#all i do p much is work and sleep now

[saintgale]

I don't know if I'll have time to finish this but gosh I'm so so so happy to see him animated at last

Just a sloppy work in progress

[deus-ex-mona]

my five surviving braincells when something remotely good happens:

[palms-upturned]

.

[1ovestay]

won’t lie, experiencing some horrors

[pepprs]

crying again lol ok

[b-blushes]

i'm trying to train myself out of the "oh god oh no the horrors the horrors the horrors" automatic reaction to uhhhh the thought of doing almost anything that's somehow snuck into my thought pattern recently, by replacing it with "i can do it! (: 👍" every time i realise i'm thinking that and. it is a work in progress. but i'm working on it! where is that post that talks about everything being a skill, i am once again putting it into practice i guess!!!

[phoenixiancrystallist]

Month 4, day 16, lightened up the foreground so Frey and the campfire don't blend into the night around them so much. I'm having a lot of fun playing with blend modes to get the firelight effect going on :D

I still haven't started a new file and taken reference shots of Cuff so I can get him more accurate, but that's okay. He still looks quite handsome, accurate or no 💜

[shatterthefragments]

But what if google does have all the set lists to every concert I’ve been to and I make a playlist of them?

[atrwriting]

shouldn’t have — lumberjack!logan x fem!reader

listen usually i would hate this plotline but like ?? are yall seeing what im seeing ?? feminism exists and is alive and well until we see this man and suddenly we’re all damsels in distress

as always, warnings: reader was in an abusive relationship, logan the savior (i have issues ok), dom logan, bratty reader, choking, slapping, rough p in v sex, swearing, breeding kink tee hee

mdni!!!1!!1!1!1!11!

————

you had been with your boyfriend — well, now ex-boyfriend — for about three months before you had noticed something was wrong. just a few things, you thought. nothing bad. nothing to worry that much about. it felt like he was doing so many things too much; sleeping, drinking, smoking, video games… yelling…

you thought by getting him a job with some men you knew would be fine — that it would solve every problem. why would it not have? he just needs a job, you thought. just something to get him up in the morning… something to give him purpose…

you were wrong — oh, you were so wrong.

at first, everything was fine — up every day, home every night, and only so many hours at the end of the day could be dedicated to all of those bad little habits you hated so, so much. he was drinking, smoking, playing video games so much less — you almost forgot why you were so annoyed and insistent on this new job in the first place.

...until he stopped coming home before midnight.

...until the yelling got worse.

until he got worse.

you almost left him — almost. until, one night — he asked if you could pick him up from the bar after work so he wouldn’t have to wait before he could drive home. you could've squealed you were so relieved, so happy. it seemed like a step in the right direction, and you were hopeful. you thought the kinks were working themselves out, making it so you could finally work out your issues with him. like the good girlfriend you were, you drove to the bar promptly for half past ten and waited in the parking lot for him.

after a few minutes, you sent a text.

a set of ten minutes had passed as you sat there, waiting.

...then another.

...and then another.

you called him, but there was no answer.

no fucking answer.

you ground your teeth when the call was sent to voicemail. voicemail? fucking voicemail? you stared down at the screen like it mocked you — showing you the reflection of your face in the glass like you were some joke, and embarrassment flooded through you.

all you could think about was self-respect — how if you didn't have any respect for yourself, how could your boyfriend respect you? how could anyone respect you?

it brought tears to your eyes, but you blinked them away.

and there went the last straw…

you got out of the car and slammed the door. you were buzzing with anger, shivering like you were cold. anger filled you, but adrenaline was what carried you on its back through the doors of the bar and past its threshold. it was the only friend you had in that moment, and you grasped at its hand — letting it lead you to your doom.

what you didn't expect what form your doom would take.

…your doom came in the form of a hot blonde with legs and cleavage for days.

she laid horizontal across the bar — shot glass in her belly button, line of salt up her abdomen. you watched a man, dirty from the work day, eye the blonde with hunger in his eyes. he wrapped his dry lips around the rim of the shot glass, and threw his head back. almost immediately, he licked the salt trail with a flat, heavy tongue. the blonde above him giggled at the texture of his tongue on her tanned skin — and once he was done, she grasped both sides of his face and pulled him towards her.

that’s when you saw the guy’s face — smiling and drunk — your boyfriend’s face. men around them hollered as he pushed her against the bar top, kissing her hard. all you could do was stare — adrenaline left you high and dry when you needed it most. you were just cold now — cold, lonely, and embarrassed. so embarrassed. so fucking embarrassed.

“you’re his ol’ lady… aren’t you?”

your head cocked to a stool near you, occupied by one of his coworkers. he had a cigar in his mouth as he cocked an eyebrow at you, barely looking at you. his hand was around two fingers of whisky — and it had never looked so tempting.

“was,” you whispered, politely correcting him and locking eyes with him.

“good,” was all he said before he threw back the rest of his whisky and stood from his chair.

you were still in shock, frozen in place. all you could do was watch as the man pushed through the crowd, and stood in front of your boyfriend. you stared at the man's shoulders — covered by thin flannel that would never stand a chance against the muscles underneath. you gulped as he stood toe to toe with your ex-boyfriend, but the man didn't look half as scared as your ex did.

“you’re fired," was all the man said.

everyone around the man, including the blonde and your boyfriend, went silent. jaws were on the floor — no one knew what to do. what could they do? they weren't expecting this — not when the fun had been going on for so long. the man couldn’t have cared less — he waited for a split moment, awaiting any sort of rebuttal from your ex-boyfriend… and that was when your ex noticed you, staring at him. instead of running to you, begging for forgiveness… he started begging the man that had fired him for his job back.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes. of course.

“not happening, bub,” he spat. “now — i’m going to go buy your ex-girlfriend a drink with your last paycheck. ask your buddies for a loan on the tab with the blonde."

and with that, the man turned on his heel back towards you. when he turned, he didn’t bow his head or look at the floor — he looked straight at you. and for the first time that night, you saw what he really looked like — a man. the man radiated masculinity like he was the poster child for the hard working all-american man. worn jeans, work boots, faded flannel… the works. his body was thick with muscle, and impressive sight that was definitely thanks to his job. the years showed on his face — but in a way that was handsome and reliable. life seemed to have chewed him up and spit him out, but he didn’t look the type to go down without a fight.

with a moment or two, he was in front of you. he sat down on the stool, and patted the one next to him — gesturing to you.

“what’re you having, sweetheart?”

you stared up at him with confusion and surprise in your eyes, but a blush across your cheeks. your mouth fell open, stammering — as if you hadn’t been embarrassed enough tonight. your eyes darted to your ex — the intoxication starting to wear away as realization set in. he lost his job, girlfriend, and ego all in a matter of a moment — and you knew how these things ended.

“i think i should —“

“he won’t bother you,” the man responded, gesturing to the bartender for two more drinks.

you took a cautious step back — eyes on your ex who was talking with his work buddies now, eyeing you and the man. the blonde had been discarded, scoffing as she found herself in a similar position as you — chewed up and spit out, but not willing to fight.

you were fumbling for your keys now, anxiety beginning to take over. you were shaking as you took several steps back, not knowing whether to run or start crying was the better answer.

the man who had stood up for you then stood, sighing. he saw your ex walking towards you now, and he rolled his eyes in the way an owner would be annoyed with a dog going back for something they were explicitly told not to. the man drank his whisky, and handed you the other glass.

the man only had a take one step towards your ex before your ex had stopped in his tracks, eyes and mouth wide.

“got all the time in the world, bub,” the man spoke. the man had his fists balled at his sides — and, within an instant, sharp bones almost two feet long had sprung from between his knuckles. the man didn’t wince — but everyone else did. with a cocked head, he then continued, “do you?”

when your ex didn’t move, and the man was satisfied that none of his friends were going to make a move… he turned on his heel and stalked back toward you.

“finish your drink, sweetheart — we’re leaving.”

within five minutes, you had finished your drink before you went outside. there was logan — same bone swords unsheathed, but now stabbing into black tires on a familiar truck. you smiled — now your ex didn’t have a ride home.

“can i give you a lift?” you asked.

few hours later — there you sat with the man, who you now knew as logan. you were on one side of the couch — you curled in the corner on the end, and him in the middle turned towards you. the alcohol was flowing, so you didn’t need a blanket over you to keep warm. now, sat across from logan, both of you appearing to feel the effects of whisky — all you wanted was his warmth.

“good hostess,” he spoke as you refilled his whisky glass.

you blushed. “nothing compared to what you did for me back there — least i can do.”

“i gotta ask —“ he said, taking a sip. “why him?”

you shrugged. “guess i learned the hard way you can’t change someone who doesn’t want to change.”

he looked at you then — almost through you. you wondered if he could see the same ghosts in your eyes that you could see in his.

he shook his head then, chuckling — appearing to want to break the heavy air. “you’re too young for talk like that, doll — won’t allow it.”

you returned his laugh, realizing you were happy for the subject change. “not every man is like you, logan — first one i met that would’ve done what you did.”

he set his glass down then, and you were struck with the realization of how broad his chest and shoulders were. how the fabric of the stretched across his muscles. how heavy the scent of whisky, maple, wood, and cigar smoke hung on his clothes. you stopped staring at him to meet his eyes then, but he was already looking at you.

logan caught you staring. a blush rose to your cheeks.

“there was a time where men i knew would’ve killed to be served whisky by a pretty girl like you,” he spoke, voice gruff. “time where i would’ve.”

you smiled, insecure under his gaze. “you’re easy on the eyes, lo — can’t imagine you had to put much effort into getting with someone you wanted.”

“oh, doll —“ he spoke, leaning in towards you. his face was barely inches from you, and you wanted him to touch you. you wanted those big, calloused hands on your soft skin — wanted it so fucking bad — but he wouldn’t put them on you. not yet. not quite yet. “sweet, pretty things like you? worth all of the effort in the fucking world.”

you felt one of his hands — his large fucking hands — slide down from your knee, to the side of your thigh. he squeezed lightly on the flesh, loving the feeling of your soft skin. you met his eyes then, dark and hungry. he wasn’t hesitating — he was waiting for your approval or disapproval. he wanted you to know he wanted you, but also that you had the final say.

“y’gonna let me show you how a real man’s supposed to treat a woman?” he asked, tucking a hair behind your ear. “hmm, sugar? climb in my lap, and i’ll show you.”

curiosity killed the cat, but not before it found out what the secret was.

logan fell back against the couch — man spreading, hands on the tops of his thighs with his eyes on you. only on you. there was no more of the adrenaline from earlier, no — but there was the confidence from the warm, dark liquid flowing through your veins. it gave you the push you needed, making you throw a leg over his hips, and sit your ass down right over the tent in his jeans.

“that’s a girl, yeah…” he spoke, his hands ran up and down your thighs. his eyes were raking up and down your body in the way that your ex had looked at the blonde, and it only added to your confidence. you wanted to be wanted — and logan made you feel more sexy than your ex ever had. “tell me, sweetheart — when you look at me, what do you see?”

“a man,” you respond, before you can stop yourself.

he raises his brow then — surprised, but not displeased at your answer. “ — yeah? and what makes me a man?”

you thought for a second, as the alcohol clouded your ability to be witty. you couldn’t pinpoint why — you just knew. while you were thinking, almost stammering — you felt his hand snack underneath your skirt and find your lacy panties. you were struck with the sudden realization of how badly you wanted to show him what they looked like, convinced he would like them — but he wouldn’t let you take off your skirt. you eyed him, confused.

“not yet, doll,” he spoke, voice hoarse. his eyes never left yours. “not taking off this skirt — no matter how much i want to — until you know for sure that i deserve to.”

“logan…!” you grumbled, throwing your head back in mock laughter and frustration. “y’gonna make me beg? come on —"

“beg? not tonight, darlin’,” he laughed. you felt one of his fingers prod at your folds through your panties, poking through your lips to find the hidden sensitive parts of you. you sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling — curious and turned on. “but you are gonna tell me everything you’re going to look for in a man from this point on. when i’m satisfied, then i’ll let you cum.”

“didn’t think you liked games,” you breathed, curiosity, pleasure, and anxiety mixing in your blood.

“i don’t,” he said with finality and sincerity. “i teach lessons, sweetheart — and now i’m gonna teach you how a man should treat you."

“yeah?” you breathed, keeping your lips barely centimeters from his. “and how are you going to accomplish that?”

“rock those pretty hips against my hand, baby —“ he spoke, pressing his fingertips against your clothes core. “and tell me types of guys you're goin' to avoid."

you went to question him, confused — but he pulled you right back in. he pressed two finger tips against your panties, creating the most devious fiction against your sensitive bud. you jumped at the feeling, but he kept your hips steady.

“there’s one —“ he chuckled. “didn’t know how to touch you, yeah? so sensitive — ‘s like he never did.”

“he didn’t know how,” you whined, rolling your hips against his fingers and letting your eyes drift close.

“not surprised,” he grunted. “never a good worker either. so, what’re we avoiding next time, sugar, huh? tell me.”

“i don’t know… i don’t…” your mind was warm and fuzzy now, leaving you unable to answer.

he swatted at the flesh of your ass then, causing your hips to jerk and your eyes to open in shock. he looked up at you, unfazed. “you don’t wanna cum, do you? want me to use you just like him — leave that pussy wet and wanting?”

you giggled. “don’t tempt me.”

his hand reached for your throat, an evil smirk on his lips. “you’re a naughty fucking thing.”

you nodded feverishly, loving the grip on your throat. “for you, lo. i’ll avoid lazy men, i promise —“

“you better,” he warned, his eyes looking up at you with hunger. his wingers were rubbing hard against your clit, and you wanted him oh, so badly to dip into the fabric and roll around your clit or supple hole. “another — tell me. now.”

“careless,” you whined, your hips jerking. “i’ll avoid careless men, logan, i promise —“

“fuck that,” he spat, the grip tightening on your throat. “you’re mine, darlin’.”

he threw you down onto the couch then, landing on your back with a thud. he gave up on his own game, and your confidence bloomed within you. to be so sweet, so pretty — to make a man like logan stumble? forget what he was doing, all because he wanted you so bad? to be in between your plump thighs, round lips, and encircles in those pretty arms? your cheeks were burning pink as your gaze came back into focus above you. there stood logan, on his knees on the couch, as he unbuttoned his flannel with an animalistic chase in his eyes. you couldn’t help but put yourself on your elbows, rubbing your thighs together to keep the friction and heat up. but your eyes? oh, your perfect, big eyes? they were on logan’s. they told you everything you needed to know as he tore off his belt.

“you want me to use you, baby?” he asked as he unzipped his belt. “that’s what my girl wants?”

“by you, lo — a real man,” you breathed, stroking his cock and lining his cock up with the entrance of your pussy.

“good fucking girl,” he growled, plunging his cock into your pussy.

his hips snapped against yours, causing you to jump into the arm rest. you held onto the arm rest, your pillow, to keep you steady. logan liked the sight — pretending that you had your hands tied up above your head as your breasts lifted with your arched back, preening upwards just for him. he watched the shivers run up and down your spine, causing your nipples to peak. he watched them hungrily as they bounced for him and only him, wanting to pull both into his mouth and show you just how greedy real men are.

and when he saw you release the grip held by one hand, and watched it travel down the length of your abdomen, with the end goal of your clit — he swatted your hand away, angry. his gaze — it screamed how fucking dare you?

“fuck off with that shit —“ he spat, pushing your hand back down to hold onto the head rest. “this first time, darlin’? i make you cum — and you lie there, and you take it.”

you whined at his words, your big beautiful eyes on his hungry irises. you folded your lip in between your teeth before you curled your hips up to meet his, wrapped your legs around his hips. never had you been treated with such confidence, such ease — but you wanted him to work for it, see how far he could go to prove to you that he was the best. “you promise, old man? you can keep up?”

the air went still then — but your smirk didn’t falter. it should've, you would realize later. you should've been afraid of the man, knowing what he was capable of when someone tested him. the difference was... logan welcomed the spice in you, as long as it was his to silence. logan’s eyes went wild and dark then, realizing the challenge. he held back so much with you, trying to keep the man awake and the beast dormant — but the greedy girl in you just kept knocking.

he flipped you then — forcing you onto all fours. he bent you over the arm rest, your throat in the crook of his elbow. his free hand groped and pulled at the flesh of your ass, letting go only to smack it. smacksmacksmack. his tough and calloused skin would leave marks, you were sure of it — but it only made your pussy wetter. the sounds were pornographic, filling the room and his nose and ears.

“wasn’t much of a brat tamer, was he?” he spat, fucking into your puffy pussy. his grip on your throat wasn’t tight, but it kept you in control. there was no moving, and there definitely wasn’t enough air to mouth off. “nothing sweet about you — just a greedy fucking girl with the neediest fucking pussy. i'll get'ya there, doll — don't worry now."

you held onto his forearm for dear life, trying to keep your balance as you arched your back up into him. you felt your juices leak around around your sopping wet cunt and down both of your thighs and logan’s. the air was thick with your scent and sounds, pricking at logan’s heightened hearing. your whines — oh, your whines, your fucking whines! — were filling his ribcage and warming every part of him that wasn’t touching you. his lips were sucking at your neck, nipping at the skin . he felt the vibrations of your moans against his lips and he had to fight every instinct to sink his teeth into your shoulder, ruining you for everyone else.

“please — please —“ you choked, smacking against the arm rest. he pulled your free arm back behind your back, forcing you to take everything he gave you.

“not stopping until that pussy creams, baby,” he spat into your ear. his hips were relentless against yours, plunging in and out of your wet folds as he kept them tight and controlled for his use. “when that dumb fuck comes back, to get his stuff? i want him to know who’s pussy this is now. that fucked out look on your face? yeah? that’s all that sack of shit is gonna see before i slam the door in his face.”

“fuck, logan —“ you whimpered. “i’m so close. f-feels so good. please, don’t stop —“

“i know, baby, i know….” he moaned. you reached underneath him, grabbing at his heavy sack and rolling his balls with your finger tips. he jumped at the feeling, curious how a fucked out little thing like you still had so much energy to tease. “never ends with you, huh, does it? always wan’ more?”

“cum with me, lo —“ you choked out. “come on — make me feel it.”

he smacked your ass once more, grasping onto the rippling skin. you could feel your tight muscles, like cement — knowing they would be sore in the morning. you rolled his balls in between your fingers, keeping as controlling of a grip on him as he kept on you. his breaths were ragged against your neck, broken and feverish. your eyes were screwed shut, trying to find his lips in the darkness as you fought with and against logan.

“fill my pussy, baby,” you whined, reaching to any part of him you could grab.

when he saw your eyes, most of the begging in them rather than your tone — he couldn't help it. it took over him before he could even realize it was happening. how could he deny you so,ething you wanted so badly? asked for so sweetly? logan came before you did — much to his dismay, but only for a moment. he felt his skin shiver before his hips snapped forward once to meet yours, trapping you against the arm rest. he rutted into you as the walls of your pussy were coated — dressed in his seed, his spend, his claim. you could hear a growl rumble low in his chest, tearing up at the sound of such a big and strong man at his most vulnerable, his most peaceful state — only for you.

when you reached for your clit again — whining and wanting, ready to take advantage of hearing his satisfied moans in your ear — he smacked your hand away. you scoffed at his movement, but he shut you up quickly. his own fingers found the spot, and his fingers felt better than yours. you should’ve known they would, with the way they attacked you through your panties.

“pussy’s filled to the brim, sugar —“ he grunted. “now i wanna feel it shake while you’re full of me.”

he was so tired, but not his muscles — definitely not his muscles, nor his grip. it held you tight and upright — forcing you to take it in your weak, fucked out state.

“you want me to fuck my cum farther into you, darlin’?” he rasped, fighting his exhaustion through gritted teeth. “i’m too deep, aren’t i? i’ll fuck my cum into your womb if i’m not careful… but you'd like that, wouldn't you? dirty little thing..."

his warning was a threat, but your mind was too soft to realize. too pliant, too ready for him. all you could do was stare off into space as he held you close to him. his fingers spun circles around your puffy clit, his still hard cock piercing into you. “so very deep, lo…”

and when he smacked your clit once before continuing the assault, you came. you came harder than you ever had before — alone, or imagining something in your head as someone else fucked you. it was like your primal nature was being ripped from you, wanting to show and present itself to match logan’s — to show logan you were his match, that you were his equal. you bucked your hips back to meet his, letting the tip of his sensitive cock graze your sensitive walls as you screamed his name. it filled the room more than anything had for him — and it was all he would think about in the days to come. this woman, so worthy and so ready for him — only for him, and all for him.

“that’s it, sweetheart. work for it, that’s right…”

and as his seed slipped into your womb, open and ready for him as you came, you felt his lips press hard, sloppy kisses against your jaw. your own mouth was open, cries falling from it.

“my good girl learned her lesson, didn’t she?” he rasped. “don’t matter now, anyway — no one but me is gonna be in your bed. i'll burn his shit later."

———

i need to touch grass - L xoxo lmk what u think

[plutotheplum]

Resonance

sylus x fem!reader - read part 2!

summary: with the aether core's auction quickly approaching, you're growing desperate to resonate with sylus. fortunately for you, he has a suggestion... even if it is less conventional.

cw: nsfw (18+) - mdni!!, smut, p in v, fingering, teasing, spit kink, light choking, oral sex, praise kink, slightly ooc sylus?, minor canon divergence

wc: 4.5k

a/n: my first time writing a full fic or smut for that matter! given how many times sylus was trying to hold the mc's hand, i just figured he'd be into it. tried to be strong for zayne, but that didn't work out... sorry zayne. hope you guys like it! <3

also posted on ao3!

You’re starting to regret your plan to sneak into the N109 Zone. From being drugged to nearly being killed, you weren’t exactly faring well in the unfamiliar place. 

A deep sigh escapes you, fingers rubbing at your aching temples. The headache had gotten worse, the band around your head wrapping tighter and tighter. You couldn’t leave though, no matter how desperately you wanted to, not when the Aether Core’s other half was up for auction in a week’s time. Sylus had also been distant. Despite saving you from the night raid, he had hardly come to visit while you were staying at Onychinus’ base. The twins, Luke and Keiran had kept you company though. They weren’t as wicked as you thought them to be, only young men that were intent on working for Onychinus, driven by their own motivations. 

The week was bound to shorten however, and you were growing antsy. Any reservations you had about resonating with Sylus were fading quickly as the auction date grew closer. He was right in a sense, you two needed to resonate, especially after that night raid when the Wanderers had attacked. The auction wouldn’t go smoothly either, you knew that much. Sylus had money, but traitors were lurking everywhere. The shopkeeper’s voice rings in your head, reminding you that Sylus hadn’t been responsible for the explosions. Absolving him of being responsible had been hard enough.  

Plucking at the strap of your nightgown, you’re contemplating whether you should sneak out. Sylus had been accommodating enough so far, and you were tempted to push your boundaries. He had, after all, left a pile of clothes for you. Strangely enough, they were all in the right size, accompanied by Mephisto who had let out a loud caw before flying out, its claws making a playful swipe for your hair. 

A few more anxious plucks at the strap of the nightgown and you’re sneaking out. Feed pad against the floor softly, nightgown swaying as you move through the hallway. You pause when you hear voices, hearing the thud of your own heart as you hold your breath. It’s Sylus and another man. The conversation is too muffled to listen into, incoherent words blending in together.

The door creaks open and you’re tucking yourself behind a pillar, hiding in the dark. The sound of footsteps fades into the distance and the breath you’re holding escapes into a quiet exhale.

“You can come out now,” A voice drawls. Sylus. You hated how he could sense your presence. Stepping out from behind the pillar, your back straightens, walking into his room. It’s dark, just like him. Expensive furniture, books stacked onto a bookshelf and a bed on the other side of the large room. The curtains are open, moonlight flowing in through the windows, mixing with the ambient lighting. He sits behind his desk, eyes trained on you, nursing a cup of wine. “I see you’re wearing my gift,” he says, eyes dragging over the nightgown. You scoff, eyes narrowing at him, “It was hardly a gift, and it’s not like I could sleep in my Hunter uniform.”

He only takes another sip of wine, eyebrows raising. His nonchalance is making you feel irritated. “You’re avoiding me,” you announce, arms crossing over your chest, “is there any reason?”

He laughs, low and deep, “I thought you’d be grateful for the reprieve, or maybe you don’t hate me as much as you think you do.” That has you scowling. You want to wipe his stupid smug smile right off his face. “Relax,” he says, his fingers tapping against his desk as he leans back in his chair “I had more important things to attend to.” That catches your attention. More important things? Perhaps he’d have answers, and you needed answers, about the N109 Zone, about Onychinus, about anything . 

“Private matters,” he murmurs, red eyes keeping you in place “nothing for you to get involved with.”

Your scowl only grows deeper, almost forgetting what you came in here for. Your feet move across the carpet, hands landing on the edge of his desk in an attempt to look intimidating.

“I want to try resonating with you,” you say, deciding to change tactics.

He hums, red eyes boring into yours. “We already tried that, and unfortunately, you seem content on disliking me,” he replies.

A frustrated noise escapes you, “It’s your fault!” you accuse, glaring at him. 

He only stares back at you blankly. You feel like a child throwing a tantrum under his gaze. “Just- please? ” you ask, voice softening slightly. He’s letting out an inconvenienced sigh and your body is moving, red tendrils swooping around your body as he draws you closer to him. “Hand,” he demands. You reach forward, and his hand clasps yours, fingers lacing together. A deep breath gets sucked in through your mouth and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to channel your energy and resonate with him. You think about his stupidly handsome face, his low voice and the times he had saved you. Both of your knuckles are white with how tightly you’re squeezing his hand. There’s nothing though, absolutely nothing. No sparks, no glowing light, no Evol resonance. Letting out a defeated sigh, you let go of his hand. He stares back at you, eyes searching. “There is something wrong with you,” he says, drawing his hand back to take another sip of wine.

“Maybe if you tried being more likeable, this would be easier,” you retort, sending him another glare.

Sylus only laughs, his head tilting, “You weren’t so intent on resonating with me earlier. So much so that you shot me.”

“You shot yourself,” you correct, voice sharp, “and the change in mind is because of the auction.”

He peers over at you, eyes calculating. You can’t tell what’s going through his head, you can never tell. It puts you on edge. Sylus is a dangerous man and you aren’t able to predict a single one of his moves.

“You’re afraid of Wanderers,” he surmises, hands clasping in his lap. 

His chair rolls out a bit from his desk and your eyes are dipping to see his legs spread as he gets comfortable. There’s a stretch in the black trousers as his thighs strain against the material and you’re swallowing harshly, eyes snapping back up to meet his gaze. If he noticed your wandering eyes, he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m not scared!” you protest, feeling exasperated “I’m simply worried that something might happen. We both know that the Aether core might become unstable with energy fluctuations, and who knows what sort of Wanderers that flux might attract?”

“I am more than capable of handling any danger,” Sylus says, his tone dark, “or do you need a refresher of what happened after I saved you during the night raid?”

You wince at the memory. It appears he doesn’t like being underestimated. It’s even worse that you remember. There had been blood and screams when his Evol had eviscerated the men that had been there.

“No refreshers needed,” you reply quickly.

Your plan of resonating with him is ill-thought, you realise. You can’t get your mind to change, no matter how hard you try. Head hanging low, you decide to back off. Sylus is right at least. He would be capable enough of defeating any danger there, but his assurance isn’t enough to quell your doubts. Silence passes over you both, only interrupted by your feet shifting on the spot. 

“There is another way,” Sylus says slowly, a wicked grin spreading across his face, “it is less conventional of course, hardly attempted at.”

Hardly attempted at? Was he planning to put your life on the line? Maybe that would work out for him, weaken you enough to get you to resonate with him and then steal the Aether core lodged in your heart.

“And this way is…?” you prompt, raising your brows. 

His grin only grows wider. Sylus stands up, long legs stalking towards you until he’s standing in front of you, his red eyes staring down at you. His cold hand reaches out, fingers grabbing at your chin to tilt your head as his own head dips towards your ear. You shiver, feeling his warmth breath against your skin. “Sex,” he whispers.

Well, you certainly weren’t expecting that. Your cheeks are hot with embarrassment, gaze averted to the side.

He clicks his tongue, “Why so embarrassed? I thought you wanted to resonate, sweetie .” 

“You’re more insane than I thought,” you hiss, shoving at his chest. 

He lets out a throaty laugh, a smirk spreading across his lips as he stumbles back a bit at the force of your push. 

“You seemed desperate,” Sylus says when he stops laughing, “I was only letting you know of all the options.”

“That shouldn’t even be an option!” you snap, growing flustered by the second. Sex with Sylus ? He was a murderer and completely and utterly unhinged, not to mention the leader of an illegally run gang. You were not having sex with him. Your irritation festers, head falling into your hands as you stand there. He doesn’t say anything, only reaching for his wine and finishing off his cup. 

“Fuck me,” you sigh tiredly, rubbing at your aching temples again.

“Don’t tempt me,” he replies. Your head snaps upwards at that, glaring at him. Irritation has only led to you making a poor choice of words. 

“I’m leaving,” you say forcefully, holding your head high.

You should be leaving by now, storming off back to your room lying a few doors away. You should be, except your poor feet aren’t working.

He stares at you expectantly, a hint of smile on his face as his brows raise.

“I am leaving,” you repeat, voice hardening.

He only nods his head towards the door. Part of you wants to stay, to find out what he means, but the implications are clear and you won’t do that with him. Especially not him.

You don’t get very far though, the door lock fastening in place with a resounding click . His Evol curls around your body, the inky red and black lines tugging you back towards him. Sylus is reaching for you, his hand cupping your cheek. You have half the mind to lean into his touch. “I think we’ll both have more fun if you stay,” he whispers against your ear, arms drifting across your nightgown to wrap around your waist and tug you closer.

He peers down at you, and your breath catches in your throat. Without thinking, you’re leaning into him, body pressing against him.

“I think you want to stay,” he continues, hands sliding up to pet at your hips.

“You- you don’t know what I want,” you manage out, voice airy, “and I want to leave.”

He hums, hand finding your cheek again. His thumb rubs across your skin, and it sets you alight.

“Did you forget?” he murmurs, head dipping to meet your height, “I can see what people desire the most, and it appears you, my dear Hunter, desire me.”

You’re letting out a soft curse. You had forgotten about that stupid detail, about his ability to see what people desired. Squirming in his grasp, you try to get away, but he holds you still, letting out a disappointed sigh.

“Will you not indulge yourself?” he whispers, voice lilting. You think he could be a siren in disguise.

There’s a shuddering breath escaping you. You don’t get a chance to answer, not when he’s smiling against your cheek and pressing a soft kiss to it. Your hands find his shirt, forming fists to prevent your knees from buckling.

“We are the same,” he reminds you, lips brushing across your skin as he backs you up against the wall.

You manage a scoff, “We are not the same. You’ve done terrible things and killed people. You do whatever you want, sacrificing whoever you want if it betters your cause.” 

“Such insolent words,” he purrs, his hand curling around your neck “I have treated you with far more kindness than others that have crossed my path.”

A squeak leaves when he squeezes around your neck, your fingers trying to pry his ones away from your neck. He only tightens his grip, landing another kiss to your cheek and there’s heat between your thighs, a whine escaping you before you can swallow it down.

Sylus laughs, his hand falling away from your neck to grab at your hips instead.

“Caught you,” he coos, and with that his head is dipping, lips pressing against yours.

You whine again, arms wrapping around his neck. You’re too far gone to care, feeling the plushness of his lips against yours. It feels as though he’s trying to devour you, trying to swallow you whole.

The kisses are rough and harsh and his hands are slipping under your nightgown, sliding up the backs of your thighs to grasp at your ass. You gasp into his mouth, scrabbling at his shoulders. He grunts against your mouth, guiding your leg to hook over his hip.

“You are far more eager than you said you would be,” he murmurs, finally pulling away to let you breathe. 

Soft pants escape you, chest heaving as your hands drop from his shoulders, landing against his chest instead. He stares down at you, crimson eyes bright with arousal as they flit about your body.

“You’ve done something to me,” you mutter lamely, a weak excuse for responding so eagerly.

He raises his brows, his thumb brushing across your lips. He repeats the motion, over and over again until you're tempted to press a kiss to the pad of his thumb. You don’t get a chance, not when his thumb is pushing past your lips and meeting the resistance of your teeth. Blinking up at him, you tilt your head.

“You know I haven’t done anything to you,” he replies, “that would be too far, even for me. Now be good and open .”

He has to have done something to you. What other explanation is there for the way your mouth opens, sucking his thumb inside eagerly? Your head tips back as you suck on his thumb, tongue swirling around the digit. He groans, deep and unabashed and it has your hips bucking. “Patience,” he whispers, pushing his thumb further into your mouth. You gag slightly, sending him watery glare. 

Sylus only smiles back, keeping you in place as you suck on his thumb. The ache between your thighs is too hard to ignore, and your hand is sneaking down in an attempt to relieve the ache.

You’re horribly wet between your thighs, feeling your thighs practically slip against each other as you squirm. Your fingers only manage two full circles against your clit before Sylus is letting out a growl, tugging your hand free from where it had snuck into your panties. 

“I- I need-“ you whine, trying to sneak your hand between your thighs again.

“You need me ,” he hisses, eyes hard as he grabs at your wandering hand, gaze locking onto your slick fingers. There’s a sharp gasp that leaves you when his own mouth is enveloping around your fingers, his eyes on yours as he sucks them clean. You feel weak at the sight, a dreamy sigh escaping you. He smirks, forgetting your fingers to kiss you again. You taste yourself on his tongue, feeling the way he licks into your mouth, his hands squeezing at your hips.

He’s picking you up before too long, dumping you on his bed. You hide shyly when he rips your nightgown from your body, his eyes staring down at your bra and panties greedily. The bra goes next and he’s lowering his head, sucking your nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking against the pebbled bud. You don’t know what to do, arms wrapping around his neck to keep him there, trying desperately to seek relief. “So impatient,” Sylus mutters against your spit-slick skin, opting to suck on your other breast as his hand delves between your thighs. “Don’t stop,” you whimper, eyes slipping shut “please, don’t stop.”

He lets out a low laugh, fingers rubbing at you through your panties. “How obedient you’ve become. Squirming under my fingers like a little slut. Didn’t you say you hated me before?” he whispers. 

“I- I do hate you!” you grit out, but your hand is finding his wrist, keeping his hand there as you grind your clothed pussy against his fingers.

He scoffs disappointedly, body slinking down the bed until his nose is pressing against your panties and he’s breathing in. You feel as though you might faint at the depraved sight. His tongue laves across the fabric of your panties and you moan his name, fingers finding their home in his hair.

Sylus sucks at your clit through your panties, licking at the slick that seeps through the dampened fabric. 

“An intoxicating taste,” he comments, pressing a kiss to your thigh “I could do this for days.”

That little comment has you letting out a shuddering breath and words you might regret if your mind wasn’t so stupidly hazy. “I would let you,” you mumble, tugging his face closer to where you want him, feeling the press of his nose against your clit. He grins, red eyes staring up at you, “that can be arranged.” Sylus’s long fingers are pulling down your panties and he’s staring at your cunt, a deep groan escaping him. “Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your clit. 

A strangled noise leaves you and his mouth is latching onto your pussy, sucking and licking like a man starved. Whines and whimpers escape you as you grind your hips against his tongue. He moans back into your cunt, the sound shooting up through your body, thighs twitching. Sylus keeps you pinned down, tongue laving against your wetness, drinking up your slick as it leaks. It’s almost too much, which is why your hand reaches for his. Sylus gives his own hand, fingers lacing with yours. You’re so lost in the haze of his tongue against you that you can barely hear his voice.

“Resonate,” he speaks into your pussy, his hand gripping yours tight. “What?” Your dazed eyes find his, bewildered. “I said, resonate ,” he repeats, sucking your clit into his mouth harshly. 

His teeth graze against the sensitive bud and your back is arching, hand squeezing his one back. Your Evol comes much easier this time, light emanating from both your hands as you resonate. The linkage takes place, and it has you reeling, body twitching as you come on his tongue. The light soon fades, his own Evol dimming down. He presses another soft kiss to your sensitive clit. “Some incentive and your body is reacting remarkably well,” he smiles down at you. You could hardly care about resonance at this point, pushing at his shoulders and crawling up onto his lap, lips pressing against his. He grunts at the sudden change in position, but kisses you back, his hands groping at your ass appreciatively. A whine gets swallowed up by his mouth, your hips rocking against his hardness wantonly. Your fingers pull at his shirt and he’s staring at you with spit-slick lips. He tugs his shirt free and you suck in a sharp breath, taking him in. While you do this, your hips pause in their movements and he’s letting out a click of his tongue, using his hands to guide you start moving again. “You resonated with me,” he whispers against your lips. “Hardly,” you murmur back, nails digging into his shoulders. “Don’t be like that,” he chastises, “I made you come on my tongue and this is how you treat me?” he pouts mockingly.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you?” He coos, guiding your hips to move in the way he wants to, “moaning and whimpering for me. Perhaps I should’ve suggested this path from the start.” You try to glare at him, but he’s only gripping your cheeks, prying your mouth open before his tongue is lolling out, dropping a glob of spit into your mouth. “Swallow, baby.” You do so almost immediately, mouth opening eagerly for more. He laughs, almost in disbelief, kissing you messily this time, letting you suck on his tongue. “I need you,” you whisper, pressing his hand against your tummy “need you in me, Sylus.”

His eyes flash and he’s kissing you harder, clothed bulge grinding up into your bare pussy. The drag of his trousers is stimulating, catching on your clit in a way that has you shaking on his lap. “You’re filthy,” he hisses, sucking harsh kisses against your neck “such a filthy slut, begging for my cock.” You whine in agreement, nodding mindlessly. The world is moving then, your eyes finding the roof as he settles between your thighs. He kisses you over and over again, before he’s drawing back, slipping off the bed to pull his trousers down. A loud moan escapes you at the sight, his fat cock bobbing between his thighs. The tip is dark with arousal, veins prominent against the skin. Part of you wants it in your mouth, to swallow his cum and feel the weight of his cock on your tongue, and the other part wants it inside of you, filling you up. Embarrassment forgotten, you’re spreading your thighs in what you hope is an enticing manner, biting your lip and batting your eyelashes over at him. He glances down at your glistening pussy, licking his lips. “In me, please” you sweetly request. He hums, crawling over you. He grasps his cock, tapping the tip of it against your clit a few times. Pre-cum beads at the tip, a fat glob dripping down. Your hand shoots out before it’s wasted, fingers catching the glob. Smiling up at him, you suck your fingers into your mouth, letting out an appreciative moan at the taste. His eyes darken at the sight, fingers dimpling the flesh of your thigh as he squeezes.

“You’ll regret this when you have to leave me,” he warns, “I won’t be there to stuff your pussy full or lick that pretty cunt when you’re feeling needy.” “Then make it count,” you retort, legs wrapping around his hips. He lets out a short laugh, kissing you again. Soft whines leave you when he pushes in, his cock sinking deep into your pussy. You think you might be able to feel him in your throat, his cock stretching you out so deliciously that it has you writhing. 

“So fucking tight,” he breathes out, kissing along your jaw “so warm. I can feel you clenching around me, baby.” 

“Fuck,” you mewl, nails scratching down his back as he thrusts into you. In any other situation, you might be mortified at the sounds.

The squelch of your pussy, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as he fucks you. It seems like his favourite thing to do is to hold your hands, though.

“So pretty for me,” he sighs, hips grinding deeper into your wet heat “such a good girl, hm? My good girl.”

The praise has your heart fluttering wildly, cheeks flushing.

“Oh, you like that,” he murmurs, his lips latching onto your tits again, “my pretty, little slut, all laid out for me. You could’ve had this cock earlier, I would’ve given it to you. I could’ve stuffed you full, or bent you over my bike and pounded this tight little cunt until you were screaming.” 

A hoarse moan leaves you. Your hands are squeezing his, legs tightening around him.

“That’s it,” he whispers encouragingly, “take my cock baby, it’s all yours.”

“Stop- stop talking like that,” you whine, writhing under his body.

“Why?” he responds, “does it feel better than you had imagined?”

“I wasn’t imagining-“

“Hush now,” he whispers, kissing you over and over again. You’re not sure how much more of this you could take.

His cock is pounding into you, punching out the air in your lungs. It feels too good, the throb of his cock and his whispered words against your ear. You hiccup, peering up into his crimson eyes. He stares right back at you, the look behind his eyes startlingly soft.

You shy away, head turning to the side, cheek squishing against the pillow. His hand turns your face back to him, nose nudging against yours gently. He kisses you softer this time, the sound of your kisses drowned out by the drag of his cock in your cunt.

“Come for me, baby” Sylus whispers, squeezing your hand “cream my cock.” 

It’s enough to have you shuddering around him, a whine of his name leaving your mouth as you cream on his cock, just like had told you to. He drinks up every noise, lips working against yours as he fucks into until he’s burying his cock deep inside, letting out a low growl against your ear as hot cum spurts from his tip, filling you up. 

You sigh at the feeling, body feeling limp. Sylus is slumped on top of you, his weight oddly comforting against yours. A kiss is pressed against his cheek and you can feel his smile from where he’s tucked his head into the crook of your neck.

It’s a little uncomfortable though, so you’re pushing at his chest to get him to roll off of you. Sylus does so with little noise and you’re curling up against his side, already missing the stretch of his cock.

“You were being nice,” you say softly, breaking the silence.

“Would you prefer it if I were rougher?” he asks in return, rubbing his hand against the curve of your hip soothingly.

You roll your eyes, pinching his bicep. 

“The auction will go smoothly,” he announces, his hand drifting to squeeze your ass, “we did resonate, after all.”

You had almost forgotten about that. A nod is your response and he’s dragging you closer to give you another kiss.

“Training begins tomorrow morning,” Sylus continues, “I need to see how strong we can be together.”

You’re letting out a groan, swatting his chest and shoving him away. 

“Leave me alone,” you mumble, burying your face into the pillows.

He smiles, arms curling around your waist to tug you back into his warm chest.

“Now, now. You were being so good earlier,” he whispers “I’d be happy to reward you, if you perform well tomorrow.”

His hand smooths across your stomach, hand drifting lower to delve between your thighs. You muffle the noise that threatens to spill out.

“You’re insufferable,” you mutter, eyes slipping shut.

“I think you like that about me,” Sylus murmurs, his fingers curling up inside of you, beginning to move at a leisurely pace. 

“You’re the worst, Sylus” you whisper, hips rocking as you try to get his fingers to sink deeper.

“Yet here you are, trying to fuck yourself on my fingers,” he purrs, his arm winding around your neck. You feel him squeeze and you’re whimpering, sinking your teeth into his bicep as he holds you in place, letting his fingers fuck in and out of you.

It’s going to be a long night.

[lxnarphase]

━━ ❝ GOOD MORNING, BABY !! ❞

☾₊‧⁺...ft. : g. satoru + g. suguru + n. kento + f. toji + k. choso + t. fumihiko

☾₊‧⁺...cw : somnophilia (pre-agreed on), thigh fucking, penetrative sex, pre-established relationship, dirty talk, praise and degradation, mommy kink, breeding kink, satoru and toji are just filthy, choso is so cute and needy, kento is the sweetest husband, it's just really fucking dirty im not sorry

☾₊‧⁺...synopsis : which jjk characters would fuck your thighs while you're sleeping bc they're horny but don't wanna wake you up !!

who does it to tease you ↴

✧ g. satoru ; satoru tries to wake you up, but you just don't want to. and by try, he means he blew into your ear just for you to huff and smack him away, grumbling to let you sleep or you'd bite him. ohh, you are so cute, he just really can't help himself

“look at my pretty girl, such a mess…tsk, wish she'd wake up, now i gotta fuck her soft, pretty thighs instead of that pretty lil' pussy." “aww, your pussy 's so noisy! listen t' her...she's all wet, she's cryin' f'me to fuck her, isn't she? aww, poor thing...” “ooh, are you cumming, baby? cumming in your sleep like a slutty little girl while I fuck your thighs, so precious…”

✧ g. suguru ; suguru's hands move up and down your soft curves while he grinds against your thighs, quiet, sticky noises sounding in the room. you're so adorable, he wants to shake you awake but teasing you with his thick cock nudging against your clit is so much more fun

“you’ve always been so responsive, i didn’t think my dick between your thighs would get you like this, princess.” “oh? was that my name? don’t tell me you’re having a wet dream about me. so dirty, baby, thinking of me like that while sleeping when I’m right here with you.” “don’t you wanna wake up and move my cock somewhere other than your thighs? c'mon, princess, wake up for me.”

who does it because they are desperate ↴

✧ k. choso ; not outright fucking you is painful, but he doesn’t want to wake you up. He’s so fucking hard, that dream affected him more than he thought, and before he knew it, he was fucking your thighs, not caring how loud he was being.

“baby, baby, fuck, hoohmygodd, please! need y'so bad, so fuckin' soft, so soft, fuck, could d' this to you all the time, never wanna stop, p-please, god, 'm gonna cum all over you-!” “sticky fuckin' p-pussy's beggin' me t' fuck it, b-but wanna see you look at me. c'mon, c-c'monnn, please wake up, let me stick it in, o-or 'm gonna waste it a-and cum all over your cunt.” “oh, mmh, ’m cumming, ’m cumming, baby, i-i’ll clean y' up after, g'nna fuck you again 'n' again 'n' againnn, fuck, ’m cumming-!”

✧ t. fumihiko ; poor thing, fumihiko honestly tries to deal with it by himself, trying to just jerk off in the bathroom, but it doesn't work. he knew what he needed, he needed you, needed to touch and feel you around him. with shaky hands holding your thighs, he slides his aching cock between your thighs, moaning so cutely…and when you wake up and start cooing to him, he absolutely loses himself.

“i’m-i’m gonna mess you up so bad, been wantin’ to leave you a mess for so long, so fucking long, 'm g-gonna cum all over your pretty thighs. 's okay, right? right? mmh, okay, 'm gonna do it, 'm gonna cum on 'em.” “y-yeah, yeah, fuck, your thighs are so soft, feel so good around my cock, gonna cum all over them, m-ma'am.” “'s so much cum, i can’t stop cumming, m-mommy, ’m losing my mind, love your thighs, they're so soft, s' soft, thank you, thank you, thank you-!”

who wakes you up ↴

✧ f. toji ; it’s not uncommon for toji to wake up in the middle of the night, cock hard in his sweats. can you blame the guy when he's sleeping next to the sexiest woman he's ever laid his eyes on. he thanks whatever god there is for giving him a wife like you who lets him fuck your soft thighs until you wake up up so he can stuff you full of cum instead of wasting it on your stomach.

“’s time to wake up, mama, don’ ya wan' me t' fuck your needy cunt 'stead of these pretty thighs?” “aw, y'look soooo cute and dumb right now…my pretty thing. c'mon, spread those legs for me, mama, toji's gonna take care of ya.” “did y' dream 'bout me fucking your thighs? yeah? mm, you’re takin' my cock like you wanted me t' fuck you awake…hm? you want that next time? mm, i’ll keep it in mind, baby girl, now shut up and let me fuck you dumb.”

✧ n. kento ; he usually only does this when he’s very very frustrated from working, coming home to see his pretty baby in one of his button-ups sleeping, thighs out in the open. he can’t help himself, softly calling your name as he slides his hard cock slowly in and out between your thighs, giving you soft smile when you wake up.

“sorry to wake you, darling, I know it’s late, but I need you. you just...look so beautiful, i couldn't help himself.” “you were responding so cutely in your sleep…would you rather I be inside you? ask nicely, honey, and I’ll give you what you want. you know a good husband does whatever his wife asks.” “so, so pretty like this, i could fuck you for days. should i do that, my sweet girl? mm, maybe i should take tomorrow off and keep you in bed all take, make sure that my seed takes. what do you think, sweetheart, you want me to give you a baby?”

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[adimilkys]

JJK men waking up horny at night

MDNI : 18+, smut, somnophilia, masturbation, p in v, degradation and much more

Contains : Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Toji Fushigiro, Choso Kamo, Ryomen Sukuna (I was throwing up while writing his bitch ass 😾 I still love you Sukuna 😔)

small note : remember! Consent is everything, so let’s say the reader and character made an agreement on not minding if they would wake up to head etc. Not proof read

Gojo Satoru

He often got wet dreams, either waking up to morning wood or- waking up in the middle of the night.

And that’s what happened this time, it’s 3 am and Satoru let out a groan as his eyes opened, his whole face was red, it was so goddamn hot in here. He looked over at your peaceful face, wrapped his hands around you and pulled you closer.

He breathed in your smell, leaving kisses all around your neck and shoulders, slightly grinding his hard cock against your ass.

“Fuck… not letting me rest in my sleep either.” A quiet whine left his mouth, one hand going under his shirt that you were wearing, while the other one pulled your panties to the side, you usually only slept in his shirt and your panties, so he had easy access to your body.

“Baby… I need you…” two of his fingers entered you, he started moving them slowly and scissoring them, you let out a soft moan and clenched your thighs together- but still asleep.

He sped up his pace, taking his own cock into his hand and started stroking it. You let out a louder moan, feeling something tighten inside your stomach.

Suddenly your eyes shot open as your hand instantly went to grab his wrist. “T-Toru!” You cried as he added a third finger.

“M’sorry baby… I was so horny…” he was also close, groaning as he was stroking his cock faster.

“C-Can I put it in? Please please I need to feel you…” You nodded, not able to say anything, the only sounds leaving your mouth being moans of his name.

His fingers left your hole, you whined at the lost sensation but it was immediately replaced with his cock, you gasped at the feeling of being so full. He had your back against his chest. His arms were wrapped around your thighs, holding them up so it was easier for him to slide in.

His thrusts were slow and deep, hitting your cervix every time.

“Toru!! Ah- c-close!” You moaned, your nails were digging into his shoulder as he fastened his pace.

“S-shit… me too baby, me too.” One of his hands left your thigh, letting it lay on the bed, it instead went to your clit.

Your eyes rolled back and your back arched as you came, he wasn’t far behind, a few more strokes and he buried himself deep inside and shot his loads of cum.

As he pulled out you both were a panting mess. He moved your panties back, his hands wrapping around your waist and head hid in your shoulder.

“I’ll clean you up in the morning…”

Nanami Kento

It was rare for him to get wet dreams, it basically never happened, until this night.

He was rock hard and itching to touch you but he didn’t want to wake you up. You came back from work really late and exhausted, it was a hard day for you.

He could just jerk off, but he wanted you so bad. He got onto his knees, making you lay on your back as he pushed your legs apart, slowly pulling your panties off, making sure you won’t wake up.

He grabbed his cock in his hand and started stroking it, imagining it was your hand right now. You were so cute asleep, his beautiful wife.

You probably would tease him for days if you found out what he was doing, he just wanted to quickly get off to your body and go back to sleep.

He leaned down, kissing all over your exposed cleavage and neck, leaving small marks with every kiss, you’ll probably wake up and wonder where’d they come from.

He’ll explain himself tomorrow, right now it wasn’t important. What was is that he’s closer and closer, he started moving his hand faster, shooting out ropes all over your stomach that was exposed due to your shirt being ridden up, following with a muffled moan.

When he calmed down, he grabbed a tissue from the shelf and cleaned the cum off you. Putting your panties back down and laying down next to you, cuddling you.

Toji Fushigiro

He dreamt of you pregnant all over again, your round belly, filled with his child. He knows he has a breeding kink, so it’s obvious that he has gotten hard just from thinking about it.

Megumi wouldn’t mind a little brother, or maybe sister. Fuck, he wanted to get you pregnant again. He knows you’re on that shitty pill- he needs to flush them down the fucking toilet.

But right now all he needed was you. He grabbed your sleeping face and slammed his lips on yours, making you gasp, which allowed his tongue to enter.

“Mhmm- too-ji?” You muffled out barely awake, confused why in the middle of the night your man started furiously attacking your mouth.

“Fuck- feel what you did to me doll, got me all hard even in my sleep, yeah?” You let out another gasp, feeling his hard erection press against your clothed pussy.

Not letting you say anything he ripped your panties and immediately positioned his cock against your entrance.

“T-Toji! What if we wake up Megumi-”

“Then you have to quiet down all these pretty sounds, hm?” And just like that he slammed his dick inside of you. You quickly bit down on your hand, muffling your loud cry.

Not letting you adjust, he continued slamming in and out of you at a quick pace. Tears filled your eyes from the pleasure, trying the best to muffle your loud moans. Your other hand scratched at his back.

He grabbed the hand that was covering your mouth and replaced it with his lips, you could’ve sworn you felt his tongue in your throat, it was a messy kiss- tongues and teeth clashing together. Then he moved down to your neck, leaving marks all over it.

“A-Ah! S-Slo’down- T’muchhh!” Instead of actually slowing down, he only went faster if that was even possible at this point.

“I know you can take it, doll. You always do.” With every thrust you were closer, it was also hard to be quiet with this beast of a man slamming into you at an inhuman pace.

“Toji- close so close!”

“Come on, cum f’me” Your head threw back, not able to contain the loud cry that left your mouth, his pussy clamped down so hard on his cock that he came short after you, letting out a load groan as he filled you up.

“One more round?”

“Toji- wait, AH-”

Choso Kamo

You’re his first ever partner, he’s still not used to all those relationships things. So just imagine his confusion when he woke up at 2 am, his dick rock hard and his body hot.

He looked over to you, sleeping so beautifully, you were asleep and didn’t even do anything- what happened??

He couldn’t go back to sleep, he was too horny. You won’t be mad if he wakes you up, right?

He carefully shook you, calling out your name. After a minute you opened your eyes, mumbling out some incorrect words. When you saw it was Choso who was sitting up, looking all worried you immediately raised yourself up on your hands.

“Love…? What’s wrong?” You asked, his face got red immediately, embarrassed to say what happened.

“I- woke up and my dick was hard, I didn’t know what happened so I woke you up.” You stared at him and let out a soft laugh, sitting up next to him.

“Oh baby, you probably just had a wet dream.” He looked at you confused, still not understanding what that meant.

“A wet dream is when you dream about something sexual.” He let out a quiet ohh, you shook your head smiling.

“Want me to help?” He didn’t move for a while before slowly shaking his head, still embarrassed that he had to wake you up for that. You took his dick in your hands, slowly moving them up and down before lowering your head and leaving kisses all over his cock.

His hand buried itself in your hair as he let out a quiet moan, begging you to not tease him. You complied to his request, taking as much of him as you can in your mouth.

He slightly thrust his hips forward, making the head of his cock hit the back of your throat. “M-m’sorry… had too-“ he whined as your plump lips dragged on his dick, your mouth so warm. The rest that you couldn’t fit in was wrapped around your hand, not being forgotten.

The way you looked up at him, the way that your mouth moved- he was getting closer and you knew it, your movement got faster and he gripped your hair tightly, letting out a moan as he came inside your mouth.

You swallowed it all, giving his head a last kiss before raising yourself up and wiping the corners of your lips with your hand. “You did so good love” he blushed at the praise,

“I’ll repay you tomorrow, okay?”

“Choso, you know you don’t have to-”

“But I want to.”

Ryomen Sukuna

He will not wake you up and admit that he got hard because of a stupid dream, there’s absolutely no way. He won’t ‘jerk off’ either, that would be just low of him.

So he will indeed wake you up but by his cock inside of you. He immediately got to work, ripping your panties off and throwing them somewhere in the room, getting in between your legs as he picked them up and held them against your chest.

He spit down on your pussy, the cold sensation making you shiver in your sleep. He grabbed one of his cocks and positioned it against your entrance, he would use both but getting you prepared for the other one would take too long.

And with a quick thrust he was deep inside of you, filling you up. The sudden intruder immediately woke you up, letting out pleasurable but also painful scream.

“Ngh—! wha-?!” Your eyes darted around the room before laying on the huge frame of Sukuna, who was glaring at you.

“Quiet, brat. This is your fault so now take it.” Your back arched off the mattress as he suddenly started moving, still half asleep not knowing what’s happening.

“Ryo-! Wait! Let me-” before you could finish your sentence a loud moan left your mouth, he did not plan on giving you any mercy with how fast he was ramming inside you.

You yelped as he slapped your ass harshly, “That’s for waking me up, brat.” You wanted to reply to him but you couldn’t form the words, even if you did you knew that would just result in another slap.

He didn’t even bother at pulling out as he picked you up and flipped you onto your stomach like a ragdoll. Continuing with his harsh slams, you felt every vein, with how big he was he was hitting every spot inside your pussy.

His hand grabbed your head and pushed you further into the pillow, making you arch more. He was slamming into you so hard it felt like he was rearranging your guts. The knot in your stomach tightened as you clenched around him.

“Cum, slut.” With his words your hands gripped onto the pillows and with almost a scream-like moan you came so hard you saw stars, but even with your tight pussy clamping around him so hard his thrusts didn’t slow down.

He once again grabbed your body, now picking it up and making you sit on his lap, your back against his chest as he bounced you up and down. You were so fucked out, tears streaming down your cheeks, your tongue out as spit leaked from the corners of your mouth.

“Look at you, so greedy for my cock.” He smirked, pinching your nipple.

“Ryooo— I can’t-” he slapped your ass once again, making you let out a cry, feeling another orgasm coming soon.

“Close already?” He scoffed “Pathetic” you squirmed as his hand went to your clit. One hand on your throat, second on your boobs, third wrapped around your waist making you bounce and fourth on your clit.

“Haa- n-nono-“ you cried as the next orgasm hit you, squirting all around his cock and hand. Leaving you a panting and overstimulated mess.

“What a messy pussy…” he groaned as he slammed you down, cock buried so deep there was a bulge on your stomach as he filled you with his load.

You were sure you would fall down on the bed if he wasn’t holding you up. He pulled his cock out just to fill you again with his second one.

“Did you think we were done, brat?”

[coqvttes]

୨୧― KINKTOBER: ❝KNOCKED UP❞ ― KENTO N.

― ꒰ BREEDING ✰ KINKTOBER M.LIST ꒱ ―

୨୧˚ synopsis: after getting turned on from seeing you being domestic in the kitchen, your doting husband is definitely not stopping until he's sure you're pregnant !

୨୧˚ warnings: nsfw 16+ only, breeding, p in v, petnames, praise, fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!kento, fingering, tummy bulge, creampie, teasing, lmk if i forgot anything!

୨୧˚ wc: 1.4k (sorry it’s not proofread)

your doting husband, kento just couldn't help himself when he saw you fussing around in his little kitchen. the enchanting smell of fresh pancakes had stirred him from his sleep in the bedroom, and he wondered what you were up to when he noticed that his wife's spot on the bed was empty. appearing in the doorway of the kitchen in his briefs, he freezes as he sees you prancing around in the kitchen. taking in the sight of you. 

there you are, sporting the linen workshirt he wore yesterday, styled with your cute little apron over it. clearly, you aren't wearing anything underneath the shirt, save for your cute lacy panties that he just loves so much.

he ponders if he should just take you right there. bend you over the worktop push those panties of yours to the side and make love to you like last night. you just look so gorgeous and domestic like this, waking up early just to change into HIS clothes to cook him HIS breakfast in HIS kitchen. how can he resist the temptation? god, sometimes he thinks you do it on purpose just to rile him up. and it works. 

"good morning, kento," the sound of your sweet voice forced him out of his perverted thoughts and his eyes met with your gentle ones. you were holding a delicate plate of freshly made pancakes, just for him with that sweet smile on your face. warmth filled his heart as he looked at you with adoration and lust. 

"g'morning, darling," he says in that sexy morning voice of his. your mouth almost waters at the sight of him. hair tousled, shirtless and a tired smirk on his handsome face. he notices the way you stare at him and he doesn't know how it happened but he's approaching you, pulling you in by the waist for a sweet kiss, sealed with passion and devotion. 

"you look too good in that shirt and cute little apron of yours," he groans, hands slipping down your hips to grab onto your arse. you squeal as he unexpectedly lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your palms flat against his chest. 

"w-what about breakfast?" he chuckles at your concern and grins. 

"who needs breakfast when i have you, hm?" he chuckles, carrying you back into the bedroom, you giggle as he plops you down on the bed, climbing over you. his fingers play with the strands of your hair before he speaks.

"god, you're so perfect in my shirt. so pretty for me, hm? all mine, aren't you?" his fingers slide under the shirt as he kisses you, caressing you tenderly before moving up further to grope your tits. he smiles into your lips as he feels how hard your nipples are for him, pinching and tugging at them gently, eliciting a choked whine from your throat.

"all yours, kento," your voice is breathy, so desperate for his touch. he skillfully unbuttons the shirt and peels it off of you, letting the cool air blow over your now bare torso. your fingers tangle in his blonde locks as he envelops your nipple in his warm mouth. you mewl softly from the stimulation whilst he gazes at you through his eyelashes, you look so heavenly like this. 

releasing your wet nipple he moves lower down your body. as he spreads your legs, exposing the wet stain on your panties, he chuckles. he ducks down and presses his lips against your clothed cunt. his pointer finger slips under the lace, pulling it down your legs, revealing your needy cunt.

"fuck, darling, let me put a baby into you, hm? make you mine forever? would you like that?" he asks, his slender fingers, slipping into your hole slowly. you nod profusely, choking on your words as he stuffs you full with his digits. sliding them in and out of you slowly, he curls his fingers to tease that sweet spot inside of you that makes your walls clench around him.

"use your words, sweetheart." 

"yes, yes! wan' your babies, kento. wan' it so bad. wan' to be yours forever-!" you babble mindlessly, completely unaware of how much your words are affecting him right now. the thought of having kids with you and how much you want it too, makes his dick so hard. his heart is beating fast as the phrases truly sink into his mind.

with that, he withdraws his now slick-covered fingers, before lowering his head down, capturing your plump lips with his. your hand moves down between your bodies to palm his bulge through his briefs. he pulls away from your lips and groans with how painfully hard he is and he tugs his briefs off, dropping them onto the floor carelessly. 

your eyes are fixated on his cock that yearns to be inside of your warmth. he pumps his length a few times, drops of precumming spilling out of his sensitive tip as he slowly lines himself up with your drooling entrance. you mewl out lewdly as he pushes himself in, filling you up completely and your palms fly up to his shoulders for purchase. 

your thankful he prepped you a little bit earlier otherwise you're not so sure if you could take him in one go like this. after a few heartbeats, he rolls his hips slightly, his pelvis rubbing against your puffy clit and you moan softly. 

he picks up the tempo, his thrusts now faster and harder as the room echoes with the sounds of your pleasure and the bed creaking. his strong arms move your legs up to rest on his broad shoulders, making the position more intimate but most importantly, making it easier for him to go deeper.

his eyes are fixed on the way your cunt keeps sucking him in, the way you can see his bulge in your tummy and the way you look at him with those adoring doe eyes. he dips his head down to seize your lips in a kiss.

the kiss was gentle and innocent compared to the sinful actions being committed with each of his powerful thrusts. with every single drag of your tight cunt against his dick, constantly clenching around him deliberately which forced out a long string of groans as he felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge.

"k-kento!" 

he dotes on the sound of your sweet voice calling out his name in a choked whisper, your nails clawing down his back. your cunt pulsing around his cock. your juices spilling from your hole as he thrusts into you like there's no tomorrow.

“that feel good, darling?” the rumble of his voice against your ear makes you shiver slightly. 

"can't wait to see your tummy swollen with my babies in you, you'll look so gorgeous."

“mmm—!” moans and whines bubble up in your throat as a response to his teasing words. the thought of having his children makes your mind go fuzzy and your heart swell. you want it more than anything. 

“i love you, sweetheart,” he coos, pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. his husky voice, how close his lips are, the lust evident in his gaze, it all makes your mind go fuzzy. 

"i love you, kento! love you s'much!" you cry as you cream around his cock, cunt tensing around him which pushes him over the edge too. he lets out a broken moan as his warmth fills you up. he stays inside of you for a few moments, not wanting his cum to go to waste. 

"mmm, can't wait for you to get pregnant, sweetheart," he confesses, pulling you into his arms as he lays down on the mattress.

“i think the pancakes are cold,” you pout, turning your head to look up at him through your lashes and he chuckles down at you.

"that's alright, darling... i've already had my meal, haven't i?"

oh yes, he has...

‧˚ʚɞ˚‧ all works belong to © coqvettes 2023. i do not give permission to claim, translate or copy any of my works. reblogs are appreciated!

[barbieaemond]

Religion

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

Warnings: mild angst, misogyny, banter, pregnancy, childbirth, oral sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, dry humping, overstimulation, brief lactation kink, breeding kink, manipulation (to get some), some good ol' tying up, slandering of the Gods lol

Author's note: this is the third and final part following And I dream of a grave and A curse for a curse but can be read as a standalone. Just keep in mind that Aemond did not cheat on his wife while in Harrenhal. He used Alys only for her visions.

Word count: 13k. Ye have to suffer for your smut darlin'

MASTERLIST | English is not my first language.

taglist: @multyfangirl @ladystarksneedle @arcielee @darylandbethfanforever9 @zaldritzosrose @alphard-hydraes-blog

Her mother had come to King’s Landing three days after she gave birth. Peering through the door, the Princess didn’t know if the woman was more surprised to finally see a baby safely tucked between her daughter’s arms or to witness that she was still breathing. She had chosen to believe both.

Since she was a little girl, she had been instructed in what was coming, for her and all the girls like her: how to serve men, how to serve the Realm. She knew pregnancy could be a time of great distress, physical and otherwise, and for her, it turned out to be nothing more than that.

She spent the first moons plagued by sickness, glaring at the Maesters who told her that morning sickness was perfectly normal. It would've been, if only it had lasted the hours the sun was at its highest. Instead, she couldn’t keep down her breakfast, just like her lunch, or dinner. She had lost weight, she couldn’t stand any kind of smell with the risk of rushing to her pot and empty her stomach.

Then, on one fine morning, while she was walking the gardens with two of her maids, she had suddenly bent over, hissing with pain while clutching her maid’s arm, dreading the trickle running down her thighs.

The Maesters said occasional bleedings might happen, that she only needed to rest and take some tonic to strenghten her body. But that day signaled the end of her peace and the beginning of her confinement.

Because clearly, at the first sign of something going wrong, slipping out of his control, Aemond would panic, albeit showing none of it, standing as tall and stoic as ever and somehow more than he’d ever done now that the Conqueror’s Crown weighted on his head. But she knew better. She knew how to look through all his walls. She knew he was scared—for her, for the baby, for his sister, for his whole family. It was simply too much for a single person to carry all of that on their shoulders. And it was precisely for that reason that she didn’t object to any of his orders. After all, she couldn’t. He was the King now, even if he didn’t choose to style himself as such.

Thus, her chambers became her prison.

Cobwebs didn’t have time to grow because she was quick enough to point them out to the servants. She was aware of the slight drop in the stone tiles just behind the terrace, as of the strategic point where to linger to gain some cool breeze from the sea. She knew the baby liked to sleep upside down in the early afternoon, occasionally kicking hard as he, or she, settled comfortably in her womb.

Aemond had picked some books for her, mostly about history, having her yawning at the third page. She had tried needle work, putting all her good will into it for the sake of doing something, and she had deliberately chosen to believe she was undeniably good at it. But that was a very generous lie. 

“What is that supposed to be exactly?” Aemond asked one day, peeking over her shoulder as he reached her on the terrace.

She didn’t look up, keeping her eyes fixed on her embroidery tambour, working the needle in and out. “Isn’t it obvious?”

He leaned down until she felt the long silver strands tickling her head and even without turning, she could feel him grimacing. “A bird?”

At that, she had raised her head, reading all the disbelief on his face. “It is a dragon. For the cradle.”

Aemond had simply furrowed his brow, unable for the life of him to consider what he saw as something even remotely resembling a dragon. But he thought better than to anger his pregnant wife, given her late sour spirit, but especially in light of how fiercely she had started to stick the needle in, likely picturing to stick it into him instead. He had built the most fake pleasant smile he could master and said “Very well. Excellent work, my love.”

“Thank you, husband.”

The trouble was that, as time went by, she only became sourer. She grew more and more uncomfortable, too tight in her own skin. Her back hurt, her breasts hurt, and she was starting to believe she was carrying a real dragon, with fangs and all; she had no other explanation for how hot she constantly felt, forced to lie in a thin white chemise all the time, despite the winds carrying the winter.

But maybe there was another reason why her spirits were so low and sour. She had come to learn that pregnancy affected every aspect of her life, including the most pleasant one.

She would grow wet for a kiss. She would close her legs and rub them together upon seeing him rise from the bathtub. She would moan into his mouth if he so much as grazed her nipples with his knuckles. But as she grew bigger and bigger, along with the discomfort, kisses and some intimate brushing were all she would get from him. Aemond had grown distant, not only with his presence, due to all the duties he had to fulfill wearing the Crown, but even when he was there, in their chambers, sleeping next to her, she felt him leagues and leagues away.

“Pregnancy is a very hard time for a woman.” The Dowager Queen had said to her “It is overwhelming to think that you are never alone and yet...somehow you are.”

She’d never understood what her good mother meant until she was confined to her chambers, alone with her thoughts and her fears. She didn’t expect Aemond to do something, this was women’s business. And she knew his reluctance to lie with her rested solely on concern and love for her.

No matter how much he craved to take her, he had decided to put his husband’s rights away for the delicate final moons until the baby was born. He still felt guilty, for Harrenhal, for the witch, for forsaking her only to get drunk on visions and prophecies. Yet, those visions turned out to be true. He had shut that voice in his head and tried to make amends. But they didn’t have the time to mend themselves together, to knit all the distrust and suspicions into something good; the baby was coming, and it seemed he or she did nothing but grow them more apart. 

He saw how tired she was, how some days she couldn’t even get out of bed. And how useless he felt when he would catch her crying, like that night when he found her all alone on the terrace at the hour of the owl.

She was sitting on her chaise filled with cushions when Aemond walked around her. Given the state of his white shirt and hair, he had likely just awakened and hadn’t found her beside him.

“What are you doing out here? You will catch a cold.”

“I cannot sleep.” she had kept her eyes far, on the Black Water Bay, far from him. But he saw them anyway, her reddened eyes.

“You cannot stay here in your condition.” He said almost tiredly, but when she didn’t even blink at his words, he called her name, with the tone he used in the Throne Room.

“Aemond, please.” She whispered, turning her head. “I—” she bit her tongue, unwilling to put this on him, but she knew he wouldn’t let go until she was safely back in bed. So, she said “I don’t want to hear her.”

It took him less than a moment to understand what she meant. Helaena. Helaena who lost a child, who saw her flesh and blood horribly murdered before her eyes. Helaena who couldn’t stop wailing in the dead of night.

She had looked at him, seeing that torn thing, broken and raw like a split wound; shame and guilt and rage all at once. Then, he lowered himself onto his knees until he took her cold hands and squeezed them tight. His mouth opened, but she was faster. “Don’t say it.”

You cannot keep such a promise, you cannot keep us safe. No matter how many times you say it. But she wouldn’t take that solace away from him, not that plainly. The more he said it, the more he seemed to believe it. So be it.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, and there was a beautiful, heartbreaking desperation in his hushed voice. “Tell me what to do.”

She had built a convincing smile, running her hand through his loose hair and pushing some strands back. “Go back to sleep. I’m fine.”

Her spirits during the day would slightly improve. And between the Council and some hearings in the Throne Room, he always saved some time to go visit her in their chambers. She didn’t seem to enjoy being watched like a toddler, but deep down she cherished his concern. She cherished the way his hands would gently hold her own, or caress her hair, her belly. She found it hard to believe those hands could bestow such reverence and violence at the same time. And even in his absence, he managed to ensure she always had anything she needed. Even blackberries in early autumn.

“Myra, where have you been?” She asked in a late afternoon, when one of her most loyal maids entered her chambers after disappearing for the whole day.

The young girl had an awful look. She seemed exhausted, as if she had walked the entirety of Flea Bottom, twice. “Apologies, my Princess. It took me quite a while to find blackberries.”

“Seven Hells, it is only a craving. You did not have to go all the way through King’s Landing to find me blackberries.”

"No, I-I ought to.”

The Princess paused, frowning at the young girl. “Did someone else tell you that you ought to?”

“Well…yes…” the maid said, sinking her gaze to the floor “The King—uhm Prince Regent.”

She sighed deeply, and with heavy steps, she walked towards the terrace; her maid was immediately at her side to help her. “What did he tell you?” the Princess asked as they reached the chair outside.

The girl waited for her to sit, slowly and awkwardly given her big belly; then, a little timidly, she said “He…ordered me to go look for blackberries and not to…bother coming back if I didn’t find them.”

The Princess rolled her eyes in quite an unlady-like manner, “How in the name of Seven did he know about it?” She asked, grimacing as she desperately tried to find a comfortable position. “I have barely seen him this morning.”

The young maid helped her, fixing some cushions behind her back and whispered “The White Cloak at the door…I suspect he reports everything to his Grace.”

The notion didn’t seem to strike her that much, or maybe she was too tired, too uncomfortable and too hot to comment on the matter, or even scoff at it.

She grabbed a fan from her maid’s hands and unceremoniously shook her shoes off, placing her swollen feet on the cool tiles. Closing her eyes, she basked in that small relief; the floor was cold, the sun was about to set, and the baby was sleeping.

According to the Maesters, her time was close. She was eager to meet this little person but in truth, she just wanted it to end. She hated having no control over her body, her spirits, her marriage. She missed being a wife and being treated as such, not just as the mother of his child. She had come to think that, deep down, any woman felt that way, but they were forced to hide everything behind a joyful smile while sinking to their knees to thank the Mother. Wasn’t that the sole purpose of any girl in the world? To bleed on a birthing bed? Wasn’t that the way men measured women’s value?

She swallowed hard as the question spun in her head. Am I finally worthy of you, Aemond?

She wouldn’t dare ask him. 

“What is it? Are you unwell?”

She was too lost in her thoughts to even hear his footsteps on the terrace. As her gaze flew up, she read the deep concern on his face, all lumped in the steep furrow between his eyebrows. He must’ve seen her grimacing, thinking she was in some pain. She was, but she was too much of a coward to tell him.

She resumed her fanning, averting her gaze and stretching her legs out further on the floor. “I feel like I’m boiling.”

“Yes, I can see that.” He deadpanned, raking his eye over her disheveled state; sprawled on that chair with her legs slightly open, her white chemise all crumpled and unbuttoned, and a bead of sweat on the forehead, in the crevice of her swollen breasts. He thought the times when a mere look at this woman would make him hard were gone once the novelty of having a wife, someone rightly and thoroughly his, had dissipated. He was wrong.

“I’m well aware of my lack of decency.” She replied, seeing how he was staring, the little inquiring curve in his eyebrow. “I’m afraid I care very little about decency at this moment. Blame it on your son.”

His lips curled up, watching her gather her loose hair with one hand while she kept fanning herself quickly with the other.

“Are you still inclined to believe for certain that it’s a boy?”

“I know it’s a boy. Only men can be this insufferable.”

That little smile on his lips lingered, deepened, and then he moved, going to stand behind her. “Let me.” He said, and took her hair between his hands. She couldn’t see what he was doing but got the gist as she felt his deft fingers moving and her neck free to get some air. When he walked around the chaise to sit beside her, she saw that his hair was loose. He had tied her hair with the black lace he always wore to prevent the silver strands from ending up in front of his eye.

She loved to see him like this: hair loose, eyepatch lost somewhere in a drawer, sitting next to her, even without saying a word. The sapphire seemed to match his eye, glowing a soft violet under the setting sun. She felt that familiar lump in her throat, as she stared at him, a restless thing flowing through her whole body, demanding to be released only to be trapped under her teeth, biting down her lower lip, starved and yearning.

“A little bird told me you put a hound on my trail.” she said at one point, shutting her little fan.

Aemond didn’t look surprised to acknowledge that she knew. He had actually ventured with himself about how long it would have taken her to realise he was spying on her every move.

“You are well aware of my duties now.” He said, turning his head to look at her. But not quite. His eye seemed to linger everywhere at once, fleeting, snatching a look here and there, her legs, her sweated neck, her belly…his own testament, as if she wasn’t one already.

You left your mark on her just as she did on you. Those were Alys’ words, at which he had ugly sneered. And she had laughed at the sight, eerily, as someone who owned the truth. I’m your spoil of war and yet, you speak to me ten paces away. What are you afraid of, Kinslayer? That your skin would burn like brimstone if you touched another woman?

“Besides,” he resumes “any lady would be flattered by her husband’s genuine concern.”

“You could flatter me in different ways.” was her prompt answer and she moved incredibly fast, given her impediment, getting close to him until she filled his nostrils. She smelled different since she was pregnant. A thick smell, musky. She tasted differently. Sweeter and somehow sourer. He swallowed at the mere memory. “We have talked about this.”

“And I’ve talked to the Maesters.”

His head spun around, forcing her to stifle a smile at his ever strictly reserved nature.

“They said there’s nothing wrong, or remotely dangerous, if we…engage in our conjugal duties.”

He tried to ignore her hand, her fingers traveling up his arm like a spider’s legs. “Did you need the Maesters to learn that?”

“No, but you do. You hang on their lips…I wish you hung on mine.”

Aemond heard her voice dropping a tone, and dropped his chin down, looking at her hand roving on his chest, shamelessly slipping beneath his dark green doublet, skin to skin. She glided on his planes slowly, making sure to trap one of his nipples in the little hollow between her index and middle.

“I don’t need them to know about my private matters.” He said mindlessly, trying to hold a grip on his thoughts.

“Seven Hells. It baffles me to witness how prudish you desperately want to appear while I perfectly know how debauched you really are, to the bone.”

“My debauchery is confined to these four walls.”

“Oh, is it? What about that time on our way to the Grand Sept?” She tilted her head, so she was talking almost in his ear. “Do you remember?”

Her hand on his chest was burning, or was it his own skin? His own flesh simmering wherever she touched him.

“Don’t do that.” She whispered when she saw his long legs cross. “Let me see. You have condemned me to do nothing else.”

His eye chased her hand as she grabbed his knee and pushed to uncross his legs, so that she could see, the outline of his cock through the breeches, see how he ached for her. “Do you remember what you did in the wheelhouse?” She asked again, looking at him; the sapphire was the only thing flashing violet now. His eye was pitch black.

“You put your hand beneath my gowns…” she said and her hand slid up against his thigh “you grabbed me, harshly.” And she did the same, forcing his mouth open and a shallow breath out of his throat. “And you grinned…because my garments were soaked.” he closed his eye for a moment, perhaps recalling, or maybe because her hand was moving, palming all his length through the breeches.

“And then you slipped your fingers underneath…” and again, she did just so, unbuckling his belt and sinking her hand in. He opened his eye, and basked in what he saw: that sort of silent, desperate plea in the little wrinkle between her eyebrows, in her heaving chest, in the way she was rubbing her legs together.

Thus, just when she was about to grab him, he grabbed her wrist instead and crashed his mouth against hers with a low growling sound. She could do nothing but moan, giving him open room to slip his tongue in and taste every corner, driving his body closer and closer, but not too much as to crush her.

She, on the other hand, felt free, finally, to roam, to rummage. Her hands grabbed and pulled everywhere, at his doublet, the collar, the buttons, the thin white shirt underneath it all, until everything was loose, and she was free to touch him, all the while making the sweetest wanton sounds, close to desperate whines. “Please, Aemond…” she begged freely, holding his face “just this once…please…”

He shushed her with another harsh kiss and with a free hand, he clutched her white nightgown into his fist, pulling up, enough to stick his arm between her legs. She spread them for him, panting with anticipation, and stopped breathing altogether when he cupped her core with the large palm of his hand. Aemond trapped her lower lip with his teeth, biting softly upon feeling how wet she was, dripping on his fingers, so much that he wished to fall on his knees and wipe it clean with his tongue.

“Please…” she breathed, barely rocking her hips to urge him to touch her.

“Hush.” he said, and curled his fingers, brushing his fingertips against her centre, gaining a delicious wince from her. “Tell me of the wheelhouse.”

She smiled breathlessly, her eyes hungry and heavy, full of lust. “It was the first time I wore green.” she started to tell. “We were still betrothed. I wanted to impress you.”

“Hmm. You certainly did.” He remarked, watching her closely while rubbing his index pad against her entrance, teasingly, making her squirm. “Go on.”

She felt like burning, her face hot for the sun, the baby, the ache in her lower belly, stirring and coiling. “You told the White Cloak to take another round…” she said, breathing with her mouth open. “You grabbed my waist and forced me on your lap.”

“And you pushed me away. Twice.” he’d laughed, flashing a grin that made her willing to shove him away, to pull him closer. “What a farse you put on.” he continued, leaving a chaste kiss on her neck that resulted in her writhing some more, pushing her pelvis against his hand. “I had to cover your mouth for your mewling. You were so fucking loud.”

It was then that he finally granted her some mercy, slipping one finger inside her drenched lips, spilling a long gasp from her.

“No. Not quite.” He observed cruelly and slid another finger, this time gaining a proper loud moan. “That’s more like it.”

His two fingers started to pump slowly, and yet she was making the lewdest sounds he’d ever spilled from her, arching her back as far as she could, scrunching her face almost in pain and pulling at his collar, twisting, as if he were torturing her instead of giving her pleasure. She made his cock stir painfully, his teeth grind for the ache, for the fact that she was coating his whole hand. “Easy now…” he warned her, his tone all husky. “You don’t want to come already, do you? ‘Tis the only thing you’ll get from me, sweetling…you better make it last.” 

She whined in annoyance, forcing another grin on his ruthless lips, and with that same ruthlessness, he slowed his ministrations, only to cup one of her breasts with his free hand, squeezing softly until the thin, silky fabric slipped down, revealing her pink, swollen nipple. “I must say…I’m relieved you will summon a wet nurse…so these will be all mine.”

She had to stifle a breathless laugh at that. “Being jealous of your child is a bit too much, even for you…”

“Oh, my love” he crooned, freeing the other breast “I am jealous of the clothes on your skin.”

Wasting no time, he wrapped his lips around her nipple, causing her to arch against him once more, one hand flying down his shoulder, fisting his doublet, twisting it as he swirled his tongue and hummed with delight dripping from his tone, as if he were tasting honey, and the sweetest ever made.

His fingers resumed their frantic rhythm, sinking deep inside and stretching, hitting that special spot that made her sight go black, reduced to a mess of sweat coating every inch of her skin and a string of moans growing hoarse and high-pitched.

“Are you close? Hmm?” he rasped “How about another? Can you take another for me?”

He slipped a third finger in, causing her to wince and cling to his shoulders with her mouth open in a silent scream. “Good girl.” He praised at the sight. He wished he could savor it for a little longer, he wished to keep doing that again and again, until the sun went down and rose again, until there was nothing but ruin around them.

But she was so close now, he could feel it in her tensed arms around his shoulders, in her clenching walls around his hand, and quite frankly, the ache in his breeches was unbearable, twitching at every moan and squelching sound of his fingers inside her flesh. 

She came loudly, curling her ankles on the ground and writhing in his hold as if in a delirium. He kept her still, his hand buried inside her, feeling the quick pulsing that rivaled the one in her heart. And he watched her, gasping for air and throwing her head back, utterly spent, hair all sticked to her forehead. In his eye she had never looked this beautiful.

He pulled his fingers out, making her wince slightly, and brought them to her mouth, smearing her spent desire on her own lips, like the final touch to a painting. And then he kissed her, humming at her bittersweet taste. He held her face gently, grabbing her jaw and angling her head to taste her better, eliciting a blissful sigh from the back of her throat that made his hardness throb. As if she had felt that, her hand had slipped between them with purpose, sinking past all his layers and taking hold of him.

She rejoiced in the little whimper he gave her, and started to work her hand up and down, making it impossible for him to kiss her any further, if not for a sloppy and panting mess of spit and teeth. 

Given the unbearable pressure building past his navel, he knew he wouldn’t last long. And she knew that too. But she didn’t want to have him this way. Awkwardly, she stood up and spread his legs to make herself some room, but as soon as Aemond, despite the lack of blood in his mind, caught her intentions, he stopped her, grabbing her arms firmly.

“No…” he croaked. “Not on your knees.”

She couldn’t help the little surprise on her face. Aemond had never been this considerate, especially in bed. He could be gentle in his own way, subtly. Little hidden things in the way he would run his fingers through her hair once she had reached her peak, the way he would regain air once he’d spilled inside her, breathing into her neck and running his lips lazily against her skin. But most of the times, he was very diligent, all focused in giving her and himself the pleasure they both craved; he was somehow harsh, ruthless, a mirror of who he was outside the bedroom, possessed by some kind of urgency that would break her in the most beautiful and cruel way and put her back together at once.

But then again, she imagined the promise of his heir living inside her was affecting even one of the most ruthless of men.

She sat down again and watched him stand up, his breath labored and open-mouthed as he looked down at her, working the few laces of his breeches still tied. She didn’t need an invitation, an order, a mere tilt of his chin to sit upright and put her hands alongside his snatched waist.

She looked up, and he found himself swallowing hard, cursing silently at the sight of her looking straight into his eye with his cock a breath away from her, all hard and glistening on the tip. Shamefully, he thought that would have done it for him.

A coarse grunt left his lips as soon as she wrapped her mouth around it, teasingly swirling her tongue on the slit without ever averting her gaze from him. He hissed painfully when her lips started to travel along his length, trying with all his might to hold back and not spill into her mouth so soon.

She, on the other hand, seemed eager to watch him come undone, just as he had done to her a few moments earlier. She started to suck him eagerly, like a starved creature, because on all those nights and days when he had taken her apart, learning every inch of her and how to bend it to his will, she had done just the same.

She knew how to make him wince and moan openly, while on her knees on their bedroom floor or on a fucking terrace during a late afternoon, with likely anyone to walk on them at any moment. With the Gods watching.

She didn't care. The Gods didn't care for them anyway. Let them see to whom she fell to her knees.

He couldn’t stop looking, how pretty she was like this, swallowing him whole, up to the hilt, hitting her throat with a gagging sound. So lecherous, so holy.

He was so close he had to bite his lip to restrain himself, letting out a string of curses until he felt the pressure growing stronger, and then, he thought, he might as well have it his way.

“Stop…” he croaked, grabbing her cheek but delicately, slipping out of her mouth and running his thumb over her sore jaw. She closed her slicked mouth, a drop of spit running down her chin and she looked at him, with such devotion he thought he had nothing to envy the Gods.

“Let me…” he pleaded, wiping her chin clean with his finger. “Let me fuck your mouth, sweetling. Would you?”

A question that needed no answer. Indeed, he wasted no time and grabbed the back of her head, tilting it slightly up for a better angle. He sheathed himself all the way in, gasping deeply at feeling the hot walls of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing.

His fingers curled into her hair, but never in a hurtful way, enough to keep her still as he started to move his hips against her face back and forth, his open mouth quivering as the pleasure began to build where it left off.

“Fuck—” he cursed once, and then twice, fucking her mouth faster to chase his peak, pulling ever so slightly at her scalp until he went still altogether, pushed his waist hard against her, and grunted loudly, in a pretty uncharacteristic way, as his cock twitched and spilled down her throat until the last drop.

Panting harshly, he pulled himself out and watched her close her mouth, eyes fixed on him, working her cheeks and making no mystery of the white essence on her tongue before swallowing it, thoroughly.

Aemond let himself fall on that chaise and she watched, she drank that sight: his hair all disheveled and damp with sweat, a shade of pink on his cutting cheekbones as he slowly pulled himself together, breathing through his open mouth while buckling his belt and breeches.

“I think I’m going to take a bath.” She said at one point, clumsily standing up. He had mumbled something in return, still caught in the throes of what they had done, but before she got back inside, she turned and said “Oh, just so you know…all of this was a ploy.”

She smiled cunningly at his frowning. “I never had any cravings. And I knew about the White Cloak at the door since the first day you put him there. You are not as subtle as you think you are, my love.”

A man of few words, but loud actions.

Her pains came during a peaceful afternoon.

In haste, nursemaids began their frantic rounds in and out of the Princess’ rooms like soldiers, carrying hot water and boiled rags. The Dowager Queen abandoned her perch beside Queen Helaena, or what was left of her, and went to assist the Princess. Having borne four children, she had quite a bit of advice to dispense, things she had learned on her own skin, things that any Master would never have told her because oblivious and convinced they knew what happened to a woman's body at such a delicate time based on how deep they had buried their nose in an old dusty tome.

Alicent helped the Princess rise from the bed, clutched her arm firmly and helped her walk. She said it was vital to walk, that it would ease her pain and help the baby come sooner. She told her to squat when the pain hit. She rubbed her back and wiped the sweat off her face as if she were her own daughter. It felt like that. Even though the Princess seemed to face it all with a stiff lip, Alicent could see that she was scared and in terrible pain, that she probably wished for her mother to be there. She had wished the same, no matter how many times she had faced it.

“Your Grace?” The Princess asked after another wave of pain had come and gone.

“Yes, child?”

“Do you think your son would forgive me If I said this one is both the first and the last?”

The Queen had smiled at that. “If the Gods bless you with more children, it will be easier, I can assure you. The first time is always rough. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Well, her good mother turned out to be wrong. Because the pain plagued her for a full night, giving her no peace. At the hour of the nightingale, the nursemaids forced her to bed, and she gladly went. She was exhausted, she could no longer walk without hissing at every step, and by that time she was so used to the pain she no longer whined or anything, only scrunched her face and ground her teeth.

The servants stripped her bare and replaced her sweat-soaked nightgown with a fresh one. They dabbed her face with a wet cloth, but she could barely register anything, floating into unconsciousness only to be brought back to the present as another pain choked her breath.

“Perhaps some Milk of the Poppy?” One of the nurses said at one point.

“No.” the Maester said. “She may need to start pushing any moment now. We need her vigil.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes opened, wandering helplessly around the room. Useless research, for she knew he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t expect him to be. The birthing bed was no place for men, save for the Maesters, although she was starting to doubt their real usefulness when all they could do was pull her nightgown up, take a close look and shake their heads. They might as well let Aemond be there.

She imagined he must’ve been waiting outside, or in the Council, and yet she ached to see him. She closed her eyes and searched for him in her mind, clutching the sheets in her fist as if she could clutch his hand instead. And then she felt someone’s hand closing around her own, loosening her grip. Alicent, smiling down at her, and holding her hand tight.

It was holding her good mother’s hand that, at the first light of dawn, she gave birth to her child. A boy, healthy and all screeching as soon as he was out of her womb, clad in blood and grease.

Aemond had decided to name the child Aenar, if it was a boy, after the first Targaryen Lord, and she couldn’t quite believe her eyes or force her tears back when he was finally admitted to their chambers and took their son in his arms for the first time. 

Alicent was beaming at the sight, squeezing his arm. “Congratulations, my son.”

But Aemond didn’t seem to even register her mother’s words, or presence, utterly enraptured by his little creature. He cast a look at his wife, a secret little look that told her how proud he was of her, how relieving it was for both to have come this far after all that happened, to have this little thing, this little ounce of peace amidst all the chaos of war.

What she didn’t know at that time was that Aenar was not exactly a peaceful child.

She had believed there had finally come the time when she could be herself again. But from the earliest days, Aenar proved not to be an easy child to deal with. The newborn cried and cried for hours, plagued by belly aches, and seemingly able to calm down only when in his mother’s arms. They had obviously called on a wet nurse; highborn ladies did not feed their children themselves, let alone a Princess. But Aenar had categorically refused to latch onto his wet nurse’s breasts. Alicent had proposed to summon another one, but as they dawdled and wavered, the Princess felt her heart break into pieces each time she held her little baby in her arms, all red in the face, hungry and in pain, turning his head towards her cleavage, desperate for her milk. Thus, she had put aside ceremonial court and all of that and chose to feed him herself.

But it was a strenuous task. The Maesters had warned her it would be tiring, sleep depriving, but she really had no choice. She had to do it every three hours, sometimes less, because being latched onto her breast seemed the only thing that would prevent the baby from screaming at the top of his lungs all day long. The nursemaid had recommended fennel and chamomile for belly aches. And, instantly, Aemond had ordered an astounding amount of both to be delivered to the Red Keep’s kitchens.

Queen Alicent taught her to hold the baby on his stomach, to rock him, but not too fast. They told her to take several breaks during breastfeeding, to make the baby belch often and prevent air from his belly. In the first week after Aenar was born, her mind was all but a vessel of do this, do that. No, not this way. Don’t ever wake the baby when he’s sleeping. Try to sleep when he does. Don’t eat spicy dishes.

In the midst of all of this, Aemond turned more and more suffocating in all his well-hidden, self-consuming concern. A handful of white cloaks, the most trusted by Ser Criston, were constantly guarding the door, day and night. He had a secret passageway that led to his rooms walled up, and she could swear he slept with his dagger beneath the pillow. Evidently not at peace with such extreme measures, he had the cradle moved to his side of the bed, within his reach, so that every time she had to wake up because the baby was wailing, she had to walk around the bed and pray that she would not tumble to the floor in the dark.

However, she was at least grateful to have Aemond’s support, for the little he could do. If he wasn’t occupied with warfare or hearings, he spent all the time he had with her and their child. And in those moments, no matter how exhausted she was, she would always find the strength to smile at the view when he held their baby, tracing his long fingers over the velvety grizzled skin of Aenar’s small hands; even when he’d speak to him in Valyrian, at which she had frowned at first.

“You do realise he’s one week old?”

“”Tis never too soon.”

“Mh. What’s next? Bring him to the skies on dragonback?”

“I’ll have you know Vhagar is perfectly safe to—“

“Over my dead body.” 

He had smiled and stood up, going to place the baby in her arms. Aenar immediately began to fuss, whining and turning his head against her chest. She had started to unbutton her chemise but then stopped, looking up, where Aemond stood still like a sentry, and watching.

She raised an eyebrow. “Am I putting up a show?”

“Usually, you do.” He drawled. “Am I not allowed to watch? It seems my son and I already share a few interests.”

She looked away, smiling, and then she freed her left breast, watching as the baby immediately latched onto it. A moment later, Aemond took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. He stared at her, and she saw that familiar glint his eye.

He trailed his thumb over her lip, barely breaching inside. “Soon?” was all he asked.

“Soon.” Was all she answered.

The soreness and the bleeding were reducing, and she was back in her tight flesh.

But the Gods must have cursed them some more, because that “soon” never seemed to become “now”.

The sickness didn’t seem willing to leave the poor child alone, along with his parents and the entirety of the Red Keep who had to suffer through his heartbreaking cries day and night.

The Princess had started to feel hopeless and guilty, no matter how many times the nursemaids, and even Queen Alicent, told her it was not her fault, that it was natural. No matter how many times she tried to convince herself they were right. Her heart broke any time the baby cried, wriggling desperately in her arms, in Aemond’s, in the cradle. She would end up crying too as she tried to soothe him, caressing his back with her cheek resting on his timidly silver-haired head.

She was working herself up to exhaustion, often falling asleep with the baby still latched onto her breast. It was Aemond who would take the baby to the cradle, it was Aemond who would button her chemise and pull up the blankets.

She hit rock bottom two weeks after Aenar’s birth, when she realised she hadn’t bathed in four days. Even Aemond, she could swear, was starting to look a little ragged around the edges. You don’t want to be King and take decisions in the middle of a war only to come back to a screaming infant at night.

But then, like a curse lifting, the sickness stopped. Amidst all those days she had stopped counting or even being aware of which was which, Aenar stopped crying. She was ashamed to admit that the first night he slept peacefully in his cradle, she had gone to check on him five times, to see if he was still breathing. 

She began to gradually return to her former self, able to enjoy motherhood with a more rested mind, at least. Physically, she still felt worn out, given how much time she spent breastfeeding or rocking the baby to sleep. But now she was strong enough to take the baby out, walking the gardens with her maids and smiling proudly as the court ladies stopped to congratulate themselves and say how beautiful her baby was.

By doing this, though, she also became aware that she had lived in a bubble for so long that she had almost forgotten there was a war raging, there were battles being fought across the realm.

Reality hits her one day when Alicent goes to visit her and her grandson, bringing the news of a very important victory near the Honeywine, a large river flowing in the Reach, thanks to Prince Daeron Targaryen who had arrived all victorious on that very morning, riding his blue scaled dragon, Tessarion.

The news stuns her for a moment. She had no idea of it, partly because she had been too caught up with Aenar, but also because Aemond had not told her. Yet her family came from the Reach, they lived there, not very far from the Honeywine; her older brother fought for the Green Army. Still, not a word from Aemond.

Taking advantage of Aenar sleeping and the fact that Alicent offered to watch him, she leaves her chambers and heads for the Council. There’s a bustle of lords coming out of the door when she gets there, barely paying her any attention as they hastily babble about armies and supplies and men; always more men to be sent to slaughter.

She stops at the door, widening her eyes at the silver head crossing the threshold, one she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Prince Daeron.”

The youngest son of Queen Alicent and late King Viserys was nothing but a boy. But war had taken its toll on him too. He stood like a man, a Prince, and more than anything, a skilled dragon rider.

“Princess.” He says, tilting his chin down.

She curtsies and sees an immediate gentle smile softening his Valyrian features. “I believe some congratulations are in order.”

“Well, in all fairness, you shall be the most celebrated, my Prince. I’ve just heard of your recent victory.”

His gentle smile lingers, but loses its sparkle. “I must say I much prefer to celebrate life…rather than…the death of innocent men and women.”

There can’t be objections to such a statement; she just nods and casts a distracted glance inside the Council.

“Please…” the Prince says then, making room to let her pass “I won’t keep you away from my brother.”

She turns her head and smiles, tightly. “I’m afraid it is your brother who keeps himself away from me.”

“Heavy is the head that wears the Crown.”

“Indeed.”

The Prince bows to her and leaves.

Closing the door behind her, she glances at Aemond sitting at the head of the table, in the King’s chair, with such effortlessness that he seems to have been born exclusively for that purpose.

“I thought I heard you.” he says absent-mindedly, scribbling down a small piece of parchment. She slowly walks to the windows, casting a single furtive glance down, but she can’t possibly make out what he’s writing, or to whom.

“How’s—"

“Aenar is fine.” She cuts him off. “He’s with your mother, sleeping.”

He stops scribbling, glancing up for a moment. Her voice is tight, cutting. He knows that tone. It’s the same one she used in Harrenhal, as if he should have fallen to his knees and be grateful for the mere fact that she was speaking to him. But he doesn’t have time today to circle around her like a coiling snake, so he goes straight to the point. “Is something the matter?”

“You didn’t tell me of the Honeywine.” She says after a moment, gazing at the Bay.

Aemond sighes, a sign that he was expecting such a question. “You were looking after our son.”

“And?” she’s quick to rebut, quick to reach him at the table and stare down at him. “You didn’t deem it appropriate to inform me of a battle raging in my family lands?”

“I am your family.” He says, stoically, as if common law, and she has to stifle a bitter laugh. The nerve of him. “That is a very lovely concept. Strange how it got lost on you in Harrenhal.”

“Enough!” he barks, and the sudden harshness makes the quill pierce through parchment. “I thought I’d made myself clear.” He warns. “I don’t want to hear another word about the witch. Ever.”

She obediently looks down, regretting having said that, but not entirely. Perhaps she has spent so much time beside him that she, too, can’t let go of her grudges.

“I did not tell you, for I did not want to upset you.” He says, resuming his collected tone. “You were worn out by the baby, I didn’t want to put more weight on your shoulders.”

She knows he’s sincere. Still, her nod is stiff as she looks away, biting her cheek. She is just so sick of it all. Of being regarded as a cunt to be bred at first and now a weakling nailed to a cradle with an infant sucking the life out of her. She knows she’s not the first, and she won’t be the last.

Aemond leaves the quill and stands up, circling until he’s close to her. “Your family is fine.” He tells her, lingering behind her. “Daeron spoke to your brother this morning.”

She keeps nodding, keeping her gaze down on the table, all scattered with maps and little dragon-shaped tokens, some black, some green. She frowns, letting warfare soothe her petty spirits. “What is this?”

“Our next move. A defense plan…which happens to be an attack plan too.”

“A pincher?”

She turns just in time to see the little surprise on his face. “My brother talked of nothing else when we were children. He slept with warfare books as pillows.”

“Hmm.” He muses, and takes a step closer, slipping his arm around her waist and resting his chin on her collarbone. “Show me.”

She shudders at his sudden proximity, at his breath blowing on her neck. She shudders at anything these days. A hand on her back, his legs fumbling beneath the covers and casually brushing against hers. She’s tight as a fiddle string.

“A pincher is nothing else but a decoy.” She explains. “You let your enemy believe they have you trapped…” and in saying this, she grabs his hand and moves it across the map. “And then…at the right moment…” she makes him hold a green token between his fingers and brings it near a little division of black ones “you strike on both flanks.” And with a swift flick of her wrist, his hand scatters all the black tokens across the table. To do so, she must lean over the table, accidentally brushing her lower back against his bulge. He’s not hard, yet, but it thrills her to feel the lightning quick effect she has on him.

“Hmm. Good. Very good.” He praises next to her ear as she withdraws her hand; his voice is so low it makes her spine shiver. But she keeps herself grounded and asks “When will this happen?”

“Soon.” he whispers, placing his hand flat on her stomach. “There’s another Small Council shortly but Aegon wanted to be present. They went to fetch him.”

“Well, then I shall retire to my chambers. I feel a bit lightheaded from all the thinking.”

He ignores her jab and keeps her still by the arm when she tries to move. There’s a little sly smirk pulling at his lips. “I have some time to spare.”

“And how do you propose we spend it?”

“Enough with your pantomimes. I can feel your legs squirming.”

Curse him.

He slips the other hand straight into her corset, cupping her breast and humming with delight at how full she is, how it fills his large hand entirely. “Are you wet for me, my love?”

His teeth sink down her lobe, and at the same time, he pinches her nipple between his thumb and index, forcing an indecorous whine out of her. “My, my…” he laughs darkly, torturing her sensitive skin until he feels something wet on his fingertips, probably milk. “I could make you come just by doing this.”

Powerless, she yields, leaning completely against him, rubbing her lower back for some friction. “What if someone enters?”

“We’ll make it quick.”

“But I don’t want it to be quick.” She pants, grabbing his hand on her breast and squeezing; the other crawls behind her back to try to feel him through his breeches. 

Hissing, when she starts to palm him, he says “Then we let them watch. They get to see how pretty you look when you come on my fingers, or my cock. Which should it be?”

“Both. Anything.” She answers hastily, pulling at his collar to bring him close enough to kiss him. He hums contentedly when she does, twirling his tongue around hers. It soon gets messy, each of them fighting for dominance, winning and losing in turn, until he spins her around, so he can look at her and with both his hands, he seizes her gowns and pulls up, furiously rummaging through them.

“How many fucking layers have you on?”

“I’m not pregnant anymore.” she points out, unbuckling his belt.

“Pity. Perhaps I should fuck another one into you to keep you in your skimpy robes.”

“Don’t you dare, Aemond—” 

“Gods be good, brother! That eager to make another one?”

They both startle like little children caught doing something naughty, turning their heads towards the door, where two servants are carrying King Aegon on a chair. Aemond sighs annoyingly, letting go of her gowns as she does with his belt, trying to compose herself.

“My King.” She says, greeting her good brother with a tight little smile.

Aegon’s appearance has improved since Rook’s Rest, just as the burnings, but he carries with him the smell of Milk of the Poppy and rotting skin everywhere he goes. 

“Good-sister. What are you doing here? Apart from being ravished by my brother... should you not be breastfeeding?”

Aemond gives him a level stare and then looks at her, hoping she will not take the bait. Aegon and his wife never got along well, to say the least. Things had only escalated with time, to the point that whenever they found themselves in the same room, one of them would wisely leave, his wife most of the times, lest they start to hiss at each other like two cats fighting for territory.

“What if I intend to stay and attend the council?”

Aegon giggles, as the servants put down the chair, and after a quick glance below her neck he says “I’m afraid you would be a little distracting. And my brother is not one for sharing.”

Before she can ask what in the Seven he is blabbing about, Aemond takes her arm and makes her turn, shielding her from his brother and the Lords coming through the door.

“You should retire.” He curtly says.

“Are you taking his side again?” she asks, wriggling her arm to free herself from his hold.

“You’re leaking.” He informs her, flatly. 

At that, she frowns and dips her chin down, watching the front of her dress practically soaked in milk. “Oh.”

“I shall join you when I’m done here.” He tells her, and lets her out through the side doors.

Aemond did not join her.

The council lasted until the evening, a recurring thing when Aegon attended. Aemond was stern and concise in his decisions. Aegon liked to laze around, enjoying the wine in his cup, rattling his younger brother’s nerves. Deep down, she was convinced that Aegon did not really want to attend the Council because really interested in what to do, but only to remind his brother that he was still breathing and that the Conqueror's Crown on Aemond's head was a temporary measure.

But it didn’t matter. She would join him for the banquet in honor of Prince Daeron.

She was thrilled to go. It was not a proper feast. Since Helaena had fallen into grief, the atmosphere within the walls of the Keep had become rather austere. But a banquet still meant an occasion for conviviality, and after weeks and weeks spent locked up within four walls, the Princess was eager to spend some time outside her chambers. She had felt like a terrible mother at the mere thought. She loved Aenar, how could she not? But she also loved herself, her family, her marriage, Aemond. Especially Aemond.

Once she had put the baby to sleep, she had ordered her maid to prepare one of her favorite dresses, a green one, and to tie her hair in an elegant braided bun. When she had looked in the mirror, she had almost grunted. The scarce and troubled hours of sleep were all evident in the dark circles under her eyes, but it was nothing a little egg-white couldn't temper.

When she arrived at the banquet, Aemond was already there, standing in his usual soldierly stance, intent on talking to his mother. She approached them from the side, Aemond's blind side precisely, so that when she announced herself, he had to turn his shoulder to look at her. He cast a glance at her hair, ran his eye over her entire figure. She wasn’t expecting any kind of sappy words, and certainly not in front of his mother, nor did she desire them. She could feast on that look alone.

Queen Alicent excused herself to give order about the banquet, and they were left alone, while some musicians gathered in a corner of the hall.

“You said you would join me. I thought they abducted you.”

“More or less.”

“Ah. Yes, I'm sure it must have been so hard for you to listen to the lords snapping like little soldiers at your command.”

“It pains me to acknowledge how little you know me, when you think I'd rather talk war with those wimps who can't even hold a sword than fuck my wife till dawn.”

“That was your plan?”

“We have some unfinished business, don’t we? And don’t play dumb. You’re wearing green. You’re not as subtle as you think you are either.”

“Good. I’m sick of subtleties. So, are you going to ask me to dance?”

Aemond rolled his eye and gave her a stare that told her he’d preferred to walk barefoot on lava.

“Still not fond of dancing, eh?”

Prince Daeron suddenly appeared between them, with his cheerful manner and his head of silver curls, dressed in dark green just like his older brother. “Strange. You were the only one listening to the lessons when we were children.”

“Yes, because you and Aegon acted as court jesters the whole time.”

“I’ll have you know, brother, I have refined my dancing skills in Oldtown. So…may I dance with my good sister?”

Aemond gave him a simple nod, and Daeron bowed to her gallantly, raising his palm up.

She kindly accepted the invitation and placed her hand on his. “Don’t sulk too much.” She whispered to her husband before following his brother.

Aemond watched closely as they started to dance, stealing all the attention, and despite that little primitive tug at the sight of his woman dancing with another man, even though that was his brother and there was absolutely nothing malicious in his or her intentions, he was glad to see her like this, spinning and twisting around instead of lying still in the cold with dread eating her alive.

When the dance ended, Daeron escorted the Princess back to Aemond and took his leave. “Remind me again,” she asked as she watched the young Prince leave “How is it that your brother is still unmarried?”

Aemond sighed deeply and took her arm to escort her to the table. “I’d give you one week before you’d get bored of him.”

While they waited for dinner, the lords and ladies of the court were obviously very eager to hear Prince Daeron. Alicent in the first place, after so much despair, and after being separated from her youngest son for years, seemed to smile with her eyes every time she heard him speak.

“Hear, hear!” one of the lords cheered after listening to Prince Daeron’s retelling of the Battle of the Honeywine. “A brave soldier and a brave dragon rider! I propose a toast.”

At once, everybody stood up, raising their glasses. “To Prince Daeron, to House Targaryen!”

“And to House Hightower.” The Prince proudly stated, raising his glass towards his mother.

As they sat back, the Queen ordered the servants to serve the dinner. The table was gradually filled with a great variety of dishes, many of them Prince Daeron's favourites, specifically ordered by his mother to make him feel at home. It had been weeks and weeks since such a banquet had been seen at King's Landing. Prince Daeron seemed very pleased and grateful, as did all those present who watched the rich dishes crowd the table, and lastly, the huge tray of fresh fruit that a servant laid in the middle.

“I can’t quite believe my eyes. Blackberries? This far in the season?” said Lady Bracken.

“I’m afraid that is entirely my fault.” The Princess chirped, catching Aemond’s attention from across the table.

“I had a sudden craving, while I was carrying Aenar.”

“I had one too with my first.” Lady Redwyne joined in. “Plums, specifically.”

“Did you find them agreeable, Princess?”

“Oh, very much indeed.” She stated, casting an innocent glance around, but lingering for just a moment longer on her husband. “I devoured so many…I still feel the taste on my tongue.”

Devious woman, he thought, fighting back his cursed smirk. He had half a mind to excuse themselves and retire to their chambers, if he managed to endure it all the way and not take her in the middle of a hallway.

She seemed able to read his mind, judging by the way she was looking at him, unfurling a napkin on her lap. He knew her well enough to foresee when she was in a teasing spirit, and he was all in for it.

But then, just when they were about to start eating, her trusted maid came in, going straight to the Princess. “Apologies your Grace.” she said to her ear “but the Princeling is awake.”

Aemond saw the concern instantly widening her eyes and then a shadow passing over her face. “Yes…” she said, and stood up talking to all the present. “My apologies. I must retire.”

“See?” said Lady Bracken as Aemond watched his wife leave the hall. “This is why I refused to breastfeed. No matter how my second would scream…”

By the time she had done breastfeeding, her chest hurt so much that the maid had to place some rags soaked in cold water directly on her nipples; the instant relief had made the Princess close her eyes and almost moan. She had planned to go back to the banquet as soon as Aenar had had his fill but as she gained relief by pressing those wet rags to her breasts, she realised her son wouldn’t let her get away that easily.

As soon as the maid had taken him, trying to put him to sleep, he had begun to fuss and wriggle, whining in what she knew would soon turn into a high-pitched, deaf inducing crying.

Perhaps he’s cursed too. She had thought exhaustingly, promptly kissing his silver little head.

She gave up on her plan to go back to the banquet and rocked the baby herself, pacing before the windows while whispering sweet soothing words.

As soon as he had dozed off, she put him in his crib and absent-mindedly grabbed a book from Aemond's desk, lazily leafing through it while rocking the cradle with the other hand.

Aemond finds her like this when he opens the door on his way back from the banquet. She looks up from the page and sees him striding purposefully towards her, snatching the little book in her hands and throwing it on the bed.

She’s shocked, to say the least. One might say he treats books far better than his subjects.

“What—“ she tries to say but he takes her hand and pulls, forcing her to stand up and follow his steady gait.

“Aemond?” she asks down the corridor, a girlish grin climbing on her lips. “Where are you taking me?”

He doesn’t bother to answer but she doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They stop before a door down the corridor opposite to their chambers, Aemond pushes her inside without so much grace and shuts the door behind them. 

She looks around briefly; the room is warm, the fire in the hearth is lit, as the candles scattered all around. This is all familiar. “These are my old chambers…” she says with a little frown, turning to him.

“Quite the observer, wife.” He drawls, and takes a few steps. His stride is different now. Slow, contemplating, as his gaze raking over her, as if he in the first place doesn’t know why he brought her here and he’s assessing what to do. A war map, and he knows where all the faults lie.

“I thought we could spend some time together” he starts, walking past her to go sit near the fire “Alone.” he adds once he leisurely sits down, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on the armrests. “What better place than a vacant room? No one will come looking for us here.”

She tries as hard as she can to stop the little smirk at the corner of her lips; she walks closer, stopping right in front of him, staring down. “They might hear.” 

“Hmm. And that is much of a trouble for you, isn’t it?” he asks with the most fake genuine tone, taking a cup from the nearby table, and then “You sucked my cock on a terrace and begged me to fuck you in the Small Council…I thought I told you to quit your act.”

She smiles openly now, watching the wine pouring in the cup, his eye fixed on the liquid as his eyebrow shots up. “Besides, I know exactly what to do to muffle your noises.”

“You should be proud of my noises.”

“I am.” He says, taking a sip of wine, his eye piercing through her above the cup’s brim. “But for once, Aegon is right. I’m not one for sharing.”

His arm moves to put the wine aside but she takes it, only to feel his hand pulling the cup away from her. “You cannot drink.”

“Fine.” She concedes, leaning on him. “I’ll have it my way.”

She holds his face and with her left hand she glides her fingers on the left side of his face, delicately but with purpose, pushing the eyepatch off. And then she kisses him, eagerly, licking his lips and then breaching inside to taste the wine on his tongue, on the roof of his mouth.

She sighs deeply when he locks his tongue with hers, and feels his lips curling.

“Did you hear it?” He says breaking the kiss, breathing into her mouth. “That one is my favorite.”

“Your favorite what?” She asks mindlessly, chasing his lips but to no use, because he tilts his head back, his cursed smirk ghosting.

“Noise. It’s a little thing…” he tells her, locking one hand around her neck “in the back of your throat, close to a sigh but not quite…” his fingers trails against her throat, chasing her swallowing “It tells me you’re dying to.”

“To do what?”

“Fall on your knees for me. Be a supplicant.”

She grabs the back of his neck, driving his head close and looks down at his arched mouth “You cannot live without God, can you?” She looks up, her mouth open to breathe “Seven of them seem to have cursed me. I had to find my own.”

His eye widens at that. He looks straight into her eyes, so devoted, so raw. She’s right. The Gods would curse her some more if they saw she looks at him the way she should look at the Gods.

“Then do it.”

“What?”

“Flatteries don’t work on me, sweetling. You should know that.” With his hand on her neck, he slightly pushes her away, making some distance between them. “You will have to show me.”

“What would you have me do?”

His hands let go of her completely, resting on the armchair. The gemstone glints blue, and yet it’s nowhere near the bright cursed thing in his eye. “Get on your knees for me. Now.”

She should be ashamed of the pull in her bones, the muscles willing to move on their own accord and fall to the ground. But why, why does it have to be sin? Why can it not be religion?

When her knees hit the ground, she sees his chest rise, his long fingers spreading flat on the armchair. But her eyes fly back to his face as soon as he speaks, as soon as he commands. “Take off your dress.”

His eye sinks down, watching her hands work the corset, steadily. It’s the only sound in the room, this tugging, at the dress. But she tugs at his cock too. She tugs between her own legs.

When the dress is nothing but a pool of green on the ground, she goes to pull down her white chemise, but she suddenly stops. Aemond uncrosses his legs and the air hitches in her throat as his hands go straight to his belt, unbuckling it.

He revels in the little lump in her throat. Perhaps later he will let her have what she’s craving, but not so soon. “Give me your wrists.”

“My—”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Swallowing, she keeps her eyes on him and raises her hands, like an offering. Aemond takes off his belt and leans forward, enough to take her hands and cross her wrists. She shudders at the sharp tug when he wraps the leather around, tying them tight.

“On your feet.”

And up she goes, testing her hands briefly but finding soon that she cannot move them, at all.

“Come.”

It takes one swift movement of his leg, bending the knee while the other rests loosely on the ground, for her to get the gist and walk closer, sitting on his knee, sideways.

“No. Like this.” Quite harshly, he grabs her hips and turns her so that she’s straddling his thigh. He can hear her little gasp when he pushes his thigh firmly against her core. He can feel her warmth through the fabric, stirring his cock. But he pays it no mind, for now.

“What now?” She asks, poised precariously on his thigh. 

Aemond tilts his head, and he just looks at her. In the spur of a moment, a boyish one that doesn’t sit well with how he’s built, he thinks he might be quite contented by merely looking at her. Because she’s beautiful and mine, mine, mine.

But his hands are burning, they might fray and wither if he doesn’t touch her. He unties her hair, running his fingers through them as they fall around her shoulders. The Maiden. The Mother. And yet something better, something worse. Because her eyes are hungry, her mouth is starving for air, for his flesh.

“You must toil to find God.” He says, and then he grins. A savage thing, full of promise. “Bring yourself to come.”

A flash of thrill lights up her face, darkens her eyes and Aemond tilts his head again, biding all the time in the world, for he knows she will.

Tentatively, she pushes her body down, against his thigh, feeling a timid shot of pleasure traveling up from her core, ending in a short, labored breath.

That noise, that might be his second favorite.

Soon, her hips start to move back and forth, each time trying to push herself down as hard as she can, making little breathless cries each time she fails to give herself the friction she needs. She has little balance due to her tied wrists, so she rests her palms on his chest to gain some leverage. And that seems to do the trick.

She tilts her head back, moving faster, doing little jumps on his thigh, panting harshly as sweat lumps on her forehead and pleasure coils in her belly.

Aemond hikes up her chemise, watches her cunt brushing back and forth against his leg, leaving a trail of wetness on the fabric of his breeches. He has to choke down a growl. “Gods, you’re soaking me…”

She looks down at him, her cheeks pink, her lips open in a little o. He can’t help himself. He sticks two fingers inside and how relishing it is that she waits for no invitation or order. She laps, twirls her tongue around his fingertips, sucks them.

“Look at you…” he croons, taking his fingers out, leaving a trail of saliva down her chin. “But you can’t, can you? Perhaps I should fuck you before a mirror, so you see. You see how pretty you are when you’re desperate for me.”

His hand travels down her neck, tossing her hair back and then grasping the strap of her chemise, pulling it down, revealing her swollen, turgid breast. He leans forward immediately, cupping it in his hand, and takes the nipple into his mouth, crooning contentedly and then some more when he feels her wince and cry out loud.

Her tied wrists writhe in their merciless hold and he stops her, gripping both her hands with one of his own, keeping her still, lapping and sucking at her nipple until he feels something wet and saccharine on his tongue, humming all the better. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive bud, and she cries out again, bucking violently against him, turning sloppy and frenzy as she feels the fall close.

He feels it too, feels her thighs trembling around him, and that’s when he takes her hips in a tight hold and forces her to stop altogether.

“Did you think I would make it so easy?” he asks spitefully, seeing her dazed expression. Wasting no time, he holds her firmly close to him and stands up. It takes him only two of his long steps to reach the bed and place her above. In a moment of illusive freedom, her tied wrists fly to his breeches, to his evident hardness, but he’s quick to stop her, bringing her arms above her head, keeping them there with a firm hold. “Stay still.”

“Aemond—“ she pleads.

“Hush. Spread your legs.”

She obliges, eager for him to do something, anything to stop the aching. Aemond wets his fingers on his tongue and brings them down, breaching inside her with two of them, watching her gasp, arch her back and twist her wrists in his hold, uselessly. “Easy…” he cruelly laughs “I have just started.”

But she hasn’t. She’s a few steps away from the precipice of her previous denied peak, it would take him so little to push her over the edge. Instead, his torture is so slow that the whole coiling in her belly falls apart and she must climb her peak again.

His two fingers slip in and out ever so easily, their wet sounds echoing through the room, mixed with her panted breaths and his own. He aches for her to touch him, he aches so much that his cock is pulsing, painfully, but this is just too thrilling. Now he knows exactly how she felt in Harrenhal, when she had him chained up to a chaise.

Her hips rock frantically against his hand, trying to speed him, to get there faster. Mumbling nonsense, her legs tense like iron, her cunt clenches and sucks his fingers in like a vice. “Yes…yes, please…Aemond…please don’t stop—‘m so close…”

And just like that, he slips his fingers out; a dark pleasure dances on his candle-lit features as she writhes and whines for the loss of his fingers, swinging her lower back and forth, desperate for the barest friction that would end her misery.

“Aemond, please…” she says, and even with only one eye, he can’t mistake the tears of frustration at the corners of her eyes.

“What, my love?”

“Plea—” she’s cut off by his hand, pushing his sticky fingers inside to make her clean up her mess.

“We said enough with subtleties, did we not? Speak. Tell me…what you need me to do?”

“Let me come please…please…”

At that, he finally lets her wrists go, and she almost winces in pain, for the time she had them tensed above her head. He stalls for a moment, unsure, running his eye over her whole body, sweating and feverish, and so beautifully plump because of motherhood. He unbuttons his doublet, and then his shirt, his breeches. He bares himself completely, catching her eyes following his deft hands everywhere, breathing heavily.

He kneels between her legs, spreading them. And it’s embarrassing, really, the way she tumbles as soon as he puts his tongue flat against her drenched folds. If only she cared.

It takes only a couple of twirls of his tongue around her lips, and she comes undone, shaking all over, canting her slit against his face. He helps her ride out her climax, by not stopping at all. Instead, he doubles his efforts like a man possessed, pushing his mouth open against her cunt as if he wished to devour it, sucking harshly until she whimpers hard, choking on a loud sob. “Aemond—wait—I can’t—”

She cannot take more so soon. But he’s utterly deaf to her complaints.

He feasts on her, lapping and dipping his tongue in, parting her folds to go as deep as he can, humming while drinking all of her; his voice reverberates through her flesh, it makes her bones rattle.

His long nose rubs against her bud and he looks up: she trashes about the sheets, cutting herself as the belt leather scratches her skin. She tries to push him away with her tied wrists, to no use. She clamps her legs around his head, in a desperate attempt to chase him away, sobbing for the unbearable stimulation. And yet…and yet her hips move on their own whim, bucking with sharp jolts until the wave starts to rise, higher and higher, and she drowns in it, letting go a high-pitched cry, clutching his scalp with both her tied hands, scraping, pushing him against her as she rides her peak against his face.  

He swallows everything, licking her clean, moaning softly at feeling her pulsing on his tongue.

“Enough…I—Aemond you have to stop…” she rasps breathlessly.  

“Why?” he asks, finally rising from where he had perched himself; he climbs on her, until he speaks to her face. “I am only making up to you. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

She can smell herself on him, she can see herself, glistening on his mouth, chin, even his cheekbones.

“Answer me.” His hand grips her jaw “You said you wanted everything.”

She chokes down a whimper when he leans completely on her, feeling his cock against her cooling flesh, while he’s hot and hard and heavy.

“I will give you more.” He says, brushing a strand of her sweat-soaked hair from her temple. “I will give you another child. Keep you all aching and wet for me while you swell with my child. Do you think I don’t know? How you ached for me? D’you think I didn’t?” he presses himself down, so she can feel it thoroughly, furrowing her brow as her body already answers to his call.

 “I can feel you in our bed…” he keeps rasping “rubbing your legs together. And you know how much that bothers me. Your pleasure is mine to take…and to give.”

Her lips part, gasping roughly. She was so hung on his lips that she hadn’t even registered that he had taken hold of himself, bending her knee on his left hip, and guided himself in.

She arches against him while he slowly sheathes himself all the way in, moaning with long-awaited relief. He stays still for a moment, adjusting, but also because he takes her wrists and sets her hands free.

Thrilling as it was, he wants her hands on him, he craves her touch.

He wants her to cling to his shoulders as she always does, digging her nails down.

He wants her to clamp her fingers on the back of his neck, scraping and pulling his hair to keep him close enough to moan into his mouth.

He wants her hands on his back, sliding down, to push him even deeper while rutting inside her.

And she does all of that. She finds God.

[mickyschumacher]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐎 .ೃ࿐

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after a long awaited summer break, you were expecting to have a good sleep in with carlos, but his plans for you are slightly different. or in which you convince carlos' to turn his morning cardio into something a little more fun.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ (minor dni), unprotected sex (if you're gonna slip, slop, slap, you must wrap your willy!), few untranslated spanish words, p in v, teasing, oral sex, kinda fluffy, poor humour, breastplay, dryhumping (bc i am nothing without this), fingering, cumming inside, bit of overstimulation for the reader, i love you's.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: bf!carlos sainz x fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2k+

𝐀/𝐍: while this wasn't what i initially was working on, i've momentarily gotten some free time amongst the chaos, you deserve some work, and carlos has been looking pretty delectable 🤭 // poorly proof-read sorry ♡︎

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

⋆  •°.  。  .°•  ⋆

You weren't a fan of working out. Never had been and was never going to be.

It wasn't that you didn't see the point of it. You were well versed in the science: it was good for you. It helped your body, soothed you mentally, and overall, kept you in a pretty good mood if you kept the right balance.

Your problem lied within the methods.

Take your dear boyfriend, for example.

Carlos loved working out. You weren't sure whether it was because he was an F1 driver or whether it was just Carlos himself. But he spent almost every living moment off the tracks with some form of physical activity.

You had memorised his routine quite well: a lengthy morning run, training with his personal trainer, his beloved choices of golf or paddle, followed by the occasional swimming or God forbid, another run.

Carlos tried to get you 'hooked' on to it all, claiming it's better to workout with someone as opposed being by yourself. But his efforts were to no avail.

You had important things to do... like catching up on your beauty sleep.

"Mi amor," The rasp of Carlos' voice lingered through the early morning air, cold hands trailing over your back. He pressed his lips at the silent response, watching you not a budge even a centimetre in your sleep.

A sigh escaped his mouth as he pressed his knees onto the edge of your bed, bending down to push your hair behind your ears. "Cariño," He called softly, making you hum in response.

"Carlos," you mumbled with sleep heavy in your voice. "You better not ask–"

"Come on a run with me," Carlos pleaded.

You forced an eye open, wincing at the immediate white light surrounding you. Blinking rapidly, you honed in on the Spaniard who was already dressed for his venture, batting his brown puppy eyes towards you.

"Handsome, you know I love you very much," you cooed, pressing your head further into the warmth of your pillow, "But I'd rather watch Lewis go to Ferrari."

An abrupt slice of cold air trickled past your bare skin and thin clothes. You yelped, covering your body, immediately missing the comforting heat of your duvet. "Carlos!" You scolded, much more awake now.

Carlos gave you a sickly sweet smile. "Say unwarranted things, get unwarranted things," He shrugged nonchalantly before grabbing your ankle to drag you off the mattress.

"No, no, no, no," you groaned, squirming in his grip. Pouting your lips, you quickly reached over to grab Carlos' hand. "Please," you whined.

"My sweet girl," Carlos started, "I just want you to join me. I promise you it'll be good. It's fun morning cardio!"

You grimaced at the chirpy tone he had taken on. 'Fun morning cardio'... how insufferable.

Feeling Carlos loosen his grip, you yanked your ankle back and got on your knees, sinking down on the soft mattress. "Carlos," You murmured, hands travelling up his arms as you leaned in.

Carlos narrowed his eyes, quickly knowing you were up to something with that sweet tone of yours.

"Baby, name the better cardio. A morning run or..." You trailed off, hand travelling down his arm and past his thigh, resting dangerously close to his crotch. "... morning fun?"

Carlos let out a dramatic sigh but he couldn't keep the quirk of his lips at bay. He stretched out his thick arm, grabbing you by the waist. His skin swarmed with heat as he felt your bare waist under your shirt as he fully pulled you over him. A quick nudge to your knees left you straddling him.

"More energy burnt," you murmured in the venture of a fake persuasion even though you already had the answer. Carlos' hand reached out to push your hair behind your ears before landing on the soft pillows of your lips. Nervously you inhaled, "And a whole lot more pleasure."

You stared at Carlos. Taking in those puppy brown eyes, the warmth of his skin, those God-made eyelashes, and each little freckle mixed with the burden of racing on his face. It was the first day of summer break and even though Carlos was pulling you out of bed to work out in the morning, you couldn't help but be a little thankful. You missed him. You had both been so busy lately and it felt like you hadn't seen each other in months.

"What's on your mind, cariño?" Carlos whispered, thumb still trailing the shape of your lips as those very same brown eyes searched yours.

"Nothing. I just missed you. And your stupid morning cardio," You rolled your eyes. "Is that a crime?"

"Then I'm guilty as charged," Carlos confessed, not missing the softening of your eyes as he held you tighter against him. "All I've been thinking about since the race at home is coming back to you."

Carlos' home race in Spain was the last time you had met before long-distance had embedded it's nasty claws into you once again

"Yeah?" You whispered, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek. "Anything in particular?"

Carlos took a deep breath in, your signature fragrance engulfing him. Goodness, were you intoxicating. "Well... there was picnics, breakfast, golf, and the beach on the agenda. And... morning fun."

A gasp left your mouth as Carlos fell back first onto the mattress, bringing his lips to yours.

This kiss was different from the others you had shared. Perhaps it was the atmosphere or context that accounted for that difference but the need, the love, the softness, and the brutal passion was suddenly pouring into every fibre of your being.

Your hands fell around his neck and hair, nose gliding near his as Carlos continued to ravage your mouth. He sucked on your lips with a small nibble here and there, relishing the muffled moans escaping your lips. His own hands continued to travel the path of your body he had committed to memory. He knew as he traversed your burning skin exactly where the small freckles and bumps he had come to love were.

Your soft moans became more audible and pleasing to Carlos' ears as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving the sloppily yet controlled kisses down base of your skin.

You gasped as you felt a sudden jerk underneath you, feeding into the pooling wetness between your thighs. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, your hips automatically responded by grinding down onto Carlos' bulge.

"Ah, mierda," Carlos cursed, feeling his cock throb in his shorts. His eyes fluttered shut, hands returning to your hips to continue the stimulating pleasure.

Both of your skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you felt Carlos' clothed cock rut into your poorly covered pussy. You rocked your hips harder into him, feeling a slight jolt against your clit. "Oh, fuck, Carlos," you moaned his name in his ear.

God, what were you two? Sex-crazed teenagers? Dry humping on each other like rabbits in heat.

"Hermosa," Carlos panted, eyebrows strained with the urge to cum yet give you all the pleasure he could. "I need... I need..." he breathed, "I need to be in you, fuck." His entire body shuddered with a sharp arousal while his cock could feeling your thin underwear becoming useless and drenched. It was as thin as his patience was wearing.

You made a poor attempt to nod, releasing a hand from his neck. You briefly lifted your hips, pushing your panties to the side. In doing so, your breath hitches as you feel your sensitive folds glide past your fingers.

"Oh, fuck," Carlos blubbered, losing himself in seeing your bare pussy and your reaction. "Fuck yourself on those pretty little fingers for me, baby. I need you ready for me," He encouraged breathlessly, attempting to shove off his shorts with one hand.

Carlos watched in torture as you pushed your fingers into your warm walls, body jerking forward at the sheer pleasure. "That's it, baby," he continued to praise you, "Doing so well for me, hmm?" He asked, moving one hand down your hips, skimming past your burning thigh before reaching the small bundle of nerves situated near your hand.

"A little faster, baby," Carlos said, "You're already so fucking wet. Pump those fingers... let me see how much you missed me."

You were already moaning in a haze at the praises leaving his lips, pushing your fingers in faster, unable to see how your engorged folds took them in as your eyes focused on the ceiling. But the moment you felt the pad of Carlos' thumb on your clit, you had given up every ounce of respect you had for yourself.

"Oh, shit, oh shit," you cursed, hips bucking up at his action. Your eyes shut tightly. The white light of ecstasy felt close. Your hand sped up faster, your hips went against your fingers and his thump with a more brutal force, feeling his aching cock bounce under you... Christ, you were going to cum. And hard.

The light... so close...

And just like that, it was gone.

You snapped your eyes open, falling to your pussy to see Carlos' hand retreating. "Mierda... no, baby, Carlos, " you cursed without looking at his face. But the moment you did, you understood him.

His hooded eyes told you everything. The throbbing his aching cock was bringing him, his slurred state of mind, and his firm desire to make you cum on his cock.

You kept your eyes on him, savouring the hiss falling from his lips as your took his cock out of his underwear. You gave a small smile, guiding his angry member to your puffy folds. You both released hitched moans when you rubbed your pussy against his cock.

You watched as Carlos purposely lifted his hips, pushing the tip of his cock against your clit, making your body convulse for a brief second. Fucking hell. That was enough for the both of you. Cumming just by rubbing yourselves on each other was equally as worse as cumming by dry humping each other.

You pressed your lips together, pushing his cock slowly into your pussy. Christ, he was always so big. Thick and pulsing in your hands, stretching your pussy out no matter how many times you made love as if it were the first time.

Carlos groaned, both hands firmly placed on your hips, head falling back onto the bed headboard. God, it had been so long. He missed your touch everyday. But the feeling of his cock in your pussy... he thought about it every second of every day.

You pushed your hips down flat, ensuring Carlos bottomed out. You groaned at the full feeling of his cock in you, eyeing the small bulge in your stomach. "Fuck, you fill me up so well, baby," you praised.

Carlos moaned in response. "Ride me baby. You know I like when you ride me."

You managed a smile, taking off the singlet you had slept in. The self control Carlos had for your breasts was little. Especially, when they bounced in front of him like they were right now. His hands almost immediately shot out, groping the soft mounds with all his might.

Immersed in your tits, his body trembled when you rose your hips and slammed down on his cock, repeating the movement again. "Ah, shit," Carlos cussed, drunk on your pussy.

You ground your hips forward as you rode his cock, stimulating the pure pleasure of grinding on one another. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see Carlos' hand reach towards your clit. Your eyes shut, bracing yourself for what's about to come.

Carlos intently watched you, rubbing your clit in soft circles. He could see you slowly fall apart, the fast rhythm of your hips slowing down and becoming sporadic. Your body was shaking with pleasure, your hands reaching towards his thick biceps.

He continued your work for you, lifting your hips with his one hand on your waist. He grunted, feeling you clench around his cock. "Cum... cum for me," he beckoned, increasing the speed of his cock and the pressure of his thumb on your clit.

He smiled at the complete lost look that had fallen on your face. Your body jerked and convulsed over him, your brain unable to control it any longer. Your climax hit you hard as he denied your previous one not too long ago. Your whine was high pitched and dazed. You were completely lost in pleasure.

Your pleasure only fuelled his own. Your walls were holding his cock like a vice, clamping down on him. You could feel his throbbing cock overstimulating your sensitive pussy.

Carlos groaned at the feel of his twitching cock in your walls. He panted, hips racing to chase the urge to cum. "Yes, yes, yes," he mumbled, falling victim to your praises falling from your soft lips and the clench of your pussy.

You both groaned when you felt the hot ropes of his cum spill into your walls. HIs hips stuttered, faltering against yours as you took every last drop from his cock.

Carlos buried his chin into your neck, riding out his last few moments of his climax. "Fuck," he mumbled, letting out a small exhale as he moved his head back and looked at you. He laughed softly at your tired look. He placed a few lingering kisses across your neck, coming to your lips last. "I love you," he murmured against them.

You smiled gently. "Forever?" you asked.

"Forever," Carlos confirmed, placing a kiss on your forehead. Slowly, he removed his softening cock from your pussy. You both watched his cum mixed with your spill out of you.

You looked up at Carlos, eyeing the dark look on his face. You sighed. "Morning fun or not, give me at least ten minutes. If not thirty!"

Carlos chuckled, moving out from under you and standing in front of you in an unbecoming state that would make his closest friends laugh at him. He swooped you into his arms making you yelp. "Let's take a shower. I'll clean you."

You raised a brow, hands hung around his neck. "Just cleaning? That doesn't sound like you," you retorted.

Carlos smirked, walking you to the bathroom. "You're right. I'll clean you, fuck you, and clean you again."

Oh…

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[moechies]

would you mayhaps mind writing more toji x bunny!hybrid reader... perchance...

pretty pleek 🥺

(ALSO I LOVE YOUR WORKS SM AHHH)

cw ❤︎ bunny is a little weird ‘n loves sniffing toji’s fat bawls ;( don’t make fun of her ! toji makin bunny jealous , throatfuckin !!!

you’re a possessive, insatiable, and messy little thing. and although he does truly love every single one of your animalistic traits, it’s definitely something anybody would find out of the ordinary. not like he minds a bit.

₊˚⊹ ❤︎

toji adores the way you pout, eyes growing bleary when he tells you he needs to leave the home for work. it’s not so much him needing to do his job, but at the mention of a ‘she’ twined into one of his sentences, and now it’s the only thing you find yourself focusing on.

he urges you not to cry, hoisting you onto his lap and pressing your hiccuping self into his warm chest before shushing you gently. but you don’t see the ill-intentioned smirk that spreads across his plum lips as he soothes you from above.

“mhm, it’s an overnight mission, s’i won’t be home till tomorrow, bun.”

“a-are you going to sleep with her ? in the same bed ?” you question meekly, and toji lets out an unassuring hum.

toji loves working you up with his words, and bringing you back down with his cock. it’s so much of a game to him, but not to you.

your poor sensitive heart clenches when he offers no sort of affirmation, leaving your little mind to wonder aimlessly. your chest huffs with both frustration and anger at his pauses, quickly attempting to pull off his chest and away from the mean, mean man.

“i-i hate you !”

but no, he doesn’t let you pull off. he holds you down tight, thighs clad against his meatier ones as his stiff cock prods against your warm cunt. “g-get.. away !” you yelp, turning away to avoid the man from seeing the falling tears that leak from your pretty eyes.

“shh, bunny. c’mere.” he chuckles, pressing your resisting chest against his despite your tried efforts, pressing gentle kisses across your face covered with streaky tears. “‘course ‘m not gonna sleep with her, dumb bunny.” you hiccup, refusing to look into him before plopping your cheek against his chest.

“liar . ‘m gonna kill her.” you whisper.

toji chuckles again, petting your hair and soft, fallen ears, pulling them up high to resemble your usual happy persona with perky ears.

“don’t be so naive, bun. ‘m yours, and yer mines. promise, hm ?”

“p-promise ?”

“i do, i promise.” he speaks, humping his bulge against your chubby cunt. you yelp, reaching out for toji’s arms for support. “let me make it up to my bunny, hm ?”

❤︎ ₊˚⊹

the sun’s glare peeks through the translucent curtains, waking toji from his slumber. he groans, reaching his arm over expectingly, wanting nothing more but to envelop your soft body into his; just to feel his arm fall against soft sheets instead of your skin.

the sudden throbbing ache in between his legs feels much more prominent than before, his thigh twitching at the unfamiliar feeling.

he cracks an eye open, peeking down, and…

he can’t believe his eyes.

you; your insatiable little self, with his boxers tugged barely below his sack, and your little hand pushing back on the base of his cock. your nose is nuzzled against his fat, dewy balls, taking deep inhales of his musky scent. his vision trails down your other arm, leading his sight to your hand in between your soft thighs, erratically pumping two little digits in your chubby pussy while grinding onto a soft, white pillow all at once.

“m—mister… hnnn,”

your nose twitches incessantly, nuzzling the bud impossibly deep against his manhood, little pink tongue even slipping out to get a taste.

your ears flare out to the side of your body, hairs standing, cottontail twitching because he knows you’re just so close, you’re almost there, and your little pouting lips trying their hardest to keep your mewls quiet.

and finally, you let out a content cry, filthing your tiny fingers in thick, creamy cum. your humping comes to a slow, and you finish the job by leaving a long lick of saliva against toji’s cock for one last moment of wonder.

toji can’t help but laugh, scaring the bunny life out of you. you freeze, but he stops moving. it’s just a dream, right ? there’s no way you woke him up.

and just when you’re about to scurry away, clean up your mess and slip back into the sheets as if nothing every happened, there’s a hard tug on your sensitive little ears, one that drags you back towards your boyfriend’s standing cock where you were just a few seconds ago.

did you really think he wouldn’t notice ? poor bunny.

you squeak, his cock is harshly pressed into your warm gaped, mouth, and—

“what a rude bunny. usin’ me t’get that weeping cunny off without somethin’ in return. y’owe me this, hm ?”

₊˚⊹ ❤︎

“y’r so damn messy.”

toji grumbles, fingers threading through your hair, tugging at your ears.

his thighs are covered in your sticky slobber, strings of saliva dripping down his length and falling against his bushy base.

you don’t care. a mess is easy to clean and temporary, but who knows when your owner will leave on a mission, allowing your mouth to be empty for days ?

your cheek bulges with his chub, his pre slipping against the soft flesh of your mouth and leaving a salted flavor against your tongue.

“c’mon, take it deeper.” toji urges, adjusting your little face by your hair so that his pudgy tip lays against your throat.

“bigggg stretch, bunny.” he giggles, watching your eyes widen and hands slap against his meaty thigh when he presses down your unprepared throat, stretching the resistant flesh violently. you gag a multitude of times, mouth leaking uncontrollably as if you’re lubing toji for a smoother process.

“looks like this messy bunny mouth does have some good use f’it, hm ?”

❤︎ ₊˚⊹