "Not when I've got you right where I want you," I replied with a wink.

I leaned down, my hair falling around us like a curtain as I pressed soft kisses along his inner thigh. His hands tangled in my hair, tugging gently as I worked my way closer to his aching member.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're driving me crazy," he groaned, his hips bucking slightly.

I looked up at him through my lashes, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. "That's the idea," I whispered before taking him into my mouth, my lips wrapping around his shaft as I began to work him with my tongue.

I continued to suck on Lando's hardness, my tongue swirling around his shaft as I took him deeper into my mouth. His moans filled the room, his fingers tangled in my hair, guiding me as I pleasured him. I was surprised by my own boldness, but there was something about Lando that made me feel comfortable and confident.

As I bobbed my head up and down, I felt a surge of pride when I tasted his precum. It was a sign of his pleasure, and I reveled in the knowledge that I was the cause of it. However, before I could continue, he gently pulled me off and flipped me onto my back, his body hovering over mine.

He moved to check his drawer for a condom, but after a few moments of rummaging, he cursed under his breath. "Can I... please fuck you? With nothing..." he asked drunkenly, his voice laden with desire.

My face heated up at his request, and I felt a mix of uncertainty and need coursing through me. I knew the risks, but in that moment, all I could think about was how badly I wanted him. His lips trailed kisses along my neck, his hands caressing my skin as he waited for my response.

"Lando," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are you sure? We shouldn't..."

But even as the words left my lips, I knew I was already lost in the heat of the moment. His touch ignited a fire within me, and I found myself craving more. I hesitated for a moment longer before finally giving in to my desires.

"Okay," I whispered, my heart pounding in my chest.

A triumphant grin spread across his face as he positioned himself at my entrance. "You won't regret this, pretty girl," he promised, his voice thick with lust.

And with that, he thrust into me, filling me completely. I gasped at the sensation, my nails digging into his back as he began to move inside me. The feeling was intense, overwhelming, and I knew there was no turning back now.

Lando continued to thrust into me, his movements fueled by a mix of lust and alcohol. His hands roamed my body, caressing every curve and dip as he lost himself in the pleasure of our intimate connection. I moaned softly, my hands gripping the sheets beneath us as I surrendered to the sensations coursing through me.

Suddenly, his hand slipped between our bodies, his fingers finding my sensitive clit. He rubbed it gently, his touch sending waves of pleasure through my core. I gasped, my hips bucking against his hand as he skillfully brought me closer to the edge.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he slurred, his drunken dirty talk mingling with the sounds of our lovemaking. "I love how you feel around my cock, baby. You're taking it so well."

His words only heightened my arousal, and I found myself clinging to him, urging him on. I could feel my orgasm building, the pressure inside me growing with each passing second. With a final stroke of his fingers and a particularly deep thrust, I came undone, my body shaking with the intensity of my release.

Lando followed soon after, his hips stuttering as he spilled his seed deep inside me. He collapsed on top of me, his breath hot against my neck as he tried to catch his breath. For a moment, we lay there, our bodies intertwined and our hearts racing.

Slowly, he rolled off of me and pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me in a tender embrace. He kissed my cheek softly, his touch gentle despite his inebriated state. "Was that okay, baby?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically sweet. "Do you need anything? Water, a towel, my bathroom is all yours."

I smiled, touched by his consideration. "I'm good," I assured him, snuggling closer.

As we caught our breath, Lando helped me pull my dress back down, his hands gentle and slightly unsteady due to his inebriated state. He reached up to fix my hair, his fingers combing through the tangled locks with a tenderness that belied his earlier drunken fervor. A smirk played on his lips as he admired his handiwork, clearly pleased with himself for finally getting the girl he had been crushing on.

"Maybe you'll follow me back now, huh?" he joked, referring to the fact that I hadn't followed him on Instagram. "I mean, after that performance, you owe me at least a like or two."

I laughed, shaking my head at his audacity. "We'll see," I teased, not wanting to make any promises just yet.

Lando took my hand and led me back to the party, his arm draped casually around my shoulders.

——————————————

Thank you for reading!

Liking and following let’s me know you appreciate the writing! 💜

[yakutarts]

Nightmare and Dream but feral, non-skeletal body!

For the love of god PLEASE click on the image for better quality + close ups and clothed version under the cut!!

Would you kiss them?

Video process:

I made these using a specific context

A while ages ago I drew and posted a drawing of Nightmare and Dream on their light ball form but with some alterations/personal headcanons.

On the post, I expressed my desire to draw the twins in a universe were Nim didn’t need to give them bodies, and just let them grow naturally. And specifically give them an animalistic appearance, instead of a humanoid one like most artist do.

You can see on the process video that it took me 1000 sketches to make something that looked good and I was happy with, the video is obviously sped up, the total time it took me to make this was 28 hours and 15 minutes.

Now explaining some things:

Why are they so big?

I read on a post made by Joku that Nim, before giving them skeleton bodies, tried to make them human ones, but the pure amount of magic and power the twins had made the human bodies explode or some shit. So she picked skeletons since the magic could flow freely through the bones without being confined by muscle and flesh. That made me think if their power had physical forms, it would be gigantic. So I gave them gigantic forms to better represent their status of strength and power, beings made from raw magic to serve as guardians of all emotions throughout the multiverse, of course I needed to make them big and intimidating!

Why the horns?

Artistic design choice, I gave them little horns and a chubby tail in their light ball form to purposefully make them more animalistic, wanted to keep it while making these. Also just giving them a smooth head with nothing much going on looked weird and boring.

Why the draconian look?

Dragons had been created and depicted as symbols of pure power above humanity and worshipped as deities throughout several cultures around the world, different depictions of dragons has been one of the only things present among almost all cultures, like a default folklore creature. While I tried to incorporate other mythical creatures in the design, the draconic body plan felt more right due to the influence of dragons on human beliefs, and their representation as magical and powerful beings beyond human comprehension. Plus I just really love drawing dragons.

Why the clothing choice? Also why is Dream half naked while Nightmare has everything covered?

While designing the clothes for Nightmare, I used as reference clothing that usually royalty would wear, Nightmare has a really big ego and sees himself as a king, so he uses fancy, expensive clothing and jewelry, adapted and designed for his anatomy. Not practical for battle, but his corruption can go through the fabric without damaging it, and most people and monsters just run when they see him, so he doesn’t worry about it getting dirty or tearing, Nightmare just expects every soul to instantly submit when they see him, so he never worries about getting into a battle and getting dirty he has that big of an ego.

Dream is the opposite, his style of clothing much more practical for running, jumping, flying, fighting and general exercise. He has 4 bags in total, 2 on each side, inside them he keeps several items, be it healing food, magical artifacts, first aid kit, gifts he receives, stuff he buys or random things he finds and wants to take home with him. Dream’s crown is now a colar couldn’t figure out how to make it work with the head shape and horns, his cape is from his official design, but changed to white, was planning to make it yellow but when I looked at it my eyes hurt because there was too much yellow everywhere. I made Dream’s clothes with the intent to match his official design, I didn’t to the same for nightmare because a turtle neck with a hoodie on a dragon would make him more huggable than intimidating. Plus I like to think that the leg warmers was a gift from Blue, and the ring on his horn a gift from Ink. Didn’t add more stuff on him because I couldn’t think of something that would look good and match Dream’s vibe, the rest of his clothes on his official design didn’t translate well here. Oh, while I was drawing this, I drew the colar and the leg warmers first, without the cape, Dream looked like a twink with a pet play kink.

Side note; neither Nightmare or Dream see the use of clothes as a necessity or as decency. For them clothes are nothing but pure decoration and to show off status for Nightmare, they can wear full body suits, partial clothing, just jewelry, or nothing at all, which is what they usually go for when at home, wearing or not wearing stuff doesn’t make that much of a difference to them at all.

Do they act as animals or do they have human intelligence?

Despite me using the word “feral” all the time to describe them, they do not actually act as animals. I’m only using “feral” to describe their body/anatomy, Nightmare and Dream are fully sentient and have human level intelligence/awareness. They are capable of speech and have opposable thumbs on their front paws, they can grab, write, hold… do anything a human can do with their hands with dexterity. But they do have to use only hand one at a time, and balance themselves with the other. To use both hands, they have to be sitting, or be supported by something, they can balance themselves on their wings if they have to.

And now contradicting what I just said, they have some animalistic behaviors. The twins can growl, purr and roar. Despite Nightmare being able to use his tentacles and Dream being able to shoot magic arrows out of his wings, they to also scratch and bite while fighting. Since they are big and heavy, they can easily crush bone under their weight and their bite force is strong enough to split someone in half. If you need a reference, just use Smaug from The Hobbit, he has more or less the balance of animal behavior and human intelligence I’m looking for.

Expanding more on this, the twins stretch just like felines, and often sleep in positions usually cats sleep in (they don’t actually need to sleep but do anyway). Dream likes to go fishing, and by fishing I mean jumping in a lake and chasing the fish underwater. He finds it more fun than sitting around and waiting for the fish to come to you instead.

I guess you count their lack of necessity to wear clothes as animal logic too?

_________________

If you have any more questions about them, I will be happy to answer!

And yes, I do plan on making more drawings of Nightmare and Dream on this form!

Dreamtale belongs to @jokublog

Feral concept/design by @yakutarts (me)

[cityhxh]

Stall • B.B

— ♆ c.w • mdni, slight exhibitionism, fem!reader, small space, smut 19+, fingering, cunnilingus, pet names, softdom!bucky, unprotected sex, cream pie, hookup, etc.

— word count: 1.2K

She felt her heart racing as Bucky's tongue flicked against her sensitive clit. They were in the middle of a busy club, the music pumping and lights flashing, and yet here they were, engaged in a deliciously dirty act. Her legs were spread wide, her short dress riding up her thighs as she presented her glistening pussy to Bucky.

Bucky had been feasting on her for what felt like an eternity, his mouth and tongue working miracles on her aching hole. He had already made her cum multiple times, his expert tongue knowing exactly how to tease and please her. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she moaned loudly, her hands gripping the back of Bucky's head, encouraging him to continue his heavenly assault.

As her moans grew louder and more frantic, Bucky knew she was getting close again. Her pussy clenched around his tongue, and he could taste her sweet juices flowing freely. Wanting to push her over the edge, he inserted two fingers into her tight hole, curling them to hit that magical spot.

"Oh fuck! Bucky, I'm gonna cum again!" She cried out, her voice hoarse from her previous orgasms. And cum she did. Her body shook uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. Bucky lapped at her juices, loving the taste of her sweet nectar. He gently sucked on her swollen clit, prolonging her orgasm and making her squirm with pleasure.

But as she came down from her high, she realized something. She had been far too loud, her moans and cries of pleasure filling the stall they had claimed as their own. Embarrassment flooded her as she realized the stall next to them was occupied and clearly heard her vocal display.

Bucky noticed her sudden change in demeanor and realized what had happened. But instead of stopping, he decided to take advantage of the situation, enjoying the exhibitionist turn of events. "Shhh," he whispered, his hot breath fanning her swollen pussy. "Don't worry about them, they're not the ones making you feel this good."

Before she could respond, Bucky pushed two fingers back inside her, making her gasp. With his other hand, he covered her mouth, muffling her moans as he began to fuck her with his hand. His fingers pumped in and out, his thumb rubbing circles around her clit. Her eyes widened as she felt a rush of sensations overtaking her body. It was too much, and yet not enough.

Bucky used his free hand to grab her thigh, pulling her closer, so she was impaled on his fingers. He added a third, stretching her, and she whimpered, the feeling of being so full almost unbearable. Bucky's thumb continued to work her clit, and he could feel her pussy contracting around his fingers as she teetered on the edge once more.

"Cum for me, baby," he growled, his mouth close to her ear, his hand still covering her mouth to muffle the sounds that threatened to escape. "Let them see how good I make you feel."

She couldn't hold back anymore. Her body exploded in a mind-blowing orgasm, her juices flowing freely as she shook uncontrollably. Bucky rode out her waves of pleasure, his fingers never stopping their relentless assault.

As her orgasm began to subside, he slowly withdrew his fingers, making her whine at the loss.

Bucky brought his glistening fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. "Tasty," he murmured, a devious smile playing on his lips. She felt a rush of heat between her legs as she watched him taste her off his fingers. She was completely spent, but the sight of him doing that made her pussy clench and her nipples harden.

"You like that, don't you, good girl?" Bucky asked, seeing the desire still burning in her eyes. "You're so wet for me.”

She bit her lip, feeling a mix of shyness and naughtiness washing over her. "Please, Bucky," she whispered. "I need you."

Bucky's smile grew wider, and he stood up, pulling her up with him. He backed her against the stall door, his body pressing against hers as he kissed her deeply. She moaned into his mouth, her hands roaming his strong body as she felt his hard cock pressing against her stomach.

Without breaking the kiss, Bucky lifted her, making her wrap her legs around his waist. With one hand, he guided his throbbing cock to her entrance, teasing her wetness with the tip. She whimpered, needing him inside her now.

"Tell me you want it," Bucky growled, his voice thick with desire.

"I want it," She cried out, her breath coming in short gasps. "Please, Bucky, fuck me. I need your dick inside me."

With a swift thrust, Bucky buried himself inside her, making them both moan at the intense feeling of connection. Her walls stretched to accommodate his thickness, and he began to move, his hands gripping her ass as he set a relentless pace.

The force of his thrusts pushed her higher against the stall, and she clawed at his back, leaving marks in his passion. Bucky's cock felt like it was made for her pussy, hitting all the right spots and driving her wild.

"Fuck, your pussy feels so good," Bucky grunted, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to hold off his impending orgasm. "I'm not gonna last long, you feel too damn good."

She tightened her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside her. "Cum for me, Bucky," she begged."I want to feel you come inside me.

Those words sent Bucky over the edge, and he thrust into her one last time as he unleashed his hot cum deep inside her waiting womb. She felt his cock twitch with each pulse, her own orgasm crashing over her as she milked him dry.

They stayed connected for a moment, catching their breath, before Bucky gently lowered her to the ground. She felt his cum leaking from her well-fucked pussy.

———

They both walked out of the club bathroom, the pulsating music quickly filling the silence between them. Bucky gave her a polite smile, his usual warmth present but now distant. She on the other hand, still reeling from their shared moment, found herself lingering on the edge of something she couldn’t quite name.

"Thanks for tonight," she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady. Her gaze searched his face for a sign that he might feel the same way, but Bucky's expression remained unreadable.

He nodded, his smile still in place but his eyes already scanning the room for his friends. "Yeah, it was fun. Take care, okay?"

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat as he turned and walked away, effortlessly slipping back into the crowd. She watched him go, feeling a pang of disappointment as she realized she was just another fleeting encounter in his night, while he had become something more to her.

•

a/n: I have another part to this but I’ll post that once I feel like it hehe. Make sure to follow for more Bucky/Seb stories and post <3

[kabr0ztrousers]

If you are comfortable with it, can you do chubby fem reader x orc step dad x orc dbf? Step dad's been trying to set her up with his friend but she is not interested. One day they both corner her. Step dad is mainly holding her against him while his friend is burying his face and cock in her pussy. The step dad doesn't penetrate her but gropes and says some really gross things. Heavy breeding kink on this one.

Sounds hot! And it'll be nice to get back to some high fantasy!

Kabr0z Writes episode 42: Orc Daddy

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Dubcon going to enthusiastic consent; size difference; age difference; father-daughter; arranged marriage; breeding; deep penetration; groping; extreme cum;

A/N: Wow, episode 42 already. I definitely should've written a special one for today in advance to mark this particular milestone, but oh well.

There's 10 stories in the queue at time of publication, so if you send a request and don't see it for a few days please have faith, it's coming.

On the subject of requests, please do keep them coming! I have a couple of anons claiming emojis, so if you want one then you might want to grab it early!

Any idea, kink, scenario, whatever, drop me an anon or a DM and I'll make it happen!

#####################################

The village was never quiet. Orcs all have a competitive streak, the young ones always brawling, racing, drinking, trying to outdo one another. To say nothing of the constant sounds of work being done, labourers chopping wood in the forest, mining ore out of the mountain, singing bawdy songs waiting for the charcoal to bake, and your step-father smithing the tools that made it all happen.

You'd been adopted into the village almost 15 years ago as a child after bandits attacked your family in the mountains. Only you got away and were found by a hunting party days later, half starved and freezing. They brought you back to the village, unsure about what to do with you. An extra mouth was a burden, and a human no less. You were lucky the village blacksmith, a hulking, bearded orc named Mazorn.

Of course, you're in your early 20s now. The young orcs in the village were all interested in you and while you'd had the odd roll in the hay, Mazorn wasn't keen on any of them getting too close to you. He kept on going on about one of his friends from another village nearby, a grizzled warrior called Oreg. You weren't particularly interested in the idea of an arranged marriage to begin with, let alone with some old friend of your father's.

It was raining hard when the caravan arrived. Furs and trade goods from the city, along with a huge figure clad in platemail. The whole village came out to see, the suit glowed with enchantment, emblazoned with shining gilt fittings and a rich red cloak, a matching shield on his back and a longsword on his hip. A bit much for a caravan guard. Your father stepped out towards him, and they grabbed one another in a hug, Mazorn's huge hand clapping on the shield, the knight's clanking on the orc's back. They laughed heartily before Mazorn brought him over to you

"This is the daughter I've told you about!" Mazorn gestured to you as the other man lifted his helmet.

Underneath was a scarred orc, tusks filed short and short-stubbled. "I see you raised her well, old friend!" Oreg clapped Mazorn, looking at you "Certainly haven't been under-feeding her"

You blushed, conscious of his eyes on you. You weren't sure if it was the armour, but it was kind of turning you on. Oreg and Mazorn walked back to the smithy, you in tow as they reminisced about their glory days. You hadn't taken your old dad for a warrior, but apparently they used to be shield brothers in some war or other. The ale was flowing freely between them, perhaps too freely as you noticed Oreg taking longer and longer glances at you. The armoured orc was gradually taking pieces off, bracers, greaves, miscellaneous plates protecting his joints and flanks.

You could smell him as the armour came off, strong and musky. It wasn't unpleasant per se, you'd spent your life around orcs, but it was noticeable. Oreg motioned to you to help him with some of the harder to reach buckles and straps "I'd normally have a squire around to help with this, but he's helping the caravaneers. You should know your way around all this anyway, your father made most of it"

The last plate to come off was his cuirass, once he stripped the chain surcoat and the gambesson underneath, Oreg was sat half naked and glistening with a thin layer of fresh sweat. His shoulders were broad, his back criss-crossed with scars. Only a loincloth covered his manhood. Muscles rippled under his skin as he stretched and shook himself, cushioned by the layer of fat ubiquitous among the strongest orcs in your village.

You caught yourself staring, swallowing the mouthful of drool you'd produced looking at him.

Your father looked at Oreg "Thirty gold pieces"

Oreg laughed, "Done! She's worth at least fifty"

Were they talking about you?

Mazorn lifted you, as though you weighed nothing. He held you under a shoulder and gripped your thick thighs, forcing them apart and presenting you to the other orc. You blushed, underwear wasn't a part of your wardrobe, so your unprotected pussy was completely bare to Oreg "She's useful about the house, but she's a been a bit of a whore in her time, already laid with half the lads her age. Want to get shut of her before she gets herself knocked up"

Oreg touched your pussy, opening it up with his calloused fingers "Hmm, certainly not a virgin, but clean and well cared for... Thirty is fair."

You heard a coinpurse hit the table. You'd been sold, like a prize hog at market. Or a breeding sow.

Mazorn shifted you in his grip, holding you upright by the tits, his huge hands groping you as Oreg pulled his loincloth aside

"I'd better see to her properly now she's mine" His hands were rough and strong, but his nails well manicured and clean. He tore off your skirt and got down on one knee in front of you, eyes level with your already moist pussy as you struggled against your adoptive father's grip.

Oreg held one leg up as he filled you with a thick finger, the rough skin making you shudder in anticipation as it gently worked its way inside. Another finger joined it, you whined as they stretched you, but Oreg was careful not to hurt you as he slowly twisted them inside you, going this way and that, paying attention to where made your breathing catch, your pulse quicken, your toes curl.

You'd stopped struggling now, holding your legs open for the big orc to finger you, Mazorn's voice came from beside your head "See? I told you she's a slut, already she's giving herself over to you! And after all her complaining about wanting to pick her own mate!"

You couldn't disagree. You'd fancied Oreg since you'd set eyes on him, you were probably going to try and get this orc 20 years your senior to finger you tonight anyway. You bit your lip, the sensations getting to you. Mazorn started groping at you faster, your whines cued Oreg to let go of your leg, using that hand to rub your clit.

You came with a wail, your cunt eagerly accepting the fingers rolling around in it, your hips thrusting, trying in vain to fuck him back. Oreg stood up, holding his erect member in one hand, he could probably fit two of those hands next to each other on his cock and still have length to spare.

Two of his hands, or one of you.

He lined up his cock with your pussy, looking down into your begging eyes as he rubbed it against your clit and your hole. It was almost comically thick, the head pressing against the cit and the opening at the same time.

You nodded at him, putting your hands on his waist as he gently rubbed himself into you.

"Take it, take your new husband" Mazorn growled into your ear. You knew he'd fantasized about doing this himself so many times, muttering your name as he wanked himself to sleep when he thought you were asleep. You could feel his cock getting rock-hard behind you, pressing against you through the fabric of his trousers. But you were Oreg's now, and there was nothing he could do about it as you rubbed your ass against him. The bastard had sold you, the least you could do was give him some seller's remorse.

Oreg pushed himself in. It didn't hurt, the stretching from his fingers and the liberal amount of your juices on his cockhead meant he slid in without pain. It still made your eyes water, tears building as your mouth lolled open and you groaned from the immense pressure inside you. You moved your hips against him, wrapping your legs around his trunk, but you could no more hurry him that you could pull up an old oak. Slowly, carefully, he pushed into you. You felt his tip kiss your cervix and moaned again, open mouthed and animalistic.

He stayed still for a moment, resisting the pulling of your legs, the urging in your eyes. "Please" you breathed, barely a whisper "please, more"

Mazorn laughed "See? The slut wants it all! She's well broken in, brother, you can have fun"

Oreg looked into your eyes, waiting for your nod.

You gave it.

He pushed.

You felt the cock slip by your cervix, pushing deeper into you as be bottomed out in you. Your eyes defocused as you wordlessly begged him. Your hips moved on their own, without rhythm, running on sheer desperation for his cock.

He started to fuck you properly now. Starting slowly, thrusting in and out in long motions, slathering himself in your juices and getting your fuckhole relaxed as he built up speed. You felt like you were melting into him. Your legs started to slip a little as he fucked you senseless. His hand came up to your face, the two fingers that had been inside you thrust into your mouth. You sucked on them, tasting your wetness. You felt your cunt drooling out even more as he invaded your mouth

"You like your face being fucked too?" Oreg grinned "Your father's a fine smith, but no salesman"

His fingers fucked your face harder as he pounded into your cunt. You felt your body start to twitch and tense. Your head was spinning. Your legs clenched around him. You moaned again and again, the noises merging into a wail of release as your cunt tightened and relief filled your body. You could feel the waves of warmth and pleasure making your pussy pulse around Oreg's cock.

He groaned in time with you. He thrust himself in, his balls pressed against your asshole as they pulsed and tightened into him. Surge after surge of hot liquid pumped up into you. You could feel the pressure of it squirting it into every corner of your cunt, flooding your womb and leaking out around his cock, and it kept coming.

You could hear Mazorn grunting as well as the bulge of his cock started to twitch, a damp patch spreading on your back as you leaked the younger orc's cum onto your stepfather's clothes.

Oreg wrapped his arms around you, and Mazorn released you into his embrace. The knight carried you, still buried in your cunt, and sat down.

The way he looked at you, with such tenderness, you wouldn't believe his cock was buried over a foot deep in you if you couldn't feel it in your guts. You kissed his chest and rested your head, letting the blissed-out feeling take you as you both dozed in each other's arms.

You left with him in the morning.

It was over a month until the caravan got back to Oreg's home, every night punctuated with another round of intense, yet strangely gentle, lovemaking. Your monthlies hadn't came, you reckoned that a gallon of orc cum every night had seen to that. It turned out Mazorn had rather undersold Oreg to you. He wasn't some foreign warlord, he was a duke under the Imperial crown. Apparently the old war they were drinking to was a crusade against a lich king, and for his valiance he was granted a noble title. He'd spent the last twenty years as a paladin of Pelor and had only recently received permission to take a wife and continue his lineage.

You still weren't happy about being sold, but figured you could live with it, Mazorn always was looking out for you, in his way

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This is another one I really enjoyed writing! A little exposition, Oreg's actually based off a D&D character I played in my first proper campaign in that system, though his monstrous manhood never came up then. Just goes to show inspiration can strike from anywhere.

Hopefully you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and again if you have any ideas, scenarios, kinks, fanmail, hatemail, whatever, drop me a DM or an ask and I'll probably wind up writing it!

Again, there's 10 in the queue right now, but it will almost certainly get written 😁

Post-post script: I still haven't figured out how to reference the posterior fornix without feeling like I'm giving a biology lecture

[ssahotchnerr]

Aaron’s wife getting drunk on spiked egg nog at a party with the rest of the BAU and she’s just all over Aaron. Kissing every part of his face and pinching his cheeks, she even tells the rest of the team cute stuff he does for her and being like “isn’t he the bestest hubby ever?!” Aaron’s just in the corner blushing lol

lovestruck and eggnog

!!!!!!!!!!!<3333 cw; fem!reader, reader is intoxicated, mentions of drinking, fluff, small allusions to sex/praise

in the midst of the party, you made your way back to aaron. he's been seated in the same spot for a while - exactly where you had been with him an hour ago - but still, his presence surprised you, your few glasses of spiked eggnog all to thank.

you promptly dropped yourself onto his lap, absolutely buzzing. your voice was on the sing-song side, your words slurring together the smallest amount. "hi handsome."

"hi honey," aaron chuckled quietly, amusingly wrapping an arm securely around your waist. his eyes scanned you, quick to notice your current state. "having fun?"

"a ton." you nodded giddily, "especially now, now that i'm with you." you reached past him, grabbing the santa hat perched atop derek's head - "hey!" - and sloppily onto aaron's, rather lopsidedly at that.

a giggle erupted from you, "look how cute you look!" you turned to derek, wrapping your arms loosely around aaron's neck. you squeezed him softly, causing your cheek to come flush with his. "isn't he so cute?"

derek snorted faintly, covering it up by bringing his drink to his lips. "he's a stunner, for sure."

aaron subtly glared at morgan, while you continued. "i love you, just so much." you placed a kiss on his cheek. and then another. and then another.

aaron laughed gently as his hands sprawled across the span of your back, holding you close - and steadily - to him. the more you littered kisses across his skin, the more his cheeks flushed, "what're you doing?"

"loving on you silly." you gave him an almost offended look, before your face returned to that soft, lovey-dovey expression. "because i love you. and i love being your wife." you took his face in your hands, planting a kiss onto his lips. "i love that i get to do this wheneverrr i want."

quick to reciprocate, but more reservedly in view of his colleagues, aaron gave you one more, small peck, "i love you too darling."

"you're perfect." your focus went back to derek, as emily and penelope joined the three of you as well. "he's perfect. wanna know what perfect things he does?"

"don't hold back on us," emily egged you on completely, at the playful expense of aaron - she shot him thoroughly entertained look.

"he gives me soo many back rubs, especially if i have a bad day. he leaves me sticky notes everywhere. on my coffee mug, on the bathroom mirror, on my pillow if he leaves early. i find a ton when you're all gone on a case, i don't even know how he does it." your nose scrunched a tad, befuddlement in your voice. "must be magic."

"and what do these notes say?" penelope asked eagerly, as if she's been waiting forever to hear details when it comes to a certain boss. (to be fair, she has.) (more often than not, you've spared them the specifics just as much as aaron.)

a wickedness came forth in your eyes, your lips pulling into a smirk. your hand found the back of aaron's neck, your fingers brushing through the nape of his hair. "he left me one yesterday that said he'd like to-"

"okay." aaron interrupted, kissing the spot of skin behind your ear and halting your words. "sweetheart, if you continue, i'll never hear the end of it."

you complied, but just for a second. "he's just so cute." you cheesed, pinching his cheek gently. despite the fact you were very much inebriated, you were well aware enough to not actually hurt him. "he's all i want for christmas." after your statement, your smirk quickly resurfaced, your current no-filter flowing freely. "i've been a good girl, haven't i, aaron?"

another snort exited a wide-eyed derek, and you missed the others' very taken aback reaction as your gaze shifted to aaron, whose blush was prominent as ever.

"what?" you pouted softly, confusion arising on your face.

a mix between a sigh and a breathless laugh left aaron through his nose, affectionately patting your hip and transferring the santa hat onto your head, "i think that's enough eggnog for you tonight."

[enwoso]

Hey, I have a request, you can write it for Lessi.

Well, she and Yn are together but no one knows about, only their families and Less's teammates. Yn is a reporter.

So when, for example England won the world cup, they were over the moon and Yn has to interview her, so when they were talking and almost the interview was over, Less was like fuck it, and kiss Yn, so obviously everyone was watching them.( Like Iker Casillas and her wife, I don't know if you know about it) and after that, you can write whatever you want, like Less's teammates teasing her, or Yn teasing her girlfriend.

secret of us | alessia russo

masterlist

the stadium was electric, england had just won the euros — again. they were back to back winners. the roars of the crowd echoed across the pitch.

alessia stood in the middle of the pitch, an england flag wrapped around her shoulders, taking it all in as her heart raced, her body drenched in sweat and pure adrenaline.

her neck feeling heavy with the weight of the gold medal around her neck but nothing could compare to the pride which was swelling in her chest.

the blondes teammates celebrated around her, hugs and laughter flowing freely, but alessia's eyes were scanning the sidelines until they found what they were looking for — you, standing poised with a microphone.

you were broadcasting live, for sky sports. you out the corner of your eyes caught your girlfriend's gaze giving her a subtle smile, but it was one that spoke volumes.

no one knew about your relationship with the blonde — at least not publicly. your families knew, of course, as well as alessia's teammates both club and country as they had both made it their mission to tease alessia mercilessly in private.

but away from that tight circle, your relationship was a well guarded secret. you both had agreed on keeping things private, not wanting your growing career in sports journalism to be overshadowed by being 'alessia russo's girlfriend' that and it was nice not having outsiders opinions on your relationship.

but tonight as you waved your girlfriend over for a post match interview, alessia felt something shift inside of her.

she wasn't just proud of herself or the team; she was proud of you too. proud of the way you had supported her every step of the way.

you voice was warm and steady as you introduced alessia to the live audience. "i'm here with alessia russo - now two time european champion." you paused with a grin, "alessia first of all congratulations! how does it feel to know you've made history tonight, again!"

as alessia listened to your words spoken so softly but with such reason as her heart skipped at the sight of you so close — your cheeks slightly flushed and your bright eyes as well as the way you would unconsciously twist the cord of microphone in your hand.

unable to resist, alessia brushed her hand against yours as she took her place in front of the camera. you sending her a quick but knowing look as she maintained her composure.

"it's unbelievable," alessia smiled, her voice slightly hoarse from all of the shouting and cheering she'd done in the past hour. "honestly i don't even have the words for it right now. this is everything we've worked for, everything we've dreamed of — it's surreal"

you nodded, your professionalism impeccable even as your eyes softened filled with love, "and what about the team? what is the secret to the lionesses success?"

a chuckle fell from alessia's lips as she reached up to adjust the medal around her neck, "this team is special and we've got the best players, the best staff and most importantly the best bond. we really are a family"

as you asked the next question, alessia's attention dropped for a moment to the hand which you had resting at your side, fingers lightly tapping against your leg.

alessia's mind trailed to thinking how many times she had held that hand through so many highs and lows, felt its comforting squeeze before each big game and now she wanted nothing more than to reach out for it again.

the interview continued for another minute or two, you asking insightful questions that everyone in the public wanted to know — alessia answering with a mix of humility and joy.

but as the interview began to wrap up, alessia felt a sudden overwhelming urge to share a moment — not just with you, but with the world.

you asked your final question, "so what's next for you, alessia? a celebration with the team, i assume?"

alessia's grin turned mischievous as your brow furrowed slightly, you'd seen that grin once or twice before. "oh there'll definitely be a celebration, but first-"

and without thinking — or maybe too much thinking — alessia stepped forward and cupped your face, kissing you.

the roar of the crowd doubled, the interview having been being shown on the big screens around the stadium. cheers and gasps filled the air as you froze for a split second, your microphone slipping slightly in your hand.

but you then melted into the kiss, your free hand reaching up and resting gently on your girls' waist.

alessia pulled back just enough to rest her forehead against yours, her thumb brushing against your cheek as you both caught your breath.

your cheeks were flaming but the sparkle in your eyes was a mixture of love and disbelief. "lessi," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

alessia turning towards the camera, shrugging her shoulders with a cheeky look on her face, "guess the secret of us is out now"

the feed cut back to the studio, but the damage, or rather the magic, was already done.

every social media exploded within minutes, clips of the kiss flooding every platform and news article, side by side with captions like: 'russo pulls a casillas!' and 'new power couple on the block!'

the two of you began to walk down the tunnel most of the team already back in there as you both walked along hand in hand, alessia relucantly letting go of your hand as she sneaked another kiss in before going into the locker room. you walking off to attend to other media duties.

as alessia walked into the locker room, still slightly breathless from the kiss, and the other ones she snuck in from being on the sideline to being metres away from the locker room door. the teasing from her teammates started immediately.

"about time!" ella hollered, throwing a towel at alessia's head. "thought you were gonna keep us sworn to secrecy forever"

alessia taking a seat where her things were, taking a sip of the drink which had been left in her cubby, chloe smirking holding up her phone to alessia, "you've gone viral, less. the internet is having a field day!"

others joined in on the teasing as they watched alessia squirm it setting in on what she'd actually done, on live national tv...

leah grinned from her spot in the locker room, "you've really pulled an iker casillas, less! full on national tv smooch"

that got some giggles going from the team as they began to imitate kissing noises earning nothing but a groan from alessia as she buried her face in her hands.

but the smile tugging at her lips easily betrayed her, "i never planned for it to happen- it just happened" she shrugged.

her teammates exchanged knowing looks before bursting into laughter, their teasing giving way to genuine smiles.

you eventually found alessia back in the hotel lobbey, scrolling through her phone with a bemused look on her face. you didn't say anything at first, instead just quietly slipped yourself to sit on her lap, placing your head on top of hers.

alessia immediately reaching for your hand as she treated your fingers together

"so," you smiled after a moment, your voice was soft but teasing, "that's one way to make our relationship public!"

alessia moved slightly so that you were now facing each other as she placed a kiss to your cheek, "i couldn't help it. you- you just looked so.. perfect. and i wanted everyone to know"

your expression softened, though your lips twitched with amusement, "your lucky i love you, lessi. otherwise i'd be very mad about the fact i've got ten producers texting me about an 'official statement'"

alessia winced, "too much?"

you laughed, tucking a bit of her loose hair behind her ear as you hand moved down to rest on alessia's chest, right over her heart. "maybe a little. but i don't mind. it's kind of romantic.. in a chaotic sort of way"

"chaotic? me?" alessia teased, feigning offended as she pecked at your lips.

you rolled your eyes but you couldn't help the smile that appeared on your lips, "you know this means we are never going hear the end of it right? the girls are going to milk this for years to come and i'm never doing another interview without the topic being brought up"

alessia shrugged, her other arm slipping around your waist as she played with the hem of your shirt, "let them talk. as long as i've got you then none of that matters"

you expression softened further as her words which were laced with just pure love, your voice barely above a whisper, "you've always had me"

alessia smiled lovingly as she leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow but tender kiss. a one that spoke a millions words and showed just how in love and infatuated with one another.

as you broke apart, alessia rested her forehead against yours, her hand cupping the back of your neck.

"and i always will," alessia murmured.

for the first time that night, the chaos of the day melted away, leaving just the two of them—inseparable, unshaken, and utterly in love.

[dadvans]

naive melody redux. [bucktommy]

“Your hands are shaking,” Evan says.

Tommy looks down. It’s the slightest tremor. He has no fucking clue how Evan noticed, eyes half swollen shut from crying, tears still flowing freely, mixing with snot every fruitless time he wipes at his face.

“Yeah.” He gulps, swallows. Looks back up at Evan. “I—“

And that’s where the words stop.

Evan nods and folds in on himself again.

The thing is: Tommy is sad, devastated even. Bobby had been the first person in a long time to come along and find that one last fire burning inside him and coax it back to life. Bobby had believed in him, was the guy to give him the chance he’d needed to live the kind of life he never believed he deserved on his own. But he’s long burned out his ability to cry from grief. He hasn’t done that in a long time. Cried when he’s angry? Sure. Cried at Pixar movies? Absolutely, and fuck all the way off if you ask him to watch a movie where the dog dies, because that’s an embarrassingly sure thing. But he doesn’t cry in a meaningful way, ever.

But Tommy looks at Evan and he’s fucking terrified. So, his hands are shaking.

“When they clear us,” he tries again, voice steadier than the rest of him, “let me take you home.”

“Tommy, I, I really don’t think—“ Evan’s voice is gummy, throat thick, and it almost sounds like he wants to laugh or desperately pick a fight that’s already left him. Fair.

“For my peace of mind, please,” Tommy continues, every bit as desperate as he feels, before trying to reel it back in, soft and neutral. “I don’t even have to be there in any real way, I won’t say a word, I’ll sleep on your”—shitty fucking, he does not say—“couch, just. I need to know you made it through the night.”

Evan sniffs and tries to hide another sluggish run of tears by tucking his face into the crook of his arm.

“Maddie’s going to be with Howie in the hospital. Athena—she’s going to be the last one out, and then she has the ugly business no one ever wants to deal with when the person they love the most dies. Maybe you’d rather stay with Hen and Karen, their family, or Ravi. That’s fine. But, Evan. I can’t let you be alone.”

Evan exhales ragged and wet, raw with grief in a way Tommy has been jealous of in the past, because in every other time that mattered, it would have meant Evan seeing all of him. Could have made the difference, maybe, Evan knowing the ugly parts of him early enough. It’s a thought he doesn’t have now, will realize never had broken the thick, in-the-moment surface fear, later.

“Okay,” Evan says, and Tommy feels a part of him steady. “You’re right. Okay.”

x

Getting back to Evan’s is a hassle and a half, between an impounded truck and a stolen helicopter. Tommy lets Evan sign for his keys and pay for the release, but drives them back to Eddie’s old house.

Someone should call Eddie, he thinks, suddenly. He may still have irrational thoughts about Eddie having some purchase on Evan, but he would trust Eddie with Evan’s grief. He knows Eddie has the kind of strength that could keep Evan safe, were Eddie here. That they would have each other, might prefer it even.

He parks in the driveway. The drive was silent, just the sound of the early morning cross-sections of highways and roads in the uneasy, liminal hour where Los Angeles isn’t quite awake but still not quite asleep. He steadies his grip on the lower curve of the steering wheel and concentrates on the leather, parked waiting for Evan to move, say anything, even.

“I don’t know what to do,” Evan says, finally.

“Okay.”

“If you weren’t here— I don’t know what I would do.”

Oh. “Then I’m glad I’m here.”

Evan gets out of the truck. Tommy waits two beats, then joins him. Follows him to the door and hands over the keys so Evan can let them both inside.

Evan flips on the lights in a way he was too careless, too out of his mind—and Tommy stops that train of thought—to do, the last time they both stumbled into this house. The place is a little more put together, a lot more unpacked, but still wanting in the way nothing is fully put away and there are broken down boxes stacked against walls, painters tape half-rolled to line the trim of two walls in anticipation of a fresh coat before being half-heartedly forgotten, the entire roll still attached and laying on the floor with a little dust on top. Tommy does not think of all the other versions of them being here together again, the teasing things he would say to make Evan smile, what he would comment on first in an attempt to make Evan feel known, seen, unconsciously and openly loved.

“You should shower,” he says instead.

“I’m so tired,” Evan replies, just standing there.

The thing is: Evan doesn’t look aimless. He looks like he’s resisting certain directions. I can’t let you be alone, Tommy had said. I don’t know what I would do, Evan had said, and Tommy feels haunted by both.

“Shower, I promise,” Tommy says, trying to navigate them both around it. He guides Evan by the shoulders to where he remembers the bathroom is, both from the times he spent here with Eddie and the last, late night he’d had with Evan, where he’d half-drunk and smugly rolled a condom off his dick in the dark and threw it in the trash and took the longest, happiest piss of his life thinking about the guy threatening him with “round two” ten feet away on a bare mattress.

Evan likes his showers hot, Tommy remembers. Tommy does not. But, he remembers, the rare moments where he has. Those moments overseas in the ugly beginning of the millennium when he first learned how to lose people, the showers when he was deployed were always either boiling hot or ice cold with zero in-between, and he treasured the way both convinced him he could skin himself raw.

He gets Evan in the shower, extra hot. Evan says nothing of the temperature, just stands underneath it like it will bleach him clean, and Tommy hopes Evan never gets to the point where he lets it. He climbs in after. They’re both naked, obviously, and really need the wash, but Tommy can’t think of even a terrible one-night stand with a mutual shower so sexless. He scrubs Evan down thoroughly, then himself. He rinses a washcloth under the spray and then uses it to wipe at Evan’s face, the way his mom used to when he was little, sweeping, clinical motions, right-to-left, left-to-right, Mr. Miyagi wax-on, wax-off style. Right hand sweeping under Evan’s raw nose, left hand pushing back Evan’s wet curls, fingers tracing down the midline of his skull just to make sure he’s still real and alive.

Tommy’s fine with just swapping places for a quick rinse of his own as long as he gets to borrow Evan’s deodorant. He sweeps Evan up in a fresh towel that was thankfully folded away into the built-in shelf after.

“I know you hate going to sleep with wet hair,” he says, a little helpless, brushing down Evan’s shoulder blades with the thing while he, himself, drips an obnoxious amount on the designer bathmat he used to make fun of back when Evan lived at the loft.

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” Evan replies. Sleep means you wake up to a new day, the first day when someone is dead the way they weren't the day before, Tommy remembers. He doesn't say anything, works the towel around to Evan's chest, hears his own knees crack crouching to get at Evan’s thighs and calves in a way that doesn’t feel sexual, only too aware of how Evan's always complained when he's soaked through sweats, jeans, blankets—anything, really, that gets damp when he’s too impatient coming out of the shower. “I don’t think I can.”

“That’s okay, too. You want to put on a movie? TV show, podcast? You can relax on your”—awful, nightmare—“couch, too.”

Tommy stands back up, towel with him, wrapping around Evan’s shoulders and sweeping down the meat of his biceps.

“It doesn’t feel like it now, because I know from experience, uh, nothing feels possible in times like these,” he tries, determinedly not staring Evan in the face.

Nearly a year ago Evan had been so wrecked by Bobby’s heart attack, called him the dad I never had. Had let Tommy fuck him for the first time, slow and intimate in a way that had previously sent Tommy running for the hills with other guys, but Evan had said, please, I just need to feel something, something good, and Tommy had wanted to be so badly something good for him. Still does, most days.

His hands shake on Evan's shoulders now, but he keeps talking, says, “But you’re going to crash the second something gives. Put on something clean. Get comfy. Your back will thank you.”

Buck stares up at him, just the slightest amount. Sea-blue eyes, deceptively deep, red-rimmed in a way that makes Tommy’s own hurt.

“Could you hold me? Just my weight, even, it doesn’t have to be— you were right, I’m worried the second I’m left to my own devices, I’ll split into a thousand pieces, whatever that means,” he admits, and then does the unthinkable thing, leaning face first with his forehead resting against Tommy’s wet clavicle, his mouth breathing weak and hitched against Tommy’s chest.

“Of course,” Tommy says. In any way. In every way. Whatever you need. As long as you want.

+ Addtl thoughts:

Before I go crazy and disappear back into the adulthood ether! Was thinking thoughts of Tommy enjoying something as a kid, maybe he had a soft caramel once that he snuck and no one was around, and he was able to savor it, he let it sit in his mouth for a long time and let it melt thick and sweet on his tongue, like a little secret he had with himself. And that's how he thinks of taking care of Buck when they're together, he makes avocado toast, he makes brunch, he LOVES taking care of Buck, it's this self-indulgent stupid thing he does for himself, allowing himself to DOTE and to CARE and to be vulnerable in this way that might come across as maternal that he's prevented himself as acting on for so long. He wants to love Buck so badly! But he also wants to love Buck via AFFECTION, wants to SHOW Buck he's loved, and that's so compatible with meeting Buck's needs of feeling like he's never enough, he's been told plenty of times that he's loved, worthy of love, but he's not important enough to care about or see that love realized.

Think about the one person Buck has ever felt has truly loved him, cared for him, despite everything, the father he's never had, dying and telling him he loved him, then telling him to leave. Buck is always left, in the end, being told he is worthy of love, but is never enough for anyone to stay.

Think about Tommy wanting to be enough for Buck, loving life with Buck so much that Buck realizes he wants to stay. Think about Tommy, for the first time, Buck feel like he's worth it.

[natalievoncatte]

Content Warning: It is very lightly implied but there’s part of this that may be upsetting.

Kara bolted awake to the sound of a scream, and when she bolted awake, she bolted. Her forehead thumped the ceiling and someone in the loft above hers yelled for her to stop that fucking racket, but it didn’t matter. The blood curdling, gurgling shriek of terror was still ringing in her ear and she had but a single thought: Lena.

She threw up the sash of her window so hard the wood chipped and leaped into space, alien power folding the air behind her so hard that the entire building shuddered, and she had to stop herself from going hypersonic and breaking every window on the block.

It was Lena. Her voice cut through the constant barrage of human and mechanical and animal noises around her. It sliced through a wall of arguing spouses and sighing lovers and wailing sirens, through the secret language of cats and the grinding of the tectonic plates beneath all their feet. It was not a mere scream but a shriek, a wail of agony and terror that made her blood freeze even as she rocketed through the city in a blur, dozens of pedestrians looking up as she blasted overhead.

Lena’s place was across town, an hour on foot- for a human. Kara made it at the speed of thought, arriving so fast that Lena was still screaming as she landed and wrenched open the balcony door and stormed through the penthouse.

When she brushed open the bedroom door she found a cowering Lena curled in the corner in a pile of bedsheets, staring at nothing, shaking violently and shrieking.

Kara jabbed the comm bead in her ear.

“Alex!”

“What?” Alex said, groggily. “Kara? What time is it? Why… who’s that screaming?”

“It’s Lena. I need help. It’s like she’s still asleep but she’s screaming and her eyes are open. She’s not reacting to me.”

“What the hell is she doing at your apartment at three in the morning?”

“I’m at her place. I heard her screaming and flew.”

Alex let out a pained sigh. “Please tell me you remembered the suit.”

Kara looked down at her threadbare pajamas and frowned.

“Yep, sure did. What do I do?”

“Get off me!” Lena choked out, “get off me!”

Her eyes wide wide with horror, but worse, her heart was beating incredibly fast, her pupils tiny points. She began swiping at nothing with hooked fingers, tangling herself in the sheets, which only drove her into a deeper frenzy. L

“Alex! What do I do?”

“Try to get her back into bed. Gently. Speak slowly and calmly.”

Kara nodded. “Lena?”

She was met with another round of screams.

“Lena, it’s me, it’s Kara. I’m hear to help you.”

“Kara?” Lena choked out. “No, you have to go, you can’t, they’ll hurt you too.”

“No, they wont,” Kara said, soft but firm, kneeling in front of her. “No one can hurt you when you’re with me. I’ll protect you.”

Kara gently placed her hands on Lena’s shoulders. Her skin was fever hot and a vein stood out on her forehead, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

Very slowly, Kara began to shift her towards the bed, finally giving up and lifting her entirely. Lena clung to her in a full body arms-and-legs hug.

Alex crackled in her ear.

“Stay there. I’ll have J’onn do a sweep of the area just to be sure.”

“Don’t go,” Lena murmured, “Kara please, don’t go please.”

“I’m right here and I’m not leaving,” Kara said, lowering her to the bed.

It was… awkward. Kara had no choice but to climb in with her. She grabbed an armful of silk sheets and down comforter and sheltered them both within it, packing herself up into a tight roll with Lena, arms locked around her.

Lena’s screaming had stopped but she still seemed unaware, her focus entirely on Kara as she sobbed lightly into her chest.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, it’s okay,” Kara repeated, like a mantra, lightly running her fingers over Lena’s scalp.

“You’re safe, I promise.”

Lena buried her face in Kara’s throat and sobbed. Kara continued to stroke her hair, and almost without realizing it, started singing.

“Kara,” Alex said in her ear, “the channel is still open. Kara, you’re singing a Kryptonian lullaby!”

She didn’t care. She jabbed her ear to silence the little voice and continued to sing, the same song her father used when she had nightmares in the groundquakes when their world was shaking itself apart.

Lena’s breathing finally slowed. The tension slid out of her and her breathing and pulse eased. She fell into a deep, deep sleep.

Kara could leave now, if she wanted. Skip away and let Lena think it was all a dream, though she might wonder what happened to the lock on her balcony door.

She could, but a promise was a promise.

Eventually, her own lullaby lulled her to sleep, and she drifted off into a dreamless rest of her own.

When the sun draped a warm touch across her skin and Kara opened her eyes, she found herself oddly well rested for someone who’d woken up at three in the morning and flown across town. Lena dozed lightly in her arms, tucked against and under Kara so naturally it was as if they were made to slot together this way. Kara lay turned and curled around Lena, a fortress of living walls around her smaller frame, even as she clung to Kara’s waist.

She still had time to leave, to let the night be a mystery… but something stopped her. She wasn’t sure if it was the soft, sweet scent of Lena’s hair or the way Lena’s breath tickled her throat or the soft weight of her or the delightful sensation of her breasts pressed against Kara’s own but she needed this, she wanted this.

Lena was looking at her.

“Are you real?” she whispered.

“It’s me, Lee.”

“Why are you here?”

Kara licked her lips and sorted through fifty lame excuses. What would it be this time? Lena butt dialed her in the middle of a night terror? She forgot her hairbrush?

No.

“I heard you screaming and I flew here to protect you.”

Lena blinked, clearly groggy, her brows pinched in consternation as she worked it out. Kara waited.

“Oh,” Lena said, finally.

“Yeah,” said Kara. “I can go if you’re upset, or you need time,” her voice grew thick, “or if you’d rather not see me anymore.”

“No,” Lena snapped, almost angrily, then more softly, “please stay. I’d like you to stay, I… I need you to help me feel safe for a while.”

Kara nodded.

“I had a terrible dream. It was so real. I dreamed Lex sent people after me in my office, but they weren’t there to throw me off the balcony this time. I tried the gun I keep in my desk but it had no effect on them, and Jess didn’t hear me screaming and no one would help me.”

“It wasn’t real,” Kara murmured. “That will never happen. I will always be there when you need me.”

“What if you’re too far or you’re too busy?”

“I’m never too busy and I’ll never be too far. I’ll give you a signal watch.”

“A signal watch?”

Kara nodded. “Like my cousin gave James. If you use it I’ll be able to find you anywhere.”

“God, Kara in can still feel the hands on my throat. It was so real.”

“It wasn’t, I promise. I’m real. Can you feel me?”

Lena suddenly seemed a touch embarrassed, but didn’t pull away.

“I can definitely feel you.”

“Good. You’re safe. We don’t have to get up yet. Just lay here with me in the sun and you’ll be safe.”

There was a knock at Lena’s door and they both jumped.

Alex’s voice crackled in her ear.

“I’m at the door, Kara. Let me in.”

“Kara? What’s going on?” said Lena.

“Alex is at the door.”

Kara started to slip out of bed and Lena almost frantically followed her, pressing close behind. Kara looked through the door -a little relieved that Lena hadn’t lined it with lead- and saw Alex standing there in full agent gear. She opened the door.

Alex raised a brow. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” said Kara. “We were going back to sleep.”

Alex swept into the apartment.

“J’onn caught a guy. Two-bit mercenary hack, calls himself Doctor Destiny. Uses a drug to enhance latent psychic abilities- he’s a dreamer, messes with people’s heads while they sleep. J’onn gave him a taste of his own medicine.”

Lena tensed beside her, and Kara felt it.

“Alex, where is he now?”

“Back at headquarters in a holding cell. I made arrangements for him to be transported to Belle Reve, with a cape escort.”

Kara paused for a long moment.

“Alex, can you stay with Lena for a few minutes?”

Lena paled even further, the blood draining from her face.

“Kara?”

“I won’t be gone long, baby. I’ll be right back, I promise.”

“Baby?” said Alex.

“Shut up,” Kara snapped.

Lena gave her a slight nod of assent.

Kara decided to make this quick. She flew home first, changed, and landed on the DEO balcony all in less than five minutes. When she reached the holding cells, she told the guard on duty to get a coffee and let herself in.

He was an unassuming man, average height and build with scruffy hair and a five o’clock shadow. He looked more like a petty crook that got caught robbing a corner store, less like a supervillain.

“You’re ’Doctor Destiny’?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you do this on your own or were you hired?”

“Fuck off,” he said, with a shrug. “I’m going to the hole until Waller comes in to cut me a deal. You’re a Supe, you don’t scare me. Maybe send the Bat if you want to-“

Kara took two steps across the cell, seized his throat in a crushing grip that almost crushed his windpipe, and pinned him to the wall like a struggling insect beneath a sadistic child’s thumb.

“What the fuck?” he croaked out.

Kara turned her head slightly and hit the wall with a pop of heat vision that scorched the concrete and left a warm red spot.

“What the fuck?” he said again.

“I can see it,” Kara said, her voice as cold as ice. “I can see the little quirk in the back of your brain that gives you powers. One little blink and it’s gone.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“It’s too bad that there’s some important structures in the way, but you probably don’t need those language and motor skills.”

“You can’t!” he screamed.

Kara leaned in close, eyes smoldering so that he could feel the heat begin to sting his flesh.

“Wrong. I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.”

“Jesus fucking Christ! It was Edge! Morgan Edge! He paid me fifty grand!”

“Fifty g-“ Kara snarled, gritting her teeth. “Listen to me. They’re taking you to Belle Reve. I want you to tell everyone there. Everyone, do you hear me?”

“Tell them what?”

“If anything happens to Lena Luthor, I have no rules.”

“Okay,” he said, “I’ll tell everyone I promise! I swear!”

Kara let go and turned, ignoring his cries as his knees hit the concrete floor, and slammed the cell shut behind her.

When she landed on Lena’s balcony, Alex was sitting with her on the couch. The color had come back to Lena’s cheeks and she no longer looked small and frightened, her eyes no longer darting to corners and thresholds as if she expected something to pop out from behind them.

“Lena is going to pack a few bags and come stay with you for a few days,” said Alex. “I convinced her that crashing on Supergirl’s couch is a better security system than what she’s got, and while she’s out I’m going to have our tech team integrate her security into the DEO so we’ll know instantly if she’s in trouble.”

Lena nodded at all of this.

Kara knelt before Lena and gently took her chin by a curled finger and raised her gaze.

“You’re under my protection,” she said. “I swear it.”

Lena’s eyes sparkled and she gave Kara a soft smile, cupping Kara’s hand in her own.

“Okay, Brave Sir Kara, let’s take milady Luthor back to yonder castle.”

“Shut up,” Kara muttered.

The trip home seemed to calm Lena even more, as she laughed at the two sisters bantering with each other after Kara changed and climbed into Alex’s car, leaning forward from the back seat to poke her head between Lena and Alex and tease her sibling.

Lena ended up staying a full two weeks.

The “sleeping on the couch” concept didn’t even last the first night.

[hisfavegirl]

The Queen Grief - King Aegon Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader

Summary : After the incident where your son was killed coldly, you were drowned in anger and also hated.

part II.

You were consumed by grief and rage, your heart aching as you watched the servants carefully lift your son’s bloodstained blanket. They were going to burn it, or perhaps throw it away, treating it like nothing more than a piece of cloth stained by death. The thought of it made you tremble with fury.

Your eyes shifted to the bed where your son had once slept, now soaked in blood—his blood. The memory of his innocent face, his little hands grasping the blanket you had carefully knitted for him, made your chest tighten with unbearable pain. You reached for the soft fabric, clutching it tightly to your chest as fresh tears began to fall.

The blanket, once a symbol of warmth and love, now felt like a cruel reminder of what had been stolen from you. You could almost hear his voice again, that soft giggle when you’d first shown him the blanket, the joy in his eyes when he wrapped it around himself, feeling safe in your arms.

“I made this for you, my sweet Jaehaerys,” you whispered through the tears, the words heavy with the weight of loss. “I promised I would protect you, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t protect you from them.”

The memory of his reaction, the bright smile and the way his tiny hands ran over the knitted fabric, was now a bitter and painful reminder of how brief his life had been. You clutched the blanket tighter, your sobs wracking your body, and you felt a deep ache inside you that could never be filled. The warmth of his presence, the sound of his laughter—gone. And in its place, only the cold, lifeless blanket and the bloodstains that would never wash away.

You collapsed onto the floor, your body shaking as you sat amidst the scattered toys that once filled your son’s room with joy. The small wooden blocks, the tiny figurines—each one a reminder of the life he would never get to live, the laughter and innocence that would never be heard again. Your tears flowed freely, and the pain in your chest became unbearable.

The sound of your sobs filled the room, louder and more desperate with each passing moment. Your heart ached for him, for the life stolen from you both. You cried out for the child you would never see again, for the dreams that would never come true. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the grief overwhelmed you.

Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Aegon’s arms around you, pulling you close, and his voice, cracked with emotion, whispered in your ear. “I’m here. I’m with you. I’ll never leave you.” His words were a comfort, but the sorrow in his voice matched your own, his tears mingling with yours.

You leaned into him, trembling with the force of your grief. The two of you clung to each other, crying together, mourning the loss of your son in a silence that spoke of shared pain. Aegon’s embrace, his steady presence, was the only thing grounding you in that moment, but nothing could fill the aching void left in your heart.

And so, you cried. You cried until your tears seemed endless, until the weight of the world felt too much to bear. Aegon cried with you, his own sorrow mixing with yours, and for that moment, it felt as though you were no longer alone in your grief. But the emptiness of loss still lingered, heavy and suffocating, as the two of you wept for the son you had lost.

After a long, silent weeping, Aegon finally made the decision to lift you in his arms. His steps were slow and steady, as though the weight of grief was pulling him down just as much as it had consumed you. Your body felt light in his arms, yet heavy with sorrow. Every step he took was an effort, but he kept going, determined to bring you some measure of comfort.

As he walked through the hallways, trying to escape the suffocating grief, a group of soldiers appeared before him. One of them, looking hesitant yet resolute, stepped forward.

“Your Grace,” the soldier said, his voice respectful but firm, “The Dowager Queen has commanded that the Queen has to meet her at her private solar, as per her instructions.”

Aegon’s jaw tightened. His eyes, filled with the same pain that tore at your heart, locked onto the soldier’s. His voice, cold and unwavering, rang out in the tense silence.

“No,” Aegon replied, his tone low but carrying the weight of his authority. “I will not hand her over. I will take her to our chambers.”

The soldier hesitated, glancing at the others, but none of them moved. They understood the King’s command. Aegon, despite the crown on his head, was not swayed by the demands of his mother, the Queen Dowager. His focus was entirely on you, his queen, his wife, the woman who was grieving the loss of their son.

With no further words, Aegon continued his path toward your room. The soldiers reluctantly stepped aside, not daring to challenge him again. The halls seemed eerily quiet as Aegon carried you with care, every step bringing him closer to a place where, for just a moment, there would be no responsibilities, no demands—only the quiet solace of being together.

When the door to your chamber finally closed behind him, Aegon gently laid you on the bed, his heart heavy but steadfast. He sat beside you, taking your hand in his, and in the quiet stillness of the room, he whispered, “I’m here. I will never leave you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You clung to Aegon’s body, wrapping your arms tightly around him as if you could draw strength from his presence. The storm of emotion inside you seemed endless, the grief so deep you couldn’t see past it. His warmth was the only comfort in that moment, and you buried your face against his chest, closing your eyes, trying to escape the overwhelming pain.

Aegon held you close, his breath steady against your hair, his arms strong around you. After a long pause, he slowly closed his eyes, allowing the quiet of the room to wash over both of you. Then, with a soft and gentle touch, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as if trying to convey all the love and sorrow he felt without words.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing, “I’m here, and I won’t leave you.”

Then, to calm you, Aegon began to hum softly, the familiar melody of a song you loved, one that had always brought you peace in moments of chaos. His voice was hushed, carrying the melody gently as he softly rocked you in his arms.

The tune, a song you’d always cherished, seemed to weave its way through the tension and heartache, slowly, gently pulling you back from the edge of your grief. His voice, full of love and concern, was the only thing you could focus on, and with each note, you felt a small measure of calm washing over you.

His arms around you were strong, a shield against the world outside, and in that moment, with his voice humming that familiar, soothing tune, you finally allowed yourself to rest, to close your eyes and let the pain ease—if only for a brief moment.

As the soft hum of Aegon’s voice began to soothe you, a sound from the doorway broke through the fragile peace. You opened your eyes, turning your head, and there she was—your mother, Alicent, standing with an air of composed determination. Her gaze swept over the room, lingering on the sight of you in Aegon’s arms, clutching the blanket that had once been your son’s.

Tears threatened to rise again as you held the bloodstained fabric closer, pressing it against your face, the faintest hint of your son’s scent still clinging to it. The weight of Alicent’s presence, however, was impossible to ignore.

Her voice was calm but firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. “His body will be taken through the kingdom,” she said. “The people must see the tragedy, must know who is responsible for the death of their prince. You- we will ride in the carriage directly behind him.”

Her words struck like a blade. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, the grief and fury warring within you. Slowly, you shook your head, lowering the blanket from your face. “No,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I won’t do it.”

Alicent’s expression hardened, but there was something else there too—perhaps a flicker of understanding or even pity. “This is for the realm,” she pressed. “For your son’s justice.”

You sat up, Aegon’s hand resting protectively on your back as you faced her. “Justice?” you repeated bitterly, your voice rising. “Parading his body like a spectacle is not justice—it’s cruelty. It’s not for him, it’s for your politics.”

Alicent’s lips tightened into a thin line. She took a step forward, her gaze sharp but laced with concern. “It’s what must be done. The people need to see—”

“No!” you interrupted, standing now despite the weakness in your legs. “I won’t let his memory be used this way. I won’t ride behind him as if he’s nothing more than a tool in this war.”

Alicent stared at you, the tension between mother and daughter palpable, the silence heavy. Aegon rose beside you, his arm steadying you as he spoke, his voice low but firm. “She has made her decision,” he said, addressing Alicent directly. “And as her husband—and her king—I stand by it.”

Alicent’s expression faltered for a moment, her mouth opening as if to argue, but she said nothing. With a stiff nod, she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the hall. You exhaled shakily, leaning into Aegon’s support, your heart still heavy but resolute in your refusal to let your son’s memory be tarnished.

The moment you heard the words—the news that your son’s head had been found and sewn back onto his small, lifeless body—you felt your knees weaken, but the urgency in your heart propelled you forward. You moved with haste, ignoring the calls of servants and guards as you hurried to where they had brought him.

When you entered the dimly lit chamber, your breath caught in your throat. There he was, your sweet boy, lying on a cold stone slab. His tiny body, once so full of life and laughter, now lay stiff and pale. The stitching on his neck was visible, crude and brutal, a reminder of the horror he had endured.

You froze for a moment, your mind unwilling to fully accept the sight before you. But then the wave of grief crashed over you, and you rushed forward, falling to your knees beside him. Trembling, you reached out, your hands brushing against his cold, lifeless skin.

Tears poured down your cheeks as you let out a broken sob. “My sweet boy,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “My Jaehaerys… please, wake up.”

You wrapped your arms around his small, fragile body. His coldness pierced through you, but you didn’t care. “Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Please come back to me. Just one more time. Hold me back. Call me ‘Mother’ again.”

Your sobs filled the room as you cradled him, pressing kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, his tiny hands. You clung to him as if your love alone could undo the cruelty of fate. But no matter how tightly you held him, no matter how desperately you cried, his small body remained still and unresponsive.

The world felt cruel and empty as you wept, your tears falling onto his lifeless face. There was nothing left but the unbearable silence and the weight of your sorrow.

Through the haze of your grief, you forced yourself to lift your head. His face was peaceful, but his silence screamed louder than anything. The coldness of his skin cut through your soul like a knife.

You turned to the nearest servant, your voice cracking with desperation. “Bring me his blanket. The one I made for him. Hurry!”

The servant hesitated, unsure of how to act in the face of your anguish, but a sharp glance from you spurred them into action. As they hurried away, you turned back to your son, your tears blurring your vision.

“Jaehaerys,” you whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “You always loved that blanket. Do you remember? You said it made you feel safe. I’ll keep you warm, my love. I promise I’ll keep you warm.

Moments later, the servant returned, carefully holding the soft blanket you had poured hours of love into crafting. You snatched it from their hands, your fingers clutching the fabric as though it held the last pieces of him.

With trembling hands, you draped the blanket over his tiny body, tucking it in as though he were merely asleep. But the lifelessness of his form made your chest tighten further, and the tears came again in an uncontrollable flood.

You collapsed beside him, your hand resting on his covered chest, hoping against hope that you might feel it rise and fall, that somehow this nightmare might end. But there was nothing. No warmth, no breath, no heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as you leaned down to kiss his cold forehead. “I couldn’t protect you. My baby, my sweet boy, I couldn’t save you.”

You stayed there, your body wracked with sobs, as you clung to him. The servants stood back, silent witnesses to a mother’s endless grief, as your cries echoed through the chamber—a lament for a life stolen too soon.

Your trembling hand reached out, brushing against the cold, pale skin of your son’s cheek. His once rosy complexion was now a stark, lifeless white. You traced his delicate features, your fingers lingering on the softness of his face, as though you could imprint the memory of him into your very soul.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, falling onto his still, small body. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs. Your heart ached with a pain so raw it felt as if it might tear you apart.

But as the weight of your grief pressed down on you, a fire ignited within your chest—a burning rage that pushed through the despair. You clenched your jaw, your hand still resting on his lifeless cheek, and whispered through your tears, “I swear, my son… I swear on your name, on your memory, on my very life—whoever did this to you will pay.”

Your voice grew stronger, more resolute, as if speaking the words aloud gave them power. “I don’t care what it costs me. Whether it’s my blood, my crown, or my life. I will avenge you, Jaehaerys. I promise you, they will suffer as you have suffered.”

The rage coursing through you felt like the only thing keeping you upright. It was no longer just grief—it was a mission, a purpose that would drive you forward no matter the cost.

You leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss to his icy forehead, your tears falling onto his skin. “Rest now, my love,” you whispered. “I will not let this injustice stand. I will make them pay.”

The vow settled into your heart, cold and unshakable, as you stayed beside him, your hand never leaving his face. Though your heart was shattered, your resolve was forged in steel, and nothing—not the gods, not death itself—would stop you from honoring the promise you made to your beloved son.

Your steps echoed through the long corridors as you made your way toward the council chamber. The fire of grief and vengeance burned within you, your mind consumed with thoughts of your son. Every step you took felt heavier, yet you pressed forward, drawn by the voices echoing from the chamber ahead.

As you approached, their words became clear.

“They were vermin, nothing more,” Aemond’s sharp voice declared, calm yet cutting. “The rats in this kingdom must know there is no tolerance for disloyalty or treachery.”

Another voice, one of the council members, spoke hesitantly, “But, the display—hanging them at the gates—some might see it as excessive.”

And then, you heard your husband’s voice, steady and resolute, with a dangerous edge that left no room for argument. “They killed my son,” Aegon said, his tone icy. “Excessive would have been feeding them to the dragons piece by piece. This kingdom will know what happens to those who betray the crown and harm my family.”

The words struck you like a hammer. You froze just outside the door, the image of the gates filled your mind—bodies dangling as a gruesome warning. Aegon had taken his grief and turned it into action, his vengeance swift and unrelenting.

You pushed the doors open without hesitation, stepping into the room. The council members turned to look at you, their expressions ranging from surprise to discomfort. Aemond stood to one side, arms crossed, his eye narrowing as he observed you. At the head of the table, Aegon sat, his face unreadable until he saw you.

You locked eyes with him, the air in the room thick with tension. “Is it true?” you asked, your voice trembling but firm. “Did you hang them at the gates?”

Aegon rose from his chair, his gaze steady as he approached you. “I did,” he replied without hesitation. “They took our son from us. They deserved worse.”

You searched his face, seeing the same pain and anger you carried in your heart. Yet, something about it unsettled you—the coldness, the finality of his actions. “And what justice have you found, Aegon?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Does it bring him back?”

He reached for you, his hand brushing your arm gently. “No,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But it ensures that no one else dares to harm what’s ours.”

You looked down, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Part of you wanted to rage, to scream at the futility of it all. Yet another part of you—the part consumed by your own need for vengeance—understood him all too well.

As the council chamber settled into a tense silence following Aegon’s admission, a sharp voice cut through the air. Otto Hightower, standing at the far end of the table, slammed his hand against the wood, his face twisted with fury.

“This was reckless, Your Grace!” he bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Hanging the rat-catchers at the gates like common criminals? What will the realm think? What will this do to the crown’s dignity? Such actions—”

Aegon spun toward Otto, his eyes blazing with fury. “Dignity?” he snapped, his voice cold and filled with venom. “You think I care about dignity, Otto? They took my son! My son, who was barely old enough to speak his own name!”

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Aegon stepped forward, his voice growing louder, trembling with both rage and pain. “Do you know what dignity means to me now? Nothing! Dignity didn’t save him. Dignity didn’t stop his head from being torn from his body. So don’t you stand there and lecture me about what is too far.”

Otto’s mouth opened as if to respond, but Aegon cut him off, taking another step closer, his presence commanding the room. “I am the king,” he growled. “And as long as I wear this crown, no one—no one—will harm what is mine without paying for it in blood. Do you understand me?”

Alicent, standing near the door, placed a hand over her chest, her expression a mixture of sorrow and alarm. Even Aemond, ever composed, shifted slightly where he stood, his single eye flicking between Otto and Aegon.

“You have lost sight of the bigger picture,” Otto finally said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “Revenge clouds your judgment. This will have consequences.”

Aegon’s expression hardened further, his fists clenching at his sides. “Then let there be consequences,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ll bear them gladly if it means justice for my son.”

You stood there, watching the exchange, torn between the grief that mirrored Aegon’s and the unease Otto’s words stirred in you. In Aegon’s eyes, there was nothing but pain and vengeance, a fire that seemed unstoppable. You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm, grounding him for just a moment.

“Aegon,” you whispered, your voice soft but filled with emotion. “Let’s not lose ourselves completely to this. Not yet.”

He looked at you, his anger dimming slightly as he took in your tear-streaked face. With a deep breath, he turned away from Otto, his grip on control tenuous but holding—for now.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, you turned and left the council chamber, your steps hurried and uneven as the weight of grief pressed down on you. The echoes of raised voices faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the corridors. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if trying to hold your breaking heart together, and made your way back to your chambers.

When you arrived at your chambers, the sight that greeted you pulled you to a halt. The servants were moving quietly, laying out a gown of rich black and deep green across the bed. Beside it rested a matching hood, its dark fabric shimmering faintly in the candlelight.

These were no ordinary garments—they were the colors of House Hightower, the mourning attire of the queen dowager’s line, meant to signify grief and strength in equal measure. Yet, to you, they only symbolized loss, a cruel reminder of the funeral you would soon endure.

One of the servants noticed your presence and turned, bowing their head respectfully. “Your Grace,” they said softly, their voice carefully measured, “the Queen Dowager requested these be prepared for you. She thought they would honor both your son and your house.”

You took a step closer, your gaze fixed on the heavy fabrics. Your hands trembled as you reached out to touch the gown. The black velvet felt cold beneath your fingers, while the deep green embroidery—a shade you once associated with pride—now seemed hollow, devoid of its former meaning.

The servant continued, their tone apologetic. “The procession will begin shortly. Queen Alicent thought—”

“Enough,” you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper but heavy with emotion. The servant fell silent, stepping back to give you space.

You picked up the hood, its weight seeming far heavier than its fabric should allow. Holding it close to your chest, you sank onto the edge of the bed, your tears spilling over as you clutched it tightly.

“Green and black,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “For what purpose? To parade my grief for the realm to see? To show the world the price I have paid?”

Your gaze drifted to the gown again, and the pain in your chest swelled, suffocating you. “None of this will bring him back,” you whispered, the words breaking as they left your lips.

You closed your eyes, pressing the hood to your face as tears fell freely. The room seemed to close in around you, heavy with the weight of your loss, as the preparations for the ceremony continued in quiet, dutiful silence.

You sat motionless before the mirror, staring at your own reflection as if it were a stranger staring back at you. The pale, hollow-eyed face that greeted you bore little resemblance to the woman you once were. Your hands rested limply in your lap, surrendering to the servants who worked silently around you.

One was carefully weaving your hair into an intricate braid, while another secured the black hood over your head, its heavy fabric draping over your shoulders. Every movement felt mechanical, detached, as though this wasn’t truly happening to you. You had stopped fighting. You had stopped resisting.

You had surrendered.

The weight of the mourning gown clung to your skin, and the air seemed thick, suffocating in the quiet of the room. The finality of it all settled over you like a shroud, and you sat there, staring, as the servants completed their work.

Then the door opened.

The sound drew your gaze, and your reflection shifted as you turned your head. Standing in the doorway was your mother, Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower, dressed in a dark green gown that matched the depths of her sorrow. Her black hood framed her face, highlighting the familiar resolve in her eyes—a look you had seen countless times.

Her presence filled the room, yet neither of you spoke at first. She took a step inside, her gaze sweeping over you. For a moment, the queen dowager and the grieving mother collided within her, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You are ready,” she said softly, her voice steady but heavy with emotion.

You didn’t respond, turning your eyes back to the mirror. The servant adjusted the final pin in your hood and stepped back, bowing her head before retreating to the corner.

“I see you’ve decided to join the procession,” Alicent continued, stepping closer to you. Her green gown swayed slightly as she walked, the fabric catching the dim light. “This is as it should be. The realm must see your strength… and your grief.”

At her words, your fists clenched in your lap, but you didn’t turn to face her. Instead, you stared at your reflection, your expression unreadable. “Strength?” you repeated quietly, your voice laced with bitterness. “Is that what this is supposed to be?”

Alicent paused, her hands clasping tightly in front of her. “It is what must be done,” she said firmly, though her voice softened as she added, “for him. For Jaehaerys.”

Her words cut through you like a blade, and you closed your eyes, trying to block out the tears that threatened to fall again. “Do you think he would want this?” you whispered. “For his body to be paraded through the streets while his mother sits silently behind it?”

Alicent sighed, stepping closer until she stood just behind you, her reflection now visible in the mirror alongside your own. “He would want the world to see the price of this treachery,” she said quietly but with conviction. “And so would you, if only your heart were not so broken.”

You turned your gaze away from the mirror, unable to look at her any longer. “My heart is broken, Mother,” you said softly, your voice cracking. “And I wonder if it will ever heal.”

Alicent rested a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but meant to be comforting. “It may not,” she admitted, her voice gentle. “But you will endure. You are my daughter. You will endure.”

And with that, the room fell silent once more, the weight of her words pressing down on you as heavily as the mourning garments you wore.

The creaking of the wooden wheels and the steady clatter of hooves filled the air as the funeral procession made its somber journey through the streets. You sat silently beside your mother in the dark confines of the carriage, the heavy mourning gown clinging to your body like a second layer of grief.

Your gaze remained fixed on the carriage ahead of you, where the small, still form of your son lay. Wrapped in the blanket you had lovingly made for him, his tiny body was carefully cradled on a velvet bier, his pale face framed by soft curls that once shone with life.

On his head rested the small crown you and Aegon had given him for his fourth nameday. You remembered how his eyes had lit up with delight when he first saw it, how he had run around the chamber declaring himself “a king like Papa.” The memory stabbed at your chest, and tears silently slipped down your cheeks, unnoticed by the world outside.

Beside you, your mother sat upright and composed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The dark green of her gown blended with the black hood she wore, her expression unreadable as she gazed straight ahead. But even in her stoicism, you could feel her grief—muted, controlled, yet no less profound.

The crowds lined the streets, their murmurs and whispers barely audible over the sound of the procession. Some wept openly, others lowered their heads in respect, and a few simply stared, their faces etched with shock and sorrow.

Your eyes never left the small form ahead of you. “He’s so cold,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you broke the heavy silence in the carriage.

Alicent turned her head slightly, her sharp eyes softening as they fell on you. “The blanket,” she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper. “It will keep him warm, even now.”

You shook your head, your hands clutching at your gown. “It’s not enough,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “He needs to feel loved. He needs… he needs to wake up.”

Alicent reached out, placing a steady hand over yours. Her touch was firm, grounding you even as her heart ached alongside yours. “He knows he is loved,” she said quietly. “You showed him that every day of his life. That love… it does not end, even now.”

You turned your head to look at her, searching for comfort in her words, but the raw pain in your chest remained unyielding. “Then why does it feel like it’s not enough?”

She didn’t answer, only holding your hand tightly as the carriage carried you forward, the weight of your shared grief filling the air. Ahead of you, the small crown on Jaehaerys’s head glinted faintly in the light, a fragile, heart-wrenching reminder of what you had lost.

As the procession reached the Dragonpit, the air seemed to grow heavier, thick with the weight of grief and the whispers of the gathered crowd. You stepped down from the carriage, your body trembling with exhaustion and sorrow, but the moment your feet touched the ground, the atmosphere shifted.

Your mother following close behind. The crowd pressed closer, their faces filled with sorrow, but their hands reached out too eagerly, too insistently. The weight of their stares, their words, their touch became unbearable.

“Your Grace,” a woman said, gripping your hand tightly, her voice trembling. “The realm mourns with you. Prince Jaehaerys—”

You pulled your hand away, trembling as others replaced her, one after another, their voices blurring into an incomprehensible hum.

“Such a tragedy,” someone else murmured.

“Your strength inspires us all,” another said.

But their words felt like needles pricking at your raw grief. Your chest tightened, and your breathing grew faster, shallower. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you stepped back, your gaze darting around frantically.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head as tears began to fall. “No, I—I can’t…”

You turned to leave, but the crowd surged forward, their outstretched hands reaching for you. It was too much—the noise, the faces, the pity. Your knees buckled, and you clutched your chest as your sobs erupted.

“I don’t want this!” you cried, your voice cracking as you stumbled back. “I don’t want to do this! Stop—please, stop!”

A strong arm wrapped around your shoulders, steadying you. Aegon was at your side in an instant, his face etched with concern and anger as he glared at the crowd. “Back away!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “All of you, back away now!”

The crowd hesitated, murmurs rippling through them as they began to retreat. Aegon pulled you closer, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he guided you toward the nearest private space.

“It’s too much,” you sobbed into his chest, clutching at his tunic as though he were the only thing anchoring you to the world. “I can’t… I can’t do this, Aegon.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I know. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

He turned his head, addressing a knight who had stepped forward. “Clear the area. No one approaches her again without my permission.”

The knight nodded and moved to carry out his orders, while Aegon held you tightly, his hand stroking your back as he whispered, “Breathe, my love. I’m here. Just breathe.”

Your tears continued to fall, but his presence grounded you, offering a fragile sense of safety amidst the overwhelming tide of grief and chaos.

The moment came, heavy and suffocating, as Aegon stepped forward to give the final command. You stood by his side, your knees trembling as your eyes remained fixed on the small, still form of your son.

Aegon’s voice rang out, steady but laced with pain, as he uttered the word that sealed your son’s farewell. “Dracarys.”

Sunfyre roared, his golden scales shimmering as he unleashed a torrent of flame. The heat surged forward, consuming the bier in an instant. You watched, helpless, as the fire licked at the edges of the blanket you had made, the crown atop his head glowing briefly before it, too, was claimed by the flames.

The sight was unbearable. A strangled sob escaped your lips, and your body seemed to give out under the weight of your grief. The roaring fire blurred as tears streamed down your cheeks, your vision darkening.

“Aegon…” you whispered weakly, reaching for him before your knees buckled.

Aegon turned just in time to catch you as you collapsed into his arms, your body limp. “No!” he cried, his voice breaking as panic overtook him. “Someone—help!”

He cradled you tightly, his arms trembling as he lowered you gently to the ground. “Wake up,” he begged, his voice desperate as he stroked your face, his thumb brushing away the tears still clinging to your cheeks. “Please, my love, wake up!”

The attendants and guards rushed forward, but Aegon barked at them to stay back. “She’s my wife!” he snapped, his voice a mixture of fury and anguish. “Don’t touch her!”

Alicent appeared moments later, her face pale as she knelt beside her son. “What happened?” she asked urgently, her hands hovering uncertainly over you.

“She fainted,” Aegon said, his voice trembling. “She couldn’t bear it.”

Alicent’s expression softened with sorrow as she looked at you, then at her son. “She needs rest,” she said firmly. “Get her to her chambers.”

Aegon didn’t wait for further instruction. He scooped you up into his arms, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world. His heart pounded as he carried you away from the flames, the weight of the moment pressing down on him with every step.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I swear I’ll take care of you.”

tag list : @danytar @looneytun3s @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd (italic means that i can’t tag you)