Julia 🫶🏻

dyanna & maekar’s baby mama twenty-two. requests open.

[julez-5]

Welcome!

Hello, I am Julez (she/her)! And welcome to the workings that my brain develops, because I cannot just sit and digest media normally :)

MDNI! Though every post might not have explicit content this blog is 18+

PLEASE DO NOT COPY/TRANSLATE MY WORK WITHOUT PERMISSION OR I’LL CRY

Masterlist 🪻Upcoming works ♟️Guidelines/Requests 👾

Requests are open and I will do my best to deliver 🐈‍⬛

[julez-5]

Bertie and the "i'm too old to feel sexy" wont leave my mind

Would you write something where younger new wife!reader makes baelor feel sexy 👀👀

TOO OLD—modern!Baelor Targaryen

modern!Baelor x younger!wife!reader

content: Baelor declares he is too old to feel sexy, but you think that is utter nonsense.

words: 1.1k

cw: MDNI 18+ sexual references, alcohol, age gap, not proofread as I wrote this on a break from writing my paper, lmk if I missed any

a/n: since i haven’t written shit all week here’s a small baelor fic

Baelor’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel looking to enter for the fifth time. It was monthly girls night, and even the gentleman he had offered to drop you all off and to pick you up once you were ready to leave no matter the time. 

He had thought this part of his life was over, especially the older one, but then he had met you. Despite being old enough to more than likely be your father you had been instantly attracted to him. 

Also you never did accept when he had tried to be proper turning you down due to the age difference between the pair of you. 

You who could still run on four hours of sleep, were in the prime of your life, and could fall and not feel the consequences for the next week. You had wanted him, and the thought still perplexed him, but you learned not to question it any more. 

You had texted saying that you and your friends would be out in less than a minute. That was five minutes ago, and he was beginning to worry. He let out a sigh, pulling his keys from ignition before making his way into the bar. 

It wasn’t that crowded allowing him to easily spot you and your two friends perched against the bar talking to the female bartender. You had a bright grin on your face, your hands moving widely as he took in your appearance. 

You wore a pair of jeans shorts fitted with a black top. It was nothing widely inappropriate, but the small v neck that curved down to your chest still managed to make his mouth water slightly. 

Your friend, Alice, a red head around the same age as you poked you in the ribs nodding her head toward him causing you to spin around. Your face lit up further, which he did not know was possible and he felt as if he was standing outside in the hot weather at the warmth that spread through him. 

“Baelor!” you exclaimed, practically running into him as you stumbled less than gracefully toward him. 

He reacted quickly, arms wrapping around you to stabilize you as you stared up at him. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before dragging him back to the bartender that you had been talking to moments before. 

“Oh, meet my new friend Cara! This is my sexy husband I was telling you about,” you gushed grinning up at him as you had won something grand, but he felt as if there was a winner from the pair of you it was definitely him. 

He let out a laugh shaking his head, “I am too old to feel sexy.”

Your reaction was immediate. You looked almost offended, and he would have laughed, but he was trying to take you seriously, but was miserably failing. 

“Alice! Margaret!” you called, causing your friends to turn toward the pair of you. 

“Isn’t Baelor sexy?”

“Extemely! We love Dilfs!” Margaret exclaimed, her words sounding even more slurred than yours, but still just as genuine. 

“Yes! You are rocking the salt and pepper!” Alice added in agreement, before they returned to paying their tabs.

A blush spread across Baelor’s cheeks. He opened his mouth a few times, gaping as if he was a fish out of water. “See! You are sexy! You will probably still be in a nursing home being sexy!”

Your laughter filled the air as you moved cupping either side of his cheeks and before he could react your mouth was on his. His hands gravitated toward your hips pulling you flush against him, as he allowed the kiss to progress further into what he was usually comfortable with in public. 

But you had just fed his ego, you were gorgeous, and he had such a hard time telling you. He was sure that if you had asked for it he would buy you the city if it was a wish of yours. 

“I love you,” you muttered against his mouth, finally needing to pull away for breath. Your chest rising and falling rapdiy against his own as your hand moved to trail across the grey in his beard that you had told him on numerous occasions drove you wild. 

“I love you,” he replied, back staring down at you with a fond expression.

“You are the sexiest old man ever,” you then declared, a wide drunken grin filling your beautiful lips as you stared up at him like he had hung the moon. 

And you meant, because not only was he good looking, but he was caring. He was generous, and he was an amazing husband. 

Your amazing husband. 

“Whatver you say, my love,” he told you press to the top of your head. He looked to your two friends who had finished paying, causing him to look down at you, “Have you paid yet?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p as you tucked yourself under his arm. 

“I got it,” he then assured you, despite you having made no move to gather your own wallet.

You let out a small laugh, pulling yourself from him to face the bartender, “Sexy and is going to pay my tab!” you gushed once more looking at Cara as Baelor fished his wallet from his pocket. 

“Can we go get ice cream somewhere, Bae?” you then asked, but he knew you already knew exactly what he would say. 

“Of course,” he replied automatically, handing the woman his card to pay off your tab for the evening. 

Your eyes lit up, “See! Sexy!”

He handed Cara his card as he turned toward you, “Because I am buying you ice cream.”

“Oh, you are anyways. The ice cream is just an added bonus,” you then moved toward him pushing yourself up on your tip toes causing him to duck his head down toward you, “And when we get home I am going to show you just how sexy you are and how wet I am thinking of you,” you told him nipping his ear lobe. 

His eyes widened as he had to look away from you, forcing out a cough as he tried to urge his cock not to harden in his brief, but it was already too late. 

He had never driven to get home so fast before, and you made good on your word.

baelor taglist: @sacha1slytherin @erylilly @thebl00dwyrm @ilocuras24 @xkatherinexo @alaeratrrn @ynnlvrs @theonewhoshallbeunnamed @sem-ra @darylandbethfanforever9

if you would like to join the tag list for future baelor stories feel free to drop a comment :)

[ildico-the-golden]

Baelor Targaryen is the kind of man that becomes a dilf without trying

[julez-5]

he’s just so effortlessly fine 😭😭

[the-darklings]

𓈒 ˳ ˳ 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

Bobby's been a shit boyfriend for months. When you disappear through a wall in the basement of Clark's furniture store, you wake up in the Backrooms, where a better version of Bobby is waiting. One who actually shows up, one who loves you, one who never, ever wants to let you go.

bobby franklin x f!reader x entity!bobby

cw: emotional neglect, psychological horror, backroom entities/lore, implied creature violence, emotional manipulation by non-human entity, alcohol abuse (secondary character), grief/loss, verbal arguments (no physical violence), angst.

𓈒 asks/mini concepts 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 playlist

‽ part one / concept. ‽ part two. ‽ part three. ⸘ interlude: entity 0

extras:

Ꮺ୧ making out w/ better bobby. Ꮺ୧ better you! Ꮺ୧ "baby." Ꮺ୧ "open your mouth." Ꮺ୧ pillow fort.

⎋ M.E.G. ENTITY 0 — RESEARCH FILE INDEX:

↹ MEG-ENT-0000-ADDM-██ — Restricted Addendum: Reproductive Capability Assessment (Filed Under Protest)

[julez-5]

just binged this entire series and I feel like a new woman! (I probably will have to sleep with all the lights in the house on, but we can ignore that…) But I feel companion in my core I too would fall for the entity if he gave me attention and had bobby’s face

[nastyakotsk]

#451

[ghostlybfgf]

A THOUSAND WRONG VERSIONS OF YOU

summary: when your manager, clark, drags you into a strange place for research, you end up getting split up, and finding more than you bargained for all while in search of each other.

pairing: bobby franklin x reader

warning(s): typical backrooms fuckery, psychological themes, mention of drug use, mention of alcohol abuse, delusions, slight injury? (bobby punches a wall) reader and bobby lowkey traumatised, reunion, kind of happy ending?

word count: 2.3k

a/n: this was written on a whim, and in testing present tense, it’s actually kind of fun.. what do we think?? 💗

The split happens fast. The lights flicker overhead and the yellow halls seem to stretch like a Hitchcock film, and your head turns so fast you swear you’ve given yourself a headache. But then he's gone. Just gone. And it doesn’t make any sense.

He was right behind you. 

"Bobby?"

There’s no response. Your voice echoes down the hall and nothing more. Just four walls opening up into another four by four set of walls. And it's endless.

Anxiety rises in your stomach enough to pin you to the floor, and your legs are like jelly but you stumble forward. Only to realise, they’re both gone. You didn’t move a muscle, you had been stood right in between them, and now they’d just vanished into thin air. Or maybe you did? There was no telling, because this place was off ever since you’d first been pulled into it.

—

The first hour, Bobby is convinced he'll find you quickly. This place can only be so big right? And he hasn't moved that far, he’s sure of it. Apart from how the rooms started getting darker, and how he doesn't recognise anything, from the way he ran when you disappeared from his sight.

Smart thinking Bobby.. 

He shouts your name everywhere he goes, step after step around empty corners that leave a pit in his stomach and turning his head just to check behind him. There’s shadows, moving ones, like silhouettes, and every once in a while it almost looks like you. Clark didn't give much of an explanation to this place, or why he needed you both for research, but now he regretted it all.

Especially dragging you into this place with him, pulling you through that weird invisible space in the wall when you didn’t want to go.

The guilt eats at him more than the bile rising in his throat, and he’s certain he’s not that high, that even if he was it would have worn off by now. If you were together he could protect you, at least be near you and keep an eye, now you could be anywhere. With Clark, by yourself..

It wasn't like the outside, or like some underground office space it pretended to be, because that's what it was, pretend. Like it didn't know what it was, as if it was still figuring that out, like it was alive.

His fingers press into the buttons of his camera, the viewfinder lighting up his face in a flash of colour. And he rewinds the recordings he'd made sure to film every hour you were in the place, marking everything that was pointed out. He looks for some kind of blue, maybe even to ground himself he’s not sure, but he needs to see something.

The first recording was when you first went through, the clicking of the camera turning on jsut as the video comes into view. Half of his arm reaches through the wall until it disappears, and he laughs behind it, in disbelief. You’d seen it like out the other end, standing in the dim light of Clark’s store with your heart pounding in your chest.

Bobby had only looked at it in a nervous wonder, turning his arm over and back again, shoving it back to him just to reach it back out to you. His voice was shaking as the camera zoomed into his arm.

"Babe.. hey check this out—"

"Bobby where are you?'

"Go through the door.. it's safe.." Clark’s voice calls out behind him, the camera turning to face him slinging his backpack on, just enough before he faces back to the wall.

“I don’t know about this.”

“Just grab my hand.. I’m here.”

His voice again, and he calms, urging you on eagerly. Stupidly. And you do it, you listen, the film picked it up too. Your hand in his, his fingers curling around yours as he leads you to where he and Clark stand. Yellow rooms, off white carpets, and the faint smell of mould.

The next lot of them he flicks through, every passing corridor, every dumb joke he made to lighten the mood, every snag of the camera when something caught his eye. Shoes half inside of the floor. A t-shirt he remembered someone wearing once. Gull feathers scattered along the floor and black, tacky footprints. A lot of them.

All things that made no sense to be in there, to the way they were place.

The most recent tape was when you were all split up. The static buzzed louder on this one, the film jumps when the lights flicker, like when a radio loses signal, like the three of you had gone too far. The camera lands on you first, your face a contrast from the damp walls and darkness around you, something almost light around you in comparison. Bobby had a habit of doing that, capturing you on film and framing you just right so you'd be centre, the glowing, beautiful standout amid the drab background.

But this was different. He couldn't see you. He could see what was you. The same clothes you put on that morning in your apartment, shrugged on when clark had pounded on the door. The way your hair fell in your face, the small smile you gave him even though he still saw the nervousness in your eyes. But it was wrong, off, like something just highlighted your point on a map. And he keeps rewinding it just to see if his eyes are playing some sort of trick. 

There’s a glitch across your face. One that distorts your smile and leaves it crooked, and then there’s a high pitched sound, a screech so loud it nearly makes him drop the camera in a clatter on the floor. 

It fumbles in his hands before he catches it, closing the viewfinder with the clutch of his fingers. His breathing grows heavier and he dares to take another look. Because that was only hours ago, an untouched tape, and somehow it’s been messed with.

—

The worst part about this place is how it learns.

It remembers every detail. The voices started off distorted and wrong, using his voice in ways you didn't recognise. Everything was too over pronounced, the teasing and the way he dropped his accent was gone. You could ignore it then. Now it knew him, as much as it seemed to know how to get under your skin.

The laughter came next, and now it follows you in an echo down the hall, it even waits when you turn a corner before it stops again. You figure you can outrun it, pace yourself a few corridors down before it grows distant, but it comes again, louder and clearer. Right behind the wall where you’ve hid yourself hoping to regain some of your breath back.

It’s not nervous, it's real. And it’s Bobby’s laugh. The kind of laugh he does when clark made him reshoot commercials over and over, or the one he has only with you when you're both high and lounging in bed. It sounds so much like him it hurts, you can almost see the toothy grin come across his face.

So you test it again. This time you don’t run, you chase.You get up and follow it through three hallways, then four, then five. But it keeps moving away, always just ahead and never close enough to reach. Like it’s now mimicking you.

It keeps repeating like a recording stuck on loop, you haven't heard between the laughs. It’s not human, and it’s not him. Whatever it is, is something to taunt you, and you can feel the eyes of it on you, everywhere.

—

"Bobby.. bobby where are you I can't see you?" He jumps at the sound of your voice quicker than he can place himself, rising to his feet 

"It's okay baby I'm here—" You sound so tired and upset. And then it's worse. He can hear you crying. But he can't he can't see you. He's checking rooms, frantically, and he's shouting. Unpicking every lock from every door, hollowing out the crawlspace between the smaller rooms until they open up, near stumbling over himself just to follow the trail of it.

"Where the fuck.." He's expecting you to appear around the corner, where the sobs are louder, so shrill they ring in his ears. You’ve stopped calling out to him, instead there’s just sound, almost like groaning, broken and muffled by cries, animalistic in the way it distorts.

He knows you well enough to know that’s not you. He’s held you time after time when you’re upset, the times when you’ve been mad at him, curling into his chest after an argument even if you push him away first, or collapsing into his arms after a long day at work. This sound is hollow, fake and cruel. And it makes his blood boil, his fist connecting sideways with the wall with a sharp crack, because it used your voice, you.

And he doesn’t know what that means, he doesn’t know what’s happening, where you are or what that is.

But there’s one thing he does notice, pulling his hand away from the wall with a wince and the other rubbing at his temple. There are footprints, fresh ones. The same imprint he remembers. Yours. He could cry from relief, or some fucked up kind of it, because who knows if they’re yours, but they’re yours. There’s caution in his step as he follows them, mile after mile for what it seems like. Until they just stop.. There’s no other sign, just sticky tar that connects to nothing.

Only a wall.

Nowhere else, no door, no turn, just wall.

His hands press into it, maybe it’s a way out, maybe you did find your way out, and it’s like the “door” you came in, some other weird glitch you can just walk through. Bobby goes to press himself through it, but it doesn’t work, so he moves an inch, and other, tries it again. But nothing. It doesn’t budge.

He shoved his whole body into it, closing his eyes just for the hope, but he’s only met with damp.

—

The days, if they are even days, only make it harder to make out what's real and what's not. You haven't slept, the footsteps and breathing that wanders the halls are too loud every time you try to close your eyes. And that's the cruelest part, because the rooms haven’t just started to know you, now they understand.

The figure that waits at the end of the hall looks like Bobby, only for a second, but it's enough. The same height and same silhouette, the same crop top that peeks his stomach and jean shorts that ride low on his waist.

Some part of it is inviting.

You almost go to reach for him, but the pit in your stomach tells you not to, and instead you take off running. Slow at first, just to look over your shoulder and hope it doesn’t follow. It doesn’t. So you turn on your heel and run faster, further, until you can't see it anymore, until the image of him disappears completely.

And you don't want to forget, but it's not him. It runs over in a chant in your head. Not. Not. Not. Even if he beckons you back, pleading, calling your name like a prayer, in the sweetest voice he can, in that teasing hungry way that makes desire bubble up hungrily in your stomach. You claw it away, covering your hand over your mouth to silence your breathing, and the tears pricking your eyes.

Because it listens for that. Just so it can gather more of you.

And just as you are, paces behind wall and pipe, Bobby is unraveling.

He's exhausted and hungry, and lost, and he keeps seeing you, hearing you. Not the fake versions that pop around corners, he's already avoided and blocked those his mind however many days ago. These are memories. Glimpses of your actual life, and its torment. It’s probably delirium, his eyes already sting from the fluorescent lights and lack of sleep, and the pure adrenaline he’s running on.

But he sees it anyway.

You sitting in the break room and laughing as your legs swing over the counter, the pair of you hiding away from Clark’s strict instructions to stay out on the floor for customers. The way you roll your eyes at his jokes, and thread your hands through his hair. It’s the tiny moments, the things he misses, and he’s not sure where they’re coming from. But they’re the traces of you that make him ache.

And while his brain feels close to shutting down, the air thickening making his mind fog, the objects start appearing.

The jean jacket you stole from him when you first started dating and he let you have on the floor. Your handwriting on a clipboard with his recordings on, thrown onto a coffee table. A coffee cup with yours and his name on it because both of you used it anyway. Little impossible reminders that you're out there somewhere. Maybe alive, maybe not. He can’t bring himself to think of the latter, so he collects them, slinging the camera over his shoulder to shove what he can into his pockets or into his hands.

He shrugs the jacket on last. And it feels foreign because he hasn’t worn it in so long, because he said it was yours, but he stills in it, closing his eyes as the denim settles over his body like a blanket. He just hopes he can find you, and soon. Because whatever this place is, it’s trying to replicate too much.

There's scraps of you both in every hall, just enough to keep you searching.

And you both do, over and over. You suppose it makes sense how people can go missing, getting lured out into dangerous places with slivers of hope that they might return to home, or somewhere like it, to the things they took for granted. But how can they? When where they’re going is already catching up to them..

He starts leaving notes after a while, scraped from the sharp end of his belt buckle, and eventually from a marker he found lying about on the floor. And by some grace, it works. The notes are carved on every wall he could possibly manage to use, as a last ditch effort. It was arrows at first, his own markers of where he’d been just to keep direction. But then they were for you. Then they became notes.

KEEP GOING — B

That one is in the corner, scratched up right over an archway where a door should be, the ink of the marker still dripping down onto the carpet.

I’VE BEEN HERE — B

The next he took his time with, writing out the words carefully as he could in the very centre of an empty room. So wide and big you could see it easily.

GIVE ME A SIGN — B

The last one before it had ran out was desperate, so he used it wisely, tracing over every letter again and again until the words got bigger, probably enough to stain the walls from the inside out. But he needed it from you, not his imagination or

He stayed next to each one as long as he could, ducking back around corners as if you’d be standing right there. But you weren’t. So he kept going, tossing the dried out marker to the floor and continuing forward with one last smudged arrow on the tip of his finger. And now under that same daunting buzz he feels as if he really is losing it.

All he hears, is his name.

Bobby, Bobby, Bobby.

And it’s so clear now, it’s all you. Sometimes it’s happy and calm, other times it’s upset, sometimes it’s even mad. He doesn’t call back anymore, he just keeps his head in his hands, waiting for you to actually show, covering his ears as he tucks his head between his knees because he just can’t take it.

And only questions run in his mind.

How does he make it stop? How the fuck does he get out? And how does he get to you?

—

The scratching on the walls gets louder the farther you go, like the walls themselves are caving in, or something is pushing on it from either side, but you keep going. You have to.

You think about Clark, where he is, if he even survived what the hell happened, or if this is all a trick. Maybe you’re all doped up on some acid and this will be something to laugh at your trauma in a years time.

But it becomes real again, because the things you’ve been seeing are new, they’re fresh. They’re not created like you’ve noticed before, like a dollhouse with things rearranged. Furniture and distorted versions of places you recognise, they’re entirely their own..

The writing.. It makes your heart pulse, because it’s his. It’s Bobby’s. You almost missed it, your shoulders hunched and feet dragging along the floor, but you looked up, a striking flash of colour in a dull room. In bright blue marker pen scraped on the inside with something sharp, like he’d realised halfway through he had something more useful.

KEEP GOING — B

You step to it carefully, and your finger traces the mark, drawing over the line where his hand must have been. The letters are edged and wobbly like his hand had been shaking, and blue marker drips down the folded wallpaper where it had been pressed too hard.

You can hardly take yourself away from it, but you have to, the writing’s big it took up your attention, but you know him better than that. All those times he’d doodle in your notebooks, taking up room on the page in sly, testing ways. Your eyes follow to the small arrow underneath the writing, and it points one way.

So you follow it without question.

The maze continues but you can only guess, sliding your hands across every wall just to peer and hope you’ll find another. It’s hours before you find another one again, but you do.

I’VE BEEN—

You only begin to read it when you pause.

Because it’s not the writing that you find first, it’s it. Long legs stalk the hallways with a thump, taking up every second before it moves again, and it groans, shaking the floor around you. You catch yourself around the corner, crouching backward into a shadowed area of the wall. The steps stop, slowing just as the floorboards beneath you manage to creak.

Your heart hammers, and your teeth clench so hard you think they might break, and you don’t care if they do so long as it keeps you quiet. Because the footsteps pick up, uncoordinated and unstable, but fast, like a toddler would. You hear it stumble across the floor, chasing to pick up more sound, but you don’t give it. Your breath quickens into your palm, you just hop its quiet enough.

But something else isn’t.

A loud crash, followed by a “Shit” echoes down the hall, and your eyes blow wide. Because that’s the most familiar sound you’ve heard. It rings in your head, and you play it over. You’ve heard that before. It’s startled and unsteady.

It’s Bobby.

You close your eyes to tight you can feel the pulse in your eyeballs, wanting to reach out, to crawl from the space and yell for him. But you can’t, there’s already a scuffle of shoes and the heavy thump of leg saunters slowly back down the corridor and further away.

—

Minutes have passed since that noise. It’s silent, deadly silent, and even though you’ve heard and seen it all, that’s worse. Because what if he’s hurt, or whatever that is has caught up to him, or if he didn’t even see you.

Your hand pulls shakily away from your mouth with an absent mind, crawling forward into your hands and knees from where you’d dropped yourself onto the floor. The carpet shuffles under your legs, and you slow when you make it to the corner, exhaling shortly before rising back to your feat. Your fingers grip at the wall, tighter than you need to steady yourself.

But ten feet away isn’t what you expected. Ten feet away in that endless yellow hall, neither of you can trust what you're seeing. But you’re there, and he’s there and breathing, sweat beads his brow and tears prick at your eyes.

It’s real and the eerie silence falls away, it’s gentler and hushed.

His leg stumbles as he goes to reach for you, dropping everything he has, and you barely make it fully into his line of sight before he trusts his gut more than he can take and collides with you.

“Holy shit.. holy shit.” He holds you like you could break, but not something fragile, something that could fall if he only let you go. And he won’t. His fingers clutch at your sides, your hair, your face, pulling you close just to pull back and look at you again.

“You hurt?”

He checks for bruises, cuts, any signs of anything that wouldn’t be right, frantic eyes taking all over you. There’s a few of them he notes, some minor scrapes you caught along the way whilst ducking around corners, and some you didn’t care to remember. But they’re minimal, just like his own.

And then he’s on you. Lips, teeth, everything.. because he doesn’t know what to do. His lips capture yours tender and sharp all at once, grazing your lip just to get closer where his hand cradles the back of your head.

He only retracts when you’re both gasping for air, faces barely inches away as your foreheads are left touching. “I’m here baby..” Your hands hold his arms until they wrap around his waist, steadying yourselves against each other. You try to come up with the words but after so long of running, the back of your throat is dry and coarse.

His palms slide over your cheek, thumbs stroking at your temples and wiping away dry and damp tears. “I.. found you.” It’s all you can manage, and it’s enough to make him pull you into him again. This time it’s tighter, your face pressed right into his chest and all you can see is fabric, not the outside, not the blinking of LED’s or the patterned ceiling, just him. He even still has remnants of his cologne, the cheap one he swears by, and you breathe it in.

Bobby tucks his chin onto your head, his own body fighting not to betray itself and collapse completely.

“You did.. I’ve got you now.”

You feel as if you could, that you could will this all away now that he’s here. But this place has to break it, and it knew how to throw the biggest curveball.

“Guys come on..”

A voice calls behind you, so familiar it has to be another trick. You don’t look up, you tuck yourself further into Bobby’s chest and keep your feet clamped tight to the ground. If you ignore it, it’ll go away.

“Clark..? Is that you man..? ” Bobby’s voice follows, seeing something that you don’t. You shove him, whisper between you not to, that it’s not Clark, that you both need to leave.

He doesn’t argue with you, but he doesn’t move you either, he just lets you straighten, stepping just to the side of him as his arm sweeps out protectively in front. He takes a half-step forward, both of you glancing up to where the lights start to jitter wildly and that’s when you catch sight of him.

He’s stood half at a corner, only one side of his body. His shirt looks the same, tucked and proper, and he looks almost calm, peacefully so.

“I’m glad I found you guys, I’ve got to show you something..”

“Clark what is this place..” Your head shakes for you, a clear no, and you speak up, reaching for Bobby’s arm just to stop him from inching too close.

“Everything that ever was..” He reveals himself then. And it’s nothing out of the ordinary, that’s the terrifying part. Because after everything you’ve been put through, split up and chewed up by a place designed to drive you insane, he is at one with it. The gap behind him is narrow, blocked with stacks of mangled chairs, and you didn’t notice before, but the wall behind you is coloured.

It’s different from the other walls. It has drawings and writing, like a mural. Most of them are small and unreadable, little notes and diary entries scattered in a frenzy, but one catches your eye. The biggest one. A tall, silhouetted figure claims the space, rising above everything else, and holding an even smaller figure in its grasp. There’s other colour. Blue and yellow and red.. Is that meant to be blood?

Clark keeps moving, slow and calculated, cornering you both as you circle each other. You kick Bobby’s foot as slyly as you can. He hasn’t noticed it yet, but he does now, eyes flicking to you confused into to follow where you point.

He tries his best to make it out, it’s all some messed up graffiti work, but it makes it’s point. Whatever it is, it’s showing something sinister, and what that is? It’s in here.

Bobby grabs at your arm, stepping you both to the wall as Clark steps past, moving toward you with his hands up. The narrow hall in the far corner groans, or rather whatever is at the other end of it does, and that’s when you hear it. The same thump. The same clatter and shuffling. It comes in patters, every drag of a boot inching closer until the noise steps louder.

All three of you pause without a word, Bobby’s fingers curling tighter around yours, eyes darting between the hallway and Clark.

“What was that..?”

Clark’s eyes don’t tear away from the space, he just shushes you, placing his finger to his lip, and for some reason you listen, because that much is clear. It will hear you.

“It’s only me.. you know me.”

You and Bobby look at each other, and you feel colour drain from your face. It doesn’t add up what it means. Of course you know him, you’ve known him all of what, a year or so? But it’s like some sick riddle, that neither you are in half the mind to piece.

“Uh yeah, I think we’ve had enough of this shit..” Bobby calls out, ignoring the screech that pierces from the other side of the wall, he just holds you tighter.

“No wait.” Clark’s hand goes to reach for your wrist.

But Bobby is faster, taking you in arm and propelling you both down the corridor. You hit into walls, your hands bracing them as your feet scrape at the carpet and try to keep up, but you keep going, and you can’t look back. You already know he’s following, chasing, calling out to you both that it’s not safe, that he knows a way out, that it’s okay to stay a while..

It makes your throat go dryer than it already is. He doesn’t seem like himself, not that he ever seemed a ‘self’ at all. Clark was always fantastical, ambitious, wanting to be everywhere at once and hating the world for holding him down. If that was even the problem. But he was kind to you, to you both, taking you into that store when no other jobs were taking applications.

And then customers grew less, and business hung by a thread, and things went awry. He started sleeping in the store, he was brash in telling you not to lock up and not to come in too early, and then he wouldn’t open it at all for weeks. He became a shell. One that you tried to break, and help, but he’d refused it, and he’d been content that way.

That was until he came to you both with his idea, with his “research”. Research that ended you both up here. A place where things felt surreal, somewhere where time didn’t bother to check itself, and right now where you weren’t sure where you were going to end up.

And it adds up, because you’ve lost count how long you’ve been running, just that the grip on your arm is sore, doors have been slammed behind you and Clark is no longer there. Bobby hides you both around a corner, guiding the way, running up staircases and down sloping floors that should be.

You finally stop in a smaller space, there are less doors and openings, less invitation from the things outside to come in. He releases you only for a second to shut what looks like a closet door with a click, crossing the space in a few single strides just to get to you.

“You okay..?” His back falls against the wall opposite, resting his head where he tries to catch his breath.

Your hand places over your heart, thumping and hammering beneath your rib cage, “No.. you?” He only shakes his head, looking up at you with an expression that puzzles you. Because he looks terrified, and tired, and hopeful all at once.

And he is.

He’s hopeful because he’s found you, that he can cross the room just to hold you in his arms again like he does. He’s tired because it’s been hours, days however the hell long you’ve spent in there with no food, no water and being followed. And terrified.. because things feel too familiar.

And that’s when you realised it, the room you’d found yourselves in. Not just any one, or one you’d seen like wandering the endless corridors, this one is different, this one you know.

The apartment is warm, oddly warm, as if heat and comfort could ever reach a place like this. But it’s not the temperature that makes it that way, it’s the way it feels. Everything is in place just like you remember it, like home, your home, the apartment on the lot in the suburbs that you and Bobby lease. That no matter how many times you complain about it, you wish you were there in it now. The unwatered plant pot still sits on the windowsill, your toothbrushes still sit in a plastic cup, his pot is shoved in the kitchen drawer.

Even some of your clothes hang in the closet, your bed still messy the way you laid it out and didn’t make it in time that one morning. Some of the chair legs stick too far into the floor, and the lettering on the cereal boxes that are empty are all wrong, but it’s almost there. It’s still remembering.

Remembering your space, remembering you.

It takes a while for you to even remember that the jacket Bobby’s wearing is one of your own, or it became it. It makes you smile, even if the scratching in your stomach grows impatient. Because this place is dulling your senses, and Bobby can’t bring himself to move an inch away from you to make sure that you’re real.

You’re going to get out of this place, you have to.

For now you just have to look past the open windows and shutters. The plain, yellow walls and what creeps past them are enough to make your brain go fuzzy. Bobby doesn’t stop moving, he paces the hallway of your parallel home with a disturbed determination, shoving his hand through his messy, golden hair.

“We need to get out of here..”

loving taglist: @starxs-s 💗

[julez-5]

still haven’t watched this movie, but am eating up all your backrooms fics regardless. this was absolutely amazing!!

[tomcruisenose]

dexmatt memes I made bc I can't get enough of dexmatt

[julez-5]

Bertie and the "i'm too old to feel sexy" wont leave my mind

Would you write something where younger new wife!reader makes baelor feel sexy 👀👀

TOO OLD—modern!Baelor Targaryen

modern!Baelor x younger!wife!reader

content: Baelor declares he is too old to feel sexy, but you think that is utter nonsense.

words: 1.1k

cw: MDNI 18+ sexual references, alcohol, age gap, not proofread as I wrote this on a break from writing my paper, lmk if I missed any

a/n: since i haven’t written shit all week here’s a small baelor fic

Baelor’s fingers drummed against the steering wheel looking to enter for the fifth time. It was monthly girls night, and even the gentleman he had offered to drop you all off and to pick you up once you were ready to leave no matter the time. 

He had thought this part of his life was over, especially the older one, but then he had met you. Despite being old enough to more than likely be your father you had been instantly attracted to him. 

Also you never did accept when he had tried to be proper turning you down due to the age difference between the pair of you. 

You who could still run on four hours of sleep, were in the prime of your life, and could fall and not feel the consequences for the next week. You had wanted him, and the thought still perplexed him, but you learned not to question it any more. 

You had texted saying that you and your friends would be out in less than a minute. That was five minutes ago, and he was beginning to worry. He let out a sigh, pulling his keys from ignition before making his way into the bar. 

It wasn’t that crowded allowing him to easily spot you and your two friends perched against the bar talking to the female bartender. You had a bright grin on your face, your hands moving widely as he took in your appearance. 

You wore a pair of jeans shorts fitted with a black top. It was nothing widely inappropriate, but the small v neck that curved down to your chest still managed to make his mouth water slightly. 

Your friend, Alice, a red head around the same age as you poked you in the ribs nodding her head toward him causing you to spin around. Your face lit up further, which he did not know was possible and he felt as if he was standing outside in the hot weather at the warmth that spread through him. 

“Baelor!” you exclaimed, practically running into him as you stumbled less than gracefully toward him. 

He reacted quickly, arms wrapping around you to stabilize you as you stared up at him. You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before dragging him back to the bartender that you had been talking to moments before. 

“Oh, meet my new friend Cara! This is my sexy husband I was telling you about,” you gushed grinning up at him as you had won something grand, but he felt as if there was a winner from the pair of you it was definitely him. 

He let out a laugh shaking his head, “I am too old to feel sexy.”

Your reaction was immediate. You looked almost offended, and he would have laughed, but he was trying to take you seriously, but was miserably failing. 

“Alice! Margaret!” you called, causing your friends to turn toward the pair of you. 

“Isn’t Baelor sexy?”

“Extemely! We love Dilfs!” Margaret exclaimed, her words sounding even more slurred than yours, but still just as genuine. 

“Yes! You are rocking the salt and pepper!” Alice added in agreement, before they returned to paying their tabs.

A blush spread across Baelor’s cheeks. He opened his mouth a few times, gaping as if he was a fish out of water. “See! You are sexy! You will probably still be in a nursing home being sexy!”

Your laughter filled the air as you moved cupping either side of his cheeks and before he could react your mouth was on his. His hands gravitated toward your hips pulling you flush against him, as he allowed the kiss to progress further into what he was usually comfortable with in public. 

But you had just fed his ego, you were gorgeous, and he had such a hard time telling you. He was sure that if you had asked for it he would buy you the city if it was a wish of yours. 

“I love you,” you muttered against his mouth, finally needing to pull away for breath. Your chest rising and falling rapdiy against his own as your hand moved to trail across the grey in his beard that you had told him on numerous occasions drove you wild. 

“I love you,” he replied, back staring down at you with a fond expression.

“You are the sexiest old man ever,” you then declared, a wide drunken grin filling your beautiful lips as you stared up at him like he had hung the moon. 

And you meant, because not only was he good looking, but he was caring. He was generous, and he was an amazing husband. 

Your amazing husband. 

“Whatver you say, my love,” he told you press to the top of your head. He looked to your two friends who had finished paying, causing him to look down at you, “Have you paid yet?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p as you tucked yourself under his arm. 

“I got it,” he then assured you, despite you having made no move to gather your own wallet.

You let out a small laugh, pulling yourself from him to face the bartender, “Sexy and is going to pay my tab!” you gushed once more looking at Cara as Baelor fished his wallet from his pocket. 

“Can we go get ice cream somewhere, Bae?” you then asked, but he knew you already knew exactly what he would say. 

“Of course,” he replied automatically, handing the woman his card to pay off your tab for the evening. 

Your eyes lit up, “See! Sexy!”

He handed Cara his card as he turned toward you, “Because I am buying you ice cream.”

“Oh, you are anyways. The ice cream is just an added bonus,” you then moved toward him pushing yourself up on your tip toes causing him to duck his head down toward you, “And when we get home I am going to show you just how sexy you are and how wet I am thinking of you,” you told him nipping his ear lobe. 

His eyes widened as he had to look away from you, forcing out a cough as he tried to urge his cock not to harden in his brief, but it was already too late. 

He had never driven to get home so fast before, and you made good on your word.

baelor taglist: @sacha1slytherin @erylilly @thebl00dwyrm @ilocuras24 @xkatherinexo @alaeratrrn @ynnlvrs @theonewhoshallbeunnamed @sem-ra @darylandbethfanforever9

if you would like to join the tag list for future baelor stories feel free to drop a comment :)

[julez-5]

girlie I am so hyper fixated on stags wife au rn. please can we have more angst!!! also, I know you said you were gonna do this but i’m so excited to see how baelor and wife make up after the seven year silence

STAGS WIFE UNITE!! I have some wips I need to get through and then I will work on another stags’ wife piece! Is that what you guys wanna see first them making up?? Or like more Ashford? After Ashford? Idk I love talking stags wife 😭

[sallymaywritings]

The Heart of the Sea

Gif by ararebloom

Pairing: Michael Cavendish x widowed sister-in-law reader Summary: Michael Cavendish seises the opportunity in the tragedy, but this time he decides to take some responsibility for it. Warning(s): Porn with feelings and some plot, angst, explicit sexual content, p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), cursing, rough sex, slight humiliation, mutual slapping, mention of character’s death, mention of marriage, happy ending. No use of y/n, the reader has no physical description. No AI involved, all of my garbage is mine, and I'm still human. English is not my first language; my apologies for any eventual mistakes. Don't copy, translate, upload, or use my works anywhere.

(I have no fantasy for titles, so I decided to use the title of a Flogging Molly song)

Tag list: @orson-pope @ghostlybfgf @californiablues88 @risefallrise

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always welcome :D

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

The Heart of the Sea

England mid-1800s

The clamour of the street on that warm day of August was just an annoying noise in the background for him. His whole attention was on a particular window on the second floor of a building in his native neighbourhood. He had been standing there for almost an hour, brooding over the idea of entering or whether it was wise to vanish forever.

He was supposed to sail with the other whale hunters, escaping into the icy waters of the North, but he was there, thinking of what words of circumstance to use with you. It’s been a while, two years, maybe three, since the last time you met. He couldn’t remember it clearly anyway, since half of his life was on board some ship.

Michael was anything but a man of principles. His way of seeing an opportunity in everything allowed him to survive, but what he had to face that day was out of his league. Not to mention the feelings involved. Feelings. Something foreign, something he constantly rejected for all of his life.

His thoughts shut off when he saw the curtain move and your figure appearing behind the dirty window pane. He recognised you immediately. You didn’t change by an inch, and his limbs started to tremble as you finished tying your corset and adjusted the underwear camisole.

He dragged a puff of cigarette, slightly squinting his eyes and thinking of how many nights he fantasised about you, of how soft your body would have been, how your voice would have sounded while he would have fucked that pretty cunt of yours. He would have smelled your arousal as he tasted your flesh and ate your core.

“Fuck…” He murmured and spat on the ground. When his eyes moved again at your window, you were gone.

He threw away the cigarette stub and blamed his feral needs for why he crossed that street and entered that building, but there was a score to settle behind it.

“Good morning, Mrs Williams.” He took his hat off in front of the building owner.

“Cavendish…” The curvy, red-headed woman scanned him up and down. “You’re a bit late for the funeral.”

Michael lowered his visibly upset gaze as he chewed his inner cheek, promising himself he would behave. He couldn’t risk being kicked out before seeing you.

“Yeah… need to see her.”

The woman gave him a surly look, carefully scanning him up and down. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“I am not.” He snapped.

“Uh.” She huffed out before waving her head to the stairs, silently permitting him to go. “I want you out before dinner time. No one wants despicable men around during the night.”

He didn’t reply, even if he really wanted to do it, but his mind was already under your skirt. He ran upstairs and ignored a couple of women chatting in the corridor, who became silent when he passed. His steps were heavy on the wooden floor, his movements confident in contrast to his accelerated heartbeat. It would have been better…easier, to fall in love with a whore.

He vigorously knocked twice, but you didn’t respond. He took a deep breath, hating every single second of that useless waiting. The two women remained silent as they watched, eager to catch some new gossip in their boring lives. He called your name through the door, resting his forehead on the old wood. “It’s me.”

At the sound of his voice, the anger grew inside you. The awareness that you would have met him at some point wasn’t unexpected, but you couldn’t help feeling so frustrated. Michael had always been insufferable, out of the box and extremely harsh. You loathed him.

“Go away, Michael.”

“Open up.” He slightly slammed his hand on the door. “I need to see you.”

You opened the door with a sharp movement, rage clearly painted on your face. “See me? And what about your brother?!”

“Let’s speak inside.”

“He died two weeks ago, and you didn’t even show up for the funeral!” You ignored his request and kept venting while he was still standing at the threshold.

“I was busy.” He said absently. “They needed me to fix the ship before it set sail.”

“Last time I checked you weren’t a carpenter.” You crossed your arms.

Michael was losing his patience, no matter if he loved you more than his own brother, and he was celebrating his death with a bottle of rum and his cock stuck up in a whore instead of attending at his funeral at your side.

“Let me in.” He said with a low but firm tone as he pushed you inside and slammed the door. He took a better look of you, thinking of how useless that faded-purple dress was, considering the good things there were underneath it.

“What now?” You shrugged. “Did you come to take what remains of Arthur?”

“Sort of.” He said as he threw his hat on the table. “I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” You raised your eyebrows.

“I want to take care of you. I… I want to marry you.” He said with a softer tone, scared of using such soapy bullshits.

You knew it was a serious thing since he wasn’t giggling like a fool as usual, and that caused an unexpected pleasant reaction down in your stomach; way too pleasant considering how you hated Michael. You tried to ignore what your body was telling you, unable to resist repaying him with the same coin. A mocking chuckle came in response, and it was even better when you noticed his irritation. Your bully smirk remained on your face, enjoying having been able to bruise his ego.

His reaction was immediate. He closed the gap between you two with a couple of long strides before pulling your hair and keeping you firmly in place. “You are carrying my name.” He said with gritted teeth. “It will never be replaced by someone else.”

“I belong to Arthur. I will belong to him forever.”

“He’s dead.”

“Better a ghost than you.” You pushed your luck with your sharp words.

Your boldness, his arousal, and everything in between broke the last restriction of your roles. Arthur wasn’t there to oppose, and you wouldn’t reject Michael. Not this time. Not under such circumstances. You knew it would be a wild ride, and you needed it.

The kiss that followed was ferocious, possessive. Years of restraint unleashed in a moment. His tongue invaded your mouth with no respect as he pushed you toward the bed, despite your complaining gestures to push him away. A series of rapid-fire slaps hit his chest, his shoulders, his face and your whining voice, suffocated into that kiss, only increased his needs.

“There’s no one between us now. You’re mine.” He pressed his words against your mouth.

When your back touched the mattress, and his lips reached your neck, your attempt to reject him was slowly fading into pleasure. Your mind was fighting because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of your surrendering so soon, but your body was betraying you. Your fists kept hitting him as he lifted you easily to throw you in the middle of the bed. The way he was handling you was nothing compared to your relationship with Arthur. Your husband was caring, sweet, almost shy to touch you, even after years together. Michael was a beast, eager to claim you. A warm sensation filled your stomach as never before. The need to be taken roughly and quickly pervaded your mind with sinful thoughts.

“Do you have an idea of how long I have been waiting for this moment?” He asked breathlessly as he lowered his braces and took his shirt off. “It should have been me since the first time I put my eyes on you, in that pub. Not Arthur!” His hand went down and pulled your skirt up enough to feel the skin of your thigh. A deep laugh growled in his chest. “You’re not wearing any socks. I bet my ass your cunt is easy access too. Maybe you’re cut out to be a whore.”

It was humiliating and irrespective, and you liked it. The way he was looking at you, thirsted to violate your flesh, eager to fight against you, was pure fire between your legs. “Try me, you shithead.” You deliberately instigated, perfectly aware of the consequences. “I swear I’ll kick your ass…”

You couldn’t finish your threat because Michael shut your mouth with another kiss and moved his hand directly on your sensitive core. The jolt you felt as his fingers brushed your dripping folds led you to moan shamelessly, finally betraying yourself.

“You little whore, with your flooding cunt. Where you wanted to hide?” He breathed against your cheek, carefully watching your face contorting into pleasure and enjoying the feeling of his hard cock brushing against his trousers. “Let me hear your pretty voice once again.” He commanded as his fingers sank inside you and his thumb delightfully pressed against your swollen bulge.

You bit your lower lip, swallowing your moans and shutting your eyes. You still didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“Look at me. I said… look at me!” He moved to his knees and grabbed your face with his free hand. When your eyes met, he licked his lip to avoid losing saliva. “Unbutton your dress.”

“No.” You replied breathlessly, as his grip around your face tightened and his fingering increased.

He spat on the floor with irritation, removing his fingers from your cunt and sucking them clean before tearing the front part of your dress apart. The row of buttons snapped off, revealing your pristine corset and your chest moving up and down, under your heavy breath.

“Fuck…” He whispered as his hand caressed your upper body, wrapped in that solid cage made of whale bones and firm fabric. He was mesmerised at the idea of unwrapping you like a gift, and he didn’t see the slap coming, making him return to reality.

“Fuck!” He shouted and slapped you back. His hand slipped down your throat, carefully tightening enough to let you feel his strength, but not enough to take your breath away. “Is this what you want? You want me brute? You want me to take you as the whore you are?”

He felt you swallowing against his palm as a teasing smirk appeared on your face. His eyes widened, and his cock throbbed; he reconsidered his idea of you as a perfectly well-mannered woman.

“I knew it…” A wild grin opened on his face.

He moved to take his switch blade from the back pocket of his trousers and hastened to cut the corset laces. “Well fuck. My brother always painted you as an angel on this damn earth. He’s probably rolling in his grave now.”

“You’re cruel.” You said, perfectly aware you were in the same boat together.

“And you’re a bitch who’s fucking her brother-in-law when her husband’s body is still warm six feet under.”

The switchblade ended up stuck in the wooden floor as Michael opened the corset with a sharp tug and ripped the underneath camisole. He didn’t waste time in fondling your bare breasts with full hands, pinching the hard tips and biting your soft flesh. You arched a bit, unable to suppress a loud moan. He laughed with open mouth as his tongue teased your nipples, feeling your hand pressing on his head.

“Someone is finally eager here as I am.”

“Shut up, asshole!”

A low growl of satisfaction accompanied his movements as he reached your cunt once again, this time fully intent on eating you out. He moved your skirt up to your hips, completely exposing your forbidden fruit.

“So perfect.” He murmured before assaulting it with hunger.

“Michael!” You shouted as your thighs moved on his ample shoulders and the tip of his tongue sent deep shivers of pleasure through your body.

He licked and sucked, losing himself in that long-awaited moment. “You taste even better than imagined.” He couldn’t stop worshipping your cunt even when he unbuttoned his trousers and lowered them enough to jerk himself.

“Michael, please…”

“Please what, angel?” He moved up, wiping his mouth from your juice as he carefully observed you begging for more.

You shut your eyes as you surrendered to his whims. “Fucking take me.”

He smirked as he penetrated you easily with a sharp thrust. You moaned as you clung to his shoulders, pressing your soft breasts against his firm chest. His body started to move with ferocious vehemence, slamming deep inside you mercilessly. You took all of him so well, feeling things you'd never felt before, even with Arthur, and silently blessing Michael’s visit.

“My angel… my…” He breathed into your ear, losing control of the moment.

You repeated his name, unable to say anything else as the orgasm pervaded you unexpectedly. His eyes widened in shock and ecstasy as your body convulsed around him, sending waves of pleasure through his own cock. The sudden, intense milking of your pussy made his vision swim, his hands gripping the mattress on either side of your head to keep from collapsing completely.

“Fuck, you're coming already?” His voice was a desperate growl, a mix of awe and frustration. “You can't do that without warning me…fuck!”

His hips stopped for a moment, caught off guard. But then his own instincts took over, and he began pounding into you again with renewed ferocity, determined to draw out every last drop of your climax.

“I'm not done with you yet.” He panted against your neck, teeth finding the sensitive spot where your pulse was racing.

A loud cry coming from your arousal and pain pushed him to cover your mouth with his. The crash of the lips was hungry, intense. His tongue tangling with yours in a desperate dance that mirrored the frantic rhythm of your bodies. The kiss was raw and demanding, a silent battle for dominance that neither wanted to lose. His thrusts became more erratic as your climax continued to ripple through you, his own control fraying at the edges.

“Look at me.” Michael commanded roughly, pulling back just enough to see your face. “I want to see you when I make you forget everything but how good I feel inside you.”

With a guttural groan, he drove into you one last time; his body went rigid as waves of release washed over him. His cock pulsed deep inside you, spilling hot seed that mixed with your own wetness. Deep groans were unleashed in the room shamelessly as he collapsed onto you, panting heavily.

“Fuck…” His voice was raw with emotion, lips pressing against your neck where his teeth had marked you earlier.

The room became quiet; the air was thick with arousal and sweat, and you both rested enough to regain your senses. It was the first time for Michael to feel the need to stay in a woman’s arms instead of running away with a still-dripping cock. It was the first time for you to feel the need to keep a man in your arms instead of dressing back up quickly.

“You owe me a new corset.” You said softly, wanting to break that silence to avoid thinking of your husband.

“I didn’t know you wanted to be paid after.” He joked.

“Do you think you can throw me some pennies and run away? Better for you to give me that ring you have in your trousers before you go away.”

He moved to look into your eyes. “How the fuck do you know I have a ring?”

“You came to propose to me, right? It would have been a shame for you not to have an engagement ring.”

Michael laughed deeply. He wouldn’t have left so soon.

Ao3 Link

[julez-5]

this was so good!! I’m way too wound up to sleep now. gonna have to go find a stream to submerge myself in 🤭🫠😋🙂‍↕️

[poindihxter]

benjamin poindexter how i love you so

[julez-5]

Matt Murdock Masterlist

⋆˙⟡ indicate drabbles

[julez-5]

Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter Masterlist

⋆˙⟡ indicate drabbles

[targlocket]

LICK YOU CLEAN

maekar targaryen x wife!reader

cw: filth!!, licking, sniffing, dry humping, nipple play(m!receiving), degradation, praise, body worship(m!receiving), breath play(f!receiving), scent kink!!, coming in pants, face humping, (2.7kw).

n/a: idk what came over me. based on this post!! u can read this as a piece from the my hot husband au/universe or a stand alone!! i just wrote this with their dynamic in mind lol! enjoy! < 3

"mhm, you didn't bathe after the hunt," you mumbled, fingers lifting maekar's tunic upwards impatiently, revealing his stomach, with that soft pudge of fat at the bottom that you loved. the one pinched by his breeches, making the soft flesh hang just a little over the band of his pants. "good. that's how i wanted you."

your husband only grumbled, rough hands trying to stop you from revealing more skin. still, you were determined, swatting every attempt away with a disgruntled sound, making maekar even more annoyed.

"have you no shame at all, woman?" he grouched, face pinched in irritation as you lifted the tunic until it pooled under his armpits, revealing his chest and belly in all its glory. "disrobing me and pawing at my flesh like i'm nothing but a toy to be played with when i'm exhausted from the bloody fucking—"

but you were barely listening to what your husband was saying, and frankly, in that moment, you had no qualms about paying mind to what came out of his mouth. all you cared about was how good he looked in that moment, leaning back against the pillows of your bed, still sweaty and dirty from the royal hunt he attended, looking every inch a man. all muscle and sinew and gods, the smatterings of fine silver hairs all over his chest and belly, and all the way lower on his navel, where a white trail of hair led right beneath the waistband of his breeches, to his cock.

you almost sighed thinking of it. you loved your husband's cock. it was one of the best things about him.

"you're exhausted," you parroted, humming as your soft hands continued to caress his stomach, pressing your fingers in, kneading at the skin like a cat, leisurely and appreciative, eliciting a displeased groan from your husband. "so sit back and indulge me for a few moments, dear husband."

maekar only scowled at you, the furrow between his brows deepening, lip curling in a snarl as he leaned forward, trying to loom, to intimidate in hopes you would cease pestering him. "don't dear husband me, you aggravating woman," he gritted, teeth barred, akin to a dragon before it unlatched its jaws to breathe fire and ash in anger. it made you warm under your chemise. you loved when your husband was all snappy and indignant.

you leaned forward, undeterred by his little intimidation tactic, noses almost brushing as you spoke, your tone soft and persuasive, as if beckoning a wild animal that might bite. "you were gone for so long, and i have been here, all alone, missing you like a limb," you lamented, distracting him from the way your fingers trailed along the waistband of his breeches now, prodding at the pudgy roll of fat there, loving the soft feel of it. "the least you could do is yield to my whims for a while."

aware that it wouldn't be enough to placate your husband, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek, leaving chaste, sweet kisses on the skin as you murmured. "you always look so good after a hunt, husband," you appeased, relentless in your pursuit of what you wanted, especially when it was something as delicious as touching maekar freely without him grumbling in your ear incessantly. "makes me want to devour you whole," your tone was on the precipe of resembling a purr, lips descending towards the strong line of his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at the sweaty skin in delight.

as always, he tried to persist, even as you felt his skin warm and flush under your lips, making your mouth curl into a satisfied smile. you had him exactly where you wanted him, even if he was still resisting.

"you're being ridiculous," and oh, he was already panting softly, broad chest heaving along with the warm breaths that brushed your temple as you littered his ruddy-skinned throat in wet kisses. "pouncing on me like a cat in heat the second, ah—fuck," he cursed right when your tongue laved at his skin, tasting the remnants of the hunt. the sweat, the grime, the dirt—him, musky and manly and oh so palatable. “stop. i reek of filth and—”

“and i love it,” you moaned against his throat, mouth parting to press open—mouthed kisses to the skin of his throat, tongue licking at every remnant of perspiration, catching it against your palate and savoring it like the finest arbor gold. “you smell s’ good, husband, gods. i want to lick you all over.”

it always got like this. the more disheveled he returned, the more aroused you got. shame had deserted you moons ago, being absurdly vocal about how much you enjoyed when your husband was anything but presentable and pristine.

maekar made an aborted sound at your words, already flushed all the way to the tip of his ears, one rough hand moving to clasp the back of your nape and squeeze in hopes of deterring your assault on his senses, but it seemed in vain. the touch only spurred you, a soft sound resembling a purr rumbling against his throat as you continued to press your tongue to his skin, dipping it to taste the touch of grime gathered in the hollow of his throat.

“filthy,” maekar snarled, fingers squeezing just so at your nape and pulling upwards, eliciting a disgruntled sound from you; a whine. your lips were slick with spit, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide, hazy with heat and adoration, which only made the pressure of his hand increase, reprimanding you for how far gone you already looked. “you’re a filthy, dirty woman, you know that?” he spat, tone brooking on a growl. “always have been,” maekar continued, tightening his hold onto your nape, the pads of his fingers restricting your breath for just a moment, just enough to make you gasp, before he eased it. “getting hot and bothered by your soiled husband like a degenerate,” his thumb brushed against your throat, where he gripped prior, the closest thing to quiet tenderness you could get in that moment, but it made warmth spread through you regardless.

“what of it?” you challenged, dipping your head back to his throat, nosing along the flushed skin, your soft fingers resuming their pawing along his belly, pressing and prodding at the pudgy flesh there, nails scraping along the trail of fine hairs leading below his waistband, making your husband hiss. “it’s your smell i crave, your taste,—” another filthy lick, along the jut of his collarbones, before moving downwards towards his chest, where the smattering of hair was thicker, the smell of sweat and musk more pungent.

maekar tensed as soon as he felt your lips brush against one of his pecs, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him when the tip of your nose nudged a nipple, willing it to harden.

“don’t you fucking dare—”

you did it again, nosing at the pebbling bud once, twice. then, you licked it, slow and wet, circling the nipple with the tip of your tongue, flicking teasingly.

a garbled moan punched out of maekar’s chest, his hold on your nape tightening anew, his other hand fisting the sheets under him, white—knuckled and trembling with restraint. you could tell he wanted to shove you away, to haul you as far as possible from his body so he wouldn’t be able to feel all this, to have to succumb to your whims and depravity. but you also knew he liked it. craved your attention like poison in his veins. hated that he needed it. snarled and snapped his jaws while being half—hard already beneath his breeches, blushing from the tips of his ears to where your mouth was currently busied, lips parting to suckle noisily at his nipple, drawing out another restrained, delicious grunt from your husband.

“look at you,” he managed to bite out through gritted teeth, broad chest heaving under your mouth, voice thinner, breathier. “licking and sucking like a common whore,—”

but you didn’t let him finish, letting your teeth scrape against the bud, nipping at it enough to sting, halting his crude words, making him curse, back arching, pushing his chest more into your awaiting mouth. it was a reprimand, but also a sick, twisted pleasure. seeing your husband bucking and snarling under your lips and tongue was a sight you could never get tired of, much like right now, as you laved one last lick to his wet, swollen nipple, before nosing between his pecs through the fine hairs there, inhaling the scent of him like a woman possessed.

“how would you know what common whores do, mhm, husband?” you murmured, nuzzling along the underside of his pecs, letting your lips press against the skin in damp kisses as you descended towards his stomach, fingers still trailing along the hairs leading towards his navel. “have you been indulging without my knowledge?”

each question was a taunt, like dangling a hunk of meat under a dragon’s nose, waiting for it to bite. and you loved nothing more than to taunt your dragon until he bit, until you could feel his teeth sink in, metaphorically or not.

and he always bit.

“you think i would debase myself with some pleasure house wench?” he snarled, violet eyes glinting with something close to offense, which made you preen quietly, warmth spreading through your chest like drizzled honey.

as you nosed along his stomach, you couldn’t help but breathe him in again, mouth parting in soft pants as your eyes fluttered, the musk of him stronger the closer you got to the V—shape of his hips. “i would hope you wouldn’t, dear husband,” you mouthed along his belly, tongue poking out to lick at the skin, tasting him again. “i would be thoroughly scorned if you so dared,” another lap of your tongue, slow and filthy, this time along the trail of hair near the waistband of his breeches, feeling a slight tickle onto your palate.

but, gods, the scent. the taste of him.

musky and sweaty and man.

it drove you wild, lips pressing to that tempting silver line, open-mouthed and slow, savoring him on your tongue again and again, as if you couldn’t get enough.

a groan slipped unbidden from maekar’s mouth, fingers tightening at your nape, as if remembering he still had a hold on you, blunt nails biting at the skin light enough to make you shiver as he pressed with firmness, as if scruffing a cat. “don’t need some perfumed, wanton wench when i have my hands full with you,” he panted, eyes trained on you, almost unblinking, having watched you the entire time, despite his protests. lavender hues half—lidded, glinting, part anger, part heat, eyeing you like a predator stalking prey.

his words made you purr against his skin, a satisfied sound, your fingers moving to tug slightly at his waistband, revealing more of his navel to you to lick and kiss. “good,” you murmured into his skin, dipping to nose at the cincture of his pants, and lower, nuzzling against his crotch, where you could feel him hard and throbbing already.

“woman, you—” but his protest dissolved into a shuddering moan as you rubbed your cheek against his clothed cock insistently, eyes fluttering, gaze holding his, molten and smoldering with heated affection. the friction was delicious, and it only made more bitten off pleasured sounds fall from his lips, broad chest heaving, splotched red from how hard he was blushing, skin ruddy and flushed. he looked good enough to eat. and maybe later, you intended to do just that.

the scent of him was strongest there, musk so strong it made you dizzy with want, lips parting to mouth at his crotch, feeling his cock throb beneath the cloth, only spurring you on. “smell s’ good,” you mumbled as you continued to map the hard ridge of his arousal with your mouth, tongue laving at the material, wetting it with your spit, making the outline of his cock even more visible. “taste s’ good, husband.”

“gods, fuck—” came from above you, the grip at your nape firming, pressing down, almost smushing your face into his crotch, but you couldn’t be happier to succumb to maekar’s guidance, feeling his hips twitch upwards, rutting weakly against your face.

it made you moan, the action so debauched, so depraved, making you nose along his clothed cock in time with the clumsy grinding of his hips against your face, the scent of him thickening, clogging your senses and coating the back of your throat from how greedily you inhaled.

“c—can’t believe you’re, shit—” he could barely get his words out, too impaired by the way you looked, the blissful look on your face as he humped against it. “can’t believe you’re getting off on this, you wanton woman,” maekar continued, his hips picking up the pace, forcing you slightly more against his clothed cock, grinding against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose; anything he could, the pleasure tingling down his spine way too rapid for his taste. “mouthing at me like a filthy animal, letting me hump—fuck.”

you could tell he was getting close, the thought satisfying you more than you could tell. seeing your husband so unraveled by this alone, hips grinding against your face, hand holding you down for more delicious friction, chasing more but not being able to get it. a delicious torture that was way too exquisite not to witness.

“mhm,” you hummed against his crotch, rubbing your cheek harder against his clothed cock, feeling it throb incessantly, the smell of him more pungent, the precum leaking steadily through his breeches and staining your cheek. “not my fault my husband left me unattended for so long,” you lamented, fluttering your lashes, continuing to rub against him. “i’ve been so lonely,” the words were mouthed against him, breath warm against his crotch, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

“always so fuckin’ demanding,” he groaned, long and suffering, humping against your face with more fervor, so close to his peak, face and throat flushed and splotchy, hand firm against your nape as he pushed your face deeper into his crotch. “n—never satisfied, ah, fuck, fuck, wife—,”

wife. the word strained and close to a whine as he lost control, rutting against your plush cheek once, twice, before he came with a pained groan, as if someone clawed the sound from deep in his chest, his spent dirtying his breeches, wetting the fabric against your cheek.

his chest was heaving, mouth parted wide as he tried to catch his breath, his grip still firm, but trembling against your nape, his thumb now brushing along the side of your throat, just like before, as if rewarding you silently, thanking you for letting him use you like this.

it made you smile and you nuzzled into his now damp crotch, the smell of him more powerful than ever, making you moan against the cloth. the sound seemed to bring maekar back from his post coital bliss, his violet eyes blinking down at you, hazy but attentive.

“lick it,” he breathed out, voice strained and heaving still, the fingers at your nape guiding you towards where his cum stained his breeches most, a wet patch visible where the head of his now softening cock was under the cloth. “can’t let good spend go to waste, wife.”

you only hesitated for a heartbeat, mind not wrapping around his words for a moment, before you moaned, mouth parting eagerly, tongue pressing to the damp material and licking, feeling the taste of him invade your palette. “yes, yes,” you sighed, overly pleased, too preoccupied and greedy, lips wrapping around the wet spot and suckling it into your mouth, the essence exploding onto your tongue.

“fucking filthy woman—,” maekar cursed, the sight of his wife, so desperate and eager, making him equal parts flustered and astounded.

you knew the night was going to be a long one when you felt a twitch under your tongue, your husband’s cock throbbing back to life, making your lips curl.

taglist: @alexjacobsgoodnight @kyoozz @mademoisellepetite @verouys @theliqouricebtch @pinkdoeweirdo @winkymar @loveslide @clumsycopy @eowyns-fantasy @yun4st4r @crayonbug @bloomfaery @thewitch-lives @sem-ra @silkaurum @embalmedopossum

[julez-5]

I FINALLY GOT THE TIME TO READ THIS MASTERPIECE!! THIS WAS SO FUCKING HOT! IM NOW A NEW PERSON.

I need to go touch grass

[julez-5]

How I prepare to catch up on all I’ve missed from your blog these last few days 🥹🫶🏽

oh my god I love that 😭😭 I hope you enjoyed everything!! 🫶🏻

[orson-pope]

Can you see me now?

Pairing: Mike Webster x fem!reader

Summary: Coach Mike joins you in dancing when all your friends effectively blow you off.

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, no physical description of the reader except hair, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, alcohol consumption, partying, prescription drug abuse (Xanax), grinding, public sex (restroom), rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, porn without plot, plot what plot, first draft yolo, no beta

Notes: I KNOW WHAT I SAID I’LL BE POSTING FIRST AND I’M SORRY. I GOT THIS VISION IN MY HEAD AND HAD TO GET IT OUT.

“But you promised you’d come dancing with me!” your tone was almost angry in its desperation as your little celebration group was saying goodbye to each other. You were looking at your two best friends on the team, even though you could tell they'd already had too much to drink. 

You must have been such a pathetic sight, dressed to the nines for the partying: strappy high heels, cute going-out top that you paired with the miniskirt in the same style, tiny little bag that was hanging on your wrist, and the make-up, all light and glittery, perfect for the clubbing scene. Everyone was apologising, weak excuses of being too tired, too drunk, or having to meet up with someone else, despite at least four of them giving you a thumbs-up in the group chat. And it wasn’t even that late.

“I’ll come dancing with you,” you heard a deep chuckle behind you, and most of your teammates immediately fell into a contagious giggle, yelling and howling.

“Don’t tease me like that, Mike,” you pouted, turning around to give him the biggest puppy eyes, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

Oh, you wished badly for Coach Mike to come dancing with you. You were watching him the whole evening, that gold chain of his flashing under his polo, the nipples, as always, peeking through his shirt. You imagined biting his fat pecs, wondering how big his cock truly was. Your face was flushing already. 

“I’m not teasing,” he laughed again, chewing that gum like a certified slut, driving you crazy. “I mean it, I’ll take you dancing.”

“Coach, do you even know how to dance?” someone yelled from behind you two as he gentlemanly offered you his hand to hold onto. 

“I’m not sure I do,” he replied, but to you, laughing. His face was red, as it always was when he drank even a drop of alcohol. He tried winking at you, moving his whole face instead of just the eyelid; you laughed at how adorable he was.

“You will have to dance regardless,” you bit your lip, looking back at him, guiding him through a crowded dance floor, your hand completely lost in his, his long, thick fingers engulfing your hand and your wrist, holding firmly but gently at the same time. 

Mike laughed, placing his other hand on your waist when you finally stopped. You were already sweaty and nervous as well. Coach Mike wasn’t exactly checking you out, he never did such a thing, but he also couldn’t take his eyes off you. You didn’t know him that well, as you never spoke much and he didn’t have that many tips and advice to give you; in fact, most of your sessions he would mark as great and tell you to keep up the good work.

So, to say you were surprised by his sudden volunteering to be your dance partner would be more than true, although you were not sure if you could even read the situation correctly; unknown to literally everyone, you took half a tablet of Xanax that was technically prescribed to you, although ages ago, and that you, also technically, were not supposed to mix with alcohol. 

You knew Mike would report you if he knew, so you hoped that he would interpret your half-lidded eyes as a result of alcohol, and attraction to him. Maybe if you stroked his ego, or something else, he wouldn’t notice.

“Fuck,” you laughed, placing your hands on his chest, stumbling forward when someone accidentally pushed you from behind, “I think I forgot how to dance.”

Mike laughed with you, his grip on your waist growing stronger, his hands subtly sliding down to your hips, just as your hands went up to his neck, your fingers sliding against his tanned skin, collecting drops of sweat, tangling into his hair before finally interlacing behind his neck. 

You were pressed together as you swayed your body, your hair flying around as you let go, trusting Mike completely to hold you. He wasn’t doing that much, mostly letting you do your thing and following your lead, his hands steadying you while still trying to keep a polite distance between you two, at least regarding some parts of your bodies, the ones you really wanted to press together.

You turned around, stumbling back against him by complete accident; you were tipsy after all, tipsy and horny. Not that you hoped for much, or anything at all, except maybe some memories you would use later when alone in the shower. 

Finally, you slowed down a little, letting Mike sway you to the rhythm, leaning against him a little, just a little, you said to yourself, just for a short while. Surely, he wouldn’t mind?

Mike pressed you harder against yourself, sending small bursts of intense butterflies through your stomach; you immediately felt so weak.

Then you felt it, both at the same time: his head falling to your neck as he dragged his nose and then his lips over your hot skin, and his hard cock, grinding slowly against your ass. Mike’s breath was stuttering just as yours was hitching, his fingers impatiently touching the little skin peeking between your top and skirt. 

The heat pooled in your pussy, and you could already tell you were wet, your slick soaking your panties. You were dizzy, trying to think - was he just dancing, enjoying himself, or did he want to fuck you? Well, you certainly wanted to fuck him, even before knowing how big he was. Now you wondered how fat he was, as you couldn’t tell it through the fabric.

“I need some air,” you finally announced, grabbing him by his hand and dragging him with you. He followed, closer than before, constantly trying to keep his other hand around your waist or on your hips.

You stopped, faced with the final decision: to continue straight ahead towards the exit, a light breeze already hitting your face, or head down towards the restrooms. You looked up to Mike, almost as if asking, trying to guess if he’d get mad if you led him down the stairs. His hand slipped from your hip to your ass, squeezing lightly, all the answer you needed.

His mouth crashed onto yours the moment he locked the restroom stall door behind you, pinning you against the wall. You let Mike overwhelm all your senses, tangling your hands in his hair again, pulling him closer. Your teeth clashed, but neither of you cared, Mike impatiently bunching up your skirt, two of his fingers sliding to touch your folds through the soaked fabric of your panties.

“Fuck,” he moaned into your mouth as you were palming his cock. “Fuck,” he moaned again. You expected him to turn you around and bend you over slightly, but Mike grabbed your thighs, picking you up in an instant. Pinning you against the wall, you wrapped your legs around him, using one arm to hold yourself steady, clinging to his neck. 

“How strong are you?” Your moan was hot on his face, drawing a proud chuckle out of him.

With your other hand, you freed his cock, pulling at his belt and pants a little clumsily, but ultimately successfully. Mike lowered you a little, grinding his already leaking cock against your panties, but you couldn’t wait, moving them to the side.

Mike buried himself into your pussy with a long grunt, pressing his forehead against yours.

His cock was indeed fat, fat and long and veiny, and it was currently twitching inside you as you tried to accommodate him. Somewhere, your mind registered the hushed giggles of a woman’s bathroom, but you couldn’t care less, especially when Mike started fucking into you.

Every thrust was making you see the stars, heat pulsing through your whole body. It took everything in you not to scream and moan loudly, and you were usually quiet in bed. Your nails were buried into his shoulders, but if Mike minded, he didn’t say anything. 

“Go harder,” you moaned directly into his mouth, and something in his eyes sparkled.

He snapped his hips, hard enough that your back and even the back of your head hit against the stall wall harder, making you moan out, gripping harder at him. Encouraged, he continued, and soon you couldn’t hear anything but your body repeatedly hitting the wall and Mike’s ever louder grunts. It felt so good not to be in control, to let go completely, to allow someone else to lead and take care of you and your pleasure. And your pleasure came, surprising you, making you whimper out in a high-pitched tone you didn’t quite recognise.

Feeling your pussywalls trying to milk him dry, and seeing how much you enjoyed his cock, Mike finally let go, after barely succeeding in not spilling in you the moment you asked him to fuck you properly. He stayed buried in you until the last drop and then carefully put you down. You stumbled out of the stall, not even bothering to clean up, your panties soaking most of his spend, the rest of it drying on the insides of your thighs. 

“Are you okay?” two girls asked you with a concern in their voices, looking at you breathing heavily, make-up completely smudged, and barely able to stand by yourself. You nodded, watching them glance between you and Mike, who had already wrapped his arm around you.

“Yeah,” you smiled faintly at them, trying to reassure them. “This is the best night of my life.”

If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-

Masterlist౨ৎ

Tagging @sallymaywritings@californiablues88@sem-ra@ghostlybfgf@nerdyinfluencertastemaker@risefallrise@cintoasted@aryaslittleneedle@fromirkwood@ctrlanthro@xyahx

taglist ♥︎ here

Divider by @strangergraphics

[julez-5]

THIS WAS SO HOT. this man is now a need and Ive never even watched the show 🤭🫠

[julez-5]

wip sneak peak

FBI!Dex x former!black widow!reader

You weren’t good. Not truly, and you never hid that fact from anyone. He had known this from the very start. As a long trail of blood had been what led him to you.

To most it would have been a blaring alarm to stay away, but Dex never had been normal. So alas the darkness inside you called out to him, luring him in like a siren song.

You were a trained weapon. You were much alike, pawns for the government to control, but you now had freedom. You were a free lancer, taking odd jobs ridding the streets of men no one would miss. 

You were slightly good where it counted. You didn’t kill women and children. You were some sort of protector over them if anything and it was enough to convince himself that you were in fact good. At least enough for him. 

He loved you. He adored you, and you were absolutely everything to him. 

The problem was despite all his devotion you got bored. Once you had seen beneath the layers of charm, you saw the truth. You saw the rot that claimed him, and you didn’t try to put back the disguise.

Even worse. You like it. Loved it even. The sick and twisted that you had long learned exactly where to poke to cause it to come out full tilt.

And mayhaps you weren’t good and true like a North Star, but you were the thing that guided him nonetheless.

He knew it was a game. It was your thrill just as much as it was his. He should stop playing into your hands, but he couldn't stop no matter how hard he had tried. He always ended up right where you wanted him. The only thing that changed was the amount of time it took you to get him there. 

Tonight it took hardly any time, and he was sure that was on purpose. 

He knew the second he walked through the door that you weren’t home. It didn’t take him long to track you down. That had led him here, and as soon as he arrived he knew it was a game as you were here without your usual side kick that you took out when you actually wanted some companionship other than him. 

He would have ended up here regardless, to check on you. To make sure that nothing happened to you despite the fact that you were more than capable of taking care of yourself. 

The flashing lights and loyd music of the club truly did nothing to distract him as he kept his gaze trained on you. The man in front of you was a problem, and he was getting ballsier by the minute, inching closer. Soon he would have the audacity to touch you, which would always be where Dex lost. 

Or won? The object of the game truly depended on who you asked. The man that usually died at the end of the night suffered a loss. 

But to Dex… he won either way. He ridded the streets of another man that would dare breathe the same air as you and was often rewarded with your mouth, hand, cunt or even sometimes all three. 

lmk if you would like to be tagged :)

[captainfern]

Gurlll your catch me if you can dex fanfic was simply one of the hottest thing I have ever read, I need you to give me a million more of just unhinged smutty dex fanfics. PLEASEEEE!

say less baby (read also: catch me if you can)

Angel

Benjamin 'Bullseye' Poindexter x fem!reader

✿ you manage to lose dex in a game of cat-and-mouse, but he doesn't give up that easily. ✿ 18+ ✿ wc: 4k ✿ cw: fem!reader, DDBA!dex, established relationship, predator-prey, bullseye-typical violence (he kills someone), SMUT, straight porn hardly plot, prone-bone, outdoor sex, unprotected piv, knife play, improper use of a knife (hint: it goes inside you—and it’s not the blade), mentions of anal, praise!!, minor degradation, pet names (angel, baby, etc), pussy pronouns, dirty talk, possessive (obsessive) dex, strong language, british english author does her best with american english :(

inspired by the song 'angel' by massive attack

There is a physical pain deep in his chest. An ache, a festering bruise beneath the bone of his sternum as he stands in the middle of the street, his fists balled at his sides.

He doesn’t know how you’ve done it, but you’ve managed to lose him. You’ve managed to slip into the shadows and disappear, and he can’t find you.

It feels partly like a failure. When he turned onto the street he was sure you’d be running down, you weren’t there, and it was like a punch to the chest. You’re gone, and now his heart hammers wildly against his ribs as he sucks in a calming breath. His mind is running a million miles an hour, but he can’t help the small smile that graces his lips beneath his mask. You’ve escaped him. Perhaps he should give himself credit, considering he’s the one who taught you these tactical evasion skills.

When the humming in his brain eases—your face now at the forefront of his mind—he stretches out his arms, pops the tension from his elbows and shoulders, then saunters up the street. Your apartment is up ahead, but he knows you wouldn’t be dumb enough to hide from him there. You’re a smart girl.

Dex pauses outside your building, eyes scanning the dark alleyway to the left, then the line of shrubbery to the right.

“What’s with the mask?”

Dex slowly turns his head, finding a man staggering out of the alley. He leans against the brickwork, face pale and almost ghostly in the overhead street light. He gestures to Dex with a dirty hand, fingers strangling the neck of a nondescript liquor bottle as he hiccups out his sentence. Dex cocks his head as the man flips the jagged cap from the bottle with his thumb, and Dex watches it hit the sidewalk and roll towards him. It settles by his feet as the man takes a noisy swig.

“Oh, are you one of those vigilantes Fisk’s always jerking off over?” The man slurs, and Dex would’ve smiled beneath the mask, humoured, if he didn’t have more pressing matters. The man shakes his head, looking at Dex. “If you’re looking for someone, I saw a pretty broad take the fire escape up this building.”

Now Dex smiles to himself. Smart girl.

He bends and plucks the bottle cap from the ground, running his thumb across the rugged edge of the tin-plated steel. He takes a step forward, rolling the cap between his fingers, his shoulders hulking as he moves, but he doesn’t get far before the man is slurring out again, leaning against the brick wall for support.

“Runnin’ ‘round in a tight fuckin’ skirt, too. Fuck,” the man says, and Dex freezes. 

He’s bathed in shadow now, the man a few paces behind him. The fire escape is just a few yards ahead of him and he could almost smell the lingering trail of your perfume. But he doesn’t move. He can’t move. The man’s words clatter around his skull like a ricocheting bullet, and a wasp-like humming returns to his brain. Slowly, he turns, and the man laughs all wet and sickly.

“I mean, if you’re not after her,” the man slurs, gesturing to the fire escape. “I s’pose I could follow—”

Dex whips his arm back and forth so fast that the action is dissolved by shadow. He throws the bottle cap with such force it whistles through the air, then slices straight between the drunken man’s eyes in a spray of blood. The man’s head snaps back, head cracking against the brick wall, before he slumps and hits the ground. The bottle clatters to the ground and rolls from his lax fingers, spinning out onto the pavement with a trail of beer following.

Dex huffs, then turns and heads straight for the fire escape, leaving the man dead in the mouth of the alley, a bottle cap embedded so deep in the front of his skull Dex was sure it had disappeared into his brain. He’d be disappointed if it hadn’t.

He takes the stairs three at a time, careful to tread carefully. The metal doesn’t creak despite his muscled weight, and he creeps towards the roof like a prowling cat. He passes dark windows, knowing you wouldn’t take the chance. He knows you’ll be hiding somewhere on the roof. His angel is smart, but she won’t have flown far.

Silently, he clambers onto the roof. City lights glitter around him, but the shadows are thick here. Boxy electrical units and crumbling chimneys make for some kinds of hiding spots, but he knows you better than that. Knows you would’ve hidden yourself away in the furthest, darkest corner with a victorious smile on your face.

He stalks across the roof slowly, humming quietly to himself. He unsheaths one of his knives and twirls it through his fingers as he rounds a stack of electricity boxes and finds you hunkered in the corner, eyes scanning the city street below. You don’t turn, and that makes Dex chuckle—the sound you finally hear, whipping around to find your boyfriend staring right at you.

“Dex!” You yelp, and you make a movement to the side as if you were going to take off running.

But Dex doesn’t let you. He throws his knife and it slices through the air mere inches in front of your face, forcing you to throw yourself back as it lodges into the brickwork behind you. And that’s when Dex lunges forward: wrapping his arms around your waist and forcing you down onto the cool floor, hands and knees finding dried leaves and crumbling mortar.

You wriggle desperately, trying to drag yourself out of his grasp. But he pins you to the ground, chest tight against your back, his pelvis heavy on the swell of your arse. Whining, you reach a hand back in a poor attempt to push him away. But he grabs your wrist and pins your arm to your side, making you squeal.

A muscled arm curls around your neck, a gloved hand pressing firm to your mouth and muffling your noise. You cry out again as he presses you deeper against the floor, masked face coming to rest right beside your ear.

“Trying to run, angel?” He coos, releasing your arm so he could anchor himself over you. He leans on his forearm, his bicep straining beneath the material of his navy suit. “You were so close, weren’t you?”

You whine against his hand, and he chuckles in your ear, knowing he was asking you questions you couldn’t answer. You continue writhing beneath him, but that just morphs his chuckles into groans as he ruts his hips against your arse. The thick, muscled mass of his stomach and chest is warm against your back, and you find yourself growing hot beneath your clothes, your pussy fluttering tight under the cotton of your underwear.

“Thought you had a chance, didn’t you?” Dex utters, rubbing his face against the side of yours. You close your eyes and whimper, feeling him inhale beneath his mask, the heat of his mouth under the material like a burning brand at the curve of your jaw. He hums, fingers squeezing your cheek. “That’s a bit dumb, baby. You could’ve made it to the Catskills and I still would’ve found you.”

He grinds himself against your arse and you moan into his palm. You feel the hard lines of him rutting against you, cool air on the backs of your thighs as your skirt rides up, up, and over the curve of your backside. You moan again as he gives another heavy jerk against you, the tight fabric of your skirt rolling up even further, exposing the flimsy cotton of your underwear.

Dex groans in your ear, his entire body shuddering above you. “Oh, my sweet girl, m’gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

You blink lazily, looking around the roof. It’s dark and empty, and you can hear the bustling streets of New York echoing in the air around you. The seclusion of it all has you moaning into his palm again, the print of his hard cock heavy against you.

The palm on your mouth presses tighter and the backs of your lips press hard against your teeth. You whimper, heart leaping into your throat, as Dex grumbles low in your ear, “M’gonna take my hand away. You’re gonna be a good girl, and you’re gonna be quiet, yeah?”

You nod desperately, clit aching as he gently grinds himself against you. The roof of your building is bitingly cold and way too hard against your chest and stomach, but you don’t care—you take it like he wants you to, laying still while he removes his hand from your mouth and gives you a firm pat on the cheek. You feel your entire body heat up, a sticky warmth quick to pool in your belly as his hand drags down your side and finds the clasp of his belt. You hear it clink, and the sound has you fighting off a moan, your teeth sinking into your lip to trap the sound in your throat.

Dex chuckles as he sits up a little, still pressing you into the ground, but enough for him to unbuckle the belt of his suit and undo the zip. “Bet you’re fuckin’ soaked, huh, baby? Pussy makin’ a mess of these pretty panties?”

His hand leaves his belt as he speaks. With the mass of his thighs, he nudges your legs apart. You can’t help the quiet mewl that leaves you as cool air hits the gusset of your underwear, and you know how wet you are based on the bite of the breeze against your puffy clit. You wriggle, but his other hand pins you down.

You hear another clinking sound, before you feel something firm against your covered folds. It’s heavy and almost metallic in nature, and you suck in a gasp when you realise it’s the hilt of one of his knives. You freeze, body alight with heat, and Dex chuckles, pressing the base of his knife against you and parting your folds beneath the wet cotton.

“Y’think she’ll take this like she takes my cock?” He utters, dragging the base of his knife’s handle up your folds before pressing it to your hole. Your pussy flutters, drooling out as you whimper, pressing your cheek to the cement to ground yourself. He chuckles again, before drawing the knife’s grip up even more until it rests against your arsehole. “And what about her? I could stretch her out nice and good if you ask me nicely, angel.”

You squirm beneath him, a moan lifting from your throat before you could stop it. It’s soft, not too loud, but it makes Dex tut anyway. Quickly, he sits back and takes your underwear between his fingers, pulling it away from your slick folds so he could slice through the material with the blade of his knife. The fabric snaps away from you, and you find yourself moaning again as the cool night air kisses up against your cunt.

Then, his knife is back on your pussy—without the barrier this time, spreading your folds and tracing a series of heavy lines up and down your slit. You whimper when the end nudges your clit, then circles it like he would with his finger, before pressing down with just enough pressure to make you arch against him. You whisper his name, and he groans in response, sliding the knife back down and tapping it against your hole.

“So wet,” Dex marvels and he watches as he slowly brings his knife an inch or so away from your cunt. A string of slick webs between you, and it makes his cock twitch in his briefs. He grunts, pushing the handle back against your hole and this time, letting it sink in even further. It breaches inwards, and you suck him in so well that another groan rips from his chest. It’s primal, his eyes flashing as he pants behind his mask. “Yeah, fuckin’ hell, baby. She’s gonna take it like my cock.”

You breathe around a moan as he sinks the knife in deeper. Pressure forms deep in your pelvis, a heat festering in your belly as your pussy contracts around the intrusion but lets him in anyway. Something prickles down your spine as you realise you’re drooling around the hilt, slick dribbling as he pushes in, then brings it out by an inch or two, then pushes back in again.

“Dex,” you whimper, body shaking. The knot in your pelvis tightens when he bottoms the knife out inside you, hole dangerously close to the blade. But you trust him—you trust him with your life as his gloved hand clutches the blade, eyes watching your pussy take it. You whimper again when you realise he isn’t moving. “Dex, baby—”

“No,” he hisses out simply, pulling the handle out.

It leaves you completely, and you mewl, arching in an attempt to chase it. Dex grunts, smacking the base of the handle against your cunt, making you sob out and collapse forward. He pushes back in then, eyes darting from where he splits your pussy open to where you whimper into the crook of your arm.

“You thought you could get away from me. You thought you could hide,” Dex says, and they’re more statements than rhetorical questions. He fucks the handle of his knife into you again and again, your cunt glistening wet and loud where he drags it in and out of you. He holds you against the ground as he continues. “I had to kill a man to get to you, baby. What if he had found you first, huh? What if you did lose me?”

Your entire body stiffens, eyes shooting open. You try to look over your shoulder at him, but Dex knows exactly where to aim, thrusting the base of the handle right up against that gummy spot inside you that has you collapsing back onto the ground. 

You whimper around a poorly formed Dex!, before you finally manage to spit some of your sentence out: “What did you—?”

“I took care of it,” Dex growls, his arm speeding up as he rucks the knife into you again and again. His cock is painfully hard in his briefs, but he holds off, watching the way your pussy drools around his knife, your entire body shaking as he hits that perfect spot every single time. He nods to himself, mind flitting briefly to the man slumped dead in the alley. “I took care of it, angel. I took care of you.”

A sick thrill runs through you. You should be scared, but you aren’t. “Dex…”

“I did, I did,” Dex breathes out, slightly muffled behind his mask. “I did, baby. I’ll always take care of you.”

Your body is on fire. The pressure in your pelvis, the heat in your belly, swells inside you. You shake against the ground, the hard, metallic handle of his knife hitting your g-spot each time and it’s leaving you dizzy with your approaching orgasm. You can almost taste it building in the back of your throat, and all you can manage to squeak out is a meek oh, Dex! before the heat ignites and you’re coming around the knife.

Dex groans. “There she goes, that’s it, good girl.”

He fucks you through it with deep, rolling thrusts of his arm. The muscles contract beneath the tight sleeve as he moves, and his eyes never leave the way your cunt clenches around it, slick glistening against the handle. You shudder one last time, hips twitching, before you still as the fire of your orgasm reduces to smoke, and you lie pliant against the cool floor.

Slowly, Dex pulls the knife from you. You whimper, feeling your pussy flutter around nothing while Dex slides the knife back into his belt without even wiping it down. Eyelids fluttering, you lie in wait, listening to him shuck his pants down with a well restrained groan.

The hot press of his tip against your folds snaps your eyes open.

“Shh, baby, easy,” he mutters when you cry out. He fists himself, dragging the head of his cock through your folds, smearing your slick. He quickly finds your hole and pushes against it, not quite driving in. He rests there, pre-cum beading from his slit and smearing across your hole. “God, I’ve missed her.”

He thrusts in then. It’s unceremonious and sudden and you don’t even have the time to moan before he’s buried to the hilt. Your breath is stolen from you, and you gasp into the skin of your forearm as Dex moans, the sound loud in the silence around you. He falls back over you now, holding himself up, his chest and stomach melding to your back. You manage a little whimper as he nestles inside you, splitting your pussy apart around the thick of him.

He adjusts himself, grinding his hips against your arse. The movement means you can feel every little ridge sliding against your walls, the weight of his balls resting near your swollen clit. You whimper again, and he coos to match it, tutting you quietly as he slowly drags himself out of you.

“Bet that feels good, doesn’t it?” Dex whispers, masked face right beside your ear. He holds himself over you, shoulders hulking, suit stretched tight over his back as he rests the tip of his cock inside you. He pushes back in, the fabric of his pants bunched down around his thighs, rubbing against your legs. “It always feels good.”

You moan. “Dex, fuck.”

“Uh-uh, what did I say?” Dex mutters at your ear, hovering over you now as he fucks you. His hips slap against your arse where you’re pinned to the ground, pronebone and completely crushed beneath his mass. “Gotta be quiet. Wouldn’t want anyone comin’ up here, would we? I’d have to kill ‘em, baby.”

You whine. “Dex, no—”

“Yes,” he whines, mocking you with a smile split wide beneath his mask. “So keep those noises just for me.”

The thick of his cock splits your pussy apart, the stretch always rendering you breathless. He ruts in quickly, desperately, and the tip slams against that perfect spot inside you every single time. He’s on target every single time. You shouldn’t expect anything less from Bullseye.

You gnaw at your lower lip as you bury your face into your forearm, holding back your sobs of pleasure as heat starts simmering inside you again. That familiar pressure treks down the column of your spine too, and you whimper when it settles low in your belly, fanning across your womb.

Not that you know it, but Dex is much the same. His heart knocks wildly against his ribs as if he were still chasing you—he thinks, in some ways, he still is—and the buzzing in his brain is completely gone. All he’s thinking of is you, and all he wants is you. You’re all he needs, and no one will ever keep you from him.

“You’re mine, angel,” he whispers suddenly. One of his arms snakes around your throat again, pulling your face from your arm and pinning your head up. You gasp as he locks you into a chokehold, his grip gentle but firm. As he thrusts, one of his hands shifts to push part of his mask up, just revealing his mouth. He kisses your cheek. “You can’t run from me.”

He forces your head to the side so he can kiss you.

He kisses you, and you struggle to meet his intensity with the way he fucks you. You’re pliant in his arms, little whimpers melding against his lips as his tongue licks across yours and he slides his mouth forward. You swap spit and pant into each other’s space, and it’s barely even a kiss, but Dex loves it. He kisses the corner of your mouth as he groans, hips pumping, bicep tight on your throat.

“You were made for me,” he whispers, dragging his mouth across your warm cheek. He licks the salt from your skin, skims his teeth across your cheekbone. He noses along your pulse next, head dipping to plant wet kisses below your ear and along the back of your jaw. “My perfect girl.”

There will never be an I love you from Dex. What you have is not the love you see in movies, or in romance books. He is possessive and obsessive and so violently jealous that he’d rather rip the world apart before letting you go—and you know that. You know that, and you still can’t help but love him right back.

“Dex, please,” you whimper as he buries his face in your neck. The pressure in your lower belly is too much. Beneath your clothes, you’re tacky with sweat, and your thighs shake where he presses into you.

He knows you’re close. He probably knew before you even did.

“Let me feel you,” he says, thrusting, maintaining a deep, even rhythm. He listens to the way you moan and yowl beneath him, trying so hard to be quiet. He can feel the sounds vibrate in your throat where he sucks and bites at the skin. “I wanna feel you come, baby. You can do that for me, yeah? Just be a good girl and come all over my cock. Let me have it.”

Dex draws the line of your orgasm right in front of you, and your body practically flings you across it. Your entire body seizes up, trembling as the pressure in your belly fissures then shatters. You come hard around him, pussy clenching tight around the thick of his cock, and you moan his name loud enough that it echoes. He doesn’t seem to mind, and neither do you, as he fucks you through it, panting into your neck as his hips move. Heat flushes through your body as you shake beneath him, and you can’t help the whimpers that interrupt your moans when he starts rambling in your ear.

“That’s a good girl, that’s a good girl. Fuck, my best girl,” he utters, grunting and groaning in such a way that your clit aches with the heaviness of your heartbeat. He growls next, hips stuttering. “M’gonna fill this fuckin’ pussy, baby.”

He does. Groaning your name, quiet and bordering on a whine, Dex pushes his hips right up against your arse, cock knocking up against the plug of your cervix, and spills. He fills you, hips grinding, rolling, trying desperately to cling onto some kind of control, but he’s completely lost it. He pants around a pained whine as he comes, nosing your thrumming pulse. Thick and warm and so, so full.

When he finishes, his cock jerking and balls tightening with one last thrust, he eases down onto you. You whine as he smothers your body beneath his, trapping you beneath his mass. He shushes you, one of his hands pulling his mask off so his sweat-slick forehead can rest against your shoulder while he catches his breath.

His spine aches, but he ignores it. The muscles in his shoulders and back ripple when he rolls onto his side. He spins you then, his softening cock falling free of your pussy as he pulls you to him, one big hand immediately finding the fat of your arse to palm.

You both listen to the distant wail of sirens as you settle into the shadows.

You shiver, and Dex holds you tighter. So tight, you wonder if he’s afraid you’ll try to run again.

“I like it when you catch me,” you whisper, lifting your head to press a small kiss to his jaw. “Don’t like being without you.”

Dex smiles to himself, a deep rumble—almost a purr—vibrating through his chest as he shifts his head to catch your lips with his. He kisses you deeply as the sound of sirens get louder and louder and the world seems to light up blue around him.

———

need him to chase me too tf

[julez-5]

FERN YOU DID IT AGAIN!! this was absolutely delicious!! 😋🤤