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atleastpleasetelephone · 2 days

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Nights of Endless Love Part 26

A fic set in Vegas in 1971 at the start of Elvis' first residency that year, where he meets a Vegas showgirl who isn't interested. Smutty, fluffy, angsty drama.

To catch up with the other parts, go here. As always, thanks go to @vintagepresley for the idea in the first place and continued inspo! And many thanks to @eapep for her editing skills!

18 and over only.

Pairing: Elvis + OC - Mia, a Vegas showgirl

Wordcount: 3.3K ish

TW: Drug abuse, health issues, angry!Elvis, a little bit of violence, crying, oral (f receiving), then much fluff.

A/N: This is the final part! I fully sobbed when I finished writing this. It's been a real labour of love and I will miss Mia and Elvis and their little world. Not to say that we might not go back and see how they're doing from time to time, but for now this is the end of their story.

“I’m so tired. Elvis this schedule is impossible.” Mia collapses down onto the sofa, still in her stage outfit. They’re more than half way through the stint in Tahoe, and she only has a two hour break before she’s due back on stage again. Things have got worse since she started going on with him to do a song or two in the middle of his set.

“It’s not impossible. You just need one of these shots,” he looks over to Dr Nick. “Nick, give her a shot.”

Dr Nick moves warily over to Mia. She pulls a face and puts her hand out to stop him. “Dr Nick do not give her a shot. She has autonomy over her own body.”

Elvis is standing over the other side of the room, still in his jumpsuit, sodden with sweat. One of his legs is jiggling about and he's fiddling incessantly with one of his big rings. Two of the tell-tale signs that Nick had been in here giving him a shot before the second show. As if she didn’t know already.

“Well don’t blame me if you can’t hack it.”

Mia stands up, annoyed now. “If I can’t hack it? You’re the one taking enough pharmaceuticals to floor an elephant.”

Dr Nick moves from foot to foot awkwardly. Mia wasn’t often in the room when he was treating Elvis, but he’d already got the impression she wasn’t keen on all of the drugs. He isn’t keen on all of the drugs either, but Elvis will only find someone else if he stops prescribing. He’s never seen them fight before, and he would like to get out before it turns nasty. He knows Elvis has a temper.

Elvis starts moving towards her in that ominous way he has, his lip curling, blowing furious air out of his nose. “I need them. This is none of your damn business woman.”

“None of my business! I’m only living with you and engaged to marry you!”

“Well maybe you need to learn to do as you’re told.” He grabs one of her arms and starts trying to manoeuvre her towards Nick, who is looking quite alarmed by this point. Mia wriggles and tries to get him off her. She sees his other hand coming to grab her and aims a kick at one of his shins. “Ow!” He almost shrieks. She uses the opportunity to pull her arm free and then slaps him across the face for good measure.

“You are not the boss of me!” She screams.

“You come back here,” he hisses as she stands, panting in front of him.

She thinks that she hasn’t actually gone anywhere and he could grab her from here if he really wanted to.

“I’m not having a damn shot, Elvis. I’m sick of seeing you take all this stuff. I’m sick of waking up in the night and checking if you’re still breathing. I’m sick of worrying about you all the time. I want you to rest,” she finds herself faltering, holding back tears. “I love you.”

He closes the gap between them, and for a moment she can’t tell if he’s going to kiss her or hit her. He pushes her the few steps back it takes to hit the wall, and then his mouth is on hers, his tongue pushing insistently into her mouth, his hands grabbing her arms and pressing them against the wall next to her head. Somewhere that sounds like a million miles away she hears the clunk of the door. Nick must’ve finally had enough.

“Baby I love you too,” he says, when he finally comes up for air. “I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

He starts slowly unzipping her catsuit, kissing her newly exposed skin as he goes. He stops briefly to pay her nipples some attention, but it’s clear where he’s headed, as he presses kisses to her stomach and slides the zipper down all of the way to where it finishes between her legs. She gasps when he first licks her clit, firmly and repeatedly, looking down to see him on his knees in front of her, worshipfully. His tongue dips down lower, tasting her properly, his lips and chin slick with her juices. She whines, desperate for more contact.

“Put your leg on my shoulder baby,” he says, the words buzzing against her.

She does, feeling his fingers spreading her cunt so he can better access it, lapping at her, pushing his tongue inside. His thumb moves to rub her clit as he carries on licking, the fingers of his other hand digging into the skin of her thigh and ass. She moans, grabbing her breasts and rubbing her nipples. She’s so turned on even just at the sight of him kneeling in front of her like this, burying his face in her cunt, licking and sucking like his life depends on it.

He moves to suck on her clit now, looking up at her as he does it, his hair soaked with sweat from the show earlier and her arousal all over his face. He slides a finger inside her and curls it slightly, waiting to hear her reaction. She groans, feeling him hit that spot inside of her and wriggling to try and get more contact from his tongue.

“Hold my head Mimi. Do whatever you want with me.”

She shivers at the words. She loves it when he tells her to use him like this.

“Another finger…please,” she just about manages.

He nods and slips a second finger inside her.

She reaches down and takes hold of his head, fingers digging into his damp hair. She starts to roll her hips so that her clit rubs against his tongue, holding onto him gently and then as the pleasure starts to build she finds herself gripping him desperately, pushing her cunt into his face, not really caring anymore if he can breathe. She’s so close now, all she can think of is reaching that high. As her orgasm washes over her she grips his head even more tightly, crying out and feeling tears falling down her cheeks. She shakes and cries, finally letting him go and sliding down the wall, somehow getting her leg off his shoulder and ending up sitting in a little pile at the bottom of it.

“Fuck, honey.” Elvis is beet red, and he’s taking great gasping breaths.

She looks over at him, and realises she might’ve actually been suffocating him. “Oh shit. Are you alright?”

“Honey. You’re crying.”

Mia laughs, even though she’s still crying. “I’m crying, you’re nearly suffocated, this is all going great.”

He moves to try and kiss her and she holds her hands up in front of her face. “Ahh. Wash your face!”

He laughs and grabs her arms, pinning them to her sides. “No,” he replies, kissing her on the mouth. She can feel the slickness of his lips, covered in her juices, and taste herself on his tongue. “If you’re going to smother me the least you can do is kiss me afterwards.”

She laughs, and then he pulls her into his arms, leaning against the wall himself. “Baby why were you crying? I thought you were enjoying yourself.”

“I just felt overwhelmed. I love you so much and I really want this to work, but it’s just fucking exhausting. I’m sorry I nearly killed you.”

He chuckles into her ear. “It’s okay, I asked for it. In more ways than one. And I love it when you’re so uninhibited like that, especially all over my face.”

She squeals. It smells like sex and sweat all around her. They really need to shower before the next show.

He nuzzles her neck. “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have got mad at you. You’re right, we can’t carry on like this. But I don’t know what else to do.”

***

They somehow finish the Tahoe commitment but tell Jerry and the Colonel that there’s no way they can keep up that level of work. It was what they’d suspected would happen, and although the Colonel has his views on how many shows Elvis and Mia should do, for once he keeps his mouth shut. Jerry has been a good influence on him from that perspective. He’s learning how to diversify, has even thought of taking on one or two more clients. Jerry suggests one show a night is more reasonable, tours could be longer but there would be more gaps between dates and fewer residencies. Mia and Elvis both agree, and leave the meeting somewhat relieved.

Mia knows the amount of shows isn’t the only problem though, and so she decides to broach something with Elvis as she watches him rubbing his belly and grimacing.

“What do you think about checking yourself into a hospital?”

Elvis almost jumps. “What? There’s nothing wrong with me!”

Mia puts her hand on top of his. “You’re not in any pain just now?”

He sighs. “Okay, but… hospital?”

“Please. For me. I’ll stay in there with you. We can order in whatever food you want. But I think you need to go and get checked out, and… maybe you need to come off some of what you’ve been taking.”

She’s very nervous about the last part of the sentence. He’s never taken interference in the drugs he takes very well in the past. She had thought she wouldn’t interfere in that part of his life, but the shows at Tahoe showed her that she had to. She watches his face twist into a variety of different expressions, as if he’s having a not-very-internal battle with himself.

“You’ll stay with me the whole time? Even if they want to do things to me? Look for stuff? You’ll be there? You promise?” He’s starting to sound a little panicked, but it seems like the agreeable Elvis has won this time.

“Yes. I won’t let them throw me out of the room. I’ll be there with you the whole time I promise.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Okay then.”

***

Mia keeps her word. They check into the hospital together and she’s there holding his hand as they do blood tests, check his blood pressure, put drops in his eyes. When they tell him he needs a colonoscopy he looks at her and she tells him it will be okay and she will hold his hands and talk to him the whole time. He nods like a frightened child but does whatever she says. They slowly take him off the complicated mixture of pharmaceuticals he’s been taking since he was in the army, working out exactly what he needs rather than what he wants. Mia stays up a lot of the nights, lying in the bed with him, stroking his hair and wiping his brow as he sweats and twists and turns uncomfortably in his sleep. With the best will in the world, his withdrawal is still horrible and he begs her to let him take something for it, crying in her arms.

A week after they first got there, he’s sat up in bed as she lays dozing after another tumultuous night.

“Hi there.” A voice Mia can’t quite place, deep and sonorous. She tries to ignore it, but Elvis’ response makes that impossible.

“Lawrence! It’s been so long!”

Elvis is feeling good for the first time since he checked into the hospital, and seeing Larry has made him genuinely excited, dropping the book he was reading and sitting up properly in bed. All of this jostles Mia so much she sits up again with a groan.

“How’re you doing, man?” Larry asks, sitting down on the armchair in the room.

“Great. So much better. They’ve taken me off a lot of things and… I do feel good for a change, Larry. They’re bringing me all these fresh fruits and vegetables and Mia is helping me decide which ones I like.”

He looks over at Mia, whose hair is absolutely everywhere, eyes barely open, looking like she needs to sleep for a week. He strokes her face. “Baby, why don’t you go to the room across the hall and get some proper sleep?”

The hospital staff had reserved them another room in case Mia wanted to sleep somewhere separately sometimes, but she hasn’t left his side for the whole week.

“You sure?” She replies, groggily.

“Of course, Angel. Larry can keep me company for a while and you look like you need to sleep somewhere comfy.”

She nods and shuffles off across the corridor.

“I hear you’re getting married?”

Elvis grins. “Yeah. When the divorce is finalised with Cilla, we certainly are.”

“I’m so pleased for you Elvis. Things really seem to be turning out well lately.”

Elvis is beaming. Things were turning out well. He has an idea to make them even better. “Say, you wanna be my best man?”

Larry is taken aback. They hadn’t been in touch much recently, a hair cut here and there and a few chats, but nothing like the intensity of their relationship previously. He’d been wondering if they were just drifting apart.

“I’d be honoured!”

Elvis reaches across to shake the other man’s hand, firmly. “Wonderful. I’m sure Mia will be pleased too.”

***

Mia had never thought she’d be so nervous on her wedding day. What is there to be nervous about? Fluffing up the words? Tripping over her dress and falling on her face? Actually, both of those seem like pretty bad options. She smooths her dress down and looks at herself in the mirror. Life on the road hasn’t exactly stopped the ageing process. If anything, it’s accelerated it. She had her grey hairs dyed back to brown in readiness for today, there’s a lot of strong elastic holding her not-so-little belly in and a face full of make-up hides her tired eyes and wrinkles. But she finds somehow that she doesn’t mind so much any more. Elvis’ hair is still white and he is completely unapologetic about it. He gets his reading glasses out when he needs to and he ignores the jibes from the guys. They worship one another’s bodies, no matter whether they find wrinkles or extra fat there. Elvis is particularly delighted by the fact that she’s put on a little extra weight on her ass, kissing and kneading it at every opportunity. Every morning he tells her how beautiful she is, or sings Mia In The Morning, no matter how many times she hits him with a pillow and tells him to shut up. The tests at the hospital showed that he has a problem with his intestine that makes his belly swell from time to time, and Mia makes sure to show him how much she loves him whenever it happens. He’s given up trying to push her away when she pushes his shirt up and kisses him all over. In fact, he almost looks forward to it.

Mia smiles at her reflection. It had been one helluva year. When she’d started 1971, performing on that stage in the Tropicana, she had no idea things would turn out like this. That she’d be getting ready to marry one of the most famous men in the world. That she’d be so in love with him.

“You ready?” Amanda asks. Mia had to spend an entire drunken day catching her up on everything that had happened over the past couple of months, but she was the only person she wanted as her maid of honour.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Her dad walks into the room, blinking back tears at how beautiful she looks in her dress.

“Time to go, pumpkin?”

Mia nods and takes his arm. Elvis had encouraged her to get back in contact with her parents, so she’d invited them to the show when they visited her hometown. She was surprised when they came, and even more surprised how proud they were of her. She suspects it has something to do with Elvis, who put on the world’s biggest charm-offensive when he met them, and who of course they loved instantly. Her dad was over the moon when she asked him to give her away at the wedding.

She can feel herself shaking as they walk slowly down the aisle to meet the man standing at the end of it. Elvis is shaking too, he’s asked Larry approximately 15 times already whether he still has the rings, and until he saw her for himself a few moments ago, he had completely convinced himself that Mia wasn’t coming. The walk is interminable for both of them, Elvis sweating and worrying about stuttering his vows and Mia concentrating on not falling over her own dress. When she finally gets there and they turn to face one another, holding each other’s hands tightly, they both let out shaky breaths. And then they realise what they’ve done and both giggle. It’s like the rest of the world completely disappears when they look at one another. Until, that is, the celebrant starts to speak.

“In the presence of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, we have come together to witness the marriage of Elvis and Mia, to pray for God’s blessing on them, to share their joy and to celebrate their love.”

Despite their fears, the ceremony goes smoothly. Larry hands over the rings. No-one declares a reason they can’t get married, and neither of them mess up their vows. Elvis stutters a little but it just makes Mia love him more, if that were possible. They kiss passionately when they’re told they’re now man and wife, and little Lisa-Marie is the first person to start throwing confetti. Mia briefly wonders if it’s odd to have your husband’s ex-wife as one of your bridesmaids, but then decides she doesn’t care. Priscilla is still such a good friend to her, she’d even helped to pick out Mia’s dress.

The party that follows goes on well into the night. It starts with a first dance to actual Jackie Wilson performing (Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher, and sometime around midnight Mia finds herself still in her wedding dress, trying to teach Red West how to rumba.

“Never thought you’d last, you know.” He says into her ear as she tries in vain to get him to stop standing on her feet.

“Oh really?” She laughs back, pushing his hip with hers.

“No. Thought he’d have enough of you being so bossy.”

“You should be concentrating or you won’t get any better.”

Red looks up at her. “I’m not really trying to get better, I’m enjoying you manhandling me if I’m honest.”

Mia bursts out laughing, shoving him back and away from her. “I’ll tell my husband you said that.”

“You’ll tell your husband he said, what?”

Elvis is suddenly behind her, his arms around her waist. She leans back against him and smirks. “Red West is trying to get close to me, husband.”

“Oh, is that so, wife?”

“Hmm yes. But I wouldn’t worry about him, I’m not interested.” She spins around in his arms and puts hers around his neck. “I just feel sorry for him.”

Elvis looks up at her and chuckles, humming with pleasure as she leans her forehead down against his. “He is pathetic, you’re right.”

Red rolls his eyes and huffs, wandering off to find someone else to annoy.

“How is my beautiful wife?” Elvis asks her as they sway back and forth to the music.

“I’ve never been better. How is my handsome husband?”

“I’ve never been happier. Today has been perfect. You’re perfect. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I can’t wait either, lover.”

The band starts playing From A Jack To A King.

From a Jack to a King / From loneliness to a wedding ring / I played an Ace and I won a Queen / And walked away with your heart

***

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miss-multi45 · 3 days

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Vengeance

Hoodie x Fem!Reader

Part 2 of 'Blackmail'

cw: blood, mentions of dead bodies, swearing/vulgarity, sloww burnn, objectification, sexual harassment, sexual themes, nightmares, reader has a tired breakdown (jus like me fr), romantic petnames, opeia being autistic and taking three hours to write it bc they zone out. enjoy, darlings.

When you woke up, it was cold.

You were in a bed, with the smell of rain and something else that you prayed it wasn't what you thought it was.

Sitting up, you saw that you were back home in your own bed, the hooded man nowhere in sight. But something was wrong.

Even though you felt safe and comfortable, you couldn't shake the feeling that screamed at you to get out. Everything was the same, the pillow you threw was on the floor. You even got out of bed and checked. Liam's gun was on the kitchen counter, Liam..

Liam.

Where was Liam's body..?

Suddenly, you heard footsteps echo from the direction of the bathroom. You scrambled back to your room, closing the door as quietly as humanly possible and sliding your whole body underneath the duvet.

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you squeezed your eyes shut and prayed that he wouldn't come in here.

But fate wasn't on your side. The door opened, and you felt the bedsheets dip under Liam's bodyweight. Making your stomach turn, you felt his hand rubbing your waist.

"How'd you sleep, baby?"

His voice, a sickly sweet venom poisoning your senses and filling your brain with toxins that told you, 'no turning back now, your boyfriend is here.'

You stifled a sob, accepting your fate and peeling back the covers from your face.

As you laid eyes on his face, you noticed the unavoidable bullet wound right on his forehead. It wasn't dripping blood, but it was covered in it.

"Well, hello there. Have fun running off without me?"

You gasped as you woke up, body immediately shooting up before a headache kicked in and you fell back down again. Cradling your head, you scrunched up into fetal position and rubbed your temples to help with the pain.

Oh, thank God. It was only a nightmare. You thought, looking up at the dark log ceiling.

Ah, so you weren't back home. Instead in a small but very cozy log cabin that smelled of rain and a slight tinge of metal. If you were here, then where was that strange hooded man?

You decided not to dwell on the subject for too long, instead rolling over and going back to sleep.

Maybe 30 minutes later, you heard the door swing open and close, heavy footsteps making their way to where you were curled up. You were half asleep, the sensation of falling would bring you back into consciousness immediately.

A heavy hand on your hip made you stir, alongside an all to familiar male voice talking to you. "Wake up. If I can't lie in, neither can you."

Mentally rolling your eyes, you groggily turned over and opened your eyes a crack just to see the blurry colours of the red and black ski mask.

"There she is." You could hear his grin through his words.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, babe. You slept for a while." He grabbed your arms and hoisted you up, pushing your back against the wooded wall your bed was up against.

You must've been sleepily grimacing at him, because as soon as he propped his shotgun against the wall, he turned back to you with a "Fix that face right now."

Although you didn't exactly appreciate how commanding he was, you didn't want to feel a cold shotgun barrel against your head. So you dropped you head down and rubbed your eyes, making the discovery that you were only in a baggy t shirt that wasn't yours, and panties that thankfully were yours.

"What the.." you mumbled as you saw the outfit. But that confusion was quickly taken over by shock, because you knew damn well nobody else would have changed you.

"How much did you see?" You brought the blanket up to your chest, even though your clothes weren't inappropriate to wear to bed, Liam would say otherwise.

"Just enough." He said, even though you needed a lot more than that to feel reassured that he didn't do anything creepy to you.

"How much is 'just enough'?" You commented, slowly dropping the duvet from its place.

"Collabone, legs, shit that you'd get dress coded for. I took off your bra with your shirt still on, I may be a murderer but I'm not a weird incel." You breathed a sigh of relief, coming to the conclusion that it was fine to get out of bed and go to the bathroom.

"Um, where's the bathroom?" You muttered, you weren't still completely comfortable with whoever this strange man was.

"First door on the left." He said, beginning to clean his gun without looking up at you.

You closed the door behind you, opening the bathroom door and closing another door.

It wasn't a luxury bathroom, but it was pretty decent. It just looked like one you'd find in a static caravan, small but enough.

There was a small window, open enough for you to feel a cool breeze against your face and see the vast woodland landscape outside.

It was beautiful, the dark green pine trees wet with freshly fallen raindrops. Maybe you should live in the forest. It would be stress free, and maybe you would even get to be like Aurora and make some woodland friends.

Finishing up, you washed and dried your hands and went back to the bedroom. The man was still on the chair cleaning his gun, the bedroom window open.

You awkwardly stood in the doorway, fiddling with the hem of the baggy shirt while you waited for something to happen. You could at least use a change of clothes.

"You wanna tell me about that boyfriend of yours, babe?" His voice cut through the quiet atmosphere, interrupting your thoughts.

"What about him? You know about the nightmares?" You replied, unsure if you should complain about your newly dead boyfriend to the very man who killed him.

A moment of silence, he looks up at you. "No, I don't." He says, "How bad of a boyfriend was he if you're having fucking nightmares about him?"

You froze. Liam was a piece of shit, but you didn't like how long it took for you to notice that about him. It had taken you halfway through the regretful relationship to realise that he was human waste.

"Um, well.." you started, but you didn't know where to actually begin. He was just like those boyfriends you'd see women complain about. He was controlling, accusing, lying. A reprehensible dick.

"A stereotypical shitty boyfriend, I don't know why I stayed with him for that long." He finished cleaning and loading his gun, putting it to one side as he stood from his seat.

God, he was tall. And brawny, too. Even though he was wearing that baggy hoodie, you could still see how his arms were ever so slightly straining the fabric.

Taking your eyes off him, he shared his most insightful opinion on your dead boyfriend.

"Glad I shot that crapweasel."

The next morning, you woke up with excruciating stomach pain. But at least you didn't start your morning off with a nightmare about Liam.

Getting up to go to the bathroom, you were met with an all too familiar bloodstain in your panties. Great, you had been so caught up in whatever was going on that you had completely forgotten about menustrating.

There was no way there were any pads or tampons in the cabin, so you settled for wrapping toilet paper around your pants and calling it a day until you could get some menstrual products.

You finished up in the bathroom, returning to the bedroom and getting changed into some clothes that Hoodie stole from your house yesterday morning.

He was in the lounge, probably loading or cleaning his gun again. You didn't really care.

You went out into the lounge, reluctantly asking the question. "Do..are there any pads or tampons here?"

Which was met with:

"Bad time to get your period. But unfortunately no, we don't have anything menustration related."

You sighed, "Is there a convenience store nearby with any pads?"

The question left your lips before you could think about it, and you quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way he would let you eave due to the risk of you running away. But you didn't have anywhere to go.

"Yeah. I'll come with you." You breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"What do you need?" You asked, putting your shoes on.

"Nothing, I'm only coming to keep an eye on you." You had anticipated an answer like that. At least you would be safe with a guy like him watching you.

After you tied you shoes, the two of you set off in the direction of the store.

It was quiet in the forest, the only sounds being the subtle nature sounds and your footsteps. Thankfully, it didn't take long for the convenience store to come into veiw.

He just leaned against a tree near the shop while you made your way in, taking note of how empty it was.

The clerk was a young woman, probably around your age. There were three young men elsewhere in the store, but you couldn't care less about them.

You found the brand you used, taking two packs before you were distracted by three voices a few feet away.

'Dude, have you seen that girl's rack?' 'That chick's got a body for days.' 'I bet she's good in bed.'

Your heart sunk, even in the woods you couldn't escape the male gaze. Could there be one day where women would be treated like actual human beings instead of pieces of fucking meat?

Even though it made you want to crawl into a hole and die, especially while on your period, you ignored it. But you made sure to subtly kick a guy in the shin after he made the mistake of grabbing your ass.

Walking up to the till, you placed the pads on the counter and gave the girl a small smile. She looked exhausted, as did you. You paid with a 'thank you' and quickly left the store.

You looked for the hooded man, he was well camouflaged by all the thick green foliage. He would come to you, you decided, and you knelt on the ground with a hand massaging your womb to try and ease the cramps.

You didn't know how you didn't hear him creeping up behind you.

"Womb massage, huh?" He commented, placing a large hand on your shoulder.

"How's that working out, babygirl? Any good?" He put his hands in his pockets.

"No.." you croaked, earning a chuckle from the man.

"Let's go. You can complain when we get back." You huffed and rose to your feet, clutching the packs of pads to your chest.

When you got back, you immediately changed from toilet paper to an actual pad. As expected, it felt much better.

You flopped onto the couch, closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep after tossing and turning uncomfortably for too long.

"(Y/N), get up." Liam hissed.

You groaned, covering your ears with the pillow before it was cruelly ripped away from you by him.

"I'm not asking again. Get the fuck up." His voice was pure venom.

He ripped you out of bed, dragging you out of the house and into the forest behind it. You looked down, seeing that you were in nothing but a baggy shirt and panties.

"Where are we going?" You asked, feet beginning to hurt as you went deeper and deeper into the woods.

He didn't answer, just kept pulling you alongside him. Eventually, the path you were on narrowed and thorny bushes began to nip and you legs.

You winced, batting a hand at the branches to avoid being hurt more. Liam sped up, practically sprinting as your feet and legs where being cut up by the bushes. The further you went, you were met with the sight of bodies. Bodies of your family.

Your mother was torn limb from limb by a bloody rose bush, your father beside her. Everyone was trapped dead in the sharp greenery, and you were forced to run past them and Liam's grip tightened.

Your shirt was beginning to tear, revealing the bare skin underneath for the sharp branches of the bushes to slice at.

It was brutal, the overpowering stinging sensation making tears prick at your eyes and pleas fall from your lips.

You were woken up by a rough, leather clad hand grabbing your face and talking to you with a stern tone.

"Calm down, babygirl. Calm down, you're fine, you're okay." He told you, moving his other hand down to massage your lower stomach.

You sobbed, tears running down your face as you realised it was another nightmare. Wrapping your arms around him, you sniffled as more tears fell from your glossy eyes.

This was exhausting. You were exhausted. It was like Liam was stalking you, haunting you. You felt awful, mentally and physically. Nothing helped. Nothing but him.

You caught your breath, and he loosened his grip on your chin, but didn't let go. He kept his other hand at work, doing well to soothe your cramps and calm you down.

"Atta girl, that's it." He reassured, bringing you into his lap as the tears began to stop and all that was left of you was a sniffling, tired mess.

"Another nightmare about him?" He questioned, tilting his head to look down at you.

You nodded, putting your hand over his on your womb, surprised at how good he was at it.

At this point, Hoodie had decided he had had enough. He wanted to know everything about this man, right down to his mother's maiden name.

"Tell me about him," he said, "Everything. How did he abuse you, how long were you a thing, did he pleasure you enough? Was he a selfish shitsteak?"

"He.." you mumbled, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

There was so much to say, but so little you wanted to reminisce.

It had to be talked about, you decided. And Hoodie was curious.

So who were you to deny him his curiosities?

spent the whole day on this autism is a bitch.

#opeia rambles #my writing #creepypasta x reader #hoodie x reader #dead dove do not eat

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awakenedevildays · 3 days

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Heyy I loved “naps and forgetfulness” and was wondering if you could maybe make a part 2??

「Annoying customers and Star Wars」 Stiles Stilinski x F!reader

I had the most annoying costumer ever at work the other day and I thought of using it as a sequel to this story, I hope you'll like it and thank you so much for requesting, dear, this was so fun to write! 🩷

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"oh! is that my boyfriend that actually remembered me?!" you ask as you walk out of your working place. Stiles, who's sitting on the drivers seat of his Jeep, looks up from his phone and looks at you with pursued lips and guilty eyes.

"that's me." He laughs as he gets off his car to walk towards you. He is so pretty you can't help but feel a swarm of butterflies in your stomach when he's near enough to grab your cheeks and kiss you lovingly. His lips are on yours for a few seconds before he breaks the kiss with a content hum to grab your waist, "hey pretty, how was your shift?" his eyes, those big brown eyes of his, look at you with such love and adoration that your heart clenches and the tiredness of your four hours shift disappears.

"It was good, but a lady was really rude to me" you say as Stiles guides you towards the other side of the Jeep to open the door for you.

His ears perks up at that, despite the fact that he feels bad when you have a bad shift, he loves to listen about all the dramas "mh? what happened?" He asks as he waits for you to get on the passenger seat before closing the door to jog back to the driver seat.

"oh you got me food from Burger King! thank you Sti'" you say after smelling the delicious smell of burgers in the car and you don't waste time to open the bag to eat right away.

"you're welcome baby, so what happened?" he asks after receiving a so deserved 'thank you' kiss from you.

"Well, first of all, in the busiest day for a restaurant, she didn't book a table and EXPECTED to have one right away!" You start after taking a bite from the hamburger, god, it's so good.

He scoffs "are you serious? that's just stupid, how could she expect for it to be empty on a Friday night?" he says as he starts the engine.

"Right?! so I told her that she and her son would have to wait for at least twenty minutes and she scoffed at me!"

"Unbelievable, and what happened next?" he asks and opens his mouth when you bring a chip close to his mouth.

"When a table finally got freed up she didn't want it because it was too close to the toilets and she didn't want to eat with the door opening and closing repeatedly and people passing every two minutes."

"and let me guess, after that you kindly told her to go fuck herself, right?" he looks at you for a second before looking back at the road as you keep on eating.

"I really wanted to! so I told her that we could've moved the table a bit away from the bathroom and she said it wasn't away enough" you keep on going and feed him another two french fries.

Stiles snorts at that "oh my God, she just wouldn't stop bitching, what a Karen".

"and it isn't even over yet! I tried to give her another table that got freed up in that moment but guess why it wasn't good enough for her?"

"the table cloth wasn't white enough?" he says as he rolls his eyes.

"it was too close to the opened window AND it hadn't been cleared yet and she didn't want to sit in a still unmade table, I mean- the people who were sitting there had just stood up, what did she want me to do?" you add as he stops at a red light and steals another chip.

"oh she's just ridiculous, you should've just kicked her out" he says and you grab his hand to play with it.

"I wish I could've, it took her 30 freaking minutes to choose what to eat because she and her son didnt do anything but looking at their phones and guess what? She wanted to eat the only dish that I told her wasn't available anymore tonight and she whined about it for MINUTES."

"what the hell was wrong with her!?"

"I don't know, it's like she came here to annoy me! I gave her so much attention that I had to ask Logan to cover the other tables I was serving until she was gone." You munch on your almost finished burger.

"I'm sorry baby, you did not deserve that witch."

"I wanted to cry, really. And after they were done eating she didn't even leave a tip, I mean- didn't she see how whiny she was and how patient with her I was?!" you ask while pointing at yourself as Stiles reluctantly moves his hand to use the gear stick.

"what a fucking karen, she's a bitch, I hope she... broke a nail or something" he says as he starts the car again when the light turns green.

"woah, you kiss your dad with that mouth?" you ask sarcastically at his attempts to be 'aggressive' or... whatever that was, he pinches your thigh lightly as response before stealing, again, some of your food... you don't mind though.

"hey! don't act like I couldn't be a bad boy if you wanted me to, I'm pretty badass" he avoids to look at you as he says it, he's so cute that you can't even imagine him as a 'bad boy'.

you snort at that "nah, I'm good with my sweet and cute boyfriend" you comb back his hair as he keeps his eyes on the road.

"yeah? you don't prefer a strong, masculine and very bad boy with a leather jacket and maybe a motorcycle?" he asks as you keep your hand in his hair, he's enjoying all the attentions so much that he could literally purr in content.

"I prefer cute, sarcastic nerds with Jeeps and obsession with star strek" you say as you put back the papers covering the finished burger with your free hand.

"Star Wars, baby" he corrects you for the millionth time as he takes your hand from his head to bite it lightly as to scold you, after all, he already corrected you many, many times.

"yeah, yeah, the same thing" you answer dismissively and Stiles keeps your hand in his on his lap.

He rolls his eyes at your words "it's not the same thing, they're very different."

"I'm not gonna have this conversation with you... again." you answer before he can start his rambling about why the two shows are different (they're not).

"you're just not cultured enough to understand the differences, babe" he says while squeezing your hand. "Can't you see you're embarrassing yourself? you can't go around in this world without knowing the difference! if you could give Star Wars a chan-"

"We're not gonna watch Star Wars!" you state as you start eating the leftover chips.

"But why not!? we've watched Harry Potter a thousands times!" he looks at you with an expression of disbelief and disappointment.

"It's different! Harry Potter is actually entertaining and you love it too." You keep in a laugh.

"yeah, yeah, whatever, you like it because of Harry and your massive crush on him in the fifth and sixth movie" he says just to tease you a bit.

"I- how do you know that?! I never told you-" you're flabbergasted, you didn't think he would actually notice it.

"Oh please! those are the only two movies you watch without looking at the phone even once." Fuck, are you that obvious? His scolding eyes tells you that yes, to him,, at least, you're actually that obvious.

"oh because you definitely don't find Hermione hot in the seventh movie?" you ask already knowing the answer and your boyfriend opens his mouth in shock.

"I can't believe you're calling me out like this" he replies with an embarrassed expression on his face that tells you that you're absolutely right. "but... but what about Darth Vader, baby, he's hot too!"

"who's Dart father? The cute one with curls and blue eyes?"

"Vader, baby and yes, Hayden Christensen." he corrects you... again, he turns towards your house.

"Oh yeah he is so handsome! but I won't watch Star Wars, end of story."

He sighs and looks back at the road "I'm still gonna get you into Star Wars, I don't care if I have to play the 'I'm the man in this relationship' card"

"you would never use that card" you say as a matter of fact and Stiles pursues his lips, got him.

"shut up, woman" he demands but mutters a small 'sorry' right after that makes you giggle lovingly at him.

"So... if we're not gonna watch Star Wars nor Harry Potter what would you like to watch tonight?" you ask to change the subject as you finish the last fries.

He thinks about it for a second, he's not in the mood for a horror movie but he doesn't want to watch another of your rom-com movies either because he'd have to watch his every move to not fall asleep before them even getting to the good part, so he says "let's just watch The Office, okay? there are still some episodes left"

"'kay" you only say as you see your street coming into view.

"God, I'm craving a shower so badly right now" he groans as he parks the Jeep in front of your house, his whole body is still sore after lacrosse practice and he's in dire need of some relaxation time.

"don't tell me, I smell of every type of smell that can be present in a restaurant" you say while getting out of the Jeep.

Stiles chuckles at your words while he exits the car too and follows you to the front door "oh I don't know, you're kind of hot after your shifts at work" he says jokingly as you unlock the door.

"and they say romance is dead" you roll your eyes and let Stiles in after you.

"I know, right?"

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Harry Potter is underrated in his own saga, and I stand by that.

Hope you enjoyed, recommendations, suggestions and requests are always welcome and open! <3

Do not copy or repost.

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you #stiles stilinski drabble #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf #teen wolf stiles

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paradarala · 6 months

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#from left to right then down one row #(inhales)#jupiter #bridges #taio #ximena #knight #dare #athe #queen #gimas #this was from before i entered midwich so mya isnt there #but she would be “I could kick a baby” too

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cerealbishh · 6 months

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"Maria and Rhett knew each other way back when, they went to high school together. (...)Yeah, I think the spark is immediate because I think they maybe, secretly, always wanted to be together."

"I think that it's one of those relationships that never happened and never was but it was almost. And, I think, spending so much time apart, one can tend to fantasize what could be. (...) All of that ease of them seeing each other again is right there and it's almost as if they never left each other's side." - Isa and Lew on Maria and Rhett in an interview with Down and Nerdy(x)

"I also love that I get to tell a story about love in this really crazy, scary world(...) and we really want to root for them!" - Isa in an interview with SciFi Vision(x)

#outer range s1 #maria olivares #rhett abbott #rhett x maria #isabel arraiza #lewis pullman #tw: alcohol #tw: flashing lights #another last s1 gifset before s2 #i know most of you are rhett/lewis fans but please no maria or maria/rhett hate here! thank you!#can't wait to see them together again and how their relationship evolves(or falls apart?)#again sorry about the shitty coloring #i love how smiley she is when she kisses him in their first and last kiss scenes #i actually watched all three of their interviews together but didn't know where to put them #here's to no love triangles or cheating or babies! don't have them destroyed like bodiela was for me #lol his smile before he asks her if the beer is for trevor was so cute... had me giggling and kicking my feet for real #i hope lewis and isa get to do press together in person but i really doubt they will because lew could be filming something?#i would settle for even another zoom call interview #i found out from a podcast not too long ago that they maybe didn't do a chemistry read... wow!#the smile after she hands him a beer is adorable #tw: alcohol?#if maria teaches him spanish i will sob #honestly whenever i think of their flirty banter i think of lew talking about to flirt to roast ratio a little bit

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sickgraymeat · 2 years

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(Yes I’m aware my employers are the coolest and I’m very grateful) this feels like when pb’s like “I need to stay up and take care of Goliad it’s incredibly important that I do it because I have a better understanding of her brain on a chemical level than anyone else. Not only that but I’m planning on doing it and will do it regardless of my mental state” and f&j were like “hey we’re a kid and a dog why don’t we do it” and she’s immediately like “ok zzzzz”

#except that baby d already uses yelling and would use mind control if she could #bc she’s a toddler that’s just how it is #and also her parents are not a kid and a dog #ok I’m feeling a little better abt it now jsjdjdne #adventure time #princess bubblegum #bonnibel bubblegum #Goliad #Finn and jake #tagging bc I feel like I described it funny and y’all might like that idk they’re still kicking in ajdjsjnr #context is that I missed ONE THING last night and my brain is a goddamn jenga tower but I take it in the morning too so I’m feeling #a little better having taken the am dose #hopefully will be capable of safe child rearing in the next half hour #(I’m a nanny)#sorry for making all these dumb posts my brain is struggling to do anything better #but I am writing!! ppl who commented on my story descriptions you’ve been heard and I’m working on them #somehow the idea of other people like expecting/looking forward to it is just the goddamn holy grail of motivation #which is weird bc when I tell ppl too much abt a story b4 I finish it I just panic abt not meeting their expectations and never finish :/#anywya!#jus talkin #(too much)

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sufficientlylargen · 3 months

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It always gets me that the name "Gandalf" literally just means "Wand-Elf" or "Stick-Elf". I'm imagining old Gondorians just being like:

Librarian: I saw that weird guy at the library again today.

Guard 1: What weird guy?

Librarian: The old guy with the beard? Kinda elfy-looking, apart from the beard?

Guard 1: Oh, with the big-ass stick?

Librarian: Yeah, looked like he was carrying an entire tree branch.

Guard 2: Yeah, that's the Stick Elf.

Guard 1: Hell yeah, I fuckin' love the Stick Elf.

Librarian: The "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: He comes by every few years, usually after some weird book or other.

Librarian: Oh. Yeah, he wanted a treatise on goblin breeding habits.

Guard 2: Like, how they have sex? We have books on that?

Librarian: Yeah, turns out we do. I was as surprised as you are.

Guard 1: What'd the Stick Elf need a fuckin' goblin-fuckin' book for?

Librarian: I didn't ask. So you just call him "Stick Elf"?

Guard 2: I mean, he looks kinda elfy and he always has that stick, so, like, yeah.

Guard 1: Dude also has some fuckin' dope pipeweed.

Guard 2: Oh yeah, his pipeweed is awesome.

Librarian: How long has he been coming here?

Guard 2: Oh, for decades. He's, like, super old.

Guard 1: More like fuckin' centuries. Dude's old as balls.

Guard 2: Wait, really?

Guard 1: Yeah, my gran-gran used to talk about him. She loved his pipeweed too.

Librarian: So he's… an immortal pipeweed dealer?

Guard 2: I think he's just, like, a connoisseur. He doesn't sell it or anything. He just always has some really top-notch pipeweed on him.

Archivist: Oh, are we talking about Stick Elf?

Guard 1: Hell yeah we are!

Librarian: You know about the Stick Elf, too?

Archivist: Oh, totally. Stick-Elf's a super chill dude. Gave me some awesome pipeweed when I was maybe 12, and tee-bee-aitch I think I'm still a little buzzed from it.

Guard 1: What'd I tell ya, fuckin' dope pipeweed!

Archivist: Also he's really old.

Guard 1: Old as balls.

Librarian: Yeah, so Éodan and Jenniforomir were telling me.

Archivist: My grandpa used to tell me stories - he said one time he saw Stick Elf enter a smoke-ring contest.

Guard 1: Ooh, I'll bet he kicked fuckin' ass.

Archivist: Apparently the guy made an entire warship out of smoke and it flew around shooting down the other rings.

Librarian: And how much of this "fuckin' dope" pipeweed had your grandfather had by this point?

Guard 1: No no, that's totally plausible. Dude's got weird elf powers and shit for sure.

Archivist: He brought fireworks for the king's birthday one year, too.

Guard 1: Oh fuck, I forgot about those! Fuckin' incredible fireworks! Dragons and knights and glowy trees and shit! I was fuckin' 6 years old or something, they totally blew my mind. Hey Éodan, did you see that shit?

Guard 2: No, I think that's before I lived in Gondor.

Guard 1: Wait, you're not from here?

Guard 2: Oh, no, I grew up in Rohan. We moved here when I was, like, thirteen because my uncle Éojeff said he could get my dad a sweet job. And also that there were houses that didn't smell like horseshit.

Guard 1: Oh shit, are you related to Éojeff and Éosteve who run that æbleskiver stand on Norndîl St?

Guard 2: Yeah, they're my uncles!

Guard 1: Shit, they cook a fuckin' great æbleskiver!

Librarian: Ok, hold up a sec, "Stick Elf" can't possibly be his real name.

Guard 1: Why not?

Librarian: What? You think his parents named him in the hopes that he would carry around a fucking tree when he got older?

Guard 2: Maybe they gave him the tree when he was born!

Archivist: I don't think a baby could carry that stick.

Guard 1: You ever seen a baby hanging onto something? They're hella strong.

Archivist: It's not a strength thing, their hands are tiny. That staff is enormous!

Guard 1: My halberd's bigger 'n I am, I can hold it just fine.

Archivist: You're not a baby.

Librarian: Also why would elf parents name their kid "stick ELF"?! Presumably they know that their kid's going to be an elf!

Archivist: Is he actually an elf? I didn't think they grew beards.

Guard 1: How'd he get old as balls if he's not an elf?

Guard 2: His ears aren't that pointy. Maybe he's just a really old guy? Like, a Numémoriam or something?

Guard 1: Did you just say "Numémoriam"?

Guard 2: Nûnenorman? Munimõrbitan? Y'know, those guys like the king that can get super old.

Guard 1: You mean the fuckin' Númenóreans?

Guard 2: Yeah, the Númenóreums.

Archivist: Even the Númenóreans don't live THAT long.

Guard 1: Plus he carries that fuckin' stick around.

Guard 2: Wait, what does the stick have to do with it?

Guard 1: That's an elf thing. Y'know, trees and shit? Very elfy.

Librarian: Ok, look, but his parents naming him "Stick Elf" would be weird whether or not he's an elf. In fact, it's even weirder if he's not - what human names their kid "elf"?

Archivist: Huh. Yeah, you're right, he probably does have another name.

Guard 2: Yeah, I guess so.

Librarian: He's been coming here for decades and nobody's ever asked his real name?

Archivist: I dunno what to tell you, he's Stick Elf. Even his library card just says 'Stick Elf'.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah, the Stick Elf!

Guard 2: Maybe we could, like, ask him his name sometime?

Guard 1: Hey, look, Elrond's over there. He's old as balls too, maybe he knows?

Guard 2: Oh, we shouldn't interru-

Guard 1: HEY ELROND, YOU'RE OLD AS BALLS, RIGHT? WHAT'S THAT OLD ELF WITH THE STICK'S NAME?

Elrond (coming over): Do you mean an old man cloaked all in grey and blue, leaning on a rough-cut staff, who came to the great library this day?

Guard 1: Yeah, the Stick-Elf!

Guard 2: (Sorry to bother you, sir...)

Librarian: He's got to have a real name besides 'the Stick Elf', right?

Elrond: Indeed, for no elf is he. You speak of the wizard Olórin, wisest of the Maiar, older even than Eä itself. Many are his names in many countries: Tharkûn among the Dwarves; Incánus to the south; Mithrandir he is called among my people, the Grey Pilgrim.

Librarian: Oh.

Elrond: And here in the North he is called Stick-Elf.

Librarian: Oh.

Guard 1: Fuck yeah!

#fun fact: the Khuzdul name Tharkûn means 'staff-man'#so the Dwarves also call him 'the stick guy'#on the naming of things #sufficiently verbose prose #that's what I'm Tolkien about

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barbieaemond · 3 months

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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.

4K notes · View notes

sttoru · 11 months

Text

‘satoru hates arguments. even more so when your conflicts cause your baby daughter to be upset as well.’

☀︎｜tags. (girl) dad!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff, angst, comfort. mention of arguments between parents. comfort & happy ending, though!

satoru hates having arguments with you. he hates it whenever an argument turns into the silent treatment. he apologises and apologises — yet nothing helps to change your mood sometimes.

ever since you got married and had your daughter, you were a bit more sensitive to the smallest of things than usual. it wasn’t like satoru despised you for it; in fact, he understands that motherhood was and is stressful. that man was nothing but supportive to you.

though, your little arguments were indirectly having an impact on the mental state of your baby. you didn’t even know an one year old could sense the tension between her parents.

“mama, mama!” your daughter appears out of nowhere, waddling over to you standing in the kitchen. she had barely just learnt how to walk. her tiny hand reaches for yours and she points at the doorway with her other, “go, mama, go.”

you curiously let your little girl lead you towards where she was pointing at, only to arrive at the living room. satoru was sitting on the couch, idly staring at the ceiling, other hand fiddling with one of your daughter’s toys. he seemed deep in thought. even exhausted and clearly not his playful self.

“mama, go! mama go papa.”

satoru’s head turns to the side at the cute sound of his favourite little girl. he smiles brightly at her return to the living room, only for his smile to fade just for a second at the sight of you next to her. he isn’t mad at you—more like sad that you still seemed upset with him.

your daughter tugs at your index finger. she apparently wants you to go to her dad—wants you to interact or talk with him. her big eyes were staring up at you with a pleading look in them.

you were in a dilemma. of course, you wanted to put your daughter’s mind at ease. you could just fake interact with satoru—or actually just make it up—but there was still a small part of you that needed time alone. you weren’t yet mentally ready for another confrontation. you needed time to think it out.

however, part of you also knows that your earlier argument was kind of silly. you don’t even fully remember what it was about, that’s how irrelevant it was to your brain.

“c’mon, pumpkin. ‘tis not nice for you to bother mama while she’s cooking.” satoru’s soft voice startles you back to reality. he had already gotten up and crouched down to pick your daughter up in his arms, kissing her chubby cheeks to distract her; “mama’s busy, ‘kay? let’s go play with papa.”

even satoru knew that your argument had caused your little girl to feel some kind of stress. she didn’t fully comprehend the situation, though she was clearly uncomfortable by the fact that her parents were not acting nice and lovey dovey like they usually would.

“no, papa. mama!” the baby whines and points at you and then at satoru, her little legs kicking. it absolutely broke satoru’s heart — shattered it into pieces. oh, how he wishes to never fight with you again. the sight of his little bundle of joy trying to mend things between you two with all she could was simply too much.

satoru looks down at you and notices the way you look at your one year old as well. the same way he did; with guilt and sadness. he sighs softly and without further thought, wraps his free arm around your shoulders and brings you close to his body.

“c’mere,” satoru murmurs as he holds both your daughter and you to his chest, “let me hold my two girls, yeah? may i, sweetheart? please.”

your husband asks for your consent. if you were okay with this—even when he needs it desperately, to hold you again in his arms and to make it right to you—your comfort comes first. if you weren’t ready yet to make up, he’d let you go. even if it’d hurt him immensely.

you don’t answer with your words and instead let your actions do the talking. you wrap one arm around satoru’s torso, the other cradling your daughter closer to both you and him.

it was like nothing mattered anymore in that moment, except for your little family. your worries, stress and anxiety about everything and anything had vanished into thin air as you felt the embrace of the two people you held dear.

your daughter finally giggles—a sound satoru and you had greatly missed. you close your eyes and just rest against your husband’s body.

“mama papa, wuv!” the little girl squeals in happiness as she excitedly babbles on, causing both satoru and you to laugh as well. the white-haired sorcerer leaves a big peck on the baby’s forehead before doing the same to you.

“mhm, papa loves mama veeery much.” satoru hums and kisses your forehead again, solely because he missed being affectionate to you, “papa loves his sweet little angel too.”

you can’t help but chuckle along with your one year old—who seemed to be extremely content in her parents’ loving embrace again. this is how it always should be.

“mama also loves papa very much.” you reply, causing your husband to regain his usual big grin. he finally got what he longed for; to have you look and talk to him with love. your silence may have lasted only a few hours, but it felt like it had been a couple cruel months to the sorcerer.

your eyes meet his again and all was well. you smile at him and he smiles back before leaning in to kiss you gently on the lips. satoru’s arm that was draped over your shoulder moves down to curl around your lower back, pulling you as close to him as your bodies would allow.

he pulls back after a few seconds and just lovingly stares at your face again—eyes holding an affection only you had ever been able to witness. your eyes told the same story; nothing could separate you two. ever.

“waaaaah! mama papa, me, me!”

the romantic air between you two suddenly gets interrupted by your daughter’s excited demands. she was demanding kisses as well, puffing her cheeks up as she got ready for it.

“ohh? seems like our angel wants some kisses too.” satoru laughs and nods his head at the baby in his other arm whilst looking at you, “shall we?”

you giggle and nod back—not able to refuse your little girl any longer.

it was not long before the living room fills with the sounds of your child’s laughter, which was caused by the continuous kisses and tickles she was receiving from both satoru and you.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x female reader #jjk fanfic

12K notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 5 months

Text

Terrible Two | Max Verstappen x Hamilton! Reader

Summary: Lewis hates the idea of Max dating his sister. Not because he's overprotective but because he’s trying to save the younger driver from the insanity of his sister. Or the one where Y/N terrorises the Grid OFF the track and Max terrorises them ON the track.

Warnings: Swearing. Fluff. Not 2021.

Female reader with various faceclaims. Pics found on Pinterest.

Requested by @shelbyteller

Main Masterlist

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YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, georgerussell63 and others

YourUserName race day with my favourite hamilton (oh, and lewis was there too, i guess) 💚 tagged: roscoelovescoco, lewishamilton

9,457 comments

User 1 i live for the hamilton sibling shade

lewishamilton i miss how peaceful my life was before you were born

→ YourUserName i miss how peaceful my life was before i was born too

→ User2 oof, felt that

roscoelovescoco loves you aunty y/n

→ YourUserName and i love you my sweet boy. i’m already planning my next attempt to kidnap you

→ User3 i love that she wastes no time to pick on lewis but plays along with his roscoe account

→ YourUserName i don’t play when it comes to my fluffy man

User4 miss thing, you are not slick. we all see the red bull in the last slide

→ User5 omg and they were seen chatting outside the space between the two garages earlier

→ User6 she was also seen talking to charles, pierre, valtteri and george but i don’t see any of you linking them together?

→ User7 her and Charles tho

→ User6 ffs 🙄

mercedesamgf1 you and roscoe are also our favourite hamiltons

→ lewishamilton i just can’t catch a break

charles_leclerc thank you for letting me into the garage to see the baby 🐶

maxverstappen1 always nice having you around the paddock

liked by YourUserName

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YourUserName just posted

liked by alex_albon, lewishamilton and others

YourUserName another weekend, another flex 🏁. also, thank you to @ nike for literally being the reason i get to chase my brother around the world tagged: lewishamilton, georgerussell63

7,669 commnets

georgerussell63 will you stop eating my snacks

→ YourUserName no, you don’t need them. your trainer says you’re getting fat

→ georgerussell63 don’t tell lies!

lewishamilton shoes on the bed!!

→ YourUserName they never touched the bed! and they’ve never even touched the ground!

→ YourUserName get off my post!

→ YourUserName go lose some races!

→ lewishamilton just like you’ve lost my love!

→ YourUserName i never wanted it in the first place!

charles_leclerc perhaps you could wear red next?

→ landonorris nah mate. papaya all the way

→ maxverstappen1 i think she'd look better in blue

liked by YourUserName

mercedesamgf1 thank you for being the most entertaining member of the garage

→ georgerussell63 admin, how could you? i thought i was the best 🥺

User8 i'm living for y/n's sponsored post for work literally leads to her terrorising half the grid

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User9 no because the way this woman had him blushing and kicking his feet outside his own garage earlier, he’s smitten

→ User10 i was in the paddock and no joke, he giggled!

User11 um i highly doubt max is flirting with y/n to mess with lewis, if anything, lewis asked y/n to flirt with max to mess up his game

→ User12 i bet you’re feeling real foolish about this comment now (race day tweet)

→ User13 agreed with user12, if anything the flirting fuelled max because he won with an 8 second lead

User14 no because they would be far too hot for any of us to handle

YourUserName oh look at that, I’m trending again

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YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo and others

YourUserName thanks for having me @ redbullracing. it was a different perspective of the track, that’s for sure. well done on your 1-2 tagged: maxverstappen1

10,347 comments

mercedesamgf1 but you’re still a traitor 💔

lewishamilton i missed you

→ YourUserName @ lewishamilton you’re so needy

→ YourUserName but i missed you too

redbullracing our good luck charm

→ georgerussell63 back off. you can’t have her

→ mercedesamgf1 @ georgerussell63 you tell ‘em, boo

maxverstappen1 it was a delight to have you

→ User15 dude you need better rizz than that

charles_leclerc ferrari in the future?

→ lewishamilton no

→ georgerussell63 no

→ mercedesamgf1 no

→ maxverstappen1 no

(this comment has been deleted)

danielricciardo i tried getting you to visit me there for years but max comes along and asks ONCE

liked by maxverstappen1

→ User15 omg max invited her

→ User16 omg she was there for work

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YourUserName just posted

liked by lewishamilton, maxverstappen1 and others

YourUserName he said he liked my curls so I let him take me for a drive

6,669 comments

yourfriend okay but the hair is looking fire

lewishamilton who’s car is that

lewishamilton where are you

lewishamilton who are you with

lewishamilton I know you’re on your phone. stop ignoring my comments

→ User1 lewis is killing me

→ User2 she’s really making him work up a sweat

yourfriend2 these pics are killing me. salivating

→ yourfriend3 agreed. bark bark woof woof

liked by YourUserName

liked by maxverstappen1

User3 okay but doesn’t that look a lot like max’s recent car?

→ lewishamilton show me the evidence

→ User3 omg no way you replied

→ User4 you literally can barely see the car but okay?

maxverstappen1 was he at least a good driver?

→ YourUserName i don’t know. he hit the curb and was a bit on the slow side

→ User5 you ain't slick, sis

landonorris omg you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone about us

→ YourUserName omg but you kept asking me for curl care routines. how could i resist?

alex_albon i mean the curls are nice but i don’t know how he can put up with your personality

→ YourUserName @ lilymhe dump him

→ lilymhe but he’s losing? so i feel like i have to wait until the season is over

→ alex_albon babe!

User6 do they need a third

User7 everybody stay FUCKIGN CALM!

User8 okay but the way he holds her when he kisses her 🥹

User9 can somebody check on lewis? i feel he may not be able to handle this

User10 anyone else think these photos are an absolute invasion of privacy? how disgusting

→ User11 oh agreed. we hate that this was done but we're also so happy that they're together

User12 the dream team. one can terrorise the grid OFF the track and one terrorises them ON the track

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YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 and others

YourUserName when bae is thirsty so am i 💦

11,342 comments

User13 is this a hard launch

→ User14 no, i think the paps did that for them

→ maxverstappen1 she had a 10 page document of plans for a soft launch as well

→ User15 um miss y/n, we'll still take those posts please

User16 does this mean we’re going to be getting y/n in the red bull garage from now to on and not Merc :(

→ georgerussell63 we were told we had to have shared custody

→ mercedesedamgf1 toto and christian had to sign a contract

lewishamilton i don’t like this. i'm happy for you but i do not need max verstappen thirst traps all over my feed

→ YourUserName well, i know you much prefer the real thing but you’re not allowed to drool over that anymore

→ lewishamilton how do i disown you?

→ YourUserName i've been asking myself that question for years

danielricciardo woohoo maxie. i wasn't familiar with you like that

charles_leclerc it's nice to see the two of you finally together so that max stops talking to me in the cool down room about your beauty

→ maxverstappen1 shut the fuck up.

→ YourUserName @ maxverstappen1 aww you think i’m pretty

→ maxverstappen1 of course I do

landonorris how could you do this to me. i thought we were forever

→ YourUserName we weren’t even for 2 minutes

→ danielricciardo she only likes champions, mate

redbullracing going to need these blown up and out in the garage

→ YourUserName already on it

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YourUserName just posted

liked by mercedesamgf1, nicorosberg and others

YourUserName just a couple of besties aka my brother wants to steal my boyfriend tagged: maxverstappen1, lewishamilton

7,555 comments

danielricciardo i think you mean MY boyfriend

→ YourUserName max told me your little fling meant nothing to him

→ danielricciardo @ maxverstappen1 you bitch!

→ maxverstappen1 i'm sorry but y/n means more to me than our night together

→ danielricciardo take it back

→ YourUserName your head game just wasn’t that strong

→ lewishamilton @ YourUserName i hate you for making me read that

georgerussell63 why don’t you take pics like this of me with lewis 🥺 i like him more than max does

→ YourUserName @ lewishamilton you’re upsetting all of your boyfriends tonight

→ lewishamilton i hate you

landonorris does this mean you’re free for me to hit you up

→ maxverstappen1 watch your back on the track

→ redbullracing @ maxverstappen1 christian said you’re not allowed to say that online anymore

→ maxverstappen1 for legal purposes, my previous comment was a joke

maxverstappen1 you’re the only Hamilton for me, schatje

→ YourUserName love you baby

→ maxverstappen1 love you too 💕

→ charles_leclerc @ maxverstappen1 i miss when you loved me

mercedesamgf1 please stop posting these. you’re making the rest of the grid jealous

mclaren please stop upsetting the grid by revealing their affairs. now they’re all crying

williamsracing @ YourUserName for the sake of the race, please stop stealing max from his boyfriends. they can’t drive through their tears

redbullracing we need more content like this, please. if the other drivers are too heartsick, there’s nothing standing in our way

→ redbullracing for legal reasons, this is a joke

3K notes · View notes

trumanbluee · 2 months

Text

you're the one that i want - deadpool / wade wilson

minors dni !! this is 17+ nsfw material !!!

please reblog if you like it! ᡣ𐭩

based on this request! <3

content: three words, baby! the honda odyssey!

word count: 2.5k

warnings: established relationship, no mention of condom (wrap it b4 u tap it!), petnames galore, deadpool is a warning in of himself lol.

a/n: the deadpool brainrot has been so strong recently so thank u guys so much for all ur requests! my return to my deadpool era couldn't have come at a worse time with my exams happening rn but i will try and write as much as i can! love you!

You'd been sitting in the backseat of the "fuck-ass Honda Odyssey", as Wade had described it, arm resting on the centre console, your head propped up on your palm lamely as you turn it left to right, half-listening to Wade and Logan argue like you're at a tennis match.

You'd almost flown forward into the front of the car when it came to an abrupt stop, tyres screeching as you let out a soft yelp in surprise. Wade hears you, and wordlessly pushes you back softly. You'd heard something spat out from Logan, along the lines of "You'll never save the fucking world!", followed by Wade's voice saying, "I'm gonna fight you now." and then the sound of a sickening crunch as he punches Logan in the nose.

It's milliseconds before you see your boyfriend's arm reach back and open your door, gently ushering you out with a soft, "Why don't you go for a walk, pretty girl?"

You know better than to argue, especially with Logan seething in the front seat, so you hop out of the car, shutting the door behind you as you trudge off into the trees, half grateful for being kicked out of the car so you didn't have to listen to Logan's grumbles when you inevitably had to ask him to pull over so you could pee.

You could hear the yelling and grunting in the distance, shaking your head as you hear the faint shatter of glass, followed by a - less than masculine - squeal from your boyfriend. You laughed to yourself, not worried in the slightest as you hear the fighting between the two, Logan's growls echoing through the trees as he squelches his claws into your boyfriend's stomach.

You'd told Wade to give Logan a break, and that eventually he would find out about his 'educated wish', but he hadn't listened, instead continuing to push and push and push Logan until, expectedly, he reached his breaking point.

You wandered around amongst the trees for a while, before slumping against a tree not too far from the car, your eyes growing heavy as you listened to the soft rustle of the leaves above you.

You wake up groggily, looking around the room as you rub sleep from your eyes. You startle when a red suit appears in front of you, but it's not the Deadpool suit that you're all too familiar with.

"I'm Elektra, that's Gambit," the woman points to a man in a helmet, who's stood in the corner, playing with cards, "and that's Blade," she points over her shoulder with her thumb to the man in a long, leather trench-coat.

"I.. uhm.. Hi?" you say, taken aback by this sudden bombardment of strangers.

"We're helping you and your friends get out of the void." Elektra explains, offering her hand to help you stand up. You take it gratefully.

"...Oh, cool..." you say, still groggy from being asleep for so long. "..are.. are they around?"

Elektra nods, pointing outside with her head, "Yellow's by the fire, Red's... around here somewhere."

You nod, thanking her and smiling awkwardly at Blade and Gambit as you walk outside, the smoke from the fire consuming your nostrils as you step out. You spot Logan by the fire, but see that he's sitting with someone.

'She looks an awful lot like that X-23 girl we saw at the TVA.' you think, not ruling out the possibility that it is her with the level of weirdness that had already occurred during your short time in the void. You tread on, looking around before you spot the Honda Odyssey. You shake your head, rolling your eyes as you walk to the drivers door of the car, opening it to reveal your boyfriend in the back-seat, pulling his katana's out of the passenger's seat next to you as you plop into the driver's seat.

He looks up when he hears the car door open, and the white eyes of his mask visible soften as he sees you.

"Hey baby," he coos, scooching forward in the back-seat to press a soft kiss to your cheek through his mask as you sit in the driver's seat, peeking over the headrest to look back at him, "was wonderin' when you were gonna wake up, sleepy head."

You smile softly, before taking a moment to look around at the damage done to the car. Your eyes go wide and your hand flies to your mouth, the other reaching back to swat at Wade's shoulder.

"Wade! What the fuck did you two get up to in here? Jesus Christ!"

You hear a whisper of 'Baby Knife!' followed by a soft grunt as Wade pockets another one of his knives.

"Just some good ol' fashioned fightin', baby! I'm kinda sad you missed it, that shit got good!"

You tut, leaning around the driver's seat to look at him as he's hunched over, digging for another one of his knives beneath the seat.

You hear him mumble something along the lines of 'Hate this fuckin' car' before he shoots up, and you can sense his smile through the mask. He leans back in the seats that are in the very back of the car, right leg thrown over one seat, with his other leg spread, suit-clad knee pressing into the fabric of the other. His eyes sharpen as he looks at you, before groaning softly, throwing his head back in a circle, and sighing.

"Fuck, princess, that fightin's gotten me all worked up," he groans, chin pressed to the top of his chest as he looks at you, eyes narrowed.

You feel your thighs rub together at the way he looks at you, the manspreading the cherry on top of a very, very, delicious looking dessert. He chuckles, gesturing to your thighs with his head.

"Saw that, baby." He laughs to himself before he lifts his hand, beckoning you to him with two fingers, his other hand resting on the headrest of the seat in front of him, twiddling Baby Knife between his fingers.

You squirm in your seat before not so agilely climbing over the centre console, crawling over the seat and onto Wade’s lap. He pockets Baby Knife, bringing a hand up to pull the bottom of his mask up, the other settling on your ass as you straddle his waist.

“Hey doll-face,” he murmurs, smiling and giving your ass a playful squeeze, pulling his mask fully off before placing his hand on the nape of your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

You moan against his lips as you kiss back, his gloved hand giving your ass a firmer squeeze. Wade uses this opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips as you gasp into his mouth. Your hips grind down subconsciously and he pulls away from the kiss, both of your chests rising quickly as you both try and regain your breath from the heated kiss.

Wade smirks up at you, moving both of his hands to your hips, squeezing softly, pulling a giggle from your lips before he’s engulfing them in another breathless kiss. He moves your hips with his hands, grinding you down on his boner as it tents in his suit, causing him to buck up absentmindedly as he groans into your mouth. Your breathy whimpers vibrate against his lips, and he pulls away, leaning his head back against the headrest behind him.

“…Fuck, doll-face,” he groans, looking up at you, “ look what you're fuckin’ do to me, baby.”

He nods down to his dick, almost bursting out of his suit, and your mouth nearly drops open. Wade thinks to himself that if you were in an animé, you’d have heart emojis bulging from your eyes.

He takes his hands off your hips, crossing his arms behind his head in faux-laziness as he watches you undo the buckle of his belt, slapping the sides of his legs softly, signalling for him to lift his hips.

“Watch it, doll-face.” Wade warns, half-joking, “Ask me nicely, please.”

You groan, giving him your ‘are-you-fucking-serious-right-now’ glare as you tug at his belt. He’d been on the receiving end of this look many times in the past, so he’s unfazed as he chuckles dryly, planting his hips down.

“I can wait, Princess.”

You roll your eyes, huffing. “Please, Wade,” you glare at him, “Will you please lift your hips up so I can get your dick out?”

You add a pout and a flutter of your lashes at the end, and his resolve noticeably crumbles. He huffs, lifting his hips up off the car seat just enough for you to pull down his pants slightly. You dip your hand into his underwear, giving his dick a soft tug before freeing it from the tight pants of his Deadpool suit.

You gather some spit in your mouth, looking at your boyfriend through your lashes before spitting onto the tip of his cock, using your hand to spread it along his length, squeezing softly around the base. Wade groans from below you, his hips bucking into your hand.

“Fuck, hotstuff, ya’ killin’ me here.”

Wade hisses as you squeeze a bit harder around his dick, the pretty ring he’d proposed to you with cold against his skin.

He almost whines, stopping himself by biting his lip, “Oh, c’mon baby, what’d I do to deserve this teasin’, huh? I fought so valiantly against ol’ Wolvie, didn’t I, princess? Don’t I deserve to be treated nicely?”

Something about the whiny-ness of his tone sends a pang to your heart, and pussy, and you grind down against his thigh absentmindedly before putting both your hands on his shoulders.

“Help me out, would ya’, Wadey?” you ask sweetly, shimmying your hips slightly to gain his attention.

His hands fly to your tights, tugging them down your thighs, lifting your legs softly, one by one, and peeling your pants off, leaving you hovering above him in your prettiest pair of panties. You’d been wearing them as a birthday surprise for him, but you’d both been snagged by the TVA before you could put them to good use… until now.

Wade’s breath hitches from beneath you as his eyes land on your panties, his lower lip bitten between his teeth as his chest heaves.

“Fuck, doll-face, what’re you all dressed up for?” he says, tracing a gloved hand over the lacy hem of your white panties, pressing a soft kiss to the little blue bow in the middle, before blowing a puff of cool air onto the damp spot beneath it.

Your legs wobble softly and a shiver runs up your spine, leaving you grateful for your hands planted on your boyfriend's broad shoulders.

You muster the breath to say, “They’re for you, baby… Well, they were for your birthday…”

He groans softly, pressing a soft kiss to your mound before pushing the thin fabric to the side, swiping a gloved finger through your slick.

“Shit, baby.. Y’so wet f’me,” he says, voice breathless. “Fuck those stupid fucking day players, keeping my beautiful fiance, and her beautiful fucking panties from me on my birthday. What assholes, hey baby?” He says, pressing his thumb to your clit harshly as he blows another puff of air onto your slick pussy, causing your hips to buck into the air.

You whine softly, bringing a hand to pump Wade’s cock once again, nodding mindlessly at his question that he knows you didn’t even hear.

Wade chuckles, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest and shooting straight to your cunt, your thighs squeezing around his hand as he thumbs your clit lazily.

You shuffle yourself forward on his lap, holding onto Wade’s strong shoulder with your hand, the other slowly pumping his cock as you lift yourself up, breathing hitching as you push yourself down onto the tip of Wade’s dick.

His breath hitches beneath you, rubbing soothing circles on your hips through his gloves as you sink down onto him. His hands grip your hips tighter as he bottoms out, your eyes squeezed shut as you clamp down on his length.

“Shit, baby, I could blow my load right now.” Wade gasps, head thrown back as his grip tightens on your hips, moving you up and down on his cock. You follow suit with his movements, digging your nails into the fabric of his suit as you leverage yourself on his shoulders, pushing yourself up and slamming yourself down on his cock, a moan slipping from your lips at every drag of his dick along your walls.

Your hips stutter slightly, and Wade takes this as his cue, moving his hands from your hips to gain a strong grip on your ass, lifting you up and slamming his hips to meet yours. You whine softly, eyebrows knitting together and biting your lip as the soft squelch of your wetness reverberates around the car, your chest heaving with exertion, skin dewy with a thin sheen of sweat.

You throw your head back, moaning wantonly, one hand coming off of Wade’s shoulder and pressing against the roof of the car.

“...Shit…Wade!” you stammer as he moves one hand to your lower stomach, his thumb pressing harshly on your clit through his glove.

You slam your hips down to meet Wade's quicker, chasing your high as Wade slams his hips up to meet yours, his head thrown back against the head-rest behind him, eyes closed, as he groans softly.

"C'mon, doll-face," Wade grunts from beneath you, rubbing cruel circles on your clit as he bucks into you, "...y'gonna cum? Can feel you squeezing around me, princess."

You moan softly, babbling something like a 'uh-huh' as your eyebrows knit together, eyes shutting tight as you feel the coil building in your lower belly, threatening to snap any moment.

Wade feels you clamping around him, looking up and watching as you throw your head back, your grip on his shoulder tightening.

"That's it, baby," he groans from under you, pinching at your clit meanly causing you to whimper softly, your head coming forward, forehead resting against his as you grind down onto his cock.

"C'mon, hotstuff, give it to me..." he grunts, feeling his own orgasm coming as you clench down on him like a vice, a string of curse words sputtering from your lips as he feels you gush around him.

"...Shit, baby... Good girl," he coos, fucking you through your orgasm as he cums, soft grunts sounding in your ear as he bucks into you before stilling, stopping the movements of his thumb on your clit, as he lifts you up gently and pulls out. He pulls his hand away from your clit, but not before collecting a part of the mixture of yours and his cum on his gloved fingers, pushing it slowly back in to your drooling pussy. You whine, overstimulated, and he tuts, pushing your panties back into place and pulling your pants back up your legs, leaning back in the seat as you slump against his chest.

He smiles, giving your bum a soft pat and pressing a kiss to your hairline, leaning down to whisper in your ear, “I lied, doll-face, the Honda Odyssey fucks, hard.”

©trumanbluee - reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! but i do not wish for my work to be republished, translated, or copied. thanks!

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