#i think its gonna SPILL OVER and fucking KILL ME as if i have fucking oil in the pot and not water

[rt-lots]

feeling uncharacteristically good about myself and my life. i should learn how to cook

[dollfacefantasy]

dig your claws right into me ♡

logan howlett x fem!reader

logan hurts you when he has a nightmare. now you both have to deal with the fallout.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, descriptions of nightmare, injury, and blood

a/n: reader is a mutant but i didn't specify her powers so you can imagine what you want. just some sickly sweet intimacy cause that's what i was feeling tonight <3

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The words come out whispered as Logan's lips press against the three tiny bumps of developing scar tissue on your abdomen.

"I already told you that you don't have to be sorry," you say. Your voice drifts into the space between the two of you as soft as the movements of your fingers running through his hair.

"Well I am, bub. You should want me to be."

Each one of his hands rests upon either side of your waist. His fingers squish against your flesh while his eyes stare at the scars on your belly. He gazes at them like the small marks, all equidistant from one another, could be willed away by his harsh look. He hated the fact that they were there at all. Even worse, that he was the one who gave them to you.

"But it was an accident," you respond, giving one of the tufts of his hair a gentle tug.

His dark pupils flit up to look at your face. "Doesn't matter. It being an accident doesn't change the fact that you're gonna have these marks forever. I wouldn't care that it was accidental if I'd killed you."

He remembers the night it happened that seemed like a real possibility.

His light sleep had been interrupted by a nightmare. Over the time that had passed between then and now, it'd become indistinct from all the others he experiences regularly. The only difference between that one and the ones he'd had since he'd started sleeping next to you each night was the intensity. That night had been rough. Normally when he slept in your room, he seemed to be able to tone it down. Almost as if his brain knew to not act up while your relationship was still starting to blossom.

But two weeks ago, his mind didn't care. It flash-banged him with the usual images of himself in that tank. The searing, splitting pain of the adamantium attaching itself to his bones.

Usually, if he had a nightmare beside you, he'd grunt and twitch, maybe shift around a little. That night though, you got to see the whole performance. The tossing and turning, sweating and moaning, tense limbs and scrunched up face.

Poor, sweet, innocent you thought that you could just wake him up. Your hands nudged at his bicep and shoulder as you gently cooed "Logan. It's just a dream."

In the end, your tenderness didn't matter. When he actually came to, your anguished cry was all that registered. And then he felt the sharp heat between his knuckles that meant the claws were out. His heart dropped and his vision nearly blacked out. He couldn't have.

He retracted them as quickly as they'd appeared and pulled back to look at you. Crimson flooded the gray t-shirt you'd worn to bed. The three little spots spread into large blooms of scarlet. Your hands flew to the spot to clutch at it, but they did nothing to stop the warm liquid from spilling out.

"No, no, no, fuck," he'd whispered frantically as his mind raced for a solution.

Your cries morphed into whimpers. Soft and vulnerable. Like a prey animal that'd been fatally wounded but not put out of its misery. Blood seeped out onto your bedding, and it was then that he rocketed off the mattress and scooped you up into his arms.

Fortunately, Scott, Jean, and Storm were already outside the door in the hall, having heard the scream. A gathering of students lingered behind them as well. Shame coursed through his veins, albeit dulled by the panic. He remembered thinking it was stupid, but after the adrenaline left his system, it was the dominant emotion he was left with. Ashamed was the only word that could describe holding the knowledge that everyone here now saw he was capable of hurting the woman he loves. Maybe he was no better than an animal.

In truth, shame was all he felt now. So much relief settled over him since you'd made it out alive. Thanks to the enhanced physical capabilities from your mutation and Jean's adequate medical skills, these scars would be the only lasting effect of the wounds.

He'd rushed you down to the infirmary faster than he'd ever moved in a non-combat situation. His feet thundered down the stairs, a part of him withering to ash with each little whimper you let out as the motion jostled your body around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Almost there. We're almost there. You're gonna be ok," he'd mumbled out thoughtlessly, saying anything he could that would bring you even a shred of comfort.

He kept your hand in his the entire time you were down there on the cold examination table. His grip stayed firm. He wouldn't let the anxiety over your well being consume him. This was his fault, and now you needed him. He didn't get to be worried or upset or anything that wasn't in support of you.

When you howled in pain, he winced as if he was the one being treated. You cried for him, choking out "Logan" through tears over and over. It tore him apart inside. All he could do to soothe you was stroke your cheek and murmur reassurances in your ear.

"Shh, shh, shh. You're doing so good, baby. My strong girl. Being so brave."

He usually reserved affection for private moments, but in those painful seconds, it felt like you two were the only ones in the room.

These thoughts running through his head display across his face. The way his cheek squishes against your tummy and his eyes vacantly stare at the wall opposite his bed. You told him the next day that everything transformed into a blur in your mind. You remembered the feeling of being stabbed and the sight of him panicking, but beyond that nothing specific stayed. You knew he held you and talked to you even though you couldn't recall an individual thing he said or did.

That was fine with him. He listened to you tell the story from your perspective. You spoke with your normal cadence, the usual happy glow in your eyes, and the same animated gestures coming from your hands. His eyes lingered on your torso though. The bandages peeking out from underneath your clean camisole he'd changed you into.

Every last detail of the incident was etched into the deepest part of his psyche. Most likely stored away as material for future nightmares. As much as he hated it, he figured that's the way it should be. He didn't deserve the peace that comes with forgetting.

For the first week after it'd happened, he wouldn't sleep with you. He'd stay with you, cuddled against your body, until you drifted off. Then he'd get up and skulk back to his own room, leaving you cold and alone on your bed.

Eventually after a few more days, you got him to try it out again, but he'd only do it in his own room. It was hard for him to be in yours. New sheets covered your foamy mattress now since the blood wouldn't wash out of the old set. Each brush of the novel material against his skin was just a rose-printed reminder of what he'd done to you.

He's snapped out of his recollection when your voice returns to the original conversation.

"None of that stuff happened though. You didn't kill me, and you're not going to. I'll be more careful next time," you break the silence with a gentle reassurance.

Next time. That's what hurts the worst. You knew this would happen again. You'd promised that when it did you wouldn't try to wake him. Wouldn't touch him or do anything that could set him off. Just give him his space and let him work through it.

"I don't even want you worrying about being careful when you're trying to sleep," he grumbles.

Your nails scrape over his scalp, making his eyes flutter. A deep sigh leaves him. As much as he hated himself for all of this, he could never help easing up under your touch.

"You're worth it."

Three words you said so often. He never believed them, but that didn't stop you from repeating them like a slogan. Instead of arguing with you over the validity of the statement, he stays silent. Replaces any verbal response with a physical one by nuzzling into the warmth of your stomach and laying kisses around your navel.

You watch the affectionate gesture and trail your fingers down to the nape of his neck, massaging the tender skin there.

"You are," you whisper, "One mistake doesn't define you. Doesn't change how I see you."

"It's not just a simple mistake-" he starts.

"Yes it is," you interject, trying to nip his self doubt in the bud.

"It's not. It's not like I forgot your birthday or left my wallet behind when taking you out."

"It's still an accident. The severity doesn't change the intention. Would you hate me if my powers acted up and hurt you?"

God, you could be just as stubborn as him. It grated on his already frayed nerves. He shifts to look up at you fully. And some of that building tension dissolves upon seeing the earnest look on your face.

"It's not the same. Anything you did to me, I would heal," he says.

"I'm healing too. I'm just not as fast as you," you respond. You actually smile as if this is some lighthearted matter. Of course you knew it wasn't the same. You presented no danger to him whereas if he'd nicked you an inch to the left, he might be talking to your headstone right now instead of you. That wasn't the point though.

He shakes his head. "It's different, bub. But I'm not even saying you should hate me..." 

In truth, he didn't know what he was saying. If he wanted you to hate him or stay away from him, he could be the one to break things off. But he was still right here, arms wrapped around you and head hovering inches away from your body.

"I just think you should be more cautious than you're being," he finishes, "I don't want you to think you have to put up with this."

You frown and pet his hair. "I don't think that."

"I'm not trying to lecture you, baby," he sighs, "I just don't want to hurt you again."

He could certainly flaunt a pair of puppy eyes when he wanted to. The way he was looking up at you now made him seem so sad and wounded. Like a dog who can't control when he bites but gets kicked aside for it all the same.

"You're not going to. We'll be careful. It was an accident," you say, tone almost pleading, "You're still my Logan."

To go along with your words, you pull on one of his arms, beckoning him closer. He complies with your request and scales your body so that the two of you are aligned. You stare up into his eyes and the whirlpools of emotion within them. Your hand lands on his cheek, your thumb stroking back and forth in small swipes.

"I'm not gonna let you pull away cause of this," you whisper, "It wasn't your fault. You don't choose to have those dreams."

You can tell he wants to argue, but he struggles to find the words. Indirectly cutting him off, you guide his head closer to yours. His face slots against the crook of your neck, and yours does the same in his. You nuzzle him there, breathing in the rich, musky scent of him.

"You're not wrong for wanting to be happy. You don't deserve to be alone," you say and kiss below his ear.

The words make him ache from within. His metal bones vibrate with the weight of possibility of that being true while his heartbeat feels as though it stutters between his ribs. He wants to huff and say that he knows, that he doesn't need you psychoanalyzing him, thank you very much. But none of that will come out. So instead he chuckles. He tries to make it sound smooth; although, the awkwardness is apparent in each bit.

He pulls back a little and smirks down at you. "So you think I'm cut out for being gentle? Is that it?"

You know what he's doing. As closed off as he tries to be, you don't need telepathy to sense what he's feeling. You let him play it off with a joke though. If he's joking, he's not drowning in self-pity, which is all you want.

"Mhm, I know you are," you say and nose at his cheek, kissing the spot on it without facial hair, "You may have claws, but you purr like a kitten when I have my hands on you."

His eyes roll when you say that. He leans down and begins to return some of your loving gestures.

"Don't go telling people that. It's only for you," he murmurs.

"Of course, of course," you say with the same subtle playfulness.

Words die out in favor of using your mouths for better things. The kisses are lazy, built more off of love and adoration rather than lust and passion. One of your arms loops over his shoulders to keep him close while your other rubs at his side. The tip of his nose brushes your earlobe as he lowers to kiss down your throat.

His lips meet your pulse point and the divots in your neck that make you shudder when touched. He's familiar with all your secret spots by now. He plays you better than any instrument. His breath fans over your skin as his teeth scrape against the same flesh. His hands work below, squeezing your waist, fingertips leaving little bumps in their wake.

The hand of yours that had been on his side drifts further down and wiggles its way between your two bodies. Your digits stroke his pelvis above the area his cock would soon begin to harden.

A groan reverberates through his chest as his shaft rises to attention. From this angle, the pads of your fingers can reach the tip. You rub on it with light pressure, up and down. That gets him to repeat the groan, only this time the undertone of need is more prominent.

His lips latch onto your neck to work a little mark onto your skin while he pushes the waistband of his sweatpants down his thighs. You were only wearing a cropped t-shirt and panties, already easily accessible.

He nudges your thighs apart further and grinds his bulge over your mound. The heat from both your aching centers grows hotter with the friction. Arching your back off the bed, you whimper softly for further satisfaction. He presses you back down using his larger stature.

"Patience, sweetheart. Being gentle, remember?"

He only teases you with a few more grinds of his hips before his boxers vanish too and his heavy cock rests against the soft fabric of your panties. You feel the familiar thickness at first. Then his fingers swoop down and pull your panties to the side so he can slot the drippy tip against your folds. Precum smears against your slick, velvety skin.

Seconds later he splits you open. He bites his lip while you whine, his fat cock pushing further into your wanting hole. You squeeze around him. Your walls clamp and contract on his length. It doesn't push him out, merely sucks him further in. He chokes out a low moan from how tight you get.

So tight and so wet. Arousal oozes from you in no short supply. It didn't take much to get you going for Logan. A few touches alone had you leaking like a broken faucet. You whimper as he bottoms out, hips jerking as the head taps your cervix. He always gets so deep it's nearly unbearable. Even when he's going slow like he is now, he's all you can think of. He fills you up down there and occupies all the space in your head.

"Feel good, baby?" he asks.

You nod, unable to respond verbally as you adjust to the intrusion. 

He doesn't give you a prolonged period of time to adapt right now. Normally he would, but most other times, he'd be going much faster than he plans to at this moment. Typically, he'd let you get comfy with the stretch before drawing his hips back and then pumping them forward again. He'd slam in and out of you. It'd be loud with the sound of skin clapping combined with your moans and his growls. It'd be rough and quick. The bed would shake and bobble around with the force of him.

But tonight, none of that happens. He barely even pulls out to thrust. He stays nice and deep, grinding his hips rather than fucking himself in and out of you. You whine in sweet stretches of sound. He sighs and grunts against your neck. Neither of you sound like feral animals going into heat.

You loved when you fucked like that, but right now, both of you needed this. Each roll of his hips felt like a stroke of heaven brushing your insides. Your limbs curl around him tighter to keep him close. Your arms guard his neck while your legs dig into his hips. He's so lost in the feeling of you, he can't even tell where he ends and you begin.

"Tell me how it feels. Need to hear you. Wanna know I'm doing it how you need," he mumbles.

"Feels perfect," you whimper in return, "So fuckin' deep."

"Good. I only ever wanna make you feel good."

You nod, knowing it's the truth. "Anyone can hurt me, but only you know how to make me feel like this."

His eyes scrunch up at your words. He just feels lucky he has his face buried against your skin so you can't see. It had been just what he needed to hear. Boosting himself onto his knees a bit more to gain some leverage, he grips your hips and ruts against you with the slightest bit more force.

You whine at the soothing rhythm in which your bodies rock. The sense of satisfaction brought on from this took root in the deepest pit of your belly. You weren't gonna explode like you often did. Probably wouldn't scream or scratch up his back. But you could tell you were gonna cum hard.

Without saying it, he communicates he feels the same. His lack of usual dirty talk tells you everything you need to know. His cock stays nestled deep inside your pussy as he works you both to the edge. His face remains flush against your neck.

You cum first, and he follows right behind. You tighten up, toes curling and a high mewl echoing out of your throat. Your body shivers. He spills his release inside of you, his energy leaving with the sticky ropes of cum that fire.

He goes boneless on top of you, still cherishing the feeling of your skin on his. His breaths feel cool against your sweating skin.

"My baby," he sighs. His eyes flutter shut. He knows he has to pull out before he knocks out for a while, but he can do that in a second. He just needs a few more minutes of this.

You press a few kisses to the side of his head and rub his back. His hand slides between both your abdomen to touch the scars, reminding himself what he's capable of despite his current tenderness.

After a few moments, he pulls out and slumps to the side of you. You peck his lips and take the acquisition of space as a way to cool off. His eyes are drooping already. It feels good seeing him so relaxed. You kiss the space between his brows, then the bridge of his knows, and end on his lips.

"Sweet dreams," you whisper, wishing that would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. At least for tonight.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐯𝐢𝐬

summary: Logan's feeling impulsive before a mission and you happen to be within reach aka he fucks you in the jet.

pairing: Logan Howlett x afab mutant!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. feral!Logan. rough sex. dirty talk. bicep choking. biting. spit kink. reader can read minds and regenerate. size difference. brief mention of blood. pure filth - no plot. unbeta'd. w.c: 1.1k

an: this look fucks me up every time I see it, so I had to write something.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Logan fumes with pent-up energy.

He knows he needs to take care of it, or else he's gonna snap. He hopes Scott shows up soon; throwing a few digs at the younger cyclopes will relax him. Still, he stalks back and forth in the empty jet, from cockpit to tail, puffing on a cigar that's smoked down to a nub of tobacco when his ears prick.

He turns just in time to watch you walk up the ramp. You're suited to the nines and ready for the mission, your leather outfit hugging every curve on your body.

Logan feels the rampant energy to kill slowly morphing into one of possession.

You catch his wandering eyes as you reach the top. Flashes of snarling teeth, slapping flesh, and debauched moans spark before your eyes as Logan looks you over.

"Logan," you greet him with a wry smile as the older, silver haired mutant rolls his cigar between his lips and nods. His energy permeates the hull of the jet; he's like a wolf standing over maimed prey.

"Ready for this?" Logan asks, breaking the silence and stepping closer to you. He's so large and consuming; he'd scare you if you didn't have the power of mind control.

"I'm always ready." You quip, jutting your chin.

Logan snorts, cigar snatched between his pearly whites. "That so?"

You reply with a teasing hum as your fingers dance over his suited pecs.

"Think you can take me?" He steps even closer, nudging his larger body against your smaller one before flicking the cigar nub to the ground.

You cock your head, eyelashes fluttering. "Why don't you find out."

He grips your shoulders, spinning you on the spot, and shoves you against the wall of the jet; its gentle thrum vibrates your body as he presses himself against your back. "I can smell you, you know."

Your heart beats wildly like a hummingbird. You'd been aching since you stepped onto the jet. "Don't know what you're talking about." You purr dumbly.

Logan snickers at the blatant lie. "Keep those hands where I can see 'em," he grunts, gripping your hips and yanking you back. Your hands glide down the metal wall as your ass nestles against his cock. He's got you in a vulnerable position, bent over and exposed; any of your teammates could walk onto the jet any second. The thought makes you clench.

Logan unzips your suit from the waist down and groans as your curves spill from the tight material. You hide your face in the crook of your elbow as he takes in the sinful sight. "Y'sure are a pretty lil' thing." He comments against your cunt as hot breath ghosts over your core.

Two brute hands palm your ass, roughly kneading the curves before pulling them apart and brazenly spitting on your cunt.

A gasp catches in your throat, and it makes Logan smirk. "Knew you were a dirty girl."

As your lips part to reply snarkily, a hot tongue drags up your puffy folds from clit to taint, leaving no inch untouched.

Logan eats you alive.

At least that's what it feels like as he tightens his hold on your hips, making sure you don't pull away for a second to leave him chasing after you.

He smothers his face into your folds like a lion eating a fresh kill. His tongue lashes against your clit, sending rapturous shock waves up your spine. His nose nudges your taint as he roughly pulls you closer and spears his tongue into your core. He pushes and shoves your hips back and forth, making you ride his tongue until your knees buckle and you gasp his name over and over like a prayer. A dark growl vibrates your cunt as your slick spills into his mouth, and then he's gone.

As you're left reeling from the mindnumbing bliss, wondering why he stopped, he takes advantage and hooks a strong arm around your neck and lifts until your spine is flush with his chest, effectively trapping you in a headlock.

His bicep presses against your carotid as his cock catches on your soaked opening, making you stumble. "Can feel 'er clenchin'," he rumbles, and his beard scratches the soft skin of your temple. "Don't worry, Sugar. I'm gonna take good care'a 'er."

He sheaths himself in one devastating thrust. You have no choice but to take everything he gives you. Your cunt molds around his length, morphing and reshaping into the shape of his cock as he presses into the deepest part of you. He cruelly grinds his hips, kissing your cervix and tearing soft cries from your lips.

He fucks you with a steady pace, withdrawing his cock until the bulbous head catches on your withering hole before plunging it back in. Each shove forces you onto your toes. You anxiously grip his ungodly thick forearm for support.

The metal hull of the jet does nothing to tamper the lewd sounds of slapping skin and sticky arousal.

He presses his leather-clad forearm against your chin, tipping your head against his chest, forcing you to stare up at him. His features drip with untamed darkness as he smirks down at you. For a moment, fear tingles at the base of your spine.

"Gonna be drippin' out in the field," he chastises. "Wonder who else'll smell you?"

Logan's hips begin to pound against the curve of your ass savagely; muscles ripple, and skin rolls like waves; he chases his high like a man possessed.

The feral, all-consuming vigor from the older man rushes through you like a tidal wave, drowning your senses and free will. Your orgasm ignites, sparking so quickly you're powerless to the blinding pleasure that flares deep in your belly.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, growling like a wolf as he comes. His fingers dig into your flesh, pulling a soft, pitiful whine from your body. Copper fills his senses as your blood washes over his tongue, awakening his primal senses. The pain from his touch has your cunt swirling once more. No man could mark you like Logan, nor would you want one to.

Logan unhinges his jaw and eases himself from your warmth with a hiss. As the teeth-sized holes on your neck instantly begin to heal, he licks away the crimson that stains his lips. Your inner thighs glisten, stained with your combined arousal, as you lean against the wall of the jet, catching your breath.

"Made quite a mess, Sugar." Logan can't help but drag his fingers through the gluey spend. His gloved digits prod your swollen folds as he pushes the heady mixture back inside your warmth.

A lithe whine pours from your lips as he teasingly curls his fingers along your walls for added measure. "Think you can keep from drippin' while fightin' the bad guys?"

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[nicksolemnlyswears]

COMFORT ME, STAY WITH ME

pairing: aegon targaryen x targaryen!reader

word count: ~1.6k

warnings: spoilers for s2e2 of HoTD, mentions of murder and death of a child, surprisingly i thinks there isn't any cursing or smut, maybe next time ;) just good old sad aegon

a/n: this is my first time ever writing for HoTD or GoT for that matter. please be kind to me. i tried to use appropriate wording for the time period. i'm somewhat successful but i have work ahead of me to become a pro.

i felt so enraged when alicent walked out on her grieving son to go fuck around with cole. what the fuck is your problem? i always gave her the benefit of the doubt but this episode just proves what a terrible mother she is. i figured the only person fit to comfort my baby boy aegon is someone raised by rhaenyras gentle heart.

lowkey want to make a throuple out of reader, aegon, and helaena. readers gonna be a little psychologist lol. she'd hold their hands and force them to kumbaya haha but obviously they'd be like this cant work without you. maybe they'll follow aegon the conqueror and have her as a second wife but idk would anyone be interested in that? i'm rambling. enjoy!

Helaena’s Turn

STAY WITH US

The cold stone of the Red Keep kept you company as you strode through its halls. The breeze of the night offered you comfort and aided your mind to forget the terrible events that have plagued the Keep.

And yet, despite your energies being depleted, you can't seem to find rest. Loss weighs you down and spirals you into a depth of overbearing thoughts, making sleep a mere idea.

The Red Keep, the place you once called home, has become your prison. For weeks, you were not allowed out of your chambers, and for a short time afterward, a guard followed you wherever you went.

It has all changed, though. The death of the King's son has diverted all of the guard's forces to find the culprit. The priority is to search for the monster that gruesomely and cruelly decapitated a child while he slept rather than to watch over a harmless Princess who is simply not on their side.

As a result, you're now free to roam the castle, granted there are eyes all around. You wouldn't be able to step foot outside the castle if you tried, and any suspicious activity would immediately be reported to the Hand of the King.

For an unknown reason, your feet guide you to the King's chambers, where indiscernible, muffled sounds come from. You look around and find that the guard meant to protect the King is absent. It's worrisome. You stand in the middle of the stone hallway, your hands clasped, as you make a decision.

While your loyalty lies with the Blacks, you cannot stand and watch more of your family be killed, including the Usurper. Daemon has always been 'kind' in mentioning that your gentle heart will cause your death. You'd argue it's an honorable way to go.

You slip through the ajar door quietly, getting closer to the sound. There is destruction across the room. The Old Valyria model your grandfather worked on for most of his life is scattered on the floor, beyond salvation. Goblets and spilled wine, thrown in a fit of rage, decorate the walls.

It is only when a sharp gasp and a shuddering breath echo around the room that you recognize the sounds you heard outside. They are cries.

You release a breath of relief. No one is in danger, although it does not signify someone is not hurting. You peak further into the room and debate on your next course of action. If the mess inside the chambers and the lack of guards mean anything, it's that the King would like to be alone.

But you know Aegon. You grew up with him. He's not one to reach out for help until it's too late. You make a haste decision. Aegon will not grieve alone tonight.

You know what that's like. Your brother, Lucerys, was murdered not too long ago, and you had no choice but to mourn alone. The Hand of the King locked you in your chambers, afraid your temper would lead you to do something drastic. It's the most horrid thing you've ever endured.

How you wished for Rhaenyra, or anyone for that matter, to hold you while you cried. A maid would've sufficed, but no one was allowed entry into your chambers.

Aegon sits by the fireplace, his head hung low, as he cries for his dead son. It might not have looked like it, but Aegon deeply cared for the boy. He wished to be better than his father ever was, and he was succeeding.

Until two days ago.

You've witnessed firsthand the blanket of sorrow that has covered the Red Keep, spent many hours by Haelena's side, offering her your shoulder, and never realized the King would need the same.

Why is Aegon alone? He should not have to go through this by himself. You expected he would have surrounded himself with his men and countless bottles of wine or sought refuge in Helaena's arms since they shared the same grief.

A heartbreaking cry snaps you out of your thoughts—his whole body trembles from loss. Aegon gasps for air to aid his burning lungs, yet he can't control the tears that track down his cheeks and the raking breaths that course through his body and limit his breathing.

He does not know what to make of himself. His fingers shake as he fumbles with the ring on his finger—the one with the dragon crest. Aegon doesn't know what to make of himself. He's never endured this sort of loss.

His sobs are the ones of a man who lost a part of himself. Jaehaerys, his legacy, has gone too soon. Aegon spent time with the boy the morning before his death, doting on him like Viserys never did to him.

He's so lost in his grief that Aegon doesn't hear when you stumble upon a piece of cast from the model. Being careful with your steps, you reach Aegon's side and place a hand on his shoulder.

Alarmed, he turns to face the person who disturbs him, only to find you—you who have been keeping the Hightower siblings together despite belonging to the other side.

"Leave me be," he sniffs, staring back into the fire. He wonders if that's how his son's pyre looked earlier that day.

You kneel on the floor, settling between his legs to cup his cheeks in your palms. Wide, glossy lilac eyes stare back as they fill with more tears.

As his tears fall, you wipe them away. It's enough to make Aegon crumble in your arms, releasing louder cries and questions that will forever remain unanswered.

It's so easy to let go when you know someone is there to catch you.

Aegon fists your dress like a child would to its mother. You rub his back soothingly, holding him as tightly as you're able. You press a kiss to the side of his head, whispering calming words.

Aegon never wanted to be king, yet the moment he tries to fulfill his duty the moment he tries to be a proper king, he is rewarded by his son being brutally taken from him.

It's not a fair world. The Gods have never been kind to him, and he's afraid he'll only ever live a life of torment.

Now, more than ever, he doesn't want to be King. It is a mere reminder of how heavy the crown truly is. It's a shackle meant to keep him in place while others act upon his name while he pays for the consequences.

"Jaehaerys was a bright soul. I am sorry this has happened. You should've never had to experience this pain," you whisper in his ear. No parent should experience the death of their child. It is a sad reality the Targaryens have experienced all too well.

Aegon nods in agreement, and only when he's calm enough to speak does he tear himself away from your embrace. He instantly misses your warmth and the smell of roses in your hair.

"Why are you comforting me when you should be celebrating my demise?" His waterline is stained red, just like the tip of his nose, and he's never looked more innocent than in that moment.

You tilt your head sadly, that same emotion reflected in your eyes. "I do not celebrate the loss of innocents, especially one that has gone too soon. I also do not particularly like the notion of someone I hold dear grieving alone."

"You did," he sniffs. He remembers hearing your cries that night; the whole Red Keep could. You cried and screamed the entire night until you fell asleep from exhaustion and starvation.

Otto prohibited them from coming to you. Haelena tried, but he dismissed the idea with the false notion that you'd hurt her in your grief. Otto confuses you with your parentage. Unlike them, you're kind and gentle and wouldn't dare hurt anyone.

"Which is how I know I would never wish it upon my worst enemy." You brush your fingers through his blonde hair, tucking the messy strands behind his ears.

"Is that what I am to you? An enemy?" He asks, disgruntled.

"No," you answer immediately, your hands coming down to rest upon his chest. His breathing has calmed since you first saw him. "At least, not yet."

His lilac eyes bore into hers in search of the truth; shyly, you hold onto his gaze with nothing to hide except your intentions to help. Sighing, he closes his eyes and bumps his forehead against yours. Aegon will take what he can get. There's seemingly no one else to help him deal with his emotions.

"Stay," he pleads, holding onto the hand that's placed on his chest. This is the most at peace he's felt in a while. He wishes to savor it for a moment longer.

"For as long as you need, my King," you reply, closing your eyes.

"Aegon," he says. He refuses to be reminded of what lies outside his bed chambers. For just a moment, he wishes to simply be Aegon.

"Aegon," you respond, correcting yourself. He squeezes your hand appreciatively, tucking your head on his neck.

He keeps you in his arms until late hours in the night, recounting memories he shared with Jaehaerys. The pain is real and raw, and he won't be well for a long time, but for this night, Aegon will seek solace in your embrace, where he knows he won't be judged or be seen as a burden.

In your arms, he's not Aegon' the Magnanimous.' He's not seen as careless or reckless or the lesser child of Alicent Hightower.

He's Aegon.

helaena’s part has been posted! HELAENA’S TURN

Final part! STAY WITH US

that’s it! it’s sweet and short. i just wanted to have someone comfort aegon like he deserves. during that scene i wished i could jump into t he screen and hug him. it’s all so tragic.

i wish i could do the same with haelena. my girl needs to be coddled. fuck alicent. fuck otto. most importantly fuck criston cole.

if you enjoyed this one shot please don’t forget to like or comment and if you want more of it feel free to let me know! i don’t bite (unless you want me to)!

[k3n-dyll]

Vouyer [Abby A.]

||Men, minors, and ageless DNI

CW: 18+, wlw, a lot of porn - a pinch of plot if you squint and turn your head, subbottom!abby, domtop!reader, Abby getting caught, masturbation, voyeurism cus reader watches her for a hot minute, fingering(A!receiving), tribbing, perv!reader and perv!abby kinda, overstimulation, Abby cries a lil bit

AN: I feel like my brain fizzed out near the end idk. I think I'm cooked. Anyways, hope this doesn't suck ass as much as my brain is telling me it does!

Masterlist. Divider creds DON'T FORGET ABOUT PALESTINE

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ "Just like that- fuck" the words escape her lips, sounding strained and breathless. A thin layer of sweat coats her toned body as she fills herself up to the best of her ability, her thick fingers ramming in and out of her used, sloppy cunt as she chases her orgasm for the third time tonight.

This was not how she had planned for her night to go, but if you could have only seen just how pretty you'd looked; drenched in sweat from head to toe, clothes sticking to every curve of your bruised and bloodied body after such a close call on patrol earlier that day. She'd almost compromised herself just to get a glimpse of you looking like that. Her piercing blue eyes tracked your every movement, once the threat - a pack of infected that had attacked while you were both searching for supplies - was gone.

Or at least she'd thought they were at the time until she felt a pair of gnarled and decaying hands grab onto her shoulders. She killed the thing herself, of course, knocking the stalker off balance with one hard whack of a steel pipe before throwing it onto the ground, forcing the heel of her boot down onto its sprouting head with a splat. Not realizing that it was you she had been distracted by, you gave her a disapproving eye roll and she winced.

It was her own fault you weren't that fond of her, the blonde has ignored you since you first showed up at the WLF a few months back. Even when you became roommates, Abby's demeanor towards you was always cold and disinterested. It was stupid but she figured it was best. She was unable to even think about saying a word to you without her palms sweating. She just knew she'd fuck up and stumble over her words, making herself look weak in front of you and she couldn't have that.

When Abby learned that you were going to spend part of your night drinking with Manny, Owen, and Nora, she took the opportunity to lie.

" 'm tired. Think I'm gonna just go to bed" she had mumbled, feigning exhaustion, going so far as to force a yawn out before she walked back to the room. Alone.

The girl didn't make it five minutes without touching herself, getting comfortable in bed, and shoving her hand down her underwear. Dumbly, she figured that maybe if she just got off once, she could get the image of you out of her brain.

That was how she got where she is now. Naked, driving her middle and ring fingers as deep as she can get them, pumping them in and out of her cunt, her other hand joining as she rubs feverishly over her sensitive clit. The scene is downright pornographic, the sloshing sounds coming from Abby's body as she fucks herself stupid on her own fingers, her jaw slack, your name spilling from her soft lips in sinful prayer.

She wants it to be you so bad, it's almost pathetic.

She can't bring herself to stop - she just knows it'd feel so much better if your hands replaced her own and the rest of her body seems to agree with that thought. So much so that every time she tries to stop or give herself a break that ache comes back full force, a heartbeat forming between her thick thighs. It gets so bad that she considers walking to your side of the room and grabbing one of your t-shirts because at this point your scent could get her there.

"Jus' one more, one more, baby pleasepleaseplease - holy shit"

That third orgasm hits Abby like a truck, her begging eventually becoming a mess of incoherent babbling under her breath, her body twitching as she comes down from her high. Again. And again, it isn't enough. She can't take her mind off of just how fucking good you would look on top of her - god - the mere thought of having your pretty pussy slotted up against hers is enough to make her crave more.

Abby lets out a deep sigh and plops her head back down onto the pillow underneath her as she tries to catch her breath, thinking maybe she should just try to sleep it off. Despite her better judgement though, she finds herself with the pads of her fingers back on her puffy, pulsing clit, stroking herself in languid circular motions.

You stood in the entryway of your room, peeking your head in the door to watch as Abby fucking Anderson of all people split herself on her fingers, letting out the prettiest moans as she chases her release. You knew that you should probably just close the door and quietly sneak away. Go back to the mess hall with your group, maybe pretend you forgot something, and then conveniently "lose track of time" while you were there so that your roommate could finish her little "session".

You really were going to leave. As a matter of fact, you were halfway through closing the door when you heard something that made you stop in your tracks. It was Abby.

And she was moaning your name.

The sound was unmistakable as it was one of the only words you were able to fully recognize through her stupor of bated breaths and blissed-out whining. The frigid, unstoppable force of a soldier that had been ignoring your existence for months was actually begging for you, crying out your name over and over again as she fucked herself.

You found yourself biting your lip at the sound, and before you knew it, you were tip-toeing all the way into your shared room. You practically held your breath as you closed the door behind you, freezing completely once it clicked shut and lightly punching the air in silent celebration once you had confirmed you managed to sneak in undetected.

It was all so perverted, and yet you couldn't stop staring

You were leaning up against the wall beside the door, trying your best to be quiet and resist the urge to shove your hand down your own pants as you watched Abby's naked body convulse under her fingers when she came, eyes trailing over her body as she rode out her high.

It became clear pretty quickly that she'd been at this for a while, unable to satisfy herself completely. You watched as she began to start herself up again, her hand making its way back down between her thighs, her legs twitching still from her previous climax. From what you can see of her face, she seems a bit frustrated, her eyebrows knotted together in almost anger as she lazily works her fingers on her clit. She looks and sounds so precious that, before you can fully think it through, you speak.

"Still not finished?"

Abby nearly falls out of her bed with how quickly she shoots upward, covering herself with her blanket, a deep red blush fanning out along her freckled cheeks. It doesn't take much for her to realize that you heard her, your expression telling her everything she needed to know.

"I was, uh-..."

"Yeah, I heard...and saw" you interrupt, making your way over to the blonde's bed, unable to contain your amusement at the situation as your eyes trail over her.

" 'S this why you've been avoiding me, baby?"

She just stares at you, not fully knowing why she can't bring herself to do anything - to deny your suspicion, yell at you, or do something that would make her stop feeling so vulnerable right now. But she just looks up at you, mouth slightly agape.

"You could have just asked me for some help with that if you wanted it, y'know." you continue, gently gripping her under her chin to make her look at you.

Her jaw clenches, and for a moment, Abby considers pulling away from you. Getting mad and reasserting her dominance or something but you both know that isn't going to happen. You catch a glimpse of her fingers, glistening and wrinkly from how long she's been trying to get herself off, and your suspicions are confirmed which only emboldens you to go further. You lean down a bit closer, your face so close to hers that your noses nearly touch.

"You can't satisfy yourself no matter how hard you try, can you?"

Abby squirms a little but she shakes her head slightly in response, eyes breaking contact with yours but your hand never releases her jaw. You've never seen her look this exposed before - not only in terms of her nakedness but she just looked so vulnerable and small right now, despite her actual size.

You press a kiss to her lips, and she practically melts into you, allowing you to lay her back down on the mattress and crawl on top of her, your hand caught in her loosened braid. The other hand wanders down between her legs, eager to feel the sticky mess that shes turned herself into over the thought of you.

The sweet little whines she gives you as you circle your fingers along her clit are so unfamiliar coming from her but oh so welcome as opposed to her usual stoicism. You almost feel bad for the fact that shes had to wait for so long to finally get that release shes in desperate need of. A release that can only seem to be triggered by your hand.

If Abby wasn't already embarrassed for having been caught, she was sure as hell embarrassed with how quickly you got her to cum on your fingers. You've barely gotten the chance to get them inside of her before her irises roll back, head thrown onto the pillow beneath her as her body twitches in ecstasy.

"S-sorry, I-"

You see her begin to apologize but she's cut off completely at the sight of you sucking her essence off of your fingers, her words being yanked right from her mouth as her arousal comes back with a force. She knows she's way too sensitive to do anything else, but the thought of saying no to you right now doesnt even cross her mind as an option once you start pulling off your clothes.

It's all she can do to keep her hands to herself while you strip. Those vivid blue eyes are glued to your body, enamored by the perfection being uncovered in front of her. You place yourself back on top of her, hiking her leg up over your shoulder and lowering yourself until her cunt is pressed flush against your own. You let out a simultaneous groan at the feeling, grinding yourself down onto her with little regard for how sensitive she is.

"Hnmn- fuck" Abby's hips buck upward involuntarily, her body telling her that she's had enough, but it feels too good to stop.

She couldn't tell you it was too much if she wanted to anyway, every attempted word coming out of her mouth as incoherent whines and half-finished syllables. You watch her face intently as a few tears begin to make their way down her reddened cheeks and it only makes you pick up the pace, pressing wet kisses against the side of her calf as your clit perfectly ruts against hers with each thrust.

"You've wanted this so fuckin' bad, haven't you?" You tease her through gritted teeth, the words spilling out without much thought.

"Want me to fuck you till you cant fuckin breathe, hm?"

All that comes out of Abby in response are breathless "yes's" all jumbled into one word followed desperate little whines, her fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips as if she's afraid you'll stop if she lets go.

"G'na cu- ohmygod" she tries to warn but the poor girl can barely think. You hear her loud and clear though, making a point to apply a bit more pressure, the sloppy noises coming from your bodies moving against one another in tandem bringing you close as well.

The orgasm that results sends electricity through your body, pleasure that's only heightened by the uncontained scream that pulls from Abby's throat when she cums with you, drenching your inner thighs even more. She doesn't even seem to care if anyone hears her, too fucked out to even try to keep her mouth shut. Mercifully, you take the responsibility away from her, crashing your lips onto hers and muffling the sound in the hard, wet kiss.

The euphoria lingers even after you've slowed to a stop, heavy, labored breathing and Abby's soft whimpers the only sounds that occupy the room. A low chuckle escapes you as you pepper soft kisses along her cheeks, your thumb accompanying to wipe up her pretty tears.

AN: One thing I suck at doing is thinking of a way to fuckin close these

reblogs appreciated☆requests open

Almost forgot, taglist: @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery, @ikoinsblog

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 12: Aphrodite, Goddess Of Love] [Series Finale]

A/N: Surprise!!! A new chapter from Maggie?? On a Thursday?? I was just too excited to wait! Please enjoy the final installment of 1968 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6k

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

The sun is rising, and all the guests have dissipated like morning stars. You and Aegon are sitting across from each other at the table in the kitchenette of your suite, cool grey morning light slanting into the silence, confetti on the floor, broken glass, crumbs from the catered appetizers—gyros, hummus, pita, mini spanakopitas, baklava—stomped into the carpet, spots that are soggy with spilled champagne. The Plaza might have to replace it. Outside, rain falls in a mist. Your makeup is smudged; your hair is falling out of its clips and pins. Aemond is waiting, standing with his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, blonde hair slicked back, blue suit, prosthetic eye filling the void in his skull. You know what happens next, but you can’t bring yourself to rise, to speak, to set it into motion. You stare down at the lines in the palm of your uninjured hand and think of the ropes of a sailboat, the invisible strings of gravity that enchain the universe.

Aegon swipes at his eyes: bloodshot, vacant, continuously streaming tears. “I’m gonna go back to Yuma.” 

You look up at him, startled. “Right now?”

“Right now,” Aemond agrees from the wall.

Aegon begs you in a hoarse whisper, eyes dark and glistening like the Atlantic at night: “Come with me.”

Your hands shaking, your voice splintering. “I can’t, Aegon. I can’t.”

He drums his knuckles on the table, gets up from his chair, rushes to you before Aemond can stop him. He’s holding you, his lips to your forehead, the salt of his tears on your cheeks and your lips, like the ocean is bleeding out of him, like he’ll drown you. “I’m sorry,” he says, breath catching in his throat, his pores hemorrhaging smoke, horror, rum, ruin. 

Once you pushed Aegon away, hated him, stained him with your husband’s blood. Now your fingernails hook like claws into his army jacket and cling there, frantic and childlike. “Not yet, please, Aegon, don’t go, please don’t go.”

“I have to, I’m sorry.”

“Aegon, no–”

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s sobbing, he’s trembling, he’s gone. The doorway is empty like an unfinished sentence, like a myth no one remembers. The silence floods back into the rain-grey November air. The room is cold like a mausoleum. You touch your own face: tears Aegon left there, muscles and nerves dead beneath your skin, disbelief you sink through like the sea, waiting to hit the floor deep with the silt of rocks and wreckage and bones.

He’s gone? He’s really gone?

Aemond stalks over to the table, smirking, radiant, his hands in the pockets of his suit; he takes his time, he savors it. He’s never been higher. He was right all along. He can’t be killed, he is destined to be the president. It is God’s will. “Get ready,” Aemond says. “I have a victory speech to make.”

~~~~~~~~~~

He heads west on Route 70, billboards and drive-thrus, toll booths and reflective green mile markers, the kids fighting over who gets to pick the radio station from the back of the Dodge A-100 that Otto had hastily procured, handing over the keys as Aegon rolled his suitcase out of the Plaza Hotel. That first night they stop in Wheeling, Ohio, and the kids have startlingly little resistance to this upheaval. They can’t find much to complain about. A road trip with Dad and only Dad, no journalists badgering them for photos or quotes, no orders barked from Otto or Aemond, no exacting campaign itinerary, no scripted propriety, Mountain Dew spills on the carpet, Pizza Hut boxes on cheap springy motel mattresses.

“What do you think about all this?” Aegon asks Orion when the younger ones have dozed off: Cosmo and Thaddeus on one bed, Violeta in another, Spiro lounging across the threadbare sofa with a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring resting open on his chest.

Orion shrugs, that adolescent aversion to vulnerability, like the whole world is out to shake you down for evidence of the defections you’re so convinced define you. “It’s cool, I guess. It’s like an adventure. And we’ll get to see you a lot more.”

“Yeah you will,” Aegon promises. He feels sick: no booze, no pills, the grease of pepperoni churning in his belly. “And I’m never gonna be the way I was before.”

The bathroom is tiny and spartan, white porcelain, black specks of mildew. When he’s done showering, Aegon wipes the fog off the mirror with his fist. In Ancient Greece, a shaved head was the mark of a slave; it was meant to strip the man of his past, to make him brand new. He remembers Aemond saying this one afternoon as they were all out sailing at Asteria, Aegon sprawled on his back and drinking rum from the bottle as beams of sunlight refracted through the glass, Aemond leafing through one of his history books, Helaena throwing bits of pita to the seagulls, Daeron peering through his telescope for glimpses of dolphins, sharks, bobbing treasure from shipwrecks, imagined enemy vessels. Aegon thinks as he studies his reflection under the harsh fluorescent lights—crinkles by his eyes, skin ravaged by years of careless sunburn—that he wouldn’t mind not having a past. He opens his shaving kit and takes out the straight razor he never uses, shears off his tangled, windswept locks of blonde hair, smiles when the kids laugh and call him Yul Brynner the next morning over breakfast at the diner beside the motel, blueberry pancakes and toast wet with egg yolks. He’s not brand new; it’s impossible to be. But he’s getting closer.

The Fort Yuma Indian Reservation has grown during the Kennedy and Johnson years. The tribe now enjoys a steady income from numerous projects, including the leasing of farmland, a convenience store, a casino and resort, and an RV park. The school has been rebuilt—bigger, more modern, air conditioning, hallelujah—since Aegon was first exiled here twenty years ago, but several of the employees have familiar faces, and the current principal was once an English teacher assigned to be his mentor, a different lifetime, an ancient myth.

“You look good,” Artie says as he descends the concrete front steps on an afternoon in mid-November, 75 degrees, bright cerulean sky, no clouds. He takes Aegon’s outstretched hand and shakes it. “Kind of fat, but good. You still play guitar?”

“I do, yeah. I have one in the back of my van right now.”

Artie glances at the giggling, waving children behind the glass windows. “Jesus Pleasus, how many kids you got?”

Aegon chuckles. “Five, I think.”

“Five! Well, they’re welcome to attend here, if you want them to be where you are.”

“That’s a very generous offer. They’ve never gone to a real school before. They had private tutors in New Jersey.”

“What a great way to raise jackasses, if you ask me.” Artie gives him a stern look over, wrinkled brow, narrowed brown eyes. “You sober?”

“No pills, no drinking, occasional weed.”

“Goddamn, that’s a lot better than I expected.”

“Hey Artie?”

“Uh huh.”

“Would you happen to need a math teacher?”

Artie studies him thoughtfully. “I mean, we’re always looking for qualified math and science people. They leave the quickest, those aerospace and electronics companies over in California pay too much. Why? You know someone?”

“I used to,” Aegon says, then motions for his kids to get out of the van. Artie lets them eat ice cream in the cafeteria while Aegon signs his contract.

He’s in Yuma for three weeks before he meets a girl. Her name is Rachel, and she’s a dream that walked out of the Summer Of Love: hair down to her waist, boots to her knees, handknit vests, chipped nail polish and teasing smiles, a taste for sun and smoking. At night they sit under the stars behind Aegon’s bungalow out in the desert, roasting marshmallows and hotdogs with the kids, Aegon strumming his guitar, Rachel playing her harmonica, a few homely adopted mutts loping around instead of purebred Alopekis. She likes him, this boyish sunbeam of a man who always seems just a little lost, a little sad. She might even love him.

And yet there are ghosts, beasts, threads the fates have not yet severed. One night in January after the kids have gone to sleep, Aegon is flipping through television channels as Rachel returns to the couch with a bowl full of Jiffy Pop, plops down onto the cushions, curls up against him. Aegon stumbles upon CBS Evening News, a clip from the inauguration, and his words vanish mid-sentence, his eyes—an opaque, stormy, melancholic sort of blue—growing wide. He doesn’t change the channel. He doesn’t move at all.

“What?” Rachel asks. On the screen is a clip of President Targaryen being sworn in, his wife at his side and cradling the Bible in her hands. She’s wearing Oscar de la Renta—a powder blue wool coat that matches her husband’s tie—and a stately new hairstyle that is very distinctly inspired by Jackie Kennedy. Her smile is serene and dignified, if perhaps a bit remote. She could be a marble statue in a garden or a museum. It must be a lot of pressure for her, Rachel thinks. To live up to being the partner of a man that remarkable. “Aegon? Baby, are you okay?”

After a long time Aegon says, very softly, like it’s only to himself: “He made her cut her hair.”

Rachel stares mystified at the television and then turns back to Aegon. “What happened with her?” Something must have. He looks staggered, he looks haunted, he looks like someone Medusa turned to stone. Rachel knows about who Aegon is, of course, everyone does; but he never wants to talk about it. When people mention his family, Aegon smiles politely and then changes the subject. When they ask about his sister-in-law, he says he needs a cigarette and walks out of the room. She sent him a beautiful, shimmering gold acoustic Gibson guitar for Christmas; the first lady’s name was on the return address. To Rachel’s knowledge, Aegon never thanked her.

Aegon shakes his head, and Rachel can’t tell if that means the story is too long or too short, unrealized potential, loose kaleidoscopic strands of stardust, infinitesimal moments that wouldn’t have meaning to anyone else. “Nothing.” Then he resumes switching channels: I Dream of Jeannie, Bewitched, the Newlywed Game.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your parents fly north for the inauguration, so proud, so effusive, interviewed by every major news network. Business is booming at the Spongeorama Sponge Factory back in Tarpon Springs. They are seated between Alicent and Ludwika’s mother Elzbieta, newly arrived from Poland. LBJ and Lady Bird are cordial but uncharacteristically understated, retreating back to their home state of Texas like kicked dogs. All the defeated adversaries of the campaign trail attend to show their support, to wordlessly plead for a long-awaited national reconciliation. George Wallace won’t meet your eyes. Richard Nixon whispers through your hair as he clasps your scarred hand: “Aemond could never have done this without you.”

Jackie Kennedy’s chosen cause as first lady was the restoration of the White House, Lady Bird’s was environmental protection. You want to visit schools and help teach math to little kids, but Aemond decides it would be more politically expedient for you to be seen tending to wounded veterans of Vietnam; so you spend many of your days in hospitals, inhaling charred flesh and Lysol and dying flowers and blood. The Japanese ambassador bows lower to you than he does to Aemond. The prime minister of France tries (unsuccessfully) to flirt with you. Athenagoras I of Constantinople, the Archbishop of the Greek Orthodox Church, brings you a komboskini he has blessed. Reprieves come in slivers like a disappearing moon: lunches with Fosco–carpaccio, caprese, bolognese, polenta–and drinks with Ludwika, always something with rum, something that tastes like Aegon. You dream of incubators and arterial spray, stitches and scars and crimson bandages, the flash of blades, the thunder of bullets; but the would-be assassins go to prison and no one else ever tries. You are Persephone in the Underworld. You are Io in the wilderness.

You are just beginning to panic about what you’ll do when your tiny pink birth control pills run out when Fosco shows up to one of your lunches with a paper bag full of familiar circular packets. “I have been informed that I am to be your dealer,” he says, grinning. “I will be back with more in six months. I told the doctor they were for my mistress. I don’t even have a mistress! Isn’t this exciting? I am like a secret agent. I am the Italian James Bond. The name’s Viviani, Fosco Viviani.”

“Aegon asked you to do this?”

“Well, he did not ask, exactly. I do not think I was allowed to say no.”

You hide the paper bag in the Louis Vuitton purse Ludwika bought you, so thankful you don’t have words for it, missing Aegon like Orpheus missed Eurydice, searching through the shade-haunted grey haze of the Underworld for her.

“It was odd,” Fosco says quietly, delicately. “He did not want to know anything about you. He asked if you needed anything else that I was aware of, I said no, and then he hung up when I started to tell him about Christmas dinner.”

You remember Aegon’s words, ghosts from where Long Beach Island meets the Atlantic Ocean: Mimi wasn’t as strong as you. Maybe what Aegon didn’t say is that he isn’t either. You imagine the fates snipping threads, the memoryless oblivion offered by the River Lethe, moons becoming greater and lesser. He has to try to forget you. You have to let him.

On Valentine’s Day weekend, Daeron comes home. He and John McCain are the last two men freed from the prisoner of war camp known as the Hanoi Hilton. When he steps off the plane, Daeron is carrying with him, of all things, a single white rat in a wire cage. The first question he asks, after being engulfed in embraces from Alicent, Criston, and Fosco, is: “Where’s Aegon?” And he knows from the stilted, piecemeal explanations he receives that something has happened. You take Daeron to breakfast the next morning, and you don’t tell him everything, but you tell him enough. He spends a month recuperating at Asteria, then follows Zephyr, the god of the west wind, across the country to Arizona.

Aegon didn’t send you anything for Christmas, and he didn’t respond to the guitar you gifted him with Ludwika’s assistance. But on July 13th, a green envelope arrives in your mail basket with no return address. You open it to find a greeting card with an exuberant cow on the front. Inside, the original message—You’re mooooooving on up in the world! Happy retirement!—has been crossed out with black ink. You laugh, your first real laugh in weeks, and then read what Aegon has written in his chaotic, scribbling penmanship:

I thought this was blank :)

Hope you’re doing okay. You look great on tv.

Then there is an expanse of open white space, like a weighty hesitation. There’s no signature, but there is one final note like a postscript.

Thank you for the guitar, but please don’t send anything else. It fucks me up, you know?

Yes, you do know. Aegon never calls you, but Cosmo does. Once or twice a week he dials your private line at the White House–Aegon must have asked Fosco for it–and tells you all about his new life in Yuma, his school, his friends, the dogs, the desert. Aegon’s met someone named Rachel; Cosmo mentions her intermittently yet with unmistakable fondness: “Rachel makes the best s’mores,” “Rachel told me about seeing Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock,” “Rachel took us to pick pumpkins for Halloween.” You’re glad Cosmo calls, and you’re glad he’s happy; but afterwards you always feel so indescribably, irredeemably sad.

You sneak your pills and avoid Aemond as much as you can, something that becomes easier as he spends long hours reviewing briefs in the Oval Office, preparing speeches, meeting foreign dignitaries, strategizing with his cabinet, and scheming against his conservative foes across the nation, a faction soon led by California governor Ronald Reagan. You stand perfectly still as designers alter Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent and Givenchy to fit you like woolen armor. You strike up a chaste, harmless flirtation with a Secret Service agent from Atlanta named Nathaniel, not because he reminds you of Aegon—Nate is 6’4, 250 pounds, and a former Navy SEAL—but because he listens, because he is kind. He gives you riveting summaries of films and books that are considered too scandalous for you to be seen enjoying. He makes fun of your matronly skirt suits. He takes you to get lemon-lime Mr. Mistys at Dairy Queen. He massages your scarred hand with rose oil.

In May of 1969, Aemond voices support for university students across the nation protesting in favor of increased Black faculty and Africana Studies courses. In July, the Apollo 11 mission lands the first men on the moon, effectively ending the Space Race with an American victory. In September, Lieutenant William Calley receives a sentence of life in prison for his role in the My Lai Massacre the previous year. In November, the Rolling Stones release a new album entitled Let It Bleed. Ludwika gives you the record for Christmas along with an array of perfumes and lipsticks, all extravagantly packaged in a pink Gucci gift box. Your favorite song is Gimme Shelter. You listen to it at dusk in the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden, your chair facing west, taking slow drags off Lucky Strike cigarettes that Nate buys for you, embers glowing as the sun disappears.

“What’s out there?” Nate asks you one night with a slinky half-grin, and then when you don’t immediately answer: “You’re always looking that way. What are you looking for?”

You don’t know what to tell him. Nothing. Everything. Something that almost happened. And slowly, under a lavender twilight peppered with the remote glimmers of constellations—stars that cannot be changed, disasters predestined since before you were born—Nate’s smile dies, and he never asks again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three time zones away, Aegon’s hair grows out and he gets his ears re-pierced, tiny gold hoops that make him think of wedding rings. Rachel pretends she doesn’t want to get married. Aegon doesn’t offer. Once in a while after the kids have gone to bed, he climbs into the hammock in the backyard and smokes a joint, staring absently into the east as the new Rolling Stones album spins on the record player. Aegon’s favorite song is You Can’t Always Get What You Want. Rachel stands at the telescope they set up for the kids—Cosmo’s idea—and stargazes, making her way down a checklist of visible celestial objects.

One night Aegon asks as she’s squinting through the eyepiece: “Where’s Jupiter?”

Rachel glances over at him, then points up at the indigo sky. “It’s that one, the really bright spot near Perseus. Why?”

Aegon shrugs, exhaling smoke. “No reason,” he says; but he’s still looking at Jupiter, wounded, stoned wonder floating on the surface of his watery eyes.

Daeron settles down in Yuma and buys a ranch. He does some work at the VA Hospital a few hours away in Tucson, some white water rafting on the Colorado River, some hiking in the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge, a whole lot of roughhousing with his niece and nephews. John McCain, now a war hero and national celebrity, is always calling to see if Daeron has decided to run for office yet. A few times a year, they receive visitors from the East Coast: Alicent, Criston, Ludwika, Helaena, Fosco, and their three children. The president and first lady are not mentioned unless by accident. The kids adore their grandmother, and she loves them back, although Alicent never learns to appreciate Tessarion the rat and refuses to hold her. In 1970, Helaena and Fosco have one last baby, a daughter they name Marina after Mimi. Life goes on, but the ghosts remain.

On a chilly evening in January of 1972, Aegon is flipping through television channels when he lands on an NBC segment about First Lady Targaryen touring the Walter Reed National Military Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland. “That’s so fucked up,” Aegon murmurs as she calmly soothes the suffering of mutilated men, and his voice is dark with scorching, clandestine fury. He gestures to the screen with the remote control. “She hates hospitals. He makes her do things that hurt her. He does it just to prove he can.”

Rachel says as she stands in the threshold between the living room and the kitchen, a question she has finally worked up the courage to ask: “No one is ever going to be able to compare to her, right?”

Aegon opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it again. And something washes over him like waves of the ocean, sun on sand, poison in the blood and the lungs, myths that carve themselves into your bones so deep you can see the red of the marrow underneath. He replies truthfully, his eyes still on the screen: “Right.”

Rachel packs her bags. Aegon gets up to help her. He feels it’s the least he can do.

~~~~~~~~~~

When you and Aemond return to Asteria for summer vacations, the seaside Targaryen compound is full of ghosts. You catch glimpses of Mimi stumbling up staircases, Cosmo trotting after you as you turn corners, Aegon smoking a joint under the statue of Zeus in Helaena’s garden. You open cabinets and bottles of his pills fall out. You see Sunfyre bobbing abandoned in the boathouse. The basement is just as Aegon left it. Sometimes you go down there and stand on the green shag carpet in the hushed, cool, damp emptiness, not knowing what you’re waiting for, staring at the wall until someone comes to look for you.

“What’s in these?” Nate asks one afternoon, snatching a notebook off the shelf. “Oh wow, look!” He shows you messy sketches in black ink, cartoon versions of the stories of Greek gods and goddesses, myths reimagined. “Who do you think drew them?”

“Maybe Daeron,” you reply, but it wasn’t him. You’d know Aegon’s handwriting anywhere. Nate leafs through a bunch of the notebooks, booming laughter—he especially enjoys that Poseidon has been characterized as a sexually insatiable dolphin—and reading his favorite parts out loud to you. One notebook is only half-full; the last few pages are covered with drawings of tiny cows, telephones with long spiral cords, the moon in all its phases. You tear these out to keep.

On each July 13th, there is a card with no return address waiting in your mail basket at the White House, always featuring a jovial cow, always making you smile. You entrust Nate with the task of hiding the notebook pages and greeting cards away somewhere safe, an arrangement he honors like an oath.

Every so often, when you feel lethal bitterness kindling, you are struck by the inspiration to find Aemond’s Ouija board. It must be here in the White House someplace, but you can’t figure out where. You search the bedrooms, rummage through closets, climb into the oak cabinets beneath bathroom sinks; you scrabble around like a rodent under the cover of darkness while Aemond is away on state visits and campaign rallies for fellow Democrats. Maybe he makes secret stops in Tacoma or Seattle. If he does, you don’t care. You’d rather Aemond be there than here.

In the spring of 1972, you find the Ouija board in a drawer of the Resolute desk, where Aemond conducts official business in the Oval Office. “Oh, that is insane,” you say to yourself as you slide it out. You mean to burn it in your bedroom fireplace, then think again. On the back of the board, the inscription has faded, as if traced by Aemond’s fingertips again and again.

If I destroy this, what will he do to Aegon and his children? What will he do to me?

You place the Ouija board back where you found it, slide the drawer shut, and crawl into bed, besieged by dreams of smoke and rum and the rumbling bass of Season Of The Witch.

Aemond’s national approval rating hovers between 55-70%—far about the historical average, although he never stops pining for an heir and proper first family to maximize his allure—until May of 1972, when the tide begins to turn. The treaty formally ending U.S. involvement in the war was signed back in early 1969, but the hasty troop withdrawal left capitalist South Vietnam vulnerable, and now it is being invaded by the communists backed by China and Russia. The Fall of Saigon is immortalized in the evening news, printed on the covers of newspapers; people who once collaborated with the Americans are shot dead in the streets. Refugees flee west to Laos and Cambodia and Thailand, east on makeshift rafts into the ocean. The few that Aemond manages to hurriedly admit into the U.S. inspire racism and xenophobia from suburbanites. Many of the hippies have grown up, had children, gotten jobs, settled down with credit cards and mortgages. Protestors march with signs out on Pennsylvania Avenue: America abandons her allies! Our global reputation is in peril! Will the communists invade here next? What did my son die for?

“They wanted me to end it,” Aemond marvels as he gazes out the White House windows. “They begged for me to end it, and now look at them. Ungrateful imbecile bastards.”

And you give him a rare piece of advice that he listens to: “You should call LBJ.”

On his ranch fifty miles outside of Austin, Texas, Lyndon Baines Johnson is dying of heart failure. Still, he smokes more or less constantly, and refuses to adhere to the diet Lady Bird fretfully lectures their chefs about. He has grown his grey hair long and sits for as many interviews as he can, desperate to salvage his legacy and remind people of the things he did right: civil rights legislation, the War On Poverty, rising from a poor farming family to the Oval Office. He knows exactly what it feels like to be hated for having no good options. He says gruffly through the phone: “The Vietnam War needed to end, Aemond. It had to happen. But someone has to pay for it, too. That’s your job now. Take the fall, and the country survives. Plenty of people still love you. And I’m proud of you, son. I know it ain’t easy, believe me. But I’m real proud.”

Still, Aemond fights. He can’t help it. It’s all he’s ever known.

He campaigns at a murderous pace, and you have to follow him across the nation. Perhaps intentionally, there are no campaign stops in Arizona. Aemond does very well, but Ronald Reagan does better; he’s quick and he’s cutting, but he’s also funny, and grandfatherly, and warm, and God knows the American people could use some of that after the past decade. He characterizes Aemond’s policy regarding Vietnam as “peace without honor.” He calls Aemond short-sighted about a dozen times, a jab his supporters guffaw at. He says the United States has surrendered its rightful place as the leader of the free world. His wife Nancy—his second wife—is vehemently opposed to recreational drugs and other supposed moral crimes including abortion and premarital sex. You hate her, and she hates you right back, though in a perfectly pleasant, ever-smiling, mid-century housewife sort of way. Reagan’s disciples call you a whore. Aemond gets the newspapers still loyal to him to publish scathing denials. You aren’t exactly sure why he does this; no comment at all would almost certainly be wiser politically, as Otto advises. But Aemond does it anyway, with deep trenches of violent determination knit into his scarred brow.

The 1972 presidential election is held on Tuesday, November 7th. It is not until the early hours of the morning on Wednesday the 8th that Aemond learns he has narrowly lost. It couldn’t possibly be construed as your fault; he wins Florida by a greater margin than he had in 1968. As the sun rises in a bright, cloudless sky, Aemond’s entourage clears out of the Lincoln Sitting Room, leaving the two of you alone with the droning television. Aemond is sipping an Old Fashioned on one end of the couch. You light yourself a Lucky Strike cigarette on the other. For once, Aemond doesn’t seem to mind.

“You know,” Aemond muses after a while. “Ronald Reagan is divorced.”

Your heart is racing; you aren’t sure what he’s offering. You’re petrified to say the wrong thing and change his mind. “Yeah, he is.”

Aemond nods, twirling his Old Fashioned so the ice cubes clink against the misty glass, not looking at you. “I think I’ll marry Alys and adopt the boy.”

And that’s how you learn that what Aegon said in the doorway of a hospital room four and half years ago was true, no impassioned declarations, no gratitude, only grudges that have grown quiet and cold and dormant. At last, Aemond is done with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Otto, glowering spitefully, getaway car procurement extraordinaire, hands you the keys to a green Chevy Nova. On the front steps of the White House, you say goodbye to a palpably heartbroken Nate. He gives you the notebook pages and greetings cards. You give him a kiss on the cheek, a parting stain of red lipstick. But instead of blood, the color makes you think of cherry-flavored Mr. Mistys, the Lucky Strike logo, roses, sunburn, firelight, the rust-hued earth of the desert. You duck into the Nova and start driving.

The East Coast unfolds into the Midwest and then turns jagged as you hit the Rocky Mountains. At a gas station in Albuquerque, New Mexico, you toss your remaining birth control pills—still squirreled away in a box of hollowed-out tampons—into a trash bin. At a McDonald’s in Asher, Arizona, just forty minutes outside of Yuma, you stop to get a large Coca-Cola and touch up your makeup in the bathroom mirror: black eyeliner, gold shadow, both as heavy as you want them to be. You stroll back to your Nova under a radiant November sky that feels like summer, smiling to yourself. The hem of your roomy, floral skirt billows around your brown leather boots in the desert wind. Your earrings are small, glinting gold hoops. Your white tank top is simple and hand-crocheted, found at a yard sale in Amarillo, Texas; but your sunglasses are Bugatti, a gift from Ludwika.

You park outside the only school on the Fort Yuma Indian Reservation and go inside to the front office. The secretary says distractedly: “Can I help you, ma’am?” Then she does a double take. “Oh, I’m sorry, dear, do I…do I know you from somewhere…?”

“You might,” you say, pushing your sunglasses up into your hair. It’s only shoulder-length now, but growing, and wild from the wind. “I was hoping to find Mr. Targaryen, does he still work here?”

“He sure does, but he doesn’t like anyone calling him that.”

Of course he wouldn’t. “Just Aegon then. Which classroom is…?”

But before you can finish your question, and before she can answer, you hear echoing through the labyrinthian hallways the start of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s Bad Moon Rising, not just an acoustic guitar but bass and drums too.

“I see the bad moon a-risin’

I see trouble on the way

I see earthquakes and lightnin’

I see bad times today

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

The secretary laughs, keeping rhythm with taps of her pencil on her desk. “I guess you can find him on your own, can’t ya?”

Yes, you can. You follow the music through long empty corridors, wondering where all the students are. You drag your fingertips—black polish, chipped around the edges—along grooves in the cinder block walls that have been painted over with vibrant murals. The song is getting louder, and now you hear other noises too, an ocean of energetic voices and squealing chairs.

“I hear hurricanes a-blowin’

I know the end is comin’ soon

I fear rivers over flowin’

I hear the voice of rage and ruin

Don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise, alright!”

You step into the cafeteria, raucous with students swapping pudding cups and bags of chips. Many of them are watching the stage, clapping along, playing their own imaginary guitars. Aegon is there strumming the sparkling gold guitar you sent him for Christmas back in 1968. He hasn’t seen you yet; he’s grinning at the kids up on the stage with him—his fellow bandmates, his fledgling rockstars—and leaning back from the mic to give them pointers. But Cosmo has. He flies out of his seat and crashes into you, now nearly ten years old, long blonde hair, a Rolling Stones t-shirt.

“You’re back!” he bellows over the music as you hug him. Teachers chatting amongst themselves by the wall give you curious glances.

“Yeah, kiddo. I am.”

“For a visit?”

“Maybe for a little longer than that.”

“Yay!” he shouts, jumping up and down.

You look back to Aegon, and now his eyes catch on yours: instantaneous recognition, disbelief, amazement. He’s just like you remember him; he’s just like he is in your dreams. You raise an eyebrow and wave tentatively. His own words surface in your skull like swimming up through cool, sunlit water: What are we gonna do about it? And Aegon smiles, the god of light, music, healing, truth.

Now his tiny bandmates are yelling at him, irate. He’s still plucking at his guitar on autopilot, but he’s missed his cue to sing the last verse. He shakes off his astonishment and continues, beaming, watching you.

“Hope you got your things together

Hope you are quite prepared to die

Looks like we’re in for nasty weather

One eye is taken for an eye

Well don’t go around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Cosmo sprints back to his lunch to stop a friend from seizing his unguarded Ding Dongs.

“Don’t come around tonight

Well it’s bound to take your life

There’s a bad moon on the rise.”

Aegon gives his guitar a final few strums as the cafeteria erupts into cheers and applause. His bandmates bow to their audience as Aegon takes off his guitar, leaps down from the stage, runs to you as children twist in their seats to stare. He’s wearing khaki shorts, tan moccasins, a half-unbuttoned white shirt that actually fits him, dog tags with Daeron’s name on them. He’s so afraid to ask the question; he’s terrified you won’t say the right answer. “Io…what the hell are you doing here?”

You shrug, casual, teasing. “Didn’t like where I was. Thought I’d try someplace new.”

He touches your face to make sure you’re real, marveling at you, his voice going hushed. “We’ve lost so much time.”

“Don’t worry. Your life’s only half over.”

Aegon laughs, eyes shining. “I’m really, really looking forward to the rest of it.”

You can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses you; you can hear a quiet, kind melody that fills the universe, the sound of all the chains of gravity breaking and moons drifting free from their planets.

[girlthatsinsane]

ATTENTION

carl grimes x reader

summary: you want his attention

tags: smut, p in v, praise (kinda)

you sat there in his lap in nothing but you panties, legs on each side of him moving desperately against his body, but he stays seated in his chair. carl was playing video games, he has been for hours on end, which meant no attention for you.

but today was so hard for you to tolerate his lack of focus on you, you’ve been so unbelievably horny all day. thats why you ended up here, grinding against his dick that was still in his boxers.

“carl, i want you” you whine rolling your hips down on his. “i need you”. he knows how needy you get, how bad you want him. but instead of just helping you get off, he decides to make you do it yourself instead. your fingers hook onto the hem of his boxers, pulling them down to reveal his dick, already hard from the movements you made on it.

you grab his dick, earning a gasp out of him. but he stayed paying no attention, eyes glued to the video games in front of you two. it killed you that he wasn’t focused on you, but you were too far gone to stop now. moving your panties to the side, carl groans as you sink down onto his cock coating it with your slick, whimpering as you do so.

“thats it baby, get yourself off for me, think you can do that?” he grunts feeling your hole tighten around him. you rock your hips back and forth, feeling him so deep inside you, making moans spill out of you. you shake your head up and down, to respond as you move so desperately around him. “y-yes..” you agree quietly.

he leans back in his chair, giving you more access to move as you try to lift yourself up and down on him. you feel his dick twitch at the feeling if your walls sliding up and down on him, pretty noises fall from your lips as you try to ride out your feeling of bliss. his head tilts, not taking his focus off the game he’s playing, you wrap your arms around his neck, holding him as you use him for your pleasure.

you feel the knot in your stomach forming, making you bounce faster on him not containing the whimpers and occasionally moaning his name. carl notices this, his head tilts and laughs at how needy you sound, and look. “so eager to finish, aren’t you?” he teased, bucking his hips up adding onto your pleasure. “please, carl, please.” you moan in response feeling yourself get closer and closer.

you move your hand down to your clit, drawing circles on it, tightening around his dick making him groan at the feeling. “you gonna cum on my dick? fuck baby, just want all my attention.” he growled. your mouth drops at the sound of his voice, hearing him made all of it so much better, and he knew that. you grip onto his shoulders, not even warning him before you came all over his dick. your legs shake at the feeling, your body calming down in the process.

you let out a breath, planting your head in the crook of his neck trying to manage your breathing. you feel both of his hands go to your hips, gasping as he twisted you down on him. his eyes looks dark and blown with lust, he looks you up and down licking his lips.

he thrusted into her again. “okay baby, you have my attention now.”

a/n: hiii its short but i hope u like this, i’m running out of ideas to write about lol. xo

ps u can request if u want & so i don’t feel like a loser :3

[tired-biscuit]

hi just thinking abt a uhhhhhhhhhh werewolf who's already filled u full but keeps rocking his knot inside u until it swells up all over again bc ur godly writing just ??? 🫣👉👈

imagine trying to push him off of you because you’re so overwhelmed.

one of your hands is on his jaw; fingertips accidentally bumping against drool-slicked canines, the other is on his chest, the hair there so coarse and thick, hiding a wild-beating heart.

your hips wiggle as you attempt to cause some distance between your body and his intimidatingly bigger one just so that you’d be able to gather your breath and a shred of your sanity at least, but you just can’t — no matter what.

he’s got you pinned underneath him, after all; pressing you so far into the mattress that the bed frame is protesting. the wood of the bed frame repeatedly snaps and cracks but he keeps on pushing, keeps on pushing inside you. to make matters even worse, his knot is swollen again and is snuggled tightly against that tender spot that makes you want to close your legs and weep.

but despite the fact that you can’t currently close your legs from the way he’s claimed his rightful place between them, you still cry out at the fullness; at the way his inhuman tongue laps at the single tear that slides from the corner of your eye, then; gliding right down the curve of your cheek. he catches it before it reaches the edge of your jaw. sniffs, warm puffs of air tickling your skin, to see if there are any more to follow before he settles on painting a single line of warm saliva up your neck, right across your pulse point and up the side of your face.

you twitch at the bestial portrayal of affection he gives you now, writhing atop the sweat-soaked bed sheet but stopping immediately when the flash of heat sears you at the place where you connect to him, or rather he to you.

he’s literally stuck inside you for a second time in a row, causing you to feel like your pussy is about to burst. a small hiss leaves your lips in response to the sensation, however you’re relieved to find out that it’s fast to mellow out when you don’t move around as much.

still, it shouldn’t even be there in the first place, now should it? he promised you that the entire thing wouldn’t take long…

and yet here you are.

“i can’t believe you,” you chide, chest heaving because of the anger that bubbles within. “we’re seriously doing this again?”

at your nagging, your werewolf boyfriend stares down at you with what you could best describe as an unimpressed look his eyes. the slits that have replaced his pupils dilate sideways, eating up most of the yellow iris before relenting and thinning back to their original size again.

“keep still and it’ll be okay,” he grumbles, agitation lacing his already gruff, animalistic voice, causing it to sound even more dangerous than it already does. he doesn’t want to come across as mean or inconsiderate, especially when you’re so vulnerable and split open for him like this, but he knows your constant squirming may cause pain for the both of you.

“you’re gonna kill me like this, you know,” you mumble, stubbornly turning your head to the side when he leans in to kiss you. “gonna lose your mate just because you’re one greedy motherf—f-fuck!”

he huffs a laugh that sounds like thunder at your stutter, at the way you pretend to refuse him even if he can feel your pussy clamping down on him tighter, tighter, tighter when the knot finally does its job and stuffs you full completely, locking itself inside you yet again.

your inner thighs are still tacky. his cum and your arousal that have dribbled out of you after the first time are still drying, and here he is: already planning on spilling another load inside you. already thinking about plugging you and keeping you submissive until the seed sticks, just like he did earlier.

it’s his favourite part, especially because the face you make whenever the warmth of his release pools inside your belly is absolutely priceless.

however, nothing, absolutely nothing beats the face you pull when he sneers, gets real close to your ear and whispers,

“the only thing i’m gonna do is make sure you’re pregnant with my pups, sweetheart.”

[scoutswritingcorner]

What about an au where Striker works for I.M.P? 🥺

Striker Working for I.M.P

Striker x GN! Reader

A/N: I know you just wanted to do an AU where you wanted just Striker but I am a gay simp for this fucking maniac of a cowboy. 

TW:None?

-☠️Either you just joined or are just training with him whilst the others are out? He’s a hard teacher no doubt. He’ll critique every little thing but he means it in a nice way. He doesn’t need you getting hurt or killed on his watch.

-☠️ Will teach you hand to hand combat and how to disarm someone quickly just in case.

-☠️ A huge lonewolf still but much more easier to get along with cause he has a huge soft spot for you and only you, (he has one for the whole gang but don’t point it out)

-☠️ Still wears his cowboy get up but he strikes me as a fellow who also likes to wear sweaters and a denim jacket everywhere he goes. Also blue jeans and his iconic boots with his hat. You’ll never see him hatless unless he’s letting you and only you wear it.

Platonic Route

-☠️ Big Brother energy. He’ll annoy the shit out of you and then act like it wasn’t his fault.

-☠️ Will steal your snacks and then act like he didn’t. Don’t worry he gets you some more.

-☠️ Will fight you over some stupid shit. Like a kill or if you ate some of his food.

-☠️ Very sweet though, someone hitting on you or unwanted attention? He’s behind you and glaring at the person.

-☠️ Partner acting a fool? He’s immediately taking your side. They cheated? Their car is totaled and they have broken legs. 

-☠️ HE LOVES TALKING SHIT ABOUT EVERYONE. Just go up to him and start talking, he’s immediately focused on you and what’s going on.

-☠️ Gets Loona in on it too cause he also acts like an older brother figure to her and now it’s turned into you three around her desk spilling some fucking hot ass tea. Maybe about your ex or someone else you all collectively hate.

-☠️ Once again, he hates Stolas but he also acts like a big brother to Octavia and will take you, Loona and Octavia out on the town to just relax or have fun. Don’t worry he’s got his gun and knife if anyone tries shit. He ain’t afraid to get his hands dirty to protect his people.

-☠️ He hates photos of himself. He doesn’t like to be perceived but he will let you three take photos of him but he’s a big ole grump about it.

Romantic Route

-☠️Oh boy, he’s even more protective than before. If you both are on the job and he thinks it’s going to be a tougher kill? He’s taking it and sends you off to go check on the others. 

-☠️ That one scene in the D.H.O.R.K.S episode where Blitz and Moxxie were taken? Yeah you were with them and when Striker got you back with the others? He’s feral. He will kill anything that touches a single hair on your head.

You hang your head in shame as you listen to Blitz and Moxxie yell back and forth with one another. How did you allow yourself to get caught? The doors busted open as Millie, Loona and Striker ran over, a crazed look in his eyes. “Oh shit- You okay darling?”  He asked untying you from the chair and pulling you close, checking all over you for any injuries. “I’ll kill these bastards if they hurt ya” He snarled out.

-☠️Such a sweetheart. He’s more prone to lazing around the office with you if there’s nothing to do and will occasionally take naps. 

-☠️ Out on the town with him? He’s spoiling the fuck out of your ass. Like it’s unreal.

-☠️ Loves going to fairs with you, it’s prime time for him to get you everything and to show off his shooting skills.

-☠️In this AU Bombproof is a motorcycle cause I said so and he takes care of it like its his baby. He also gets you your own helmet and lets you ride with him through the city. Date nights are much more fun when you're speeding through each ring and seeing different sites.

-☠️Loves getting/giving good luck kisses. If you don’t give him one before a mission he thinks he’s gonna fail and it bothers him. Doesn’t matter if it’s a kiss on the lips, cheek or forehead. He wants his good luck kiss.

[forcryingoutlloud]

just the way you like it

a/n: this was originally supposed to be a valentines day fic, but we're not gonna talk about the fact that its July. pure shit writing as per but what do you expect :) anyway feedback is appreciated unless its negative, then you can keep it to yourself as im very sensitive pls and thx. the ending is also WANK because idk how to end fics so pls ignore that.

warnings: smut (18+ minors DNI!!) masturbation (m), unprotected sex, cumplay?, slight spanking, d word, degradation (mixed with slight praise), butt plug use but no butt stuff, gagging (with her panties), think that's it

"I miss you too baby," he sighed and flopped backwards on the uncomfortable hotel bed, rubbing a hand over his face. "only a week and then we can see each other."

he heard her sigh softly down the phone, and then hum. “i know,” he swore he could picture the pout on her face, “i just miss you so much. three months is way too long without you.”

he frowned and kicked off his shoes, shuffling backwards so he was leaning against the headboard. "i'm sorry darling, i'll make it up to you though, I promise. i'll do whatever you want."

“whatever i want hm?” he could hear the smirk in her words and his eyes involuntarily rolled back. “i may have a few things in mind.”

matty groaned down the phone, slightly embarrassed by the fact he just popped a boner at the mere mention of sex, and took a deep breath. "shit baby, you're killing me."

her giggle ran through the speakers and he smiled softly, resisting the urge to relieve some of the tension growing in his boxers.

“i have to go baby, I'm supposed to be at a meeting in 20 minutes, but i'll speak to you later. I love you."

he couldn't help the grin that came to his face. despite the fact they'd been dating for two years, those three words meant the world to him coming from her lips. "i love you too, sweetheart."

he hung up the phone and placed it face down on his chest, picking it up again when he heard a ping.

my love <3

just a little something to keep you going for a week xo

his eyebrows creased in confusion, before his jaw dropped when he saw what she had sent. it was a picture of her in a lacy red number, her tits spilling from the cups.

she was laying on the bed in the picture, with the phone held above her. he groaned when he inspected the picture further, noticing her fingers on her tongue, dripping with her arousal.

his cock twitched and he painfully brought his eyes away from the picture, looking at the obvious tent in his trousers.

he quickly removed his clothes, palming himself over his boxers, teasing himself just like she would. he snuck a hand under the fabric, hissing when his thumb rubbed against his tip.

he wrapped a hand around himself and cursed, his hips jumping up at the contact. he slowly began to pump himself, getting into a steady rhythm, biting his lip to stifle his groans.

he picked up the phone with his other hand, his pace fastening the more he stared at the picture. he ran a thumb other his tip and cursed, feeling his orgasm approaching rapidly.

"fuck," he threw the phone somewhere in the room, and his head back when his orgasm hit, his hips bucking into the air. his cum had gathered on his hand, and his chest, some covering his rose tattoo on his lower stomach.

his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, slowly riding out his orgasm. he sunk into the bed and sighed, knowing he had to clean himself up, but was too blissed out to move.

"well that was quite a show," his eyes widened and he shot up in the bed, grabbing one of the pillows to cover himself with.

"oh please, I just saw you cum to a picture of me and now you're embarrassed? i'm quite flattered baby," he couldn't help but smile at her, his cheeks flushed.

"what are you doing here? you're suppose to be swamped with work." he took in her appearance, a long black trench coat, black stilettos, and her hair that looked effortlessly curly, but he knew she spent ages on it earlier.

she grinned, unbuckling her coat while taking a few steps over to him. "surprise? the boys wouldn’t stop bugging me about how mopey you were without me, so thought I'd get someone to cover for me so I could come and see you," her coat dropped to the floor the same time his jaw did when he saw what was under it. "is that okay?"

red lace covered her body, accentuating her hips and pushing her tits together, and he noticed it was the same one from the picture he had just wanked off to.

"holy shit," she kneeled on the bed between his legs, moving the pillow that was covering him. “more than okay,” she grinned up at him before moving her head down and licking up his cum that had pooled on his stomach.

"fuck," he whined and threw his head back, before he realised he didn't want to miss a second of this, and picked it back up, looking at her through hooded eyes.

she pulled away from him, sticking her tongue out to show him the mess on her tongue before swallowing. his eyes darkened and he went to pull her in for a kiss when she placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

"where you going?" he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when she stood up.

"I have another surprise for you," she looked a bit sheepish, as if she was embarrassed, a red flush covering her neck and face. he raised his eyebrows expectantly, telling her to continue.

she bit her lip coyly, and turned around, looking at him over her shoulder to try and gauge his reaction. his eyes widened slightly, before staring at her with nothing but desire in his eyes.

"oh princess," there she stood in backless panties with a butt plug in, one that had his name bejeweled around the edge. he reached out to grab her hips, pulling her closer to him so he could get a better look.

"you like it? thought you could fuck me while i have it in," her voice was timid as she stared at him, his fingers tracing over his name, and pressing lightly against it causing her to moan out his name.

he smirked and looked up at her, licking his lips. "I love it baby. such a desperate slut that you need both holes filled at once? god you're insatiable."

he placed his hands on her cheeks and spread them apart, catching a glimpse of her slick that was running down her thighs. “so wet already baby, haven’t even touched you yet.”

she whimpered and shifted her hips trying to get some form of relief, whining when he removed his hands from her and chuckled.

“so pathetic,” he stood up and turned her around, wrapping his hand around her throat and smashing his lips against hers. she moaned into the kiss and pulled him tighter against her, her nipples rubbing against his chest.

he pecked her lips once more and moved away completely, walking over to the wardrobe. “hands and knees baby, show me that pretty plug.”

she swallowed and got into position on the bed, wiggling her ass to try and get him to hurry up. he moved back behind her and slapped her, hard, leaving a red print in his wake.

“don’t be greedy, you’ll take what i give you. understand?” he ran his hands over her thighs, rubbing over her folds with a featherlight touch.

“yes daddy.”

he smirked from behind her and moved her panties to the side, leaning down and running the tip of his tongue over her. “shit matty, please.”

she was breathless already and he’d barely even started. he slapped her ass again, mumbling against her folds. “that’s not my name princess. fuck up again and i’ll leave you here, all drippy and desperate for me.”

“’m sorry daddy, i just-,” she was cut off by his fingers entering her, giving her no time to adjust. “shit-!”

she buried her face in the bed as he fucked his fingers into her rapidly, clearly not in the mood to tease.

“fuck baby, you’re soaking. all this for me?” he smirked when she whined, subconsciously fucking her hips back on his hand.

"yes yes, all for you daddy, please!" he dragged his tongue over her clit, sucking it into his mouth before gently grazing his teeth over the sensitive bud.

his other hand that held onto her hip tight enough to leave bruises moved to the plug that was nestled in her ass, and ran his fingers over his name again.

"so pretty, and all mine." he sucked her clit into his mouth, moaning at the cry she let out, the vibrations causing her thighs to shake. his fingers sped up, and the movements of his tongue over her clit were sloppy and messy, but she found herself on the edge of an orgasm already.

her hole clenched around his fingers and she whined, babbling incoherent nonsense to try and warn him that she was close.

"you gonna cum baby? gonna soak my hand for me like a good girl?" she nodded as best as she could with her face planted in the sheets and grasped the blanket until her fingers turned white.

matty pushed against the plug, and before she knew it she was gushing over his hand with a scream. his fingers didn't stop their movements inside of her, slowly coming to a stop once she had rode out her orgasm and her body had relaxed.

she tilted her head to the side just in time to see him suck his fingers into his mouth with a groan that sent another gush of arousal through her core. she whimpered at the scene and he smirked, bringing a hand down to his cock trying to soothe the ache that he was feeling, despite having an orgasm twenty minutes ago.

he pulled his boxers down and threw them somewhere in the room, fisting his hand over his cock. she mewled and wiggled her ass against him and he breathed out a laugh.

"something wrong princess?" he thumbed over the plug with his unoccupied hand before spanking her hard. "got one hole full already but its still not enough for a greedy little slut like you, is it?"

she whimpered `and shook her head against the sheets, desperately trying to keep her eyes open to see him pleasuring himself. "daddy please- stop teasing."

he shot her a glare and she shut her mouth, trying not to anger him further as she knew he would only delay her needs longer. he snapped the band of her panties against her skin before dragging them down her hips, tapping two fingers on her chin. she sat up a bit and looked at him, dropping her jaw and sticking her tongue out.

he smirked at her and spat in her mouth, mumbling a good little girl against her lips before shoving her panties in her against her tongue, she moaned desperately from the mix of his show of dominance, and the sweet tang of her arousal that flooded her mouth.

"that should shut you up hm? can't have everyone on our floor knowing what a desperate little cumslut you are for me can we?" he ran a hand over her back, undoing her bra strap before leaning in her ear. "your noises are only for daddy, isn't that right baby?"

she garbled against the fabric in her mouth and responded with a barely audible 'only you daddy'. he placed his tip at her entrance, swiping his tip against her folds to lube himself up, mumbling a 'daddy's best girl' before slamming his hips against her in one harsh thrust.

her arms gave out at the force of it, her face melting into the mattress and a loud scream tearing from the back of her throat. he tutted from behind her, wrapping a hand in her hair and pulling until her back was pressed against his chest, still continuing his steady thrusts.

"been gagged and you still can't shut the fuck up. stupid girl, need daddy's fingers in there too to keep you quiet?" her head lolled back on his shoulder and she looked up at him as if he had hung the moon and the stars and nodded. he rolled his eyes at her and shoved two of his fingers in her mouth, pressing down on her tongue until she was drooling down his wrist.

"messy girl, not a single thought in that pretty little head is there?" the only noises in the room was skin slapping, heavy breaths and her muffled whines and whimpers. he angled his hips and hit that spot inside of her, her vision going white and a scream getting caught in her throat.

he took his fingers out of her mouth and pushed her back onto the bed, bringing his hand down to her clit and rubbing in tight circles. "gonna cum for me baby? make a mess all over me yeah? c'mon know that slutty little pussy's desperate for it, shit s'so fuckin wet-"

she babbled incoherently against the sheets, weakly pushing her ass back to meet his thrusts. "give it to me sweet girl, cum for me." with his permission the band snapped inside her, her walls clenching his cock like a vice causing his hips to stutter.

"fuck- that's it, good girl, such a good little girl for me," he pumped into her a few more times before pulling out and humming on her back and the plug in her ass with a moan. her legs gave out when he was finished, matty running a soothing hand through her hair and over her back.

"did so well for me darling, lets get you cleaned up hm?" she hummed slightly but made no effort to move causing him to laugh. she felt him move from the bed and closed her eyes, opening them again and looking at him over her shoulder when she heard a camera click.

he looked at her over his phone and gave her a sheepish shrug of his shoulders. "pure wank bank material my love, what can I say?"

[whyse7vn]

BLOOD SISTERS -

[ot7 x reader]

3D?????????

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

hobi: i heard vogue paid jungkook in cheese

namjoon: what?

jk: yes

namjoon: WHAT???

jimin: you did a shoot for vogue and got paid in cheese?????

yoongi: is that legal?

tae: are u a rat?

jin: i know a rat…

tae: YOU SHUT UR MOUTH

jk: i like cheese

y/n: put his vouge money in a savings account don’t worry

jimin: you robbed jungkook???

y/n: can you read??

it’s in a savings account

jimin: ur savings account?

y/n: no

jk: i got cheese

y/n: i gave him the cheese

namjoon: jungkook are you ok with her doing that?

jk: yes

i got cheese

y/n: SEE HES OK WITH IT STOP TRYING TO MAKE THE VILLAN HERE!

hobi: why did you do that tho?

y/n: are we forgetting that jungkook literally spent like 500k on a framed picture of the avengers

tae: that picture was cool asf who was the artist?

jk: google

tae: what?

jk: google

tae: oh

y/n: see

yoongi: yikes

jimin: was the cheese good?

jk: yes

i miss it

wish i could have more

🥺

y/n: i am not giving you more cheese

jin: didn’t he say he was lactose intolerant?

jk: i’m so upset rn

hobi: anyway ur vogue pictures were cool

jk: ok

can i have cheese

y/n: say thank you to hobi

jk: thank u to hobi

yoongi: is he high?

y/n: extremely

tae: WITHOUT ME?????

FAKE LOVE FAKE WORLD

jin: playing with my clit rn

y/n: what the actual fuck

namjoon: what possessed you to say that

jk: YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

JIN A GIRL???????????????

jin: was that not relatable to you y/n?

don’t you feel comfortable?

y/n: no wtf???

i’m extremely uncomfortable rn

jin: ok kill yourself then

read a weverse comment that said you probably feel so uncomfortable and can’t relate to anyone cuz ur surrounded by men all the time

tried to help you

that is the last nice thing i do for you

jimin: wow i never thought about that

let’s all see how far we can squirt guys come on for y/n ❤️

yoongi: can you stop

jk: i’m gonna win

y/n: u all make me want to throw up

tae: no cuz let’s have a period together #bloodsisters

namjoon: that is not how it works

hobi: i’m bleeding real bad rn >.<

jimin: super slay!!!

yoongi: super slay?

tae: slay my pussy ong

y/n: ENOUGH

tae: i love being a woman

jk: i want to seduce the king

jin: you can’t

i’m not into u at all

jk: ur no king of mine

tae: jungkook can you come over please i’m lonely

jimin: is this how you text your hoes?

tae: no only my bros 🫶🏻🥺

jk: i can’t tae :(

tae: why wtf

jk: too much cheese

tae: ?

jk: i can’t move

yoongi: pretty sure that’s the weed

jin: or maybe he’s shitting himself

cheese does that

not speaking from experience btw

jk: no

y/n: so how is everyone today?

jimin: don’t talk to me

tae: i’m still bleeding

jk: sometimes i imagine i’m a tiny little elf that works in the back of a coal mine just mining away but the coal mine is actually yoongi’s head an i’m inside it mining him new knowledge he can learn and after i mine the knowledge i give it to the other elves and they give it to the brain

hobi: are tiny and little not the same thing you did not need to use both those words

jk: soz

yoongi: why me

leave me alone

namjoon: i could be better tbh y/n

jimin: can we talk about how jungkooks new song

jk: do you like it?

namjoon: it’s not out yet

jk: do you like it?

namjoon: it is not out yet jungkook

jk: is it good?

jin: ur a slut

dare i say whore

jk: don’t dare

y/n: double dare

tae: i double dare you to come to my house

jk: :0

jin: like guys do you understand like jungook is a whore

A WHORE

yoongi: ok

jin: I CANT TAKE IT LIKE YOU WANT TO SEE WHAT IN 3D???

WHAT IN MOTION???

UR SICK UR NOT RIGHT AT ALL

STOP IT

STOP IT NOW

y/n: it’s okay

jin: ITS NOT

jk: who is 3d

tae: the jack harlow feature is crazy tho

yoongi: it’s really not

stop putting white men the world doesn’t care about anymore on your songs

hobi: spilled

jk: i’m not white

do people think i’m white

do they not care for me due to my whiteness

am i white?

??????????

oh my god i’m white

namjoon: you are not white

jk: namjoon said i’m not white

tae: namjoon is your white father

jk: OHMYGOD

jimin: what inspired 3d jungkook?

jk: y/n 🥰💜💗💗🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

y/n: ????????????????????

jimin: LMAOAOSOOOOOOOOOOO

hobi: oh wow

yoongi: what

namjoon: okay!

jin: IM GONNA KILL MYSELF UR SICK

tae: wow i didn’t know you got down like that kookie

#respect

yoongi: did you just say #respect

tae: yeah?

u wish you could right a sex song about my amazing beautiful girl like jungkook did

fucking mad loser bitch

hobi: *write

tae: wait

??

something is not right there

🤨

idk what it is

but i know it’s not right

hobi: maybe it’s because you used rigjt instead of write

tae: maybe

namjoon: ur so fucking stupid it hurts

tae: or maybe not

jk: what is going on

jin: THATS WHAT IM SAYING

YOUVE CHANGED JK YOUVE CHANGED AND I FEAR ITS FOR THE WORST

jk: i was talking about the aliens

idk what ur saying to me right now

y/n: WHY IS IT ABOUT ME??

hobi: clearly he kisses and tells

y/n: THERE IS NOTHING TO TELL

yoongi: clearly there is

wrote a whole song about it

jimin: at least you know you got good pussy!!

tae: me 2!

namjoon: can we not

tae: we can

im in my girl era

feminism in my boobs blood in my vagina

hobi: you take things too far..

tae: ok but it’s natural??

fucking men man i can’t do this y/n are you with me baby

y/n: stop talking for 5 minutes omg

tae: okay!

jk: do the aliens have drivers licenses

jimin: when’s the last time you fucked be honest

namjoon: why are you so invested in her sex life it’s real concerning

jimin: cuz it’s interesting????

like live a little joon jeez

y/n: WE HAVENT FUCKED IN LIKE

yoongi: like?

hobi: like

jin: you turned him into a whore i know it was you

jimin: see mr kim namjoon

interesting

namjoon: ur just starting unwanted issues

jimin: IN LIKE???

come on spit it out we don’t have all day

y/n: i don’t have to answer that

yoongi: shocker

y/n: excuse me??

jimin: YIKESSSSSSSSSSSS

hobi: i can’t look

tae: wait she’s fr fucking jungkook no joke this is fr?

thought this was a joke the whole time

are we all on the same page rn???

jk: i think if we think about it we are the aliens to the aliens so if you think about it do we have drivers licenses?

namjoon: it’s like we run in circles every single day

yoongi: nothing

just know why you’ve been ignoring me for the last month now lol

hobi: he added the lol

wow he’s pissed

jimin: INSANE

jin: YOUVE BEEN FUCKING JUNGKOOK THIS WHOLE MONTH UR NASTY LEAVE HIM ALONE LEAVE HIMMM

namjoon: i’m going to shoot you all

y/n: so it’s clearly not “nothing” yoongi

and in the gc are you fr?

yoongi: whatever

y/n: and i haven’t been ignoring you i’m talking you right now aren’t i?

yoongi: this is different

jimin: he’s basically saying you haven’t been fucking with him for a whole month cuz ur too busy with jungkook

hobi: maybe he’s having withdrawals

namjoon: i think she gets it

tae: can i fuck pls

y/n: ur being really childish rn yoongi

yoongi: that’s crazy cuz that’s how you like your men no?

hobi: WOWWWW

jimin: JUNGKOOK SHADE

jk: hiiiiii 🫶🏻🔥

y/n: and not that i need to tell you but i haven’t slept with ANYONE for like 2 months

i’ve been really busy filming and shit

fucking asshole

yoongi: oh

jin: wait no sex for 2 months that’s kinda insane icl 😭

jimin: YOONGI FUCKED UPPP TEAAA

hobi: pussywhipped 💀

tae: CAN I FUCK PLEASE

namjoon: enough sex talk please

before i grab a gun

tae: what type

ak?

glock?

shotgun???

yoongi: y/n

jk: why are we fighting??????

jin: don’t worry son

jk: papa 🥺

jin: no sorry i can’t actually claim you i’m over you being a whore i just remembered how fucking annoying you are yikes

am i the high one??

wow wtf was i stressing over

yoongi: y/n

jimin: me when i fuck up

hobi: yoongi the sad ant with the stick rn

jimin: HELPJSJDJDJXJ YOU RIGHT

“y/n….”

hobi: HEHEHEHEHE

*single tear rolls down cheek*

jimin: *screen fades to black*

hobi: LMAOOOOOO

jimin: STOPWOWOSOSSK

namjoon: guys

y/n: anyways

jimin: no because i stand with you feminist till i die

hobi: i’m such a feminist i enjoy looking at wonho as much as cows eat grass

and that’s like all the time

right?

jimin: right!!!!

jk: where is my papa

jin: ew

he’s so gross guys

y/n: don’t be mean he’s just under the influence!!

jin: of what? meth?

people high off weed are not freaks like him i’m telling you he does that hardcore shit just like joon

jk: papa joon

namjoon: stop

tae: i stabbed myself with a fork

pain is temporary

i needed it ❤️

namjoon: i need it

jin: ???

yoongi: i’m sorry

y/n: k

jimin: wow this is not awkward at all!

jk: i’m throwing up

jin: this is the 4th time this week

jk: papa

namjoon: how is he still alive

hobi: y/n feminist to feminist rn i say fuck yoongi and like come kiss me

yoongi: can you shut the fuck up

jk: i love you yoongi

yoongi: go away

jimin: can you guys not be boyfriends inlaw or something

yoongi: i’m going to punch you

jimin: ok i am going to stop talking now!

—

bonus:

[riotlain]

You still take requests???

If so could you write hcs about batboys realizing they're in love 🥰 (with male reader if you could) (if you did before could you share link 🙏) Love you...

IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG JT GOT BURIED UNDER DRAFTS IM SORRY 😭😭

THIS IS A NWLNW BLOG!! WOMEN DNI

Dick Grayson

When he realizes hes in love with you

HES DOWN HORRENDOUS

ok he's like probably really bad at hiding his feelings so he ends up like flirting like prolly more often

Bottom of the barrel shit sometimes too

Bro would straight up say "Nice cock" if he had balls

Batfam teases him for how obvious he is

Depending on whether or not youre a superhero he's gonna be protective

Like yea as a civilian hes protective enough. Gotham is very dangerous!!

If you're a superhero too than he'll probably be a bit less protective... or atleast try to be

"Y/n can handle dealing with Poison Ivy himself it'll be fine... I'll go show up just in case."

If you're a villain though he's always the one to arrest you (he lets you go)

He aint the elaborate plan type of guy when it comes to this

So he one night jusy thinks "Yea im def gonna fess to him"

So no matter if youre civilian, hero, or villain he'll confess with a bouquet of flowers under the moonlight with some shit pick up line

Jason Todd

Used to have internalized homophobia but now hes over it... mostly

If youre a villain he'll straight deny his feelings for the longest time

Civilian or hero though? He'll definitely flirt

As in he just shows that he wants to protect you I guess

It honestly took him a while to realize he had feelings for you

Like yeeaaa hes gotten with alot of women and all but like with you? Something is hitting different and he doesn't know what

Roy finds out for him

He found out and teased Jason and Jason is just like "Wait what🧍‍♂️"

So with this new found crush how will Jason approach it?

Hes either really blunt or will completely avoid it all together 💀💀

Like i'm ngl you gon have to make the first move

Tim Drake

He found out he was bisexual and really went "Oh🤨??...OH😲"

Like if you just go to school with him he'll like try to hang out with you more

If you're a hero he's going on patrol more often just to hang around

And if youre a villain💀💀 He definitely tries to keep up the hero facade but like

Fucks it up with getting nervous

"I dont wanna hurt him too bad so he hates me. Wait he's trying to kill me though. I think he is???"

Has definitely lost a few fights with you bc of that 😭😭

Damian found out first (analytical lil shit) and made fun of him

Not in the homophobic way but in the way where his brother has a crush and looks like an idiot

"Drake you look like an utter idiot."

He tries to be smooth (Advice from Dick ofc) and fails

He does the thing where he tries to lean against a wall and fell the other way😭😭

Man just ask him out so he can quit embarrassing himself please

Damian Wayne

Def has internalized homophobia sorry

You know he isnt the best at his feelings so when he's around you he goes a bit crazy-

'I think of Y/n as a friend. Why would I think more of him as more?? Is it normal for me to like boys???? Dear god.'

Asks Alfred about it (One of the batbros prolly heard him though and barge in I'm ngl)

He isn't sure how to go about uh... "Courting you" as he calls it

Like yea he gets the kinda stuff to do for girls he's read many novels on that

But boys??? Hes stumped

He ends up stalking all the couples in his school for an answer

And probably ends up avoiding you :((

Whenever you try to confront him he just says "Its nothing." and leaves

Buuttt one day he ends up spilling everything on accident

[zelcii]

imagine thomas not accepting newt's death

thomas woke up with a sharp gasp, his body jerking upright as he clawed his way back to consciousness. his head was spinning, and his vision blurred for a moment before settling on minho, who was sitting beside him. the look on minho’s face—somewhere between exhaustion and grief—made thomas’s heart tighten with a sudden, inexplicable fear.

“minho,” thomas rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. “where’s newt?”

minho’s eyes flicked away for a second, his jaw tightening. when he looked back at thomas, there was a rawness there that thomas hadn’t seen before. “gone.”

"kill me. if you've ever been my friend, kill me."

suddenly, the world stopped spinning. he felt the single word sink in, but they didn’t make sense, didn’t fit into any reality he could accept. “what do you mean, ‘gone’?” he demanded. he kept his voice low, steady, but painfully desperate.

minho exhaled, his face set in a hard, pained expression. “dead, thomas.”

“no,” thomas shot back, shaking his head furiously. “he's not, you’re lying—"

“i'm not." minho snapped, his voice breaking with the intensity of his own grief. but they both kept a level head. neither let themselves raise their voices. “he’s gone.”

minho spoke as if he was still trying to convince himself as well.

thomas suddenly got up on his feet and walked towards the sick excuse of a door to the medical tent they were in. "i'm going back for him."

minho stood too, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “he's not the only one we've lost, thomas. so many people died to get us here and you're just gonna walk away? grow the fuck up—”

“stop it!” thomas yelled, his voice raw with pain and frustration. he turned around to look at the runner. his brown eyes glared daggers at thomas. they made him want to hide. “stop fucking looking at me like that!”

"like what?!" minho returns thomas' anger, raising his voice. minho wanted to scream, yell, cry. anything to take the weight on his chest.

"like its my fault." thomas stood there, chest heaving and eyes watering. "he asked me to—"

minho’s eyes were burning, his face a mask of grief and anger. “i know that, thomas. you think I wouldn't do the same? you think i don't understand how your hurting? you have to be stronger than this. we have to be stronger than this. we should be grateful we even had him in our lives. all you can do is learn from this, thomas— we can learn from this—”

“i didn’t ask for this to be a lesson, minho,” thomas’s fists clenched, his whole body trembling with the intensity of his emotions. he opened his mouth to shout back, to argue, but the words caught in his throat, strangled by the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“i wanted it to be love.”

[lanadeldixon]

Summertime Sadness

Pairing- Daryl x fem reader (some Rosita x reader if you squint)

Word count- 1.1k

Warnings- angst, implied panic attack, mentions of death, someone being beaten, starved Daryl :(

Setting- s7 Alexandria

Summary- The saviours come to collect their 50%, but when you see the condition Daryl is in it’s hard to cope.

“Oh my God,” I whispered “Daryl?” His name a symphony of worry on my lips. A name I used to say with such love now drained of its positivity and filled with fear instead.

Vulnerability shone through his eyes as he turned to me, “Y/N?”

As soon as my name fell from his lips, the end of a gun struck him straight in the jaw, the loud thud of his body hitting the ground echoed through the town.

My breath hitched and a tear rolled down my cheek as they hit him again, yelling at him, “SPEAK WHEN YOU’RE SPOKEN TOO!”

“Leave him alone,” my voice choked up to the point where it came out in only a whisper.

“Let him go,” I cried louder this time, desperate to draw them away.

Hands wrapped around my mouth, too quick for me to react, my screams came out as muffled cries as I attempted to call for help.

But it was no use, I was dragged backwards into my house,

“Shh, you have to calm down, okay?” I immediately un-tensed at the sound of her voice.

“You gotta be tough, you do shit like that you’ll get all of us killed.” Rosita exclaimed sternly.

Her hands released me and she circled me until we were eye to eye.

“You’re not gonna be doing us any favours getting yourself killed,” it was clear to see she was still in grief, she was mourning a man she’d killed off in her mind a long time ago, only now he was truly gone and it was still sinking in.

She had become colder, no one could blame her, however all of us were too busy drowning in our own insurmountable grief and missing loved ones to pay attention to anything else.

I nodded at her like a school kid following her teachers orders then opened my mouth preparing to respond.

“Bam!” The door swung open.

“We said 50% didn’t we?!” His voice shook us to the core.

Whispers of the dead conquered my thoughts as I turned to look at him.

“Woah ho ho well you must be the girl?!”

Negan exclaimed following it with a slight laugh.

“Well you sure are a pretty thing ain’t ya!” His hand reached to my face as he said it, I stared him down, not daring to move but still not hiding my resentment.

“If I weren’t such a fan of your boy Daryl I think I’d have to make you one of my wives,” a sinister grin took over his face as my mine began to pale.

He leaned close to my ear, to the point where I could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke, “Hell, im the boss, I could just do it anyway…”

I tried to hold back my anger, to not say anything out of fear of what he might do. But the idea of having to marry him sickened and overwhelmed me, “fuck you,” I snarled, eyes finally meeting his.

“You got some massive lady balls and I gotta say, I dig that.” He stated, pulling his face away.

“I’m so tempted to bring you home darling.” He finished, deep down I knew he was just teasing but the thought revolted me.

“I would never be the wife of someone like you,” I responded, my face scrunching up.

He looked at me still with that daring smile.

At that point I couldn’t taken it anymore, my rage boiled until finally, it spilled, I looked at him and let out a large wad of spit aiming it right at his leg.

“Go to hell,” I stated, storms in my eyes.

His face finally faltered as he stared at the stain on his trousers.

“Ho ho ho, you bitch,” he said grabbing the back of my hair and yanking me outside of the house.

“How about we put on a little show, huh darling” he purred in my ear.

I felt ill as he forced me to my knees and began to gesture with Lucille.

“Now I was gonna be nice today but it seems some of you still need an example of how to behave.” Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned as he spoke.

I didn’t cry, I was very careful to heed Rosita’s advice and made sure I didn’t once show my fear, Daryl however did not do the same…

“Y/N!” He screamed as if I was already dead.

“DONT TOUCH HER,” he cried with rage, “I’LL KILL YA!”

“Bring him,” calmly, he gestured to the woman on his right as he spoke.

She dragged him so he was diagonal to me, she then kept her hands on his face, forcing him to keep his eyes on me.

Now I knew to be scared but all I could think was how tired he looked, behind the rage and upset was masked malnutrition and exhaustion. I couldn’t help but worry.

“We’re gonna break up another couple tonight,” he laughed aiming and fake swinging his bat at me.

I grimaced at his statement recalling the story of what happened to Glenn and Abraham and the devastation Maggie and Sasha were left with.

“I’m sorry, you would’ve been a real treat to come home too but looks like you’re gonna end up another lost treasure.”

“Last chance to say goodbye lover boy,” Negan warned.

Daryl was screaming profanities at him, doing everything he could to divert Lucille’s attention to him instead but to my relief, his attempts failed…

That was when the countdown started…

“10…” my breathing quickened.

“9…” I could see Daryl’s mouth moving, his whole body scrambling beneath the saviours holding him back, but all I could hear was Negans voice.

“8…” “just continue to do this when you’re scared okay baby?” I could hear my mums voice infiltrating my thoughts, guiding me to breathe.

“7…” I can see the flowers, they look so pretty, especially now that the lilies have grown, my mother didn’t like lilies, she always loved roses.

“6…” I can see the sun, it shines so brightly today, beaming down its light onto all of us, I think of Daryl’s nickname for me.

“5…” I can see my friends, I love my friends. Part of me wishes I could see Maggie again, the other doesn’t want her to see this.

“4…” I can see the sky, it looks painted today, the way the clouds are floating looks ethereal.

“3…” I can see Daryl. My Daryl, I smile.

“2…” I can see the bat, it blocks the sun as it’s lifted high into the sky.

“1…” I can see Glenn and Abraham, I didn’t think I’d see them so soon but I’m happy-

“I’LL JOIN YA!” Silence overcame the crowd as Daryl pleaded.

“Just let her go, that’s all I ask” his voice quaked, there was a frantic look of desperation in his eyes.

Silence…

Negan chuckled before his face turned stern.

“Who are you?” He commanded in a teasing tone.

“I am Negan…”

[fallatyourfeet]

Faded Shadows (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Summary: Alfie never could have guessed how things would play out after you virtually forced your way into his office.

Word count: 1205

Warnings: Swearing, lots and lots of it. Alludes to physical abuse. And the reader is a newly widowed woman.

A/N: Okay, so this fic started off with playful intentions, but quickly grew pretty macabre. I take no responsibility for it. It just happened. It's not my fault.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

It was true. The people in Alfie’s neighbourhood were hardly known for their fine King’s English. It's fair to say the Camden Town tongue was a little rough around the edges and not shy of curse word or two. And Alfie’s ears were certainly no stranger to the odd colourful word slipping from the mouths of the women in his life. But never, as a boy, teenager or fully grown man had he heard such brutal language coming from such a sweet-sounding voice. If everyone around him swore like sailors, then the faceless voice causing a ruckus from somewhere outside his office, surely wrote the sailor’s dictionary. 

Partly frustrated but mostly amused, Alfie dropped his pen to the desk and leaned back in his chair, listening to the string of words caught between the all the expletives. “Fucking let go of me you filthy c**ts, I’m gonna get in that fucking room one way or another... That bastard in there, had my bloody husband killed... and I wanna see his goddamn face.”  

Alfie’s amusement dissolved, replaced by an audible sigh of dread as he mumbled under his breath, “Fuck... a bloody widow.” Yelling out to Caleb, he demanded, “Let the woman in would ya, she ain’t gonna let it go.” Standing up he moved to the side of his desk, mumbling to himself again, “Might as well get this over with.” 

Coming through the door between two of his men, you ripped your arms from their grip, giving them the filthiest look as you did so. Your face was one of the sweetest things he had ever seen, but the look was so deadly Alfie had to hold back a chuckle. ‘You were a feisty one, weren’t you?’ 

Taking a deep calming breath, you smoothed over your dress. It was well worn and long out of fashion, but you were immaculate. You obviously didn’t have a penny to scratch together, but you took pride in yourself, making the most of what you had. And Alfie found himself warming to you already. 

Running your fingers through your hair, you tamed all the locks that had escaped during your scuffle with his men, and finally looked at him. Your expression had lost almost all of its venom, nearly matching the sweetness of your beautiful features and he instantly felt a pang of guilt. One, for being the reason you were now a widow, and two, for finding a newly widowed woman so bloody attractive.  

Lifting your chin in a show of defiance; or was it pride? you held his intense gaze, and if you felt a single ounce of fear, you did not show it. Either way, he thought to himself, ‘Hmph, beautiful and brave.’  

Clearing your throat, you spoke, your words suddenly devoid of any of the foul language he heard spilling from your mouth just moments ago, “Alfie Solomons?” 

With a nod, Alfie crossed his arms before him, “Yeah, that’d be me.” 

Taking a step closer, you also nodded your head, your eyes never leaving his, “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and your men murdered my husband, Peter, three days ago.” Alfie opened his mouth to respond, but you held a single finger in the air, a silent, but very clear gesture to shut him up. The moment he closed his mouth you lowered your hand, and continued, “Did they shoot him on your order?”  

Alfie wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Sure, from time to time he lost a bit of sleep over the number of men that were tossed into shallow graves by his order. But the reality of standing there, looking into your expressive E/C eyes and taking responsibility for killing the man you loved, twisted like a burning hot poker in his stomach. He doubted he would sleep for months.  

A moment of silence passed, and your expression shifted with a touch of impatience while you waited for your answer. Moving his arms from across his chest, he shuffled on his feet, his hands coming to rest at his hips, it was almost defensive, “Yeah, I did... He was becoming too much of a liability.” Alfie almost cringed at his words. Although true, they seemed too harsh as he heard them slip from his lips. His bluntness had never bothered him before but using it on you felt like a crime. Raising his hands in the air, he quickly spoke again, wanting to rephrase a little more tactfully, “I’m sorry, forgive my bluntness... but your husband-” 

Taking him by surprise, you cut him off, “Stop. I don’t need to know the reason.” Alfie stood there, mouth open, completely unprepared for the words you spoke next, “You don’t know how many times I stood beside that drunk, good for nothin’ monster as he lay passed out on the bed, just wishing I was brave enough to push a pillow against his face.” Honestly, Alfie was at a loss for words, but you were not. Taking a step closer, you were almost close enough to touch. Searching your eyes, he tried to understand the gratitude they held, but he quickly understood when you spoke again, “I’m thankful he’s gone... but I’m thankful I didn’t have to do it myself... because I don’t think I could have lived with the guilt.”  

And that was when Alfie saw them, the faded shadows across your arms... around the base of your neck... and along your cheekbone. The ghosts of bruises partially disguised by whatever powder you had covered them with. Suddenly, any worries he had about sleepless nights, dissolved. The only guilt he felt was for not killing the bastard sooner.  

Words finally found their way to his lips, trying to lighten the rather heavy interaction, “Well, ain’t this a fuckin’ turn of events? I thought I was a goner when I heard you out the front of my office... Remind me to never get on your bad side, yeah?” 

For the first time, you looked a little coy, “Ah... yeah sorry about the language. My mouth has a habit of running away with me when I’m worked up... and your men just wouldn’t listen.” 

Alfie chuckled, “With a mouth like that, you fit right in around here.” Speaking the words flicked a switch on inside his head. This feisty little firecracker of a woman really would fit right in, and God knows he was drowning in paperwork. It was high time he could do with some help. If he was being completely honest with himself, the thought of having you close by pleased him in ways he couldn’t explain. And under his protection he could make sure he never had to see those horrible faded shadows across your skin again. He would make sure of it. 

Moving back to his seat behind the desk, he gestured to the chair in front, “Why don’t cha take a seat Mrs Y/L/N, I’d like to make a little proposition... and if ya accept, those men out the front will have no choice but to listen to ya.” Resting his elbows on the desk, he leaned forward and asked, your answering smile, lighting up the edges of his heart. “How well do ya know your way around a typewriter?” 

[xxeycisxx]

Mission

Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: So, y/n is a skilled fighter, in my mind I saw her powers similar to black widow and elektra. Both Matt and y/n are vigilantes. y/n gets injured on a mission and Matt saves her, so they have a chance to talk about their unresolved past. (18+)

TW: mention of injuries, unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, you know the drill. MDNI

wordcount: now sure, but its like five pages long or something.

taglist: @its-carlerrr

-masterlist here

You woke up on a couch, soft cushions softly caressed your muscles, but after a few seconds a sharp pain in your head made you open your eyes. You realized where you were lying. It was his apartment, his couch, his smell all around you. 

,,I was wondering when you’re gonna wake up,” you heard his voice and your eyes began searching for him all over the room. 

,,Sorry about that, maybe that sharp pain in my head had something to do with that,” irony spilled out of your mouth. You tried to apply some pressure on the wound, but it only made it worse, you hissed again and tried to get up. 

You spent some time here. But after you and Matt decided to call it quits, you didn’t even have a chance to talk to him over the phone. You tried it once, when you were feeling guilty that you probably could have tried more, that it could have been more.That was probably the main reason you stopped communicating in the first place. The feelings you had for Matt scared you. And you weren’t sure if you, or Matt was ready for that. 

So, even though he was fucking your brain out two months ago on the same couch that you were lying on right now, you tried to push those memories away, so that your heart won’t give out on you. Now is not the time to think about his hands, and how they held you tightly to his naked body or how his sweaty chest was glistening in the dim light coming from the streets.

,,Let me help you,” he sat right next to you on his couch and you created some space for him. But still, he was suddenly so close to you, parts of him were actually touching your skin right now. That's when you realized - you’re not wearing your pants, only black t-shirt and panties covering your body. 

,,Why am I practically naked?” he lightly pressed a cold pack to your wound on your head and laughed. You missed that smile.

,,You don’t remember?” you raised your eyebrow in confusion. 

,,I remember that I was trying to escape on the roof of the Yakatomi building, i was there to get evidence of corruption in Novak’s case…” you had some memories, but everything was still a big blur.

You are trying to escape, there are five huge guys trying to catch you and probably kill you on the spot. You have the flash drive in your pocket, so the mission is a great success so far. Now, everything you need to do is get rid of them and disappear. 

You get to the fire escape leading to the roof. You move quickly, each move is well-thought, it’s not like this is the first time you’re doing this. Once you’re on the roof, your next step is to hide, the best way to do this is to surprise them, they can’t fight something they don’t see. The night played into your cards. You’re trained for this, they’re not. 

Hidden behind a thick wall, you wait for the first guy to come just close enough so you can grab him from behind and press your right hand on his neck to stop the oxygen flow in his body, left hand pressed on his face to not alert his buddies. One out.

For the second one, you come quietly from the side, he’s unconscious in a few seconds. The third one didn’t take much effort either. 

It was actually when you came for the fourth. You were preparing to take him down and then - black shadow overpowered your mind and you were suddenly nothing. 

,,Yeah, you’re welcome for that too. You could have been dead,” Matt was visibly angry now. His pressure on your wound hardened and it made you yank. 

,,Sorry,” his touch was suddenly filled with tenderness again. His other hand held your arm, you know there was no specific reason to hold your arm, but you said nothing. You let yourself enjoy that small piece of pleasure. 

,,You were spying on me?” your voice didn’t sound angry, just confused. 

,,I was just in the neighbourhood, heard you and I thought you might need help,” he was so close right now. He was wearing a grey shirt and black boxers, which was your favourite combo. DId he knew that? 

,,That does not explain why i dont have my pants,” your vision was still a bit off. But you felt calm, maybe a little bit sad. You looked at him and tried to read his face, to get at least some information of how he was feeling.

,,You have a wound on your thigh, needed stitches and it’s not like I haven’t touched any of that before, so I figured…” you know he was probably trying to make a joke, but his voice was still a bit stern.

,,Haha, I missed your jokes,” another ironic comment. But he just raised his eyebrows. There was a moment of silence. He still held the ice pack to your head, the way he was close to you made you nervous. You felt your heart beginning to race and knew he could hear that. Great.  

,,Let’s not do that right now,” he said. He wasn't being mean. There was actually something broken now in his voice.

,,What do you mean?”

,,Look, I know we didn’t talk for some time and last time we saw each other… It didn't end well.” He put the ice pack on the coffee table right next to the couch. His other hand left your arm but a big portion of his body was still pressed to yours. 

,,I didn’t wanna talk about it,” 

,,You know I can tell when you lie to me, right?” he actually sounded amused right now. Is this a good time to do this right now? Your plans for today’s night were so much different.

,,Okay, if you have something to tell me, then tell me,” you didn’t mean to sound so cold, but it just came out of you. It surprised him a little bit, you noticed how he created a little distance between you two. 

,,Why don’t you start with the talking, it would be nice for a change, because one night you’re telling me how you want me and the next one you’re leaving me,” he stood up and you got up to sit, you could not do this lying. He was a bit angry right now, or maybe he was just trying not to yell at you, you weren’t quite sure.

,,What do you want me to say, Matt? I thought I could do this but I don’t really think either of us is ready for some kind of commitment,” you were right. This was the safest road you could take.

,,Don’t act like you know better how I feel than I do. I know what I felt, y/n,” there was not so much anger in Matt’s voice now, at the end of it, it was just sadness. 

,,Excuse me? You were ready? For what? To be afraid everyday that we might lose each other?  I know what happened with you and Elektra and I saw how you were afraid whenever we went on a mission togeth-” Matt didn’t even let you finish, as soon as you brought her into the conversation. It didn’t even take a minute and you were in a fight.

,,Okay, Elektra died, it was bad, but that has nothing to do with you, I don’t get why you can’t accept that somebody might actually care whether you live or die?” he was yelling at you know - it feels like there is a wall between you two, you try to talk to each other, but only half actually gets to the other side. 

,,Because this is my life, Matthew, I don’t need anybody to babysit me and I definitely don’t need to be afraid if you live or die!” he stopped for a second before he answered. 

,,Oh, so this is not really about me, being afraid for your life?” desperate laugh filled his voice. 

,,What do you want right now, Matt, hmm?” you asked, and you actually wanted an answer, that wasn’t a rhetorical one, since this whole situation was so insane, it probably couldn’t get any worse.

And then he kissed you. His lips found yours. You didn’t even want to admit to yourself how glad you were that he did it. Your hands wrapped around his neck, you pressed him closer to yourself, didn’t want him to ever leave your body alone. 

He slipped his hands under your shirt and took it off of you in one quick move. His right hand immediately found your nipple and the left one came around your waist to push you closer to his chest. You moaned into the kiss as his skilled, gentle fingers pulled on your nipple, played with it between his fingers and slowly started to apply more pressure.

As soon as you were able to pull yourself together, you took off his shirt too, to even the score. Your nails were digging into his skin on his back as he was kissing his way into your neck. You felt his tongue tasting your skin there, taking you in. You both were already out of breath, moaning into each other. 

He took you into his arms and quickly moved you to the kitchen, where he put you on the dining table. Your bodies never actually parted, you needed to feel his skin on yours and never stop. How much you missed this, how much you missed him. Not just the sex, but him. 

Nobody made you feel like Matt did. With him, anything was possible. Missions were actually much more fun, it was actually a bit weird, how good you were together, like two pieces of a puzzle, working together.

He quickly slipped your panties off. You were all naked in front of him, ready for whatever he has to give you. His hands found their way between your legs. 

,,That’s what I want,” he muttered into your mouth. That right there, made you wet, as if whatever came before wasn’t enough for him. You knew he could sense everything he was doing to your body and he knew exactly how your body responded, there was no way you could hide something from him. He found your clit and he started lightly circling it. You moaned in response. 

,,Is that what you want too? Tell me, I want to hear you say it,” you couldn’t control your own body. He had full control right now. Using your mouth for talking and actually creating a full sentence seemed a bit too much right now. But his fingers disappeared suddenly.

,,Say it,” he commanded. He looked at you with his unfocused eyes from above, but you knew he sees much more than you could ever imagine. Nobody made you feel so naked.

,,I want you, Matthew, please,” desperate for his touch again, you were able to mutter at least a simple answer. His fingers resumed their movement and he kissed you again slowly, letting you focus on what he was doing to your body. You felt his erection on your inner thigh and it made your pussy squeeze around nothing. He let out a little laugh.

,,Did you miss this? Cause i did,” he whispered into your neck, where he was playing with your sensitive skin. 

,,Matt, please, I need to feel you inside me,” you begged, you did miss him. A lot.

,,Not yet sweetheart, you’re gonna cum first,” he commanded. And he wasn’t so far away from the truth either. He was playing with your clit, his fingers went much harder now, he wasn’t losing any time and went for his price.  His other hand went inside you, immediately finding that spot, only he knew about.

,,Yeah, right there, isn’t it? Did you miss my fingers inside you? Making you this wet?” he enjoyed every second of your torment, suddenly, your body was no longer yours, but it belonged completely to him. He was rubbing that spot inside you with two of his fingers, while his other hand was attacking your clit. You were screaming now, pleading for your life.

You came so hard. You didn’t even notice it was so close. Matt laughed.

,,Good girl, you’re being so good for me, baby, just like that.” his fingers left your sensitive pussy quickly, so he could remove his boxers. It was just a few seconds and you already were so empty without him filling you.

His cock filled you quickly, he didn’t wait for anything. He started ramming into you hard, you leaned onto your elbows, half-lying  on his table while he was standing over you, your lips pressed together, moaning into each other’s mouth.

,,...I missed your pussy so much, baby…”

,,...Just like that, squeeze me…”

,,...I missed how sweet you taste…”

You loved how talkative Matt was during sex, he knew exactly what to say to make you desperate for him. You were displayed right here on his table for him, opening yourself for him, so he can take whatever he wants from you. Your body belonged to him, and his body was yours. 

He moaned so sweetly while he was ramming hard inside you, you loved that it was you who made him feel like this. You loved watching his face, his furrowed eyebrows, his eyes closed, even though he saw you completely. His messy hair, his beautiful body. You wanted to have it all, you wanted him to be yours.

,,I am gonna cum baby,” he whispered, his movement becoming more uneven.

,,Yes, baby, cum inside me please, Matt, I need it, missed you so much, I want it all,” you begged and begged, what you just said was probably too much.

,,Take it!” he clenched his teeth and moaned, his cock slotted fully inside you, you felt his warm spurts covering your walls from inside, finding home inside you. It felt so good.

He moved a few times, but then you both fell on the table, Matt lied on your chest, completely spent. 

,,Can I stay tonight?” you asked.

.

.

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