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dungeefox · 3 days ago

Text

Forced Favor — J.W.W

Two completely different people settling in an arranged marriage to fulfil their father's wishes. Except, what if they end up becoming fluent in choosing one another more than they planned to?

pairing: wonwoo x oc

genre: arranged marriage, friends-ish to lovers, enemies-ish to lovers

warnings: smut, 18+, MDNI, pool sex, unprotected sex, cumshot, cursing, dirty talk, big dick!wonwoo, fingering (f receiving)

wc: 14,710

a/n: comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated! 🥹

The day after your parents finalized their divorce, your mother left, taking your sister with her while you stayed behind with your father. You recall the tears streaming down your face as you pleaded with her not to go. Despite her obvious favouritism toward your sister, having her in your life feels far better than enduring the indifference of a father who seems uninterested in you.

Your father never desired to have children, viewing them as a burden. This likely explains why, as soon as your mother left, he sent you away and has largely remained distant since. You were just fourteen at the time, and adjusting to life on your own was far from easy. Many nights were spent feeling lonely, frightened, and longing for home, wishing for someone to reach out to, but there was no one available. It's not that you didn't make an effort to connect with your parents and sister; you did, and quite desperately, to be honest. You attempted to call several times, but they never answered. You even wrote letters detailing how you were doing, sharing your academic successes, and almost pleading for their pride. You hoped that one day they might want you back, but after six long years, that day still feels out of reach.

Until yesterday.

It felt surreal when you got a call from your father informing you that he had arranged a flight for you to return home. He only said, "Mr. and Mrs. Jeon have invited us for dinner," and you didn’t probe further about the occasion. You were simply filled with joy at the thought of being reunited with your father once more.

𓂃۶ৎ

"Do you know why you're here?" Wonwoo inquires as he guides you along the stone path in his backyard. You both have just stepped out of the dining room because he wished to have a private conversation with you.

You respond with a slight shrug of your shoulders. "Why?"

He halts next to a wooden bench, leaning forward to wipe the dust off its surface. "Here, sit."

You glance at him, hesitating for a moment before finally sitting down. "What is this about?"

He takes a position beside you, adjusting slightly so that he faces you. "Our parents want us to get married."

M-married?

You're uncertain if you're hearing him correctly. For a moment, you can only gaze at him, your lips attempting to form a word, yet nothing escapes. Eventually, you manage a quiet "What?"

"I understand," he replies. "That's quite a lot to take in. Feel free to take your time."

"Take my time?" You laugh, not out of humor, but because it seems absurd. "I don’t need time to process this. You must be out of your mind if you think I'm going to marry you."

"Well, tell that to our parents—they set this whole shit up."

You narrow your gaze suspiciously. Somehow you have a feeling that this is one of his stupid pranks. Not that it's new to you. He does it all the time. The asshole acts like it's his job sometimes.

“I swear to God if this is one of your-” Wonwoo lifts a finger up, cutting your speech short. "I know what you're about to say. But no, it's not a prank. I'm serious."

"So you're telling me you actually agreed to this arrangement?" you inquire, raising your eyebrows in disbelief.

"No, not really. But I'm doing this for my father. I’m sure you’ve heard about it."

Yes, your dad mentioned Mr. Jeon's declining health during the drive from the airport. Currently, he is overseas receiving treatment for his illness. A wave of sympathy washes over you for Wonwoo, yet it doesn't sway your decision.

"I'm truly sorry about your father, Wonwoo. I really am. But marrying me won’t cure his illness."

"I understand that," he replies, letting out a heavy sigh. "He just wants to see me settled down before... you know."

"Settled down with... me?"

Wonwoo gives a nod. "You know how much my parents adore you. They've been trying to set us up since we were teens."

"But he can't force you to marry someone you don't want to. Do you honestly think you can spend your life tied to someone you don’t love? You can’t even commit to a relationship.”

He shrugs casually. "I don't mind if it's you I'm marrying.” You huff, not believing him. "You don't even like me.”

You and Wonwoo have been childhood friends, having grown up as neighbors. However, your personalities clash like oil and water—completely incompatible. He is the only person who truly knows how to irritate you. It’s not that you dislike him, nor does he qualify as your enemy. You must admit, he can be quite charming at times, especially when he isn’t saying or doing something foolish that gets on your nerves. This happens only once in a blue moon, by the way. Sometimes, it's hard to believe he is twenty-eight while you are just twenty-one; it feels like it should be the other way around.

“I never said I don't like you," Wonwoo denies. "I actually do. I think you… uh…"

“I'm what?" You probe, lifting your brows.

"I think you've got nice teeth," He says.

“What? Teeth?!"

“Yeah. Teeth. They look especially nice when you smile. Which you don't do often by the way.”

Is this a joke? You thought as you gave him the eye-roll.

"Look, you may not be someone who takes matters like marriage seriously, but I do. I can't sacrifice myself to spend the rest of my life with you just to please your father. And if I ever plan to marry, it would be to someone I love."

He exhales and nods. "Alright, I respect your decision.”

You rise from the bench and gaze down at him. "Can we get back inside now?"

"Sure."

𓂃۶ৎ

Upon returning to the dining room, you find the table cleared and everyone gone. You look over at the man beside you, who appears just as puzzled. He steps out of the dining room, and you follow him into the living hall, only to discover it is also empty.

"Where is everyone?" you inquire.

“Your father has left," replies Wonwoo's mother as she descends the staircase.

"What? Why?" you ask, a sense of unease creeping in. "Did he mention anything?"

“We were talking about you and thought it would be wonderful for you to stay here with Wonwoo for maybe three weeks or more, giving you time to consider the arrangement."

Your jaw drops in disbelief. "What do you mean?”

“I trust Wonwoo has filled you in on this, right?" She glances at her son.

"Yes, but—" You look at Wonwoo, silently questioning, “Are you part of this too?” He responds with a clueless shrug.

"Think of it as a trial period," she continues. "It's just an opportunity for you to see if you like Wonwoo enough to marry him." She pauses, smiling as she takes your hand. "You don't have to feel pressured to say yes, but Mr. Jeon and I would be thrilled to have you as our daughter-in-law."

There's so much information to absorb, and it’s all happening so fast. Your mouth opens and closes, struggling to find the right words, but nothing comes.

“Oh, and your father mentioned he’ll be out of town for a few weeks," Mrs. Jeon adds.

“Wait, what?” Panic seizes your heart as you look around, searching for your purse. Spotting it on one of the sofas, you rush over to grab your phone. A message from your father catches your eye. Holding your breath, you tap on the notification to read it.

“Sorry, I have to leave early to catch a flight to China. Mr. and Mrs. Jeon have kindly offered for you to stay at their place for now. Hopefully, you can decide by the end of your stay there. I genuinely hope you'll say yes. This is everything I could have wished for you: to marry someone wonderful, someone of high status like Wonwoo. You'll make me so proud. Plus, Mr. Jeon has been a big help to our family; we owe him a lot.”

The words slowly sink in. It feels as though the world is spinning around you, and you’re on the verge of fainting. You sway slightly on your feet, but suddenly Wonwoo is beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist for support.

“You okay?" he whispers, gazing down at you. You nod slowly, feeling his proximity make you blush, and you quickly look away.

“Aw, look at you two, such a perfect match,” his mother coos, clasping her hands together, her expression dreamy as if she's watching a romantic movie.

You clear your throat, straightening up to create some distance between you and Wonwoo. He interprets this as a signal to release you, but his eyes remain fixed on you as if he fears you might collapse if he looks away.

"I'm feeling a bit exhausted from the jet lag," you tell his mother. "Would it be alright if I head up to my room first?"

“Oh dear, of course! You must be so tired." She glances at Wonwoo. "Can you show her to her room?"

"Which one?" he asks. “Any bedroom upstairs," she replies, adding with a playful tone, "Just try to avoid the haunted one."

Your eyes widen as you switch gazes between Wonwoo and his mother. "H-haunted?" Wonwoo laughs softly, placing a reassuring hand on your lower back. "Let’s go," he says, guiding you up the staircase.

"What did she mean by 'haunted'?" you inquire, looking up at him as you ascend.

"The previous owner tragically took their own life in one of the bedrooms upstairs."

"Oh, fantastic," you mutter quietly to yourself.

As you reach the second floor, the atmosphere feels less grand than below. A narrow hallway stretches out, with three rooms on each side. The lighting is dim, and rustic paintings adorn the walls. You notice your small suitcase waiting by the door at the far end of the corridor. That must be your room.

"Which one is the haunted one?" you whisper cautiously to Wonwoo as he leads you down the hall. He gestures toward the door directly across from yours, sending a shiver down your spine. Wonwoo opens the door to your room, and you step inside, pulling your suitcase along as he flicks the light on.

“Let me know if you need anything," He says.

"Wonwoo, wait," You turn around, feeling more nervous now that he's leaving the door nearly closed, but it flew open again.

"What?" He says, standing at the doorway, his hand holding onto the door jamb.

"Where will you be sleeping?" He nods towards the room next door.

"Oh," That's a relief. "Okay. Goodnight.'

A little frown forms on his forehead as he stands there, studying your face. "Will you be okay?’

"You mean will I be okay staying across a haunted room? or will I be okay staying with you for the next three weeks?"

"Both."

"No and no," You reply sharply. "can't even stand being in the same room with you for a minute, let alone living together.” You didn't know what got into you, but you certainly didn't mean to say that.

Wonwoo takes a sharp breath, as if he's fighting the impulse to snap back at you. "Do you want me to send you home? You don’t have to stay here if you’d rather not."

You want to respond that you don’t really have a home, but that would only prompt him to ask why. You're too worn out for that kind of inquiry.

“Never mind," You reply, turning away from him. "Just leave me alone.”

"I swear you are so fucking confusing sometimes," He murmurs under his breath.

“Me? Confusing?" You turned sharply to glare at him. "This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t agreed to this ridiculous arrangement. You brought me into this! It’s entirely your fault!"

The door swings open as Wonwoo steps inside. "If you're so against it, you should've told my mother no just now. It's really that simple!" he countered. "Why didn’t you speak up?"

"Because—" You pause, your lips moving as if searching for words. "I just can’t, alright?"

His brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean you can't?"

With a resigned sigh, you finally confess, "My dad wants me to stay here, and he believes I should marry you."

“Why didn’t you let him know that you’re not interested? You had no trouble rejecting me earlier,” he remarks with a sneer.

“You don’t get it,” you reply. “My relationship with my dad is incredibly strained. If I say no, he’ll be so disappointed. I don’t want to jeopardize the little connection we have left by letting him down.”

He gazes at you, pausing for a moment to let your words resonate. "So, you're really considering marrying me?"

"I honestly don't know, Wonwoo," you respond with a heavy sigh. "I'm just too tired to think right now. All I need is some sleep." He nods in understanding. "Okay, I'll see you in the morning."

"I'm sorry for raising my voice at you," you mumble as the door is about to close. He turns to you, a small smile appearing on his face. "It's alright, I actually missed it."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "You missed being yelled at by me?"

"Yeah," he confesses. "But I miss you even more." His sincerity almost makes you believe him. Then, you remember that this is Wonwoo – the guy who speaks his mind without a filter. You can't take his words too seriously.

"Goodnight, Wonwoo," you reply simply.

"Aren't you going to say it back?" he asks, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Nope," you say, turning away from him.

"Fine. Just don't come looking for me when the demon creature haunts you tonight."

You whip your head around to face him. "There's a demon creature?!"

Instead of answering, he turns away and slams the door in your face like a first-class asshole that he is, leaving you all alone in that room.

𓂃۶ৎ

You spent the previous night brooding over how awful this entire situation is. However, by morning, you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ll be here for the next three weeks. After all, it’s summer break, and there’s nothing you can do or anywhere to go. Your options are either to stay with Wonwoo or be completely alone in your apartment overseas. You decide that the former sounds more appealing because, despite how annoying Wonwoo can be at times, he is still your friend and some company would be nice.

Regarding the marriage arrangement, as absurd as it may seem, you might actually think about giving it a chance.

Might. Think.

If you were to agree, it would be for your Dad, not for Wonwoo. Perhaps it’s the message he sent that resonates with your willingness to sacrifice. The part of you that is eager to make him proud and gain his approval. Maybe this could help mend your relationship with your Dad. All you can do is hope.

𓂃۶ৎ

Deciding it’s futile to keep brooding, you rise from bed and slip into your cozy robe before stepping out of the room. In the daylight, the hallway feels less menacing than it did last night. Yet, the thought of a haunted room still sends shivers down your spine.

You finally reach Wonwoo's door and knock gently. There’s no response. After a few more attempts, you choose to enter, as silence persists. The door opens just enough for you to peek inside. A glance at the bed reveals that Wonwoo is absent, but the sound of the shower fills the air.

Your gaze wanders around the room. A large display shelf occupies one wall, overflowing with train sets and famous landmarks crafted from Lego. A smile crosses your face. You've always known about his childhood fascination, but you never expected it to endure into adulthood. The grown-up Wonwoo seems more like someone who engages with women rather than toys. Perhaps you don’t know him as well as you thought.

Then something else captures your attention. Scattered across the floor near the shelves lies a massive Lego set that’s only partially assembled. It appears he’s constructing the Tower Bridge. Curious, you find yourself stepping into the room, leaving the door ajar behind you. You tread carefully to avoid disturbing the scattered bricks and pieces as you move further in.

Has anyone ever tried stepping on this thing? Hurt shitless just so you know. You bend your knees and squat down to get a clearer look of the miniatures. Everything looks so wee and cute. You smile at a tiny replica of a London bus and pick it up. As you're inspecting it, the bathroom door behind cracks open. You slowly bring your head around and you gape and freeze on the spot, the bricks slipping out of your grasp, free-falling to the ground.

Standing at the threshold of the bathroom is Wonwoo. Wearing nothing from head to toe. And he is staring at you, eyes wide open, looking more dumbfounded than ever.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He yells from where he stands.

"I'm so sorry!" You quickly turn your head and spring to your feet, ready to escape the situation. However, as you take your first step, a sudden, piercing pain shoots through the back of your foot, causing you to stumble. You prefer to avoid the f-word unless absolutely necessary, but…

“FUCKING HELL!” Everything falls apart. In that brief moment, you can nearly witness your life flash before you. They say this occurs just before death, but the truth is, you’re still very much alive. But you're pretty sure it feels all the fucking same when your ass landed on these tiny little bricks on the floor.

"Oh shit! Are you okay?" You lift your head and gasp at the sight of him striding towards you. All naked. His, whatever it is, swinging freely. Don't look at it, don't look! Instead, you find yourself staring in disbelief. No matter how hard you try, you simply can't erase that image from your mind. Maybe it is a testament to how lonely or horny you are. You might have been experiencing a dry spell for quite some time, or perhaps you've never encountered something so large and thick in person before. All of a sudden you're wishing this is porn so you could just get on your knees and suck him off into oblivion.

Wonwoo clears his throat, and the sound cuts through your wandering thoughts. You snap back to reality, looking up to see him standing tall above you.

“I'm so sorry!" You scream as you swiftly cover your eyes with your palm to block your sight. Using your other hand, you push yourself up to stand and quickly pivot to scurry away. Your ass is on fire but you don't even care anymore. All you need is to get out of there.

𓂃۶ৎ

Following that awkward moment in Wonwoo's room this morning, you now find yourselves having breakfast in complete silence. Mrs. Jeon has left the country to be with her husband, leaving just you and Wonwoo in the house, along with the housemaids—who mostly remain invisible unless needed. The dining room is eerily quiet, with only the sound of spoons clinking against plates breaking the stillness. You're making a concerted effort to avoid eye contact with Wonwoo, but every time you steal a glance, you catch him already staring, which sends your mind racing and makes you blush uncontrollably.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, is revelling in this tension. The smug grin on his face says it all, and his gaze is fixed on you, never wavering. He delights in teasing you like this, especially when you turn all shy and red as you are now. As soon as breakfast is finished, you hurriedly retreat to your room.

The remainder of the afternoon is spent in bed, absorbed in your e-reader, diving into the latest fantasy romance you just bought. For a little while, you allow yourself to escape into someone else's world, a refreshing break from your reality. It feels liberating, providing temporary relief from your worries.

Finally, you venture out of your room, driven by thirst. After a quick shower, you slip into a maroon sweater that drapes over one shoulder, paired with black leggings. The clock nears seven o'clock, and the hallway is starting to darken. Suddenly reminded of the possibility of encountering a demon lurking nearby, you quicken your steps toward the staircase.

At that moment, you encounter Wonwoo. He’s making his way up the final flight of stairs just as you’re about to head down. You freeze in place, captivated by the sight before you. He remains oblivious to your presence, absorbed in his phone. It appears he has just come from a swim; his hair is damp, and he wears a grey bathrobe. The belt is tied securely, yet the V neckline reveals his bare chest.

You feel a flutter in your lower abdomen as you continue to gaze at him. This man possesses impressively broad shoulders, the kind that makes you feel petite, especially with water droplets glistening on his skin, he's looking even more lickable than usual. What are you talking about?! You shake your head, pushing that thought far, far away. You can't help but feel that the unexpected encounter this morning truly affected you deeply.

"Oh, hey," Wonwoo offers a greeting as he arrives at the top of the stairs, shifting his focus from his phone to you. You respond with a gentle hum and continue to walk past him. He tsks and reaches out to grab your arm, pulling you back.

“How long are you planning to ignore me?" He asks, sounding gruff.

“I'm not ignoring you," You deny. "I was just going to head downstairs to get something to drink."

"Then explain why you're hiding in your room doing who knows what for the whole fucking day? Is that what you're planning to do for the rest of your stay here?" He asks.

"No," You respond softly. Wonwoo gazes at your face as if he's trying to uncover a hidden answer. "Is it because of what happened this morning? You walking in on me naked?" He surmises.

Yes and yes.

You feel your cheek growing hot, and Wonwoo notices. "Come on, it's just a dick. Pretty sure you've seen one before," He teases.

“That's not just a dick, that's-" The words trail away and you press your lips together to stop yourself. A slow smirk pulls at his lips. "What?" he asks. That's one hell of a dick, you say internally, refusing to voice it out. The man doesn't need an extra boost to his ego. Instead, you raise your chin and say, "What do you want from me?"

"Listen," he says, shifting back to a serious tone. "The reason we’re both trapped here is because we need to be. I’m doing this for my father, and you’re here because you don’t want to disappoint yours. The decision to marry me is yours, and you have three weeks to think it over. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves while you’re here."

He’s right. You can’t spend the next twenty-eight days holed up in your room with your nose buried in a book.

"What do you propose we do then?" you inquire.

"I have a game in mind that I think we should play," he suggests.

“Game?” you inquire, tilting your head in curiosity.

“Absolutely. This game will help us reconnect.”

“We already know each other, Wonwoo," you reply. "We were friends, remember?”

“That was six years ago. People change,” he states matter-of-factly.

That's true. “Alright, how do we play?”

“I’m sure you’re familiar with this game: Truth or Dare. You choose one of the two. If you select truth, I’ll ask you a question that you must answer honestly—no lies or dodging. If you refuse to answer, you’ll have to complete a dare. Each person gets three turns a day. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“I’ll go first,” he begins. “So, truth or dare?”

You take a moment to reflect. Opting for a dare feels like too much of a gamble. Wonwoo can be quite the trickster at times. What if he challenges you to do something outrageous, like a lap dance or something equally embarrassing?

"Truth," you finally decide.

"Are you currently seeing anyone?" he inquires.

"No." A look of relief washes over his face as he smiles. "Now it's your turn."

"Truth or Dare?" you ask, secretly hoping he will choose the latter. You feel a strong urge to dare him to lick your toes or wash your feet, just to annoy him.

“Truth,” he responds instead.

“Ugh,” you groan. Honestly, you can't come up with anything clever to ask right now, so you settle on, "What's your hobby?" He rolls his eyes. "Boring."

"Just answer the question, Wonwoo," you say impatiently, eager to wrap this up and escape from him. "So, what's your hobby?" you ask once more.

"Sex. I love sex. If that's a hobby."

"Why am I even surprised?" you murmur to yourself, your tone quite flat.

"My turn now," he continues. "Truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"I'm just curious..." He pauses for a brief moment. "Are you a virgin?"

You stare directly into his eyes. It's not that you are a virgin, but it's also not his place to ask. "Why do you want to know?" you respond.

He shrugs casually. "Just for future reference."

"What does that even mean?"

"Come on, do you really think nothing will happen between us over the next three weeks?"

How bold of him! "I'm not going to sleep with you if that's what you're implying."

"Ouch." He clutches his chest, feigning injury. "I thought you'd be interested after catching a glimpse of my human sausage."

"You did not just say human sausage." You press your lips together, trying to suppress laughter.

"What should I call it then?" He raises his brows. "Mushroom head? Semen maker? Corn Dog?”

"Please, stop," You say through your pressed lips. He grins. "What about cum factory? Sounds good?" That's all there is to it. You let out a hearty laugh that is quite unbecoming, resembling a pig's snort so closely that you must turn away to conceal your face.

"Do you want me to continue, babe?" He teases. "I can go on all night." You shake your head jerkily. "No! no more dick talk, please." It takes a moment for you to regain your composure. Taking a deep breath, you turn back to face him. Wonwoo chuckles at the rosy flush on your cheeks from all the laughter. Honestly, he's been eager to see you laugh like this; you look so stunning that you nearly leave him breathless.

"You haven't answered my question," He says. "Are you a virgin?"

"I'm not telling you," You refuse.

"Well, you know the consequence when you can't answer a question.”

"Alright, I'll take on a dare. What do you want me to do?" Wonwoo presses his lips together, taking his time to contemplate. "You’re not going to ask me to kiss you, are you?" You guessed correctly; it's the only thing that pops into your mind. "That's not what I had in mind," he says, locking his gaze on your eyes and then your lips. "Though I wouldn't be opposed to it."

You swallow hard, feeling a wave of nerves. "Then what do you want me to do?"

His eyes rise to meet yours. "Sing me that song."

"What song?"

"Baby.." He starts singing, "Shark doo doo doo doo."

"Ugh, go fuck yourself, Wonwoo!" You snarl and start walking off down the hall.

"Where are you going, babe?" He asks through his laughter. You flip him the middle finger and keep walking.

𓂃۶ৎ

You’ve been here for ten days, and it’s beginning to dawn on you that your stay isn’t as unpleasant as you initially imagined. Your books and the maids provide comforting company in Wonwoo's absence. However, when he is home, he either intentionally teases you, flirts with you at every opportunity, or instigates a game of Truth or Dare. It’s evident that you both have formed a bond through this game, though recently, his questions have varied widely, swinging from trivial to rather inappropriate.

What's your favorite movie? (Shrek)

Do you believe in Aliens? (Nope)

What do you like about me? (Nothing)

You were, of course, being dishonest. You simply didn’t want him to become too arrogant about it.

Do you have a Daddy kink? (What do you think?)

There are moments when you ask questions without much thought, just wanting to move on, and then there are times when your curiosity is genuine. Through this playful game, albeit silly, you learn so much about Wonwoo—ranging from significant details, like his decision to leave his architecture career to take over his father's company, to lighter anecdotes, such as how his ex-girlfriend broke up with him because he pours his milk before his cereal. Just ten days ago, he was merely an acquaintance; now he has become a friend—the kind who annoys you at times, yet you can't stay upset with for long.

𓂃۶ৎ

It's a Friday morning, and you find yourself alone in the dining room. Wonwoo has left for work after sharing a quick breakfast with you, a routine that has developed since you started your stay. He'll return for dinner later in the evening. As you sip your tea, your phone lights up with a message from your dad, saying, 'The lawyer will be in touch soon. If there's anything you'd like to add to the contract, please let him know.'

It appears your dad has engaged a lawyer to assist in drafting a prenuptial agreement. You don't quite grasp the urgency. To be honest, you haven't really contemplated what will happen after the three weeks are up, but you aren't one to defy your father's wishes. With a resigned sigh, you pick up your phone and respond with an "Okay" and a "Thank you, Dad."

Later that evening, you finally draft a few terms you'd like to negotiate, typing them out in the notes section of your iPad. Now, you're pondering whether to discuss them with Wonwoo before sending the file to your lawyer. After a brief moment of reflection, you reach for your phone to send him a text.

[9:06pm] You: My room, now. [9:06pm] Jeon W.: You think I'm your dog? [9:07pm] You: Can you see me in my room, please? :) [9:07pm] Jeon W.: What for? [9:08pm] You: I want to show you something. [9:08pm] Jeon W.: You, naked? [9:09pm] You: Maybe.

In an instant, you hear the familiar sound of his door opening and closing, accompanied by the rhythm of his footsteps. Finally, the door to your room swings open, revealing Wonwoo in a simple white t-shirt and black shorts. His tousled hair falls gently over his eyes, which look so inviting that you can't help but want to run your fingers through them. When his gaze meets yours, you can't help but giggle at the look of disappointment that washes over his face upon realizing you’re not naked. With a grunt, Wonwoo mutters something quietly under his breath.

"Come sit with me," you respond before looking down at your iPad. The door clicks shut, and he approaches you. He stands beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his shorts as he gazes down at you. "What made you invite me to your room, princess?" he inquires. "Please tell me we are finally doing the deed? Because I am so fucking ready."

You roll your eyes. "Why do you have to relate everything to sex?"

“If you didn't invite me here for naughty purposes, what for then?" He asks once he is seated next to you on the ottoman. "My father has hired a lawyer for me," you told him. "You know, to help me out with the marriage contract and stuff."

His eyes go round like saucers. "Fuck, we're getting married for real?"

"Oh, I wouldn't count on that," you reply dismissively. His gaze sharpens as he looks at you. "However," you continue, "if I decide to accept this arrangement, there are certain conditions that need to be met." You hand him your iPad. "Take a look at this. I thought it would be wise to go over it together before I send it to my lawyer."

On your iPad, there's a bullet-point list of your negotiation terms. They aren't phrased in legal jargon, but that's something for the lawyer to address, not you.

I get to finish my studies and find a job of my choosing here.

We move to a new place (preferably a villa and NOT haunted)

I want a pet pig.

He pauses his reading to gaze at you with a blank expression, as if he believes you’ve lost your mind.

"What? Pigs are intelligent, you know?"

"Where do you think you are? FarmVille?" he replies with a sarcastic tone.

"We could get a teacup pig!" you counter. "Have you seen them? They’re adorable and tiny!"

"There's no such thing as teacup pigs. They are just piglets and will eventually grow into a motherfucking pig. On top of that, they stink and poop like it's no one's business.”

You lift your chin to meet his gaze. "How can you be so certain?"

"I know someone who breeds pigs," he replies. You pause for a moment, then reluctantly acknowledge that Wonwoo is correct; a fully grown pig can easily weigh around 300 kg, making it impractical to keep one in the house.

"Alright, I'll remove that option," you say, giving in. Wonwoo notices the slight pout forming on your lips and the disappointment etched on your face. He feels a twinge of guilt for disappointing you, and it tugs at his heart.

"Is there another pet you'd like to have?" he asks gently, adding, "Just nothing that belongs on a farm... or in a jungle."

You look up at him with bright, hopeful eyes. "What about a kitten or a puppy?" you suggest. Wonwoo beams at you. "We can definitely do that," he agrees, before turning his attention back to your iPad.

In the event of an extramarital affair, I have the right to leave the marriage. We got a divorce with no contest.

Wonwoo gazes at you once more, his expression a mystery. "Do you really think I would cheat on you?"

You find yourself at a loss for words. Having faced abandonment at a young age, you've learned to be wary of those around you. You've grown up convinced that people will eventually lose interest and leave, just like your parents did.

“I hope you don't take it the wrong way," you reassure him. "I'm not implying that you're untrustworthy; it's simply that I don't know you well enough to place my trust in you." A look of understanding crosses his face, and he nods. "That’s fair," he replies, redirecting his focus to the screen.

With a look of concentration, his lips purse as he studies the bullet points. You lean in to see better as he taps the edit icon in the bottom right corner of the screen, causing the keyboard to pop up, and his fingers begin to move.

In the event of an extramarital affair (never going to happen), I have the right to leave the marriage. As a penalty, 100% of Jeon Wonwoo's assets will be handed over to me.

You read and reread the section he has just revised. "Are you serious?" You stare at him, eyes wide in disbelief. "You're giving me complete ownership of your property?"

He nods with an ease that suggests it's no big deal to him. "Regardless of whether I have an affair, you’ll still receive fifty percent of everything I acquire from the moment you say yes."

If he’s attempting to entice you, it's working to some extent. You won’t deny that his offer is incredibly tempting. Wonwoo's assets are immense, and with that kind of wealth, you could finally establish a literacy organization and open those free schools you’ve always dreamed of.

"I'll have my lawyer prepare the prenup as soon as you make a decision," he states.

"Oh, okay," you mumble, still in disbelief.

"What’s next?" he mutters to himself, redirecting his attention to the screen.

"I want children, and I get to name all of them." You’ve pondered long and hard about including that clause. You know Wonwoo will tease you when he sees it, but you push your embarrassment aside. You've always wanted kids, and it's crucial that he supports the idea before you commit to marriage.

He raises an amused eyebrow, a smirk forming on one side of his mouth. "Babies, huh?"

You feel your cheeks flush. "Why? Don’t you want kids?"

He shakes his head and turns to set the iPad down on the mattress behind him. When he looks back at you, you respond with a confused expression. "What does—" you mimic his earlier gesture, shaking your head, "that means?"

"It means if you want children, I can give you children. But there's an issue," he replies, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps flex, and it's hard to ignore. Damn him. Stop staring! you scold yourself. Look up! You force yourself to meet his gaze. "What’s the issue?"

“How can we have children if you keep running away every time I get close?" he asks. "You won’t even let me touch you."

"I'm not going to run," you insist, looking away.

"I don't believe you." Determined to prove him wrong, you lift your chin and meet his eyes. "Try me."

A moment of silence stretches between you, creating a charged atmosphere. His gaze is dark and intense, hinting at something more intimate.

"Come sit on my lap," he finally says. Your eyes drop to his thighs, and you gulp nervously. Slowly, you rise from your seat and stand in front of him, glancing between him and his lap, hesitating.

Wonwoo watches you, his heart racing as you finally lower yourself onto his lap. Once seated, he places a hand on your back, resting his palm on the curve of your waist to steady you in case you move. This is the closest you’ve ever been, and he’s reluctant to let go. A stretched silence envelops you as Wonwoo studies your profile intently, while you glance down at your fingers, nervously twiddling your thumbs.

"What now?" You say, trying to defuse the awkwardness.

“Put your arms around me, sweetheart," he softly whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The warmth of his low voice raises goosebumps along the back of your neck. Normally, you would scold him for calling you sweetheart, as it feels incredibly patronizing. However, these aren’t ordinary circumstances, and you find yourself too anxious to speak. Instead, you take a deep, shaky breath and press forward. As you encircle your arms around Wonwoo's shoulders, he gazes directly into your eyes.

If you are any other woman in this situation, he would have pulled you in for a kiss already. But you are not just any woman. And it doesn't help that he has no fucking idea whether you're attracted to him or not. He studies you for a moment, his own gaze is twitchy, showing slight hesitation.

"Am I making you feel uncomfortable?" he whispers softly.

"Just a bit," you respond quietly. "But it's not a bad thing."

He maintains eye contact as he takes a deep breath. "If I were to touch you, would you push me away?"

"It depends on where you touch," you answer, your voice barely above a whisper. Noticing your tension, Wonwoo feels uncertain about where to begin. The last thing he wants is to frighten you away with his advances, but the urge to kiss you is so fucking strong.

He keeps his gaze fixed on you. Gradually, almost hesitantly, he raises his hand and glides his fingertips along your jawline, cradling your face. "Is this alright?" he asks, searching your eyes.

His hand feels warm against your skin, and his touch is unexpectedly gentle. You let out a sigh and nod. "It's alright."

Wonwoo's lips curve into a smile, as if a weight has been lifted. "You have such a tiny face, baby," he muses, stroking the back of his thumb across your cheek. "It fits perfectly in my hand."

At this, you scoff. "Any guy would say something like, ‘You have such a beautiful face or lovely eyes.’"

"You know I'm not like any other guy."

"That's true," you reply, a soft smile gracing your lips. "I've never encountered anyone quite like you."

Only now do you realize how close your faces are. There's an unexpected tenderness and intimacy in his gaze, and to your own surprise, you find yourself enjoying it. You appreciate his affection.

"If you keep looking at me like that," he says, noticing your dazed expression. You blink, only to find yourself captivated by the intensity of his stare. "I'm afraid I won't be able to resist much longer."

"H-how am I looking at you?" you ask, as he gently brushes his thumb over your lower lip. "Like you want me to kiss you," he whispers.

Your heart races, and a warm blush spreads across your pale cheeks. He leans in, closer and closer, while your mind spins like a carousel. You realize you should push him away and say no, yet your body feels immobilized. It’s as if he has cast a spell, leaving you frozen in place.

The last thing you see before closing your eyes is how near his face is to yours, and then darkness envelops you as you feel the softness of his lips brush against yours. Stiff as a board, you’re surprised to find he feels just as tense. Neither of you moves your lips. This isn't what you envisioned kissing Wonwoo would be like; it almost feels like a first kiss again because you're unsure of what to do.

Should you open your mouth? Pull him closer? Or something else?

After a few seconds, Wonwoo finally pulls back. You open your eyes to meet his gaze, but it’s inscrutable. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you try to interpret the expression on his face.

Is he disappointed? Oh god, are you a bad kisser?

“It’s late,” he says somewhat coldly, avoiding your eyes. “I should probably head out now.”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” you reply, quickly unclasping your arms from around his neck and sliding off his lap. Turning your back to him as you stand, you feel too embarrassed to face him after what just occurred.

You both exchange a brief goodnight without making eye contact and then he disappears from your sight.

𓂃۶ৎ

The past few days have been quite overwhelming for Wonwoo. Since his father announced his retirement, he has had to step up and assume the role of CEO at the company. This means he’s faced with an increasing number of meetings and engagements to attend. In fact, he is currently heading to his third meeting of the day. It’s frustrating because he’s unable to spend as much time with you as he wishes.

On a brighter note, things between you two have been progressing positively. Wonwoo has noticed that, for the first time since your arrival, your disagreements feel less like disdain and more like playful banter. Yet, he’s still uncertain about where you both stand at this moment.

What will happen when the three weeks come to an end? Will you pack your bags and leave, or will you decide to stay? Fuck.

The thought of you leaving hits him hard, like a punch to the gut. He confesses that he's developed strong feelings for you—intensely so. It may seem foolish since you've only been together for two weeks, yet you have become the first thought that crosses his mind when he wakes up and the last before he drifts off to sleep. Perhaps it's because you are gradually lowering your defenses around him, allowing him to see the authentic you.

He recognizes that your relationship with your parents has been complicated. Abandoned at a young age, you carry the weight of a broken heart. He can hardly fathom the pain you endured when your mother left and your father sent you away. He understands that these experiences have left you feeling rejected, unwanted, and often inadequate; it's no wonder you tend to be shy and reserved around others.

Everyone except him.

Regardless of whether you have positive feelings for him or not, he remains unaware of your true sentiments. One thing he does recognize is your fearless nature when it comes to expressing your opinions or calling him out when necessary; perhaps that’s why he enjoys provoking you so much. Although only a few days have passed, he already longs for the playful banter and friendly arguments you shared. He misses the mischievous sparkle in your eyes when you throw a comeback his way. He yearns for the delightful sound of your laughter when he succeeds in making you smile, feeling as if he has just achieved a remarkable victory. Yet, above all else, he simply misses you.

The last conversation you had was on the night he kissed you. And he fucking ruined everything. He was completely at a loss about what had just happened to him. He had never felt this nervous around a girl before. He knows he’s a great kisser, but the instant he pressed his lips against yours, it was as if he had never kissed anyone in his life. Still, his heart raced in overdrive every time he thought about how your lips felt against his. He could have performed much better, but there’s no use in dwelling on the past. All he knows is that the next time an opportunity like that arises, he promises to kiss you passionately and make it the best kiss you've ever experienced. And he hopes that next time comes soon because time is slipping away for the two of you.

𓂃۶ৎ

Wonwoo should feel relieved now that he has completed his business project, but instead, he feels a sense of unease. That’s why he chose to skip the company dinner and head straight home. As he drives, an overwhelming sense of dread washes over him, as if he knows something is amiss but can’t quite pinpoint what it is.

"Where is she?" he asks one of the housekeepers when he walks into the house.

"She’s been in her room all day, Sir," she replies.

Wonwoo quietly mutters a quick thank you before hurrying up the stairs. He walks down the dimly lit hallway, pauses at your door, knocks, and waits. When no response comes, he decides not to knock again. Instead, he pushes the door open and steps into your room. His gaze quickly lands on your bed, and he lets out a huge sigh of relief upon spotting the lump beneath the covers.

Is she already asleep? he wonders, glancing at his wristwatch, which reads five-thirty. That's quite early. He approaches the bed and stands beside it. Gently, he pulls back the covers, and his heart races when he finally sees you. Your face is mostly hidden by your hair, prompting him to brush it aside, only to be taken aback. Your skin feels incredibly hot to the touch, and your face is damp with sweat.

Wonwoo kneels beside the bed and presses the back of his hand against your neck. "Sweetheart," he calls softly. "You're burning up, baby. Are you okay?"

You murmur something he can't quite hear, and as he observes your lips moving, he notices that you are trembling uncontrollably. Oh fuck. Panic rises in his chest, and he immediately places his arms under your body to scoop you up.

You groan at the abrupt movement, your heavy eyelids fluttering open to meet his gaze. You appear taken aback. "Wh-what are you doing, Wonwoo?"

"I'm taking you to the doctor," he replies, keeping his eyes fixed ahead as he strides toward the door.

"Put me down, I'm fine."

"Don't argue with me," he counters, still not glancing at you. "I won't accept a refusal."

You roll your eyes. "You're acting like I'm having a heart attack or something… it’s just a fever, Wonwoo; it'll probably go a-."

Suddenly, Wonwoo halts and looks down at you with such a stern expression that it leaves you speechless. You blink up at him, feeling a bit flustered. "I'm taking you to the doctor, and that's final," he states, leaving no room for debate. With a frustrated huff, you finally concede, your lips pouting slightly.

Wonwoo felt a rush of warmth coursing through his veins. He inhaled deeply, battling the sudden desire to press his lips against yours. A sense of mild shame washed over him, knowing you were unwell and that he shouldn’t be having such thoughts. Perhaps it was just because he missed you so intensely because how does someone manage to look so goddamn kissable even when they are sick, it's ridiculous. Damn her.

"Can you at least put me down? I can walk just—" Your eyes widen as Wonwoo suddenly leans closer.

"Do I need to kiss you to shut you up?" he murmurs just above your lips. You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks as he notices the blush spreading. A warm feeling fills his chest, and a smile appears on his face.

Beautiful little brat.

It has been a while since you last saw Wonwoo, and now he’s carrying you like a charming prince, convinced of his own charm. And now he’s even suggesting he’ll kiss you? You’re at a loss for words, your thoughts muddled and heavy.

As Wonwoo carries you down the stairs, you choose silence. A housekeeper gives you a concerned glance, and you manage a faint smile to reassure her that you’re alright.

“We’ll be out for a bit,” Wonwoo informs her as he strides through the open door toward the driveway where his car awaits. You remain silent even as he places you gently in the passenger seat and fastens your safety belt. He then walks around to the driver’s side, and you watch quietly as he starts the engine and secures his own seatbelt.

Despite your illness, his good looks continue to captivate you. Attraction is indeed a mysterious force. Seeing him in his work attire always ignites a spark, and now, with his suit jacket removed and only a white dress shirt on—buttons undone—it's even more potent. You also realize this is your first time witnessing Wonwoo drive; typically, it's been Mr. Lee, his chauffeur, who has taken you both around.

“Where is Mr—” You gasp, pressing your lips together as you suddenly remember his earlier words. Do I have to kiss you to shut you up? His voice echoes in your mind, causing your cheeks to flush once more.

Wonwoo glances at you, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. A moment later, understanding seems to wash over him, and he chuckles. "You can talk, baby. I'm not going to kiss you." He averts his gaze back to the road ahead. "Not now."

Not now...

As you attempt to compose yourself, a brief silence envelops the car. His words are making you increasingly nervous. You clear your throat and finally inquire, "Where is Mr. Lee?"

"His wife went into labor yesterday, so I'm giving him some time off." You don’t press for more details; you simply lack the energy to continue.

As the car halts at the first traffic light, Wonwoo glances at you. His expression softens as he takes in your frail condition. He gently reaches out to touch your forehead, wincing at the heat radiating from your skin. "Poor baby," he murmurs, lovingly brushing his knuckles against your cheek.

For reasons you can't quite comprehend, his tender gesture brings tears to your eyes; this kind of care is something you've longed for throughout your life.

"Are you taking me to the hospital?" you inquire.

He shakes his head lightly. "I'm taking you to Mingyu's clinic."

"Mingyu, as in your friend Mingyu?"

"Exactly."

Kim Mingyu is likely the most attractive doctor you've ever encountered. Not only that, but he is also warm and approachable. Just ten minutes into your appointment, you find yourself genuinely liking him. However, your feelings shift when he says, "I need to give you a shot to bring down your fever."

You don’t want to appear cowardly, but everyone has their fears, and for you, it's needles. This is why you never got your ears pierced, unlike everyone else. And why you were hesitant to visit the doctor.

Your face pales, and it must show because Doctor Kim is now smiling. "Are you scared?" he asks. You respond with a small nod and a shy smile. He chuckles. "What a cutie."

Almost instantly, Wonwoo clears his throat beside you. "Doctor Kim..." he says calmly, though it feels more like a warning than anything else.

The tall doctor smiles to himself as he turns away to gather the necessary tools for your injection. Meanwhile, you nervously fidget with your thumbs, watching him pick up a syringe.

Wonwoo observes you the entire time, wanting to alleviate your anxiety but unsure how to do so. Despite his uncertainty, he gently places his hand over yours while his other hand softly strokes your back. When you glance at him, he offers you a warm and reassuring smile. "It's okay," he comforts you. "Just focus on me."

You follow his advice, and soon you feel a chilly sensation on your upper arm as Doctor Kim wipes the alcohol swab across your skin. Anticipating what's next, you shut your eyes tightly and hold your breath. You stifle a wince as the needle pierces your skin, refusing to sound like a child.

"All done," the doctor announces after applying a plaster to your arm. Opening your eyes, you see Wonwoo still watching you with concern. "Are you alright?" he asks, gently brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

You manage a small nod. "I'm okay." Wonwoo smiles and gives you a gentle pat on the head. It's a simple gesture, yet it stirs all sorts of feelings within you. This prompts Mingyu to clear his throat, and you shift your attention back to the doctor.

"You'll feel better soon. You've just been really stressed lately," he says. "Let me write you a prescription for your headache, and then you’ll be good to go. Make sure to rest and try not to worry too much."

"I will, thank you, Doctor Kim."

He looks up from his prescription pad. "You can just call me Min—wait, how old are you again?"

"I'm twenty-one."

"Just like Hana," he smiles fondly, leaving you curious about her identity. "You can call me Mingyu oppa, then," he adds.

“Oppa my ass," Wonwoo snorted. "She doesn’t even call me oppa.”

"Well, that’s your issue," the doctor retorts.

"Are we finished or not?" Wonwoo asks impatiently.

"Here," the doctor hands you a piece of paper to take to the pharmacy. "Get well soon, pretty."

"Thank you, oppa," you tease, bursting into giggles as Wonwoo groans. He frowns at you. "I’m older than you too; why don’t you ever call me oppa?"

You shrug. "Maybe because you don’t act like one to me." The doctor snickers, while Wonwoo scowls. "What does an oppa behave like, exactly?"

"Like a man? I suppose."

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you implying that I act like a child?"

You flash him a playful grin, gasping as he hooks his foot around your stool leg and pulls you closer. With his arms brushing against yours, he leans in, whispering near your ear.

"Should I take you home and show you just how manly I can be?" he murmurs. Mingyu must have overheard because he started spluttering.

"You're disgusting, Wonwoo..." he coughs between words. Your face flushes bright red, and you smack him lightly on the chest in retaliation. Wonwoo grins at your embarrassment.

"Let’s head home, baby." He takes your hand and leads you toward the door.

"Wonwoo," the doctor calls just as he’s about to open the door. Wonwoo releases your hand and turns to face his friend. "Yeah?"

"Hana is back," Mingyu says.

A tense silence ensues as you glance between the two men. "Oh, how is she doing?" Wonwoo asks, his tone serious, heightening your curiosity.

Who is she? A friend, perhaps?

"She’s... she’s doing well," Mingyu replies. "We should catch up soon. Are you free to join us for the gathering this Sunday at Chan’s place?" You look at Wonwoo, waiting for his response. His silence suggests he’s unsure, maybe even reluctant.

"It’s been a while, Jeon; she really misses you," Mingyu encourages. "Joshua and the rest will be there too."

"Sure...," Wonwoo consents. "I’ll be there."

As he leads you out of the room, you notice a shift in his demeanor; he seems unusually quiet. Unable to hold back your curiosity any longer, you ask, "Who’s Hana?"

"His little sister," is all he replies. Your thoughts drift to this person named Hana. You picture her as beautiful, just like her handsome brother, and wonder about their relationship and why Wonwoo hesitated to accept Mingyu's dinner invitation.

Did something happen between them?

While your curiosity is piqued, you remind yourself that it’s not your business. If Wonwoo wants you to know, he will tell you. So, you push those thoughts aside and head to the pharmacy to pick up your meds. By the time you leave Mingyu's clinic, the sky has darkened. Whatever the doctor injected must've worked wonders because you feel less lethargic as Wonwoo leads you to his car.

"You have a nice car," you say absent-mindedly, smoothing your hand over the sleek dashboard.

"Do you want one?" he asks, turning to gauge your reaction.

"Wh-what?" you squeak. How could he ask that so casually? This car must be incredibly expensive. But then again, this man is loaded. "No," you quickly add. "I don’t even know how to drive."

"You can learn," he replies.

Getting a driver's license is on your bucket list this year, and the thought of checking that off makes you excited. "Will you... teach me?" you ask hesitantly, considering how busy he has been lately.

"Of course," he says. "How about we start this Sunday?"

You can’t contain your excitement as you respond, "Okay."

He smiles at your enthusiasm, then hesitates, as if unsure about something.

"What is it, Wonwoo?" you encourage.

"Do you want to come with me to the gathering this Sunday night?"

"The one Mingyu invited you to?" you ask, tilting your head. He nods in agreement. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"I’d be thrilled if you could. I’ve been wanting to introduce you to my friends, but I know being around a group makes you uncomfortable. So, you don’t have to say yes if it doesn’t feel right."

You smile at his rambling, and he seems to realize it too, smiling shyly as he rubs the back of his neck. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen before—refreshing and endearing.

"Yes, Wonwoo, I’ll be there for you," you say willingly, knowing you might feel anxious that day, but also trusting that Wonwoo will be there. He returns your smile with gratitude. "Thank you."

The car falls into a comfortable silence as you gaze out the window, enjoying the night view of the city lights. There’s something romantic about it, and you swear you feel a flutter every time you catch Wonwoo’s reflection in the side window as he glances at you.

When the car stops at a red light, you feel the warmth of Wonwoo’s hand on your thigh, startling you. You look down at his hand, then back up to find his gaze fixed on you.

"What do you want for dinner?" he asks, lightly tapping your skin with his index finger. Amidst your nervousness, you focus and respond.

"Can we get McDonald's?"

"You're still sick, baby," he gives your thigh a gentle squeeze.

"Let’s get something healthier, okay?" You nearly start hyperventilating. You’re unsure about the sudden affection he’s showing today. All the contact feels intimate, making your stomach flip.

"Should we get something with soup instead?" he suggests, pulling you from your thoughts. "I know a place that serves great Samgyetang."

"Yeah," you nod. "That sounds good."

Wonwoo acknowledges that he’s being unusually touchy today, but he knows he has nothing to lose. Time is short, and with uncertainty looming over the next three weeks, he doesn’t want to waste any moments with you.

He can’t deny that his feelings for you have deepened, especially after spending the day together. This is why he needs to know if you're comfortable with his advances, as eventually, he wants more. First, he wants to kiss you, then take you to his bed and explore all the things he's dreamed of doing with you.

Baby steps. He reminds himself. You don’t want to scare her off. Presently, you and Wonwoo are in the lift, heading to the Korean restaurant on the top floor. He glances down at your hands, still intertwined.

"Truth or Dare?" he initiates. You look up at him and smile softly, warming his heart as he realizes you must have missed playing this silly game as much as he does.

"Dare," you choose. It’s not the answer Wonwoo expected, but that’s fine; he has a plan. With a slow smirk spreading across his face, he says, "Call me Wonwoo oppa." You make a face of disgust at his request.

"I changed my mind. Truth." Even better, Wonwoo thinks.

He looks down at your hands again. "Do you like this?" He lifts them to his chest. "Me holding your hand—do you like it?" You take a moment to think, wrestling with different answers before finally nodding and murmuring, "Yes."

Wonwoo feels like he’s just won a trophy. “I love holding your hand too,” he wants to shout in victory, but that would be too much.

God, this girl is driving me crazy.

Who would have thought that a guy like him would be so excited over something as simple as hand-holding? It’s not even about sex. He chuckles and shakes his head at himself.

You give him a curious frown. "Are you okay?"

"Do you miss Uni?" he deflects your question. "Your friends... they’re all in LA, right?"

"I do miss learning, but I don’t miss living there," you reply, a hint of sadness in your smile. "It’s quite lonely there."

Something about that tugs at his heartstrings. He doesn’t want you to feel lonely. "What about your friends?"

"I only have one close friend, Vernon." There’s warmth in your voice when you mention him. "But he’s not in the same classes as me, so we don’t see each other often. We call every day, though."

"That’s good," Wonwoo smiles. "You’ll make more friends this Sunday. Joshua and the others will probably bring their girlfriends."

You look unsure, and he senses your self-doubt. "They’re all good people," he assures. "You’ll like them, and I know they’ll like you too." Just like I do.

You smile shyly. "I hope so."

𓂃۶ৎ

Do you know that feeling you get when you are in the last chapter of a good book? That longing for more? That feeling of not wanting to say goodbye? You feel the same way when you walk down the hallway towards your room with Wonwoo beside you. Though it is rather presumptuous of you to say, you'd like to believe that Wonwoo feels the same way, too. Because even if he isn't talking, he is walking slower than usual, as if he doesn't want to say goodbye to you and to this night.

Today has been a special one for the both of you. A lot has happened in the past hours spent together. And if there's one thing you realize you realize that your feelings for Wonwoo are growing. There's no point denying it anymore because it is there. Although you can't help the fear that grips you every time you think about the possibility of him leaving. But is it so wrong to hope for a happy ending? For once you just want to throw caution to the wind and enjoy what is given to you in this moment.

"We're here," Wonwoo announces as we reach the end of the hallway where your room is.

You turn to stare up at him. "Thank you for today." you smile, leaving a moment of still silence before you add, "And dinner… I had a great time."

"Me too." The silence continues to stretch as he drops his gaze to your mouth and lingers. The butterflies in your belly started flapping their wings all at once. You watch as he swallows and somewhere inside, you're hoping he would kiss you or make a move of some sort. But… He lifts his gaze and lets go of your hand. "You should get some rest."

You feel a pang of disappointment at the sudden loss of contact. You're confused. One moment he is being all touchy, and the next moment he is pulling back like this.

"I’m going for a swim," He says. "I'll be at the pool if you need me."

You force a smile. "Good night, Wonwoo."

"Rest well, baby."

You enter your room and close the door behind you, exhaling. What was this sudden awkwardness and hesitation between us? You wonder to yourself as you walk into the bathroom.

After a long shower, you get in bed and try to get yourself to sleep but your mind doesn't seem to allow you to. You are still confused, and frustrated. And as you lay there in silence, it suddenly occurs to you that there is a possibility Wonwoo might think you're inexperienced when it comes to sex. You remember him asking about it before; if you're a virgin, and you had refused to answer. He must've thought so, of course, considering how you always get all shy and jitterish every time he touches you.

You sit up in bed, a hopeful smile spreading across your face when every thought in your head seems to fall into place. So this is why Wonwoo has been so unsure to make a move. Because he doesn't want to scare you off. Because he is waiting for you to be ready. Something warm moves through your chest.

What a sweet soul he is. Has he always been this way? Or are you only discovering this side of him because you've fallen for him?

You hop off the bed, feeling unsure and nervous, yet there's this longing so deep that it is making your heart pound. You've never moved so fast in your life as you hurry to change into your nude colored bathing suit before putting on a bathrobe. You give your appearance a quick check in the mirror before striding out of your room. Rushing down the stairs, you ponder through the things you are going to say to Wonwoo when you see him. In the midst of your nervousness, you can't think of anything. So you can only hope that you'll find the right words to say when you see him, soon.

The sliding door that leads to the backyard pool is left slightly ajar. You hear the splashing sound of the water as you step out into the open. The backyard is slightly dim but you easily catch sight of Wonwoo's naked back. Your gaze slides along his bare shoulders and you feel your stomach clenches at how broad his physique is. He has his upper arms stretched along the pool ledge, staring thoughtfully up at the starry sky. You wonder what, or who is in his mind at this very moment, and you find yourself praying that it is you he is thinking about.

You glance down at yourself. Your hands, they are slightly trembling as you untie the knot of your robe, letting it fall freely over your shoulders to the ground. Staring down at your semi-naked self, doubt washes over you instantly. What if Wonwoo doesn't like what he sees. You are sure he has been with many women before, and for a guy as attractive as him, he must have high standards. You feel the sudden urge to run away, back into your bedroom and hide, but it's too late now because when you lift your head, you realize Wonwoo is already staring.

Your breath catches when you meet his eyes. He stares at your features first, then slowly, his gaze drops and drags down to your body, drinking every inch of you. The air around you suddenly feels so thick, and your heart nearly bursts as you watch the lump in his throat rise and fall.

You clear your throat softly to get him to look at your face, and he did. There is tenderness mixed with desire in his eyes, and you're both thrilled and unsure.

"Can I join you?" your voice came out soft.

Wonwoo takes a moment to process your question, then he says, "The water is freezing, baby, I don't want you to get sick again." You press the back of your hand on your neck, checking your body temperature. "My fever has gone down. I'm feeling much better now.”

"Get in then." He says, turning his head around to face the water again.

You walk over to the poolside and lower yourself into a squatting position. Wonwoo feels your presence close to him that made him turn his head towards you again. He keeps his eyes on you as you dip your legs into the water before sliding your body in. The water rises all the way to your collarbone and you shiver at the sudden cold sensation that runs through your body.

"Told you it's cold," Wonwoo mumbles. "Come here, baby." He reaches for your hand underwater and moves you to stand with your back to him.

Butterflies take flight in your stomach. What surprises you most is when he wraps his arms around your waist as he hugs you from behind. “Better?” His whispers in your ear.

"Yeah," you breathe, and despite your racing heart, you let your body relax in his hold.

“I was hoping you'd come and you did." he rests his chin on top of your head. "Did you read my mind, mmh?"

You huff softly. "I can hear you calling my name from up there." Wonwoo chuckles. "Why did you come here though? Can't sleep?"

You hum, leaving a beat of silence before you confess, "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Me too." He says. "I think about you all the time.”

You let out a soft breath as a soft smile tugs at your lips. Here in the quiet, the beating of his heart sounded so clear in your ears, and so do yours. Glancing to your side and up, you find him gazing up at the sky again, seemingly in deep thoughts. In the dimness of the night, the moonlight illuminates his features, strands of wet hair fall over his forehead, and you take the opportunity to study his handsome face. Wonwoo musť've felt you staring because he is lowering his gaze to look at you now. You suddenly feel shy by his closeness, by the soft way he is staring at you.

"What did you do these past few days when I was gone?" He asks out of nowhere, the question random as if he's trying to defuse the thick tension in the air.

"I did a lot of thinking and worrying..." you huff and shake your head. He turns you around to make you look at him. "Worrying about what?"

Your answer might come off silly to him but you decided to be honest. "I thought you were purposely avoiding me because of the kiss...because you didn't enjoy kissing me."

A frown marred his expression. "That's what you were worrying about?"

You show him a small embarrassed smile before dropping your gaze to stare at his chest. "Silly, I know."’

Wonwoo grips your chin and gently tilts your head up, making you look at him again. “That might not be the best kiss, I know, but I enjoyed it." He claims. "I enjoyed kissing you so much I want to do it again," He lowers his gaze to your mouth and swipes the back of his thumb over your bottom lip. "I want to do it now...if you'd let me…”

You blink up at him, the surprise causes your lips to part a little. Wonwoo gazes at you expectantly, waiting for your approval. Then you nod, and that small gesture brings a soft smile to his face. He leans closer and weaves his fingers through your hair. Your eyes flutter close and the butterflies take flight in your stomach when he presses his lips on your lips.

Unlike the first time he kissed you, his mouth is moving more skillfully, more firmly this time. You slide your hands up to the back of his neck and return his kiss with equal passion. He groans into your mouth, the tip of his tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, and you part your mouth in an invitation. Without hesitation, his tongue slides into your mouth to meet yours, and you make a whimpering sound when he bites down on your lower lip, tugging at it as he groans.

His hold around your waist turns bruising and he roughly turns you around to back you against the pool wall. You gasp when he presses his body closer to you, his hands sliding down from your waist to the back of your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, and your chest emerges from the water with the elevation. His hard on is now positioned against your womanhood, and your body reacts in pure instinct, grinding yourself against him with no inhibition.

He grunts into your mouth and from there, the kiss quickly turns wet and dirty. You continue grinding yourself against him, and soon the ache between your legs is getting unbearable. You need more, but to your dismay, Wonwoo pulls his mouth away from you.

You blink at him, panting and confused. "W-why did you stop?” His face is contorted as though he is restraining himself from something. What though?

"If we don't stop," he says, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I'll end up fucking you in this pool and I can't promise l'll be gentle with you, baby.."

“It's okay," your answer came so quickly it surprised him. You bite your lips in a shy smile. "I mean… you don't have to be gentle with me, Wonwoo."

"I don't want to hurt you…” He worries and you smooth your hands over his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat under your fingertips. His eyes flared, and it's making your heart drums with nervous excitement. "I don't know if you know this but I’m not a virgin anymore, so you don't have to, you know, hold back with me."

Wonwoo looks more amused than surprised by your admission. The corner of his lips curled up into a grin. "Are you telling me you like it hard, baby?" Your cheek flares up and he lets out a huff when he notices it.

"Is that why you came to me wearing this?" He lowered his gaze to your bathing suit. You nod.

"Do you like it?"

"I've never seen anything so beautiful," One of his hands hikes up your waistline, cupping your breast before tugging the neckline of your bathing suit to the side until your nipple is exposed.

You swallow heavily. "You're too good to be true, baby…" He glances up, watching you with heated eyes as he rubbed his thumb over your bud. "Do you like it when I touch you here, mmh?" He ended his question with a light pinch on your bud.

You expel a soft moan and Wonwoo takes it as a yes. He keeps his piercing gaze on you as he lowers his head to take your nipple into his hot mouth, his tongue twirling around the tip, teasing you for a while before he draws it in between his teeth in one long pull.

"W-Wonwoo.." you squeeze your legs tighter around his hips, feeling his erection poking deeper against your woman parts. The friction coaxes a low grunts out of him. He lifts his head from your chest to meet your gaze, his eyes smoldered with desire. His free hand is now coasting along your inner thigh, hiking up until his thumb is pressing over your underwear. He pulled the hem aside to reveal your pussy.

"What about this?" He starts to rub his thumb over your clit continuously in a tormentingly slow manner.

"More..." you beg breathily. "Please...," a moan slips when he thrusts two fingers inside you, keeping his eyes on you as he fulfills your wish for more. Your inner wall clenches around his digit with each push.

"So fucking tight..." he murmurs low under his breath as he works his finger in and out of you in a lazy manner. "How long has it been since the last time you're fucked, baby?"

Through your lust-filled haze, you can't even bring yourself to think. So you thoughtlessly mutter, "It's been a while."

His free hand trails from the side of your neck, up, to cup your face, "So delicate and beautiful," his voice thick, brimming with lust as he caresses your cheekbone. "Makes me want to protect and ruin you all at the same time," he let out deep chuckles. "Is that even possible?"

His hand disappears into your hair, and he leans in to kiss you sweet and slow, while his other hand continues to fuck your pussy, as sweet and slowly as his kiss. Although his touch brings pleasure to your body, it isn't enough to relieve that overwhelming ache between your legs, if possible, it only worsens it, making you more needy and desperate. So needy you start whining and moaning to beg for more. So desperate you start rocking your hips against his fingers to take control.

Wonwoo's fingers make a fist around your hair and he tugs it back, making your lips to detach from his. He looks into your eyes, his gaze dark and intense. "Stop it or I'll stop." He warns you.

You still and nod timidly, surprised to discover this dominant side of him, but even more surprised by your own submission. You didn't know you have it in you, considering how much you despise him ordering you around. But maybe it's different during sex, because you find it such a turn on when he takes control like this.

"Good girl," Wonwoo whispers his praise over your mouth. “Now tell me what you want, baby."

You drop your gaze to the hard-on underneath his black swim shorts. Although you can't see it well due to it being underwater, you can feel it damn well and Wonwoo gets the message. He hums and pulls his fingers out of your tight hole, causing a small gasp to fall from your lips. You loosen your thighs around his hips so he could remove his swim shorts. Your breathing slows when he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock. His jaw clenched as he gives it a few pumps before he slaps it hard over your pussy, drawing a lewd purr out of you.

Wonwoo brings his eyes up to stare at you, his dark pupils dilating. "I was planning to take it nice and slow today," He starts rubbing the tip of his cock over your slit and watches as you squirm against him.

"But you...God, you are one hell of a temptation to resist, aren't you?"

“Wonwoo, please.." your breath comes out ragged. "I don't think I can take it any- fuck!" The air is knocked out of you when he roughly slams his cock into you, stretching you so good you cry out a lewd sound of pleasure. You feel so full you can barely breathe, and he isn't even fully inside you yet.

Wonwoo drops his head to your shoulder and you feel his warm heavy pants fanning against your skin. "Baby, you're so tight my cock can barely fit," Wonwoo breathes out harshly and moans when you unconsciously squeeze around his cock. He lifts his head from your shoulder and plants his hand on the pool edge on each side of you.

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest when Wonwoo holds you in his gaze. His jaw is tight and you notice the bulging veins around his neck. He looks so masculine, so thoroughly turned on, and knowing that it is you who made him like this gives you a sense of ease and a little boost of confidence.

Feeling bolder now, you lean forward to put your mouth close to his ear. "Wonwoo." you whisper, parting your lips to pull his earlobe in between your teeth. "Fuck me, please, I can't wait any longer…”

"Jesus," He curses roughly. And when you lean back to stare at him, the heat in his brown eyes is growing hotter. "Where is this side of you coming from?" You chew your bottom lip through a smile. "I think you bring it out of me.”

“Fuck, you're so hot," he says hoarsely, moaning a little when your pussy clenched around his cock. "Hold on to me, baby." He orders, so you do as told, sliding your hands up and slinging them around his shoulder. He presses his lips in a thin line as he slides his cock out of you, leaving just the tip inside you. And with a grunt, he slams his cock deep inside you, until you are hugging every throbbing inch of him. Your fingers dig into his back in a reflex as he lets out a low guttural sound from the back of his throat.

He leans forward to capture your mouth in a hard kiss, and then he is pounding into you, driving his dick deep inside you mercilessly. It almost feels like he's going to rip you apart because he is so big, and you'd never been fucked so hard like this. With each thrust, the water sloshes all around and you are pushed harder against the wall.

You are a mess of moans and whimpers, and if it wasn't for the kiss that's muffling your lewd voice, you'll likely wake the housekeepers from their slumbers.

"How does my cock make you feel, sweetheart?" He whispers through a husky groan as he pumps his thick length in and out of you.

"So good," you say breathlessly over his mouth. "You make me feel so good, Wonwoo."

His thrusts are becoming quicker and harder now. He is fucking you as if he is losing control of himself, like he's a wild animal let loose of its cage. A beast unleashed. And it wasn't long until you feel that knot coiling up in your stomach

“Wonwoo," you panted heavily. "I-I'm close."

“I know, baby," He slips his hand under your stomach. He presses his thumb on your clit and pulls back to watch as he starts rubbing it aggressively. "Cum, cum for me."

A cry, almost a scream tears out of you as your body quakes and shudders against him. Your walls are convulsing around him but he didn't stop pounding his cock into you. Soon enough, you feel him swelling inside you as his orgasm nears. His long, guttural groan sounded in your ears, and with one last thrust, he jerks against you and unloads his cum into your pussy.

“Fuck," Wonwoo grunts harshly before he slumps into you. He drops his head to your shoulder as breathes heavily. Your thighs loosen around his hips and you drop your legs to the pool tiles, too languid to hold them up. As you try to moderate your breathing, reality begins to sink. Wonwoo has just cummed inside of you, without protection. Fear grips you tight in your chest.

"Wonwoo," you pat on his back and speak into his ear. "...we didn't use a condom."

He lifts his head, his chest inflating and deflating as he tries to regain his composure. "Don't worry, I'm clean." He finally says.

"It's not that," you explain. "I'm not on the pill." Wonwoo considers it calmly, as if you didn't just tell him the 'news' most men fear the most.

"One time is probably okay." He assures. "But if you end up pregnant, I promise I'll take care of you...and our baby."

Your heart soars. "Our… baby?" you voice out softly, half in disbelief, half liking how the words sounded when he said it.

"I just filled my sperm in your vagina, whose baby would it be if it's not ours?"

Your body shook as you laughed. No one you know has ever used the word 'sperm' and 'vagina' in a sentence. God, you really adore this funny and sexy man. You give him a smile. "You know it's funny how we do things the reverse way."

"Reverse way?"

You nod. "Usually, people fall in love first before they get married and make babies, but for us...it's the other way around."

"I don't think so," Wonwoo disagrees. "Because I think l've passed the first step."

"First step?" you ask. "What do you mean?" His answer is to lean in and kiss you. Sweet and softly. A complete opposite to the wild pool sex the two of you just had. The kiss lasted for a while before he pulled back to stare at you. His eyes hold so much emotion that it is making your heart rate go overdrive.

"When I got home today," He starts. "for a moment there, I had this bad feeling that you were gone, that you left me... and it scared me so much, baby." The expression in his eyes is something close to pain. "I know we don't have much time together, and I know if you decide not to marry me, I can't force you to stay...but if you leave, sweetheart… I'd be so broken because you,'" He sucks in a shaky breath. "You're starting to mean everything to me.”

You're starting to mean everything to me…

Your eyes roam over his face to search for any trace of mischief, or deception maybe, but there's none. He is being truthful. God. You are hit by a wave of emotions so intense you know you will likely burst into tears. "I..." Your lips part and unpart, trying to form a word but nothing comes out.

A look of understanding laces his eyes and he smiles. "It's okay, sweetheart. You don't have to say anything if you're not ready.”

Unlike Wonwoo, you are not someone who is good at expressing your feelings. But he has just shown you parts of him, and you know it is only right if you do too.

“I can't give you an answer yet because... honestly, I don't know it myself," you explain. "Marriage is a big thing and needs time to figure things out, Won," your hand moves up to cup his face.

"What I can tell you is, you mean something to me, and the thought of losing you scares me too." That brings a hopeful smile to his face. "Does that mean you'll stay?" He asks.

"Yes, Wonwoo." you return his smile. "I'Il stay as long as you want me to.”

𓂃۶ৎ

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jessiemeows · 1 day ago

Text

Midwinter's Eve

A/N: Happy holidays! I wanted to write something about what I imagine Astarion & Amaya's future looks like (plus a little bit of smut :)). I hope you enjoy it! I've only written a little of smut so im not great at it but hopefully its good and I'll eventually get better as I write more of Lost and Found. Also this is spoilery for Lost and Found. Other than that hope everyone had some great holidays and happy new year <3

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F! Redeened Dark Urge Tiefling, My OC Amaya, Selunite Cleric/Paladin

Word Count: 3500

Warning: 18+!!!!! fingering, PIV, cum inside without protection, pregnancy, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of abuse but does not elaborate in any way, Astarion being a tiny tiny smidge dominant but not really

A/N part 2: It's Midwinter Eve! Midwinter is a holiday that's the DND equivalent of Christmas. In the story it has been three years since the Netherbrain fell, Astarion reflects on the past three years of his life with his partner and how good it's truly been (everyone deserves a happy ending, especially our BOY!) Astarion in this story is also now loved and being loved sometimes makes you soft and squishy.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Story:

Astarion gazed out his study window transfixed by the quickening snowfall outside. A faint smile played across his lips as he reflected on the past three years— the defeat of the Netherbrain, Cazador's death that had freed him from centuries of torment, and Bhaal's influence had finally released its grip on his beloved. It had now been three and a half years since that fateful first meeting—gods, he could still picture it perfectly: himself, pulling a knife on her like the desperate, scared fool he was, throwing every defense and bitter barb her way throughout their entire journey, and yet she somehow saw through it all and stayed.

The winter sun dipped below the horizon earlier these days. With a casual flick of his wrist, Astarion cast some fire bolt cantrips, lighting the candles scattered across his desk. Lady Adelia Caldwel's contract lay before him, a mess of legal tangles he'd been asked to untangle. Her husband had sold off their prime Upper City parkland that she loved so dearly, and she desperately hoped for a loophole or a way of breaking the contract—though prospects looked grim. Running fingers through his silver curls, he loosened the gleaming golden cufflinks of his fine black cotton shirt, rolling up the sleeves, and propped his feet up on the desk, balancing the parchment on his lap.

His thoughts drifted treacherously to Cazador, sending an old, familiar chill down his spine. The memories still held power—how small and worthless his former master had made him feel. Though the worst had passed, there had been dark times: panic attacks, violent outbursts, moments when nothing could console him. Amaya, his beloved, understood better than anyone; she still battled her own demons, nightmares of Bhaal haunting her sleep, panic seizing her with fears she might harm him. But they both knew better now. Those fears had no foundation in reality.

After the Netherbrain's fall, they'd ransacked Cazador's palace together, setting it ablaze in a final act of defiance. The old vampire's hoarded wealth had been substantial—enough that, even after Amaya insisted he share it with his six siblings, they'd secured their place in society. Combined with Amaya's status as "The Hero of Baldur's Gate," they'd acquired a small manor just outside the Upper City, complete with a vineyard and garden. It was perfect: Amaya spent her days tending the garden and painting, occasionally dragging him to the Wide to sell their goods or to Lady Jannath's exhibitions to show off her artwork. If not spending most of his time with Amaya, or attending the endless social engagements required to maintain their newfound noble standing - balls, banquets, and the like, Astarion would then spend his days in his study which had become a sanctuary, he managed their estates and helped others navigate legal matters (thanks to his lovely partner's endless bragging of his talent of negotiation to the Baldur’s Gate nobility after he'd helped Wyll escape the now very dead Mizora's contract all those years ago).

They'd risen quickly in these three years to become Lord Ancunín and Lady Othzál—soon to be Lord and Lady Ancunín. Just six months ago, during the bi-annual ‘Heroes' of the Gate’ reunion hosted by the beloved party animal wraith Withers, he had proposed to her in the very spot where they'd first been intimate. Back then, his motives had been purely selfish; this time, he'd wanted to make it special. Her warm embrace, mingled with tears of joy had ruined his brand-new white doublet with black streaks of makeup—something he still teased her about mercilessly.

Though in such little time, life had brought more miracles: first it was the Cloak of Dragomir that they found a little more than two years ago, which let him brave the sunlight again despite some setbacks. Then, just three months ago, they found the Sun-walker's Ring—a simple gold banded ring with a blood-red ruby that allowed him to walk carelessly free in the sun for hours on end. Although, he still keeps his cloak on hand just in case no matter how awful the fabric is. But the greatest miracle had come with the adventure to find the ring: Amaya was with child. His child. They'd discovered it in the Underdark when she kept falling ill, though he should have recognized the signs immediately.

The memory of her first ill-fated pregnancy in the Shadowlands still haunts Astarion’s mind. When Amaya was under Bhaal's influence, she had been frequently sick, but upon entering the cursed lands, her health deteriorated even further, which concerned almost all of their friends. He hadn’t known of the pregnancy until it was lost to an infernal dagger Back then, he'd been conflicted, almost relieved at its loss. He had never actually imagined himself as a father, it was always a foreign, unattainable concept - until now.

The transition back to home life after their recent return from Underdark two months ago has been a little difficult for the couple. Amaya was in her first trimester, she had persistent morning sickness, obscene cravings, and general unease stemming from the pregnancy. Meanwhile, Astarion’s constant stress and worry have made him increasingly overprotective and borderline overbearing.

Things have eased down a bit since the start of the second trimester and Astarion has relaxed more since the constant sickness has stopped. It wasn’t until their latest bi-annual reunion over a ten-day ago, Withers' had given a cryptic hint to the couple when they were alone that still echoed in his mind: their children—plural—were "destined for greatness." Coming from the usually tight-lipped avatar of Jergal, it had been a surprising comfort to both of them, especially given Amaya's fears about bearing a child being both a Bhaalspawn and a dhampir. But Astarion always knew in his heart their child would inherit Amaya's love and gentleness. She was never the person her father made her out to be and since purifying her blood, and the murder whispers had fallen silent he knew from the start their children would not be that way, though the plural "children" in Withers' prophecy still made Astarion's head spin.

Darkness had fallen completely now, the snow and wind picking up outside his window. Sighing, Astarion began tidying his desk—Lady Caldwel's contract would have to wait. Worry gnawed at him; Amaya had gone to the Upper City's Midwinter’s Eve festival with Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae'zel. Last year's memories brought a smile to his face: Lae'zel's newfound obsession with sugar cookies, and his sneak snowball attacks on Shadowheart. Despite Amaya's adorable pouting, he declined today's invitation to finish up some work so he would be free all day tomorrow for Midwinter, though the elf did somewhat wish he had joined the group.

The Midwinter festivities weren't exactly Astarion's cup of tea, Amaya had grown to adore them. This year, the tiefling had truly outdone herself, decking their home with the most beautiful seasonal decorations and carefully selecting thoughtful gifts for all their friends who would be joining them for the celebratory dinner the next evening. Even Minthara will be impressed by Amaya's efforts just like she had the previous Midwinter.

But this year's gathering would be extra special. Not only were Karlach and Wyll back in Baldur's Gate permanently, but Astarion and Amaya also planned to have their pregnancy announcement to everyone. Of course, only a select few already knew— Gale, his fiancée Elysia, Shadowheart, and her partner Kaelum, having accompanied the couple on their journey to find the Sun-walker's ring, and Withers who knew everything. However, the rest of their dinner guests remained blissfully unaware. Astarion was still a bit hesitant to make the announcement, worried that it might be too soon, but Amaya was positively bursting with joy and how could he possibly say no?

Astarion was beginning to get a headache thinking over everything, and his worry began to heighten when heavy winds crashed onto his study’s window. The sound of their heavy front door slamming shut snapped him to attention making his pointed ears twitch. "Oh, thank the gods," he breathed, hurrying toward their drawing room. Shadowheart's and Amaya's soft voices drifted through the halls as he approached silently.

"Are you four months along now?" Shadowheart asked as Amaya shed her heavy winter layers.

"Yes!" Amaya beamed, smoothing her hand over the slight swell of her belly.

"Oh, by the Moonmaiden’s grace, I always knew you'd make the cutest little pregnant lady!" Shadowheart reached out to touch the bump. "Have you been taking those herbs I recommended for nausea? And drinking blood for the little one? It must be strange having to drink blood."

Amaya stifled a laugh. "I'm not too sure it's the strangest thing I've had to drink, Shadowheart."

Before Amaya could continue, Astarion slipped behind the tiefling, wrapping his cold hands around her belly and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Hello, lover," he purred into her ear.

"Can you please do that when I'm not around?" Shadowheart groaned.

"Shush," Astarion smirked. "Don't act like I didn't see you and Kaelum cozying up at the reunion. By the way, do tell them I said hello." His devious smile only widened at Shadowheart's resulting blush. Shadowheart then rolled her eyes at Astarion's teasing, pointedly ignoring him.

Astarion's eyes widened as he surveyed the drawing room floor. "So, are we broke now?" Astarion smirked, eyeing the mountain of shopping bags. "Based on this haul, I can only assume we're destitute."

"Quiet, you," Amaya turned, pressing her lips to his. He chuckled into the kiss, the sound vibrating against her mouth. "And no—everything was on sale!" She swatted his hand away as he reached for one of the mysterious packages.

Their head maid, Dakota, appeared in the doorway, offering to whisk the bags away to "Amaya's special hiding spot"—a location Astarion had long since discovered in the maid's quarters. She offered tea, but Shadowheart declined, casting a worried glance at the darkening sky through the window.

"I should really get going. The storm's picking up, and it's quite a hike to the cottage," Shadowheart said, rising from her seat.

Amaya jumped up to embrace her friend at the doorway. "See you and others tomorrow, then. Don't forget the Midwinter feast starts just before sunset. You and Kaelum are welcome to borrow some of my night clothes, or if Kaelum prefers, they can use Astarion's when you stay the night."

“I did not agree to that!” Astarion protested behind them, but the two ignored him.

"We'll be there and thank you," Shadowheart assured her. "Now rest, please."

"I will. Stay safe—send me a sending spell when you're home."

After Shadowheart's departure, Astarion sprawled across the drawing room couch, arms extended in invitation. Amaya settled into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as he asked, "Why does she want you to rest, love?"

"It's nothing, really", Amaya deflected, peppering his cheek with the rapid little kisses she always used when seeking affection. "I just got winded more quickly than usual today. That’s all."

Astarion's brow furrowed and genuine concern colored his voice. "Perhaps we should skip tomorrow's festivities if you're struggling to catch your breath. I don’t want you to over-exert yourself."

Amaya fixed him with her big, brown eyes he never could resist, and a playful smile tugging at the corners of her lips."You're just nervous about seeing everyone," she countered, “I know you’re not fond of this holiday but don't try to use me as an excuse."

"No, Amaya, I'm truly worried about the little one." His cool fingers found their way to her gently swollen belly as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck.

Amaya let out a soft sigh, resting her head on his and running her hands soothingly down his back. "Star, I already got Shadowheart’s second opinion on it and she already said I'd be fine. I just need to rest tonight."

Astarion’s fingers lingered around her belly as he began to fiddle with her loose velvet dress. "If you say so, Mayabear." he said as he groaned of defeat vibrating against her skin.

"I do. Now, I’m feeling peckish, and have you had any blood? It should still be fresh; I can fetch you some from the butcher's box while I make some tea and grab a snack ."

"Haven't had the chance," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "I've been wrestling with Lady Caldwel's contract for hours. I don't even want to think about it anymore."

Amaya's brow furrowed in concern. "I thought you said it would be easy?

Astarion grumbled, "It should be, but her husband is an absolute fool." The tiefling then gently kissed his cheek, saying, "I'm sorry, lovie. Maybe getting some rest will help clear your mind."

Amaya then slipped away to prepare their drinks and herself a small plate of gingersnaps that one of their maids must have prepared before heading home. Returning, she found her vampire with his eyes closed, the picture of contentment. Years ago, he'd never have allowed himself such vulnerability. Reclaiming her rightful place in his lap, her tail wrapped instinctively around his leg as she nestled against him. His fingers found their way into her dark curls, twirling the silky strands absently as he breathed in the familiar scent - his own bergamot, rosemary, and brandy faint on her but mingled with her naturally rich vanilla essence, the delicious aroma of the gingersnap crumbs on her lips and the sweet scent of her blood.

He licked his lips, savoring the memory of the rich, chocolate-like flavor of her blood - so different from the wine-like taste of others. Though the temptation remained constant, he'd been restraining himself lately, knowing their child already drew from her strength.

Taking the chalice of fresh boar's blood, he drank deeply. Their arrangement with the local butcher had proven invaluable, especially now that Amaya required blood for the baby. If the butcher ever grew curious about their frequent deliveries, they could simply blame it on Amaya's peculiar cravings for blood sausage. Usually during the winter months, the deliveries would be twice a week, but with everything going on they had made the decision for deliveries once a day, and generous payment had kept any questions at bay so far.

The peaceful silence stretched between them until Astarion's curiosity got the better of him. "So darling, what did you get me?" he asked, then promptly snatched a bite of one of Amaya's gingersnaps just as she was about to take a taste herself.

"Hey!" Amaya protested, pouting at him. "And what makes you think I got you anything?"

"HA! I know you far too well, my love. And I'd rather not have to sneak into your 'super secret hideout' in Dakota's quarters," he said with a mischievous grin.

"How did you—?" Amaya's eyes widened in dismay.

"Sweetheart, you're terrible at keeping secrets from me. I overheard you discussing it with Dakota during yesterday's tea." His grin widened. "Besides, won't Dakota peek at her own gift?"

"Her gift is hidden elsewhere, thank you very much." the tiefling pouted, avoiding his gaze.

Astarion chuckled a bit while using his free hand to cup her cheek, "Come now, darling, we both know I have ways of discovering these things." He coaxed.

"I know, but sometimes I'd like to keep these particular secrets... secret." Her lower lip trembled slightly, pregnancy hormones amplifying her natural sensitivity.

As she began to pull away, Astarion tightened his hold. "Mayabear, don't be cross. I promise I don't know what you bought—only where you've hidden it." His cool fingers wiped away the tears threatening to fall.

Amaya sighed ”It's ridiculous that I feel like crying over this."

"This crying is perfectly normal, pet. You're experiencing new things." Astarion then pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and then to her cheek.

"I know what would make you feel better,” Astarion purred into her ears, his voice was now low and sultry.

Amaya now amused by him now looked up at him.“Oh, really and what is that” the tiefling mumbled.

Astarion gently cupped her face. “May I kiss you a little more? I can more than guarantee it will help with your little poutiness. I know you’ve missed me, and I’ve certainly missed you."

Amaya's gentle nod of approval was all the invitation Astarion needed. He tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers, his fingers traced delicate patterns along her curves as their kisses deepened. Amaya's fingers tangled in his silver curls, drawing a pleased hum from his throat. His hands now roaming down to squeeze her full ample bottom leaving a soft, breathy moan from Amaya’s parted lips. Astarion could already feel his trousers begin to tighten uncomfortably. Every new curve of hers was driving him mad.

"Would going to the bedroom go against your instructions to rest?" he whispered against her lips, barely breaking their kiss.

At an eager shake of her head, the vampire gently swept her into his arms, carrying her swiftly to their chambers. He deposited her gently on their bed before retrieving an arcane lock scroll from their drawer—they'd learned that lesson after an awkward encounter with a new maid. The quick incantation sealed their privacy, and he returned to Amaya who was leaning against the bed’s headboard.

Astarion crawled close to Amaya, purring, "On your side, facing me darling." She obeyed, and his hungry kisses trailed from her lips down to her neck as his dexterous fingers untied the top drawstrings of the soft velvet dress, carefully lifting the fabric to reveal herself to him.

“Such a good, obedient girl.” He whispered. The sight of her stole his breath—her swollen breasts, the subtle curve of her belly, and the flush spreading across her skin.

"What?" she asked, noticing his intense gaze.

"Nothing," he murmured, his voice low and raspy. "I just think you grow more beautiful every day." With practiced grace, he slid off her lacy undergarments, sliding cold nimble fingers toward her already glistening desire.

“Tsk, tsk, you are already so wet”, he purred into her ear. He propped up her leg on his hip, angling her body to lay on her side more comfortably. Slowly, he began slipping one, then two fingers in and out of her slick, glistening folds at a steady pace, drawing soft yet needy moans from her lips.

Astarion trailed tender kisses lower, his tongue lingering and tracing the delicate curves of her body His fanged teeth accidentally grazing around her pert nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from Amaya. Amaya then cupped his hair between her fingers, arching into his touch. "A-Astarion," she gasped. The vampire began to focus his attention, zeroing in on her sweet spot. "I want you to bite me," she pleaded. "You haven't in so long."

Astarion hesitated, "You know I have my reasons, pet." he murmured, his voice vibrating against her skin. But Amaya's pleading, trembling voice of need was impossible to resist. "Please! And I so desperately want to feel all of you."

Astarion paused briefly, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation. "Well, well you've persuaded me, you cheeky little pup," he growled. He quickly unbuttoned his shirt and removed his trousers, only to reveal his aching cock glistening and beaded with precum. Positioning himself on his side at Amaya's entrance, he let out a soft growl as he slowly began to thrust into her welcoming heat.

Astarion's teeth sank into the delicate skin of Amaya's neck, drinking deeply of her rich, sweet life’s nectar as he pounded into her his fingers gripping tighter around her plump bottom. Amaya's muffled cries spurred him on, his pace quickening. Only when he felt himself nearing the edge did Astarion detach his fangs, letting out a stifled moan.

Desperate, he deliberately slowed his movements, savoring each delicious sensation as he remained deeply immersed in her welcoming warmth.

“Fuck, Maya” Astarion finally growled, Amaya's hands roamed avoiding Astarion's scarred back, her nails digging in just above his shoulder blades as their bodies moved together in a shared, building climax. "Astarion!" Amaya cried out, her walls clenching around him as his hips began to stagger losing control, his seed filling her in warm, pulsing waves..

Spent, they clung to each other, Astarion pulling Amaya close to his chest entangled with one another between the silk sheets. Her fingers played with his sweat-dampened curls brushing them back from his forehead—a tender habit that had brought him comfort since their first night together. As sleep began to claim Amaya, Astarion gazed at her drinking in her beauty.

"I really love you, you know that right?" he whispered.

"Of course, love," she smiled drowsily at him. "I hope you know I love you too."

"I'm more than aware." He pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“So, what did you get me for Midwinter?” She asked softly but amusement in her voice.

Astarion chuckled to himself, “You’ll see, now close your eyes.”

Her soft laugh and the gentle tug of her fingers in his hair were the last things he registered before she drifted off and he began to trance, safe in each other's arms forever, for good.

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coelakanths · 2 years ago

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having feelings about them

#socially deprived force (travis) meets autistic object (katelyn) basically.#they’re talking about shucking clams btw. clam chowder fic is so real #mcd #minecraft diaries #god travis and katelyn are everything to me #travis is struggling to be a person bc he’s never had to before and katelyn struggles bc her brain is literally wired differently #and she got around it before in the jury bc she didn’t really need to socialize #but now everything’s peaceful so it’s just wrong #and the trauma of the jury is resurfacing for her and she doesn’t know how to talk about it #and travis doesn’t know how to ask about it #but somehow they both feel better after. GOD.#travis valkrum #katelyn the firefist #u all must perceive katelyn clam chowder fic.#it’s SO CLOSE to being done GOD.

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pepperyduck · 14 days ago

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a/n: nsfw, cheating (on both parts), fem reader, just thinking about him rn, 18+ mdni!!!

kento “oh he’s just my work husband!!” nanami, who can’t express how much he hates your actual husband. god, he could treat you so much better, and you settled for that lowlife who obviously cheats on you every chance he gets.

nanami loathes to hear about how your weekend was spent alone because your husband was “working late”—an excuse he’d heard every monday since you started working at the same firm as him.

but it’s okay, kento can show you how a real man is supposed to treat you.

it starts off slow—a cup of coffee here and there and the occasional “you look nice today” compliments. then escalates into a cup of coffee every day, “did you do something new with your hair?” kind of compliments, and even going out of his way to buy you lunch on your lunch break (only if you go out to eat with him, of course).

which, somehow, turned into you spending your nights “working late” in kento’s apartment, and soon his bed, getting ravished by the blond man just as he wished.

how did it turn into this, really? you don’t know, and honestly, you don’t care with the way he makes you feel. it was a pleasure you’d never had the opportunity to experience before—your husband was quite lackluster in the sack—and you’d be lying if you said you felt guilty about any of it.

if there was one thing kento appreciated about your husband, it was the fact he never pleasured you, so he got to have it all to himself. the screams you couldn’t stop, the wetness your cunt produced from just a little bit of kissing, your trembling legs along with the small “thank you” he got after you were done—it was all his.

and the next night at the annual company party, when your work husband and real husband meet one another, kento shakes your husband’s hand, secretly thanking him for being so terrible so he could have you all to himself.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #nanami smut #kento nanami smut

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ethxrxalitys · 1 year ago

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pumpkin is planning on waking me up fucking me today and im 🥳🥺🤩😍🤤👀🤩

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barbieaemond · 7 months ago

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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.

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azulhood · 9 months ago

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Danny was tired, like 'I feel it in my bones and soul' tired. And he didn't want sleep at home because there's only so many nights, he could spend lying awake making sure his heart was beating in case his parents checked on him.

Currently he was flying aimlessly not really taking in his surroundings, but he could neither sleep while flying or fly forever. Normally he'd sleep over at Sam or Tucker's, but the Mansons had made it clear that he wasn't welcome at their house anymore and Tucker was grounded. Both would sneak him in if he asked, but he didn't want them to get in trouble for him. Which leads him to decide between his two choices, sleeping in a graveyard, or sleeping in a forest.

The graveyard was a little crowded with all the ghosts that called it home but he could probably find a quiet spot to sleep. The forest had a great view of the stars but was filled with traps from both his parents and the GIW after tracking his ecto-signature. Both options weren't appealing, but he wasn't about to chance sleeping on the roof of his house again. There were too many ghost detecting guns attached to it now. Danny sighed, graveyard it was, at least the ecto from all the shades/ghosts would hide him well enough. Decision made, now all he had to do was make his way over there. But first, where the heck was he? Danny looked around at the unfamiliar grey sky and gargoyles littered around and realized he had no clue where he was. He must have flown too far away from Amity without noticing...Again. It was really becoming a bad habit. Danny stared down at the city's inhabitants that were going home or heading to nightshifts or whatever and dreaded the long flight back to his town. And maybe it was ghost instinct, or maybe it was just his exhaustion. But his brain suggested 'What if I just possess someone?' And to him that seemed like a perfectly logical train of thought. He wouldn't control their body or anything, just sleep in their skin...That did not make it sound better at all. Before he could think twice, someone left a general store, arms filled with stuff and somehow projecting an aura of safety. The two thoughts of 'They look comfy' and 'screw it' clashed together in his head as he made the very stupid decision of performing a swan drive right into the someone. "WHAT THE-" "Don't worry, I'll be gone by morning I just need to sleep" Danny cut off the persons freakout-he should really get their name at some point- he would have explained more but the sleep gods had already done their job. This left one very confused, scared, and freaked out Batkid.

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #I don't know which batkid it should be #I'm thinking Dick or maybe Stephenie #I feel like Steph would be the most chill about a ghost using her body as a sleeping bag #Cass and her just straight up adopt the tired ghost boy who talks in his sleep and says the most distressing things #Bruce didn't even have a chance #Danny is gonna be so confused when he wakes up

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hellokittyish · 5 days ago

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part one here.

★ thinking about mutual masturbation on facetime with ex!satoru which starts off with you just staring at him in some sort of daze, wondering what on earth possessed you to pick up the call in the first place. this is a mistake, you know that... so why aren't you hanging up already?

but before you can dwell too long on the answer to that question, your train of thought is rudely interrupted by a particularly loud moan echoing through the speaker.

“mmh… you actually didn’t decline for once," the white-haired menace gasps out, the slick sounds of his hand gliding up and down his cock only picking up in volume as he lays eyes on you. “shit— you don't know how much i've missed seein’ that pretty face of yours, baby.”

“you’re so shameless, satoru.” you mutter, lacing your tone with as much disdain as you can muster; but the way your own hand somehow snakes its way beneath the waistband of your sweatpants and into your panties tells an entirely different tale of how this whole situation is really making you feel.

“yeah,” he muses in an unapologetic hum, making a show of tilting the camera down to give you a better view of where he's currently thumbing his leaky, blushing tip. “but… ah— so are you, otherwise you would’ve blocked my new number the second i sent you that dick pic.”

“w-well how do you know i wasn't about to press the block button right when you called me and i accidentally clicked accept instead?” you shoot back through teeth which are clenched partly in annoyance and partly in an effort to hold back letting your own pleasure show on your face.

“nah, don’t give me that bullshit,” satoru snorts amusedly, leaning in closer to the screen and tilting his head to the side, snowy lashes fluttering seductively as his bright eyes stare knowingly into yours. “if you’re not enjoying this, then i want you to show me that your hands aren’t in your pants right now rubbing that pretty little pussy.”

shit. of course he'd be able to see through you that easily — he is your ex, after all. but no... you can’t let him win just yet. so, as subtly as possible, you pull your hand from your panties and hold it up to the phone screen, hoping against hope that the darkness of your room hides the wetness of your palm.

“hah. nice try, baby,” he drawls smugly, smiling so wide now that both of his annoyingly cute dimples are on full display; and it’s deliberate, too. he knows full well they were always your weakness. “...but i can see your sweet juices coating those cute fingers from here.”

and he knows he has you right where he wants you when you still don't hang up the call like you both know you should, instead just shoving your hand right back into your panties and rubbing messy circles over your clit while keeping direct eye-contact with him — trying to beat him at his own game, are you? oh, how he's missed you.

so he picks up the pace of his jostling fist around his cock, candy-pink lower lip caught between his pearly teeth as he tries to catch even a small glimpse of your bare skin through the screen; and god, only you could make him act this pathetic, this desperate. "fuck... please, pretty, y'gotta give me something to work with here. h-how about you pull your top up just a little for toru, hm?"

and you've already let this escalate too far to back out now, so you decide to throw caution to the wind and tug at the edge of your oversized tee just enough so that your bare tits spring free, courtesy to your preference for not wearing a bra around your apartment.

"o-oh, just look at those. i missed my girls s'much. bet you wish they were in my mouth right now, huh?" satoru rasps out, balls tightening to an almost painful degree as he reaches down to pay the heavy, neglected sacs some attention by gently fondling them.

and you, having finally caved and slid a finger into your fluttering hole, can only respond with a soft whine as you reach up to knead a breast with your free hand, the image of his skilled mouth suckling on them like he always used to making your much-too-empty cunt clench around your digit with need.

and that singular sweet, sweet sound from your lips that he's been deprived of hearing for months is all it takes for him to finally bust a load all over his chest and hand, goopy white streaks tainting his previously unmarred pale skin as his entire body trembles with a pleasure only you can give him.

and when he eventually manages to compose himself enough to glance back down at the facetime and realize that you're still trying to reach your own climax, your meek little fingers clearly not enough to finish the job, satoru has the absolute audacity to lean right in close to the screen and mutter out a cheeky…

“hey, if y'want me to come over and help you with that then all you gotta do is agree to get back together with me, baby.”

taglist: @haruhatake @sheismaryy @jxeon @bonneyzsk @yozora7154 @depositodeporradogojo @ifyournameischoisanpleaseloveme @anthy-j-ander @sugarcoatedsoul @moncher-ire @fwxyz00 @trishiepo0 @just-lilita @beenathembo @channnee @tul1ps1 @awoodsysimp411 @vera4luv @silllly-jokesterr @mastermasterlist1p1 @yourfaveava @rllyobsessedgirlie @cherrycel @tomiokas-lunchbox @iwaizumisloverrr @citruswriter @jasminelee324 @kocho-catt @azewritessillystuff @suggestmename @greentea-ellie @banksxxnik @feelingtoosilly @nepotti @nonamevenus @barking4dogs-fy @mihoonz @crazytrash @phoenixflames498 @starlightmid @k0z3me @cakenpiewhyohmy @wh1msycal @resfrio @ersharyzst @loveyislost @supernovacoffeestop @ying47

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affableramen · 2 months ago

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when they finish earlier than you

mature content including sexual themes; established relationships

Wriothesley, Tartaglia, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Ayato, Capitano, Dottore, Alhaitham, Dainsleif, Baizhu

Wriothesley

He groans with emotion but it’s only a few seconds after he realises that you’re still beneath him, still haven't come. Wriothesley looks at your widened, surprised eyes and agape mouth.

“Bloody hell—”, he spits with a shaky voice. “I’m so sorry, we haven't seen each other for a while and I—”

Wriothesley gently caresses your hip, while chuckling and looking at you half-blushing. “Shit, I must have missed you too much.”

It’s not a problem for him to bring you to the peak with his mouth or hands.

Tartaglia

He squirts his release with a loud moan, pressing you close to his chest, his face buried into your neck. Those little bites shall leave radiant marks.

“Oh my god…” Ajax moans into your neck. “Oh f-fuck—I—”, he pats your back, “Fuck, I have never come so fast before. It’s not my fault, peanut, you’re too gorgeous for your own good.” He jokingly says, hiding his blush into your neck so you have no idea of it. Ajax is incredibly embarrassed and frustrated with his manhood that got too sensitive too soon.

Neuvillette

Neuvillette feels embarrassed and upset over losing his composure so quickly. He usually lasts long, and finding himself in such predicament gives way to the feeling of guilt and frustration.

“Darling, we can go one more round to get you satisfied. Please forgive me, my love.”

“No need to, Neuvillette, the both of us are tired. We can do it anytime during the week.”

“But I feel so guilty for coming first and not giving you the release you deserved. Let me at least satisfy you with my hands.”

“I don’t mind that, but please don't stress yourself out too much. It’s just sex, we can do many times better later. Nothing changes between us if you simply came early.”

Neuvillette caresses your face softly and speaks with emotion.

“You know that I usually last. I feel so defeated right now.”

To comfort your husband you place a kiss on the centre of his palm.

“Cumming early doesn't make my love to you fade, Neuvillette. In all honesty, I’m glad if I make you so excited that you can barely hold it together.” You give one other awkward but loving smiles.

Pantalone

“I—I apologise. I did not foresee that, darling”, with a perplexed, disoriented look Pantalone pulls away. He gets purchase on the clean towel and covers his body in shame. A terrific sight, so rare for the Ninth Harbinger who is usually unabashed, especially in intimacy.

“Oh my—how pathetic!”

You try to comfort him, saying that he must have been both too excited and tired after work, which ended up in premature peak, but Pantalone seems too distressed and angry at his inability to control himself as he quickly vanishes from the bedroom.

Ayato

With a stiffled moan Ayato finishes, but somehow it feels so wrong - releasing much earlier than you, when his significant other’s orgasm is in question.

Ayato grabs the towel and wipes himself clean, while looking down at you, your legs still thrown on his shoulders.

“Oh my goodness”, he laughs at himself, but the laugh is nervous, not cocky or proud as it usually is. The man’s ego seems to die out ridiculously soon, as quickly as he finishes this time.

“We’ll have to go one more round after that…” he hisses, his member still very sensitive. “Once I get ready again.”

Capitano

“Hngghh—”

Capitano pulls out with a well-heard grunt and pulls you closer to his chest. You are lying on top of him, your bodies are slightly wet when he makes a remark:

“I apologise, wife. It seems my stamina betrayed me tonight”, he gives a smooch to your cheek, brief but filled with devoted emotion. “Maybe if you stay a while like this, I can satisfy you longer. What do you think?” He delivers yet another kiss, this time to your neck. His voice sounds much quieter and he gently runs his hand through your hair.

“We should really stay together tonight. I feel like I need you more than ever. And not a word about this to anyone.”

Dottore

“Dottore, get out of the bathroom, immediately.”

“No!” A grunt and a curse escape from the inside of the bathroom. “I must learn what caused the fail in performance.”

“Dottore, I’m happy either way. Besides you looked quite funny.”

“FUNNY—she thinks I’m funny”, he utters to himself under his breath. “I’m going to check this little idiot for ruining our bedtime.”

Your amused laugh can be heard from the bedroom, as Dottore’s anger at his own manhood looks funny.

Alhaitham

“Oh, Y/N—f-fuck!” Alhaitham certainly does not expect himself to cum prematurely. His face looks red and his expression radiates emotion. You swear you have never seen a face sexier than this. You didn't know that he could ever be able to cum so hard (and so soon).

Alhaitham scowls, looking at you. “What? You think this is funny? It’s just a one time occurrence.” Another moan escapes his mouth and he covers his face with his hand. “You shouldn't see me like this—”

Dainsleif

Dainsleif falls onto the bed, utterly defeated and pulls you with him. You notice how heavily he is breathing and judging by the perplexed look on his face, never he did expect rushing his own release. He was shocked, to say in the least.

“Don’t look at me like that. You think you’ve defeated me?” Dainsleif groans when you move to his chest. “I will make you finish twice next time, and believe me—much earlier than me.”

Baizhu

Baizhu lets out a moan he did not expect coming and immediately covers his mouth. His face is red and silly when he looks down at you. He is blushing extraordinarily, and the buds of sweat roll over his chest as he towers over you.

“Let’s pretend this did not happen, my dear”, he runs his hand down your lips and onto your neck. “Oh my goodness, how embarrassing.”

Yet you just give him a sincere laugh. “Baizhu, it’s alright. I enjoyed it immensely.”

#Anime smut #genshin impact smut #Genshin smut #genshin x female reader #genshin x reader #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #wriothesley x you #capitano x reader #anime x reader #neuvillette x reader #ayato x you #ayato x reader #alhaitham x reader #dottore x reader #wriothesley x reader #neuvillette x female reader #baizhu x reader #dainsleif x reader

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ghostwhippet · 4 days ago

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From Scratch

Nutrition Info: Johnny/Reader; 4k; a meetcute launched by Reader's inability to cook reasonable portions, and Johnny's... well, just Johnny

No matter how long you live alone, you can’t get the hang of cooking for one person. Even when you try to make a single-serving meal instead of batch cooking, somehow it balloons out of control. Wasting food makes you feel awful, but you can only freeze so much.

One evening, desperate and utterly fed up, you go kick gently at a neighbor’s door, both hands full, trying to mimic a knock with your shoe. Jason, you think his name was? Striking blue eyes, big frame, a cute cropped mohawk, amazing brogue, and he’s always been cordial when you’ve run into him around the building. Friendly, but not too friendly.

He’s understandably confused by your request at first, but seems happy enough for the food, and takes it around your repeated apologies–for bothering him, for existing, for anything you can find, really.

Unfortunately, not even forcing yourself to go and do all of that manages to pierce your shite sense of volume. Your trips to his door do get less awkward over time, though. And Johnny, his name is, always has sparklingly clean dishes and containers to return in exchange for the full ones.

Eventually he just starts showing up at your place instead and eats with you at your bar counter. He didn’t really ask, and you definitely didn’t, but there he is all the same, and… if you're honest? He’s just so easy to be around, it quickly feels natural having him there. He puts you off your guard, puts you at ease and makes you smile, like those are somehow the most natural things in the world.

From that first night, Johnny has insisted on helping with dishes. Starting the second, he’s always got groceries with him. Even manages to talk you out of your discomfort over accepting them, so well that on his fourth night, you’ve got a small shopping list ready. He’s cheeky, you don’t think he’ll mind. And he is right, after all: you're probably feeding him at least three or four nights out of the week, what with all the leftovers.

You start eating better, and trying new things you'd always planned on “getting around to,” now that you've got a reason to cook beyond not starving. Everything comes out fine the first time you make it, when you’re closely following a recipe, and Johnny has no qualms about trying anything you put in front of him. You’ve never met someone so genuinely un-fussy when it comes to food.

A couple months after he’s started eating at your place, he disappears for a while. “Work trip,” is all he'll say, and you don’t pry, even though you really want to.

Once he’s back, he starts coming over weekend afternoons sometimes. You do brunch with beer or fancy drinks in champagne flutes, or occasional breakfast on the roof before other people are awake, him in a big hoodie or jumper, and you wearing a thick blanket like it's trying to digest you, looking like a half-drowned cat because no living being is meant to be awake at such an hour.

You cut fruit into mangled flowers and vague geometric shapes for the brunches, usually while just spending time with him. He tries his hand at it once, with you pulling up videos, laughing the whole time you’re explaining how it’s supposed to work, and the utter bastard is better at it on his first go than you were after weeks. His hands are confoundingly steady, and his hand-eye coordination borders on the unnatural.

That’s probably the official start of his sous chef arc. And that’s what has him spending a night judging your knives and marveling, repeatedly and loudly, that you still have all your fingers.

You might put a piece of eggshell into his omelet that night in retaliation, and he might not even have the decency to react to it.

“...Johnny I can hear it crunching, oh my God would you spit it out!” You manage between laughter that’s got your face hurting.

That happens a lot around him. Smiling so much it hurts.

“Nah, i’s nice texture,” he says around the mouthful, then starts enunciating the longer words. “Very advanced technique. Shows a great awareness of the culinary experience–”

“You’re being such a prat. Why are you being such a prat!”

He talks over you as if he can’t hear you, as if he’s doing some mockingly posh review. “And honestly, the crunching–” he pauses and chomps down on the shell for effect, and how is it still intact, “it really engages the senses. Keeps me immersed in my dining experience.”

You regret loaning him your cooking books. Never again.

After that, though, he steals your knives, takes them home, and they come back so sharp you can cut windowpane slices of potato. He offers to teach you how to do it yourself–after stipulating with heart-clenching thoroughness that he’s happy to come over and do it for you any time.

Johnny gets weirdly into shopping farmer’s markets, walking around discovering new produce and varieties of things he’s never seen before. “Fuck would I know tomatoes come in this color? Look at this thing, it’s like a feckin’... it’s a wee lumpy sunset, isn’t it? And this! Like someone took the heart of a dragon,” his voice had gone terribly dramatic, and you definitely hadn’t covered your face, “and stuck it on a bush somewhere.”

“Baby how are you so huge, but so adorable?” You don't know when the pet names started, but you know he started them; sometimes it feels like you two grew up together.

You like the challenge of the new and unexpected ingredients that come from his trips, and by this point, he’s keeping your kitchen pretty stocked with whatever oddball pantry items you ask for, so you're set up to deal with almost anything. But on rare occasions he’ll call you with a question, too. You’ve had each other’s numbers for a while, it just made coordinating easier.

“Oi can you make sommat with uh… fiddlehead ferns?”

You always can, whatever he asks about. It just takes a quick internet search to find out if you can tackle it that same night, or if it needs to wait for another day. Sometimes it ends up disastrous, but like a shot, Johnny has you laughing or throwing something at him (usually-but-not-always also while laughing) before guilt or shame can get a proper foothold.

There was a night when he was too excited about something to wait for you to answer the door when he knocked, and since then, he just sort of comes in on his own after he announces himself—at least when you know to expect him. That feels right, too, just like having him at your counter had.

You’re feeding the both of you almost every night of the week by now, even if you’re still not cooking often. You like being around him so much, you can’t imagine doing it less, not even when cooking is the last thing you want to be doing. It’s like there’s a bubbly little sun in your chest when he’s around.

Johnny makes you so happy, in fact, and you’re so afraid of losing your time with him, it’s nearly six months before the first time you have to tap out of a dinner, too knackered to make yourself even casually presentable, nevermind cook so much as instant noodles.

He reacts like it’s no problem at all, which of course he’d do, because he’s wonderful, but you don’t manage to keep your heart from dropping that he’s not at least a little sad. That he doesn’t, maybe, look forward to the nights like you do. You know your arrangement is practical, and he’s never been over unless there was food involved, but… well… seeing him seems to have become rather… vital to you.

Which means it’s better to put it away, anyhow, right?

So when, an hour after you’d texted him and basically all he’d said was No problem, thinking takeout, any votes?, he’s coming through your front door with delivery bags and talking a mile a minute like it’s just another night, you're left with your mouth open and your hand on the knob, because… because he's here.

You're not cooking, but he's still here.

You just stand there gobsmacked as he sits on the couch, nattering away, half the food out before he even realizes you’re still playing doorstop. He asks if you’re having the time of your life or if you’re going to come sit down, those horrible (wonderful) crinkles at the sides of his eyes, brows pulled up in the middle.

He looks confused when you say you want to freshen up, like he can’t see that your hair might’ve lost a row with a feral rodent, or that you’re wearing clothes that shouldn’t even be outside of a bin, nevermind on a person. He just tells you the food will get cold, and that it’ll be no good that way.

So you run your hands through your hair and sit, subdued and uncertain like you haven’t been around him in ages, as he amiably fills the silence. You know he can tell you’re not right, but he’s just… acting like it’s ok that you aren’t.

Midway through the meal, he reaches forward to grab a container and put it in front of you, and it makes his knee come up against yours.

It doesn’t move away when he sits back.

Then, as the night wears on and the very most jagged edges of your weariness have eased, he makes a joke and you bump your shoulder into him in retaliation. It pushes your legs flush… and neither of you do anything to separate them. He just keeps on being Johnny like nothing is different, like nothing strange is happening, like he can’t see how bloody flushed you must be, like the room hasn't turned to glass and burst, leaving the both of you toppling through the air.

You're not stupid, so you have to tell yourself repeatedly that he’s just trying to comfort you. He’s acting completely normal otherwise—for Johnny—and you look like a person in need of a friend tonight. And same as him, you’re at all your meal nights instead of off with friends or dates. At least for him, it’s because of his career. You haven’t even seen him bringing up a new fling in ages.

…You’re not stupid. Right?

After the food is finished, Johnny putters about cleaning up, working his way around your kitchen like he knows it exactly as well as he does. He puts all but one container of leftovers in your fridge.

You hug your knees comfortably, just sort of watching him, too full of static to be paranoid about it, and he either doesn’t realize or isn’t bothered by it. Not being a complete creep, you don’t keep it up for too long, anyhow. You’ve got plenty to occupy your thoughts.

He surprises you on his way out by casually setting a mug in front of you. He’d made you something hot to drink while he was cleaning up, and you were so spaced you hadn’t realized. He just gives you a little smile, a gentle squeeze on the shoulder with a stroke of his thumb, says, “Wednesday, yeah?” (the night of your next normal get-together), and moves on toward the door. All normal. But there’s some metal in your chest painfully bending itself into unaccustomed shapes, jabbing places that aren’t used to the pressure, pushing into your windpipe until it’s hard to breathe, and you can’t stop yourself from telling him that you made up a new seasoning blend for popcorn, if he’d maybe like to watch a movie before he goes.

He stands there by the door looking at you just for a split second too long, opens his mouth, closes it, then settles right back onto the couch up next to you. He reaches out an arm and pulls you gently into his side, moving in a way that makes it an invitation and not a demand, while he’s talking about what to watch.

You fall asleep there. So does he.

Things turn a bit funny after that in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. At the surface, everything is the same. But nothing feels the same. Every time there’s a tease, casual touches, close quarters, you have to chant not stupid not stupid not stupid on repeat in your head. He’s just Johnny, that’s all. The guy you could have grown up with.

You keep up the dinners and the weekends, and eventually, finally realize that with him around to take all your extras, you can bake. It’s something you’ve wanted to try forever, but recipes don’t really make single servings, and you never had anyone to pawn off the other 22 muffins or ¾ of the cake onto, or the sheet of croissants, because you absolutely want to try the most fussy, difficult things. And it turns out, when at last he tells you what he does, that Johnny works at the local military base–which at least explains his size–so if he can’t polish something off, well, he knows some blokes.

You’re so excited after that, things almost seem to return to normal. He even comes over and hangs out while you’re baking sometimes. Just knocking about, licking the beaters and the spoons and the bowls, doing dishes as you go, fidgeting with this or that, all while knowing you’re equally as likely to produce something inedible as you are a treat.

Johnny tells you a little about his career one evening. He says that it means he’s in real danger often, there’s a lot of secrecy with people in his personal life, long absences and surprise ones, shit pay, and likely a brief expiration date. (You don’t really let that last one in). He’s got a bit of a funny look in his eyes when he shares about all of it. Quite focused on you, in a way? It makes your cheeks heat. It isn’t as if it’s on you to approve of his life.

But at least now you understand why he’s on his own. And you suppose you’re a bit small, because while you’re incredibly sad for him, part of you is thrilled that it means he’s not likely to be swept away by someone else too soon.

You just gather yourself up, smile, and tell him that at least he’s spending the time he has as best he can, which is a hell of a lot more than a lot of people do–although you personally hope there’s a lot more of it. And that… at the end, you're glad for all the times you're involved.

Johnny’s leaning against the counter while you fold nuts and rum-soaked fruit into a thick batter, his normally busy hands jammed into his pockets, posture a bit off, and so close you almost keep elbowing him on accident, the two of you just bantering back and forth.

You turn your head toward him to fire back, and–

–his mouth is just there, on yours.

He lingers, but doesn’t move otherwise. It’s… testing, you think. You feel his lips shake against yours, in fact, just once.

Your shock dies fast and your eyes slip closed, and while it’s a brief kiss, when he pulls away, you don’t open them. You can’t. Because if you’re honest, you’ve probably been gone for him since the first time you gave him a friendly hug goodnight, and it’s only ever gotten worse. If you open your eyes, this won’t be real, or it won’t have happened, or it will shatter somehow.

After a pause, he runs the back of a finger down your temple, trailing the side of your face to your jaw. You still won’t open your eyes, so he just toys with your face until you do.

He’s got a soul-crushing smile at the corners of his eyes.

“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he admits into the quiet.

“...Oh?” Your voice is embarrassingly, unhelpfully breathy. It’d probably be mortifying, if you had the mental capacity to fully register embarrassment at the moment.

He pauses, smile making its way to his lips, and curling them up at the corners, bit by bit. He cants his head, just a little, like he wants to see you from another angle. “Aye. …Might’ve been since the first time I saw you at the mailboxes.”

“Oh?”

That had been one of the first times you remember ever seeing him. He never said a word to you other than, “Mornin’” or “Evenin’,” if he said anything at all.

His smile blooms until you can see his teeth. “You were wearing this little shirt. Green, thin. Bit worn, like it was a favorite. Showed a wee spot of skin at your back.” His fingers brush the spot, soft and testing, near the base of your spine, and it jolts you from scalp to toes. “Might’ve… lost some time, thinking about what it’d feel like if I slid my hand up there.” He toys with the hem of your shirt and steps in, voice going deeper and rougher around the edges. “Might’ve imagined pushing it up, getting a bit closer. Really might’ve imagined putting your back up to the slots, mo–”

You kiss him this time, before he can go on, and it’s anything but testing.

And just like everything else about him, this fits.

His mouth fits against yours. His body fits against yours. And as if some band of control snaps, so abruptly you swear you feel it jolt through his skin, he's got you up on the counter, his thighs between yours, both of you already breathing hard.

His hands on you are perfect, calloused, slipping up under the back of your shirt, smoothing and gripping, making your chest and your thighs feel molten. It's ravenous, like he just has to touch your skin, has to get you closer. You arch toward him, fingers running up through his hair, legs curling around his and pulling him nearer.

His hips are carefully, stubbornly, infuriatingly back from you, but the kiss is so full of need, so close, that some of his breaths sound hollow against your mouth. It's like he can't decide whether inhaling or devouring you is more important, so he just doesn't choose.

When you're at the point of moaning unintentionally, of hungry little sounds forcing their way out of your chest, of your hips moving against the counter in desperation, when you're moments from outright begging, Johnny pulls back, and goes further when you try to chase his mouth.

His lips are red and full, his face dark--much worse when he catches sight of how completely drunk you must look--and he's panting. His fingers dig into your hips like he's trying to keep one or both of you from drowning. He squeezes his eyes shut.

You don't mean to, you really don't, but you look down, and lord help you but–

“That looks painful,” you tell him. Your voice sounds like it's been run over a washboard. He's tented against his denim, and his size is… proportional.

…You can't seem to remember how to make yourself look up.

“Really rather not talk about my cock just now, love,” he gravels, fingers clenching briefly against you. His head tips forward onto your shoulder, breaths panting out against your collar bone, leaving you to pick up every bit of heat he's trying to get out of himself.

You hum, teasing. “Shame, because I can't think of anything I'd rather talk ab—”

His big paw covers your mouth. “For the love of every Saint, I’m beggi—”

You cut him off right back. By licking his palm.

He recoils in horror, but the moment your eyes meet, you both burst into laughter, made worse every time he tries to tell you how disgusting that is, something about his sisters as kids, you don't know what else.

You're the first to sober, breathing almost back to normal, thoughts already whirring on fast-forward. You look down, pulling your knees together, hands gripping the edge of the counter. “Are we…. Will we be ok, after this?”

You peek up to see him looking at you like you're daft.

“‘S been the better part of a year,” he says softly, moving forward and running his thumbs over your knees. Asking your legs to make room again, to let him get close again. “Have you really not figured it out, all this time?”

Your legs open hesitantly, and he steps in and, when you look up at him, kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, slow and warm and so tender it feels like your chest is cracking right down the center.

Eyes closed, brows a little pinched, you murmur, “We can't all be SAS savants, Johnny.” Maybe you know. Maybe. But it has been all this time, so maybe you need to hear it, too.

He's still kissing, pace unhurried and savouring, making his way to your jaw and just beneath it. But it's calming now, somewhere between reverential and still trying to bring the both of you down. Himself especially, you think.

“Then let me spell it out for you. Gladly.” He noses up against the bottom of your ear and roughs, “You are fucking stuck with me. Glued. Bloody welded.” He huffs a laugh and leans back upright—but not all the way, not too far back. “This isnae a new thing for me. You know that, right? I just….” He shakes his head and abandons the thought, “Hell, my mates have already been asking when they can come over for dinner, the dobbers.”

Your brows shoot up. “You've talked about me at work?”

He looks down, and while his face is in half a scowl, you'd swear he does it to hide a slight flush, too. “Haven't shut up about you, more like. Should hear what my Lieutenant– Ach, nevermind that.”

You hurry to say that they're welcome any time, but it makes him scowl fully.

“Not exactly keen on the idea just yet.” He puts his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and just stands there, breathing you in. He mutters into the crook of your shoulder, “Mind if I stay like this for a bit? Just while I, uh… calm down.”

His hips are still well back from you. You’re not sure you’ve ever adored and hated him so much at once.

“I’d really like that,” you tell him softly, arms going around his ribs, hands on his shoulders, chest to chest.

It's warm and resounding like this, so after a spell, without thinking, you bite his shoulder. Just sink your teeth in and leave them there. It’s not even entirely conscious, it's just so comfortable and comforting.

“All good, there, wee piranha?” he eventually asks, a smile in his voice.

You detach instantly. “Ah, sorry! I, uh, might have a tiny bit of an oral fixation.”

He groans. “Are ye trying to do me in?”

“I’m not the one who said we had to stop, Mr. Military Discipline.”

His eyes darken in a flash, but he tamps down on it just as quickly and gets that godawful cocky look on his face, instead. “Pardon me for not wanting to rush something that really matters.” His tone goes so soft at the end that you can’t even be mad at him--exactly as you know he intended, the great bastard.

“How did I not know what a sadist you are?”

And that look means he’s about to make you eat your words.

“Johnny I will happily kill you in your sleep.”

“I could handle that. Means you'd be in my bed, aye?”

He pulls your hands up from the death grip they've found on the edge of the counter and laces your fingers together. “I dinnae….” He clears his throat, frowns. “Just being away on deployment is shite now, and I love what I do. But I miss you while I'm gone, think about you back here all the bloody time, and we havnae even….”

When he doesn’t finish, you whisper, heart clenching with the realization, “You don't want to rush this.”

He laughs quietly like he wants to argue. But what he says is, “No. I don't. But while that's true….” He steps in, chin ducking, eyes darkening even as they shine, voice lowering. “What do you say we turn the oven off? I've a funny feeling you willnae be getting around to that bake today.”

Masterlist

#johnny soap mactavish #cod soap #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap x reader #johnny mactavish #slow burn #friends to lovers #060 #meet cute #comfort fic #demisexual #fluff #johnny x reader #cod

1K notes · View notes

celesterayel · 1 year ago

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something out of my dreams | luke castellan

pairing : luke castellan x dionysus!reader

request: could you possibly write a luke x daughter of dionysus please? maybe she’s like super nice and when percy gets to camp she becomes like an older sister and luke is super whipped for her? @elz-zalarrr

IN WHICH — all he knows is that you were something out of his dreams.

"trust him like a brother, yeah, you know i did one thing right. starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night" - t.s.

w.c. 1.8k

warning(s) : cheesiness ゜✭・.

✩ ‧₊˚ author's note okay i've begun to realize that low-key i feel like i write in cursive if that makes sense? if a feeling could describe it i'd say its like using poetry to write? that's likely not any better lol :)

there was but one person that everyone could agree they adored at camp half blood.

it didn't matter what grudge who had with whom or what ancient rivalries transcended the ideals of reality, everyone loved you. not the typical type of brittle love that crumbled at the slightest of touches, but pure adoration that endured the sands of time.

you with the gentle soul, who healed others with each laugh and smile. when new half-godlings were brought to camp, you made sure to comfort them and make them understand that they belonged here and would find a home whether they wanted to or not. you made sure that no birthday was forgotten, no deed undone.

children of minor gods or elders, of Ares or Aphrodite, you became an older sister to all who needed you. you, the daughter of fertility and chaos, the god dionysius.

there was no debate that at camp half blood there was only a before you and an after you. you were like that high right before the free fall–invincibility and smoke and curiosity wrapped into the form of a demi-god. you were the gentle breeze during summer nights when the heat became too much. and none ached more to feel it than luke castellan, who had been burning for as long as he knew.

your relationship in itself was tentative, you danced around your feelings–scared one wrong touch or word would break the shaky, fine line that lay between you two. but you could not hide the way you loved the other to yourselves nor the children of the beings of divine blood.

luke castellan loved you like the stars would fall out of the sky with one harsh touch, free and incandescently self-destructive. like you were a wild, wonderful thing out of a fantasy.

you loved him like there was no hell or heaven but the cosmos that lay in his eyes and the worlds that lay in his soul. something so sacred and rare. a love so true and mortal it put all the greek tragedies to shame.

you knew that whatever you and him were made of, in every lifetime or the next you two were made for each other.

loving luke castellan would be both your redemption and destruction in the making, your elysium for whatever good thing you had done in your previous life.

✩ ‧₊˚

you first met percy jackson when he came to camp, he was a scared little thing who had just lost his mother when the veil between reality and deception flickered. everything he’d known came crumbling as quickly as the truth was uncovered: gods and monsters were real and played games of hell and heaven on earth. some thing about him called out to the vulnerability you once knew when you first came to camp so you made it your mission to be the sister he never had.

you met him at the front of the steps of the main office, “my name is y/n, percy jackson. welcome to camp halfblood.”

“do you just somehow know everyones name,” he raised his eyebrows at you.

“yes.” no, but you supposed it’d be fun to let him think that.

“of course you do.”

“come along, i’ll show the ins and outs here. if you're nice enough, i might let you in on the cook's secret stash of blue ice cream,” you laughed out.

he contemplated his choices before grabbing your outstretched hand and shaking it, “deal.”

you showed him who to avoid and the best people to befriend. the history between your kind and why the gods were as they were. the truth behind his bloodline and the legacy that he was now responsible for. the tribulations and the pain that was cursed to follow the children of the gods.

“and this is chris. the best person to ask if you need to know what plants are poisonous,” you say, introducing him to a guy with black hair and soft eyes.

percy looks at chris before looking around to see where the hermes boy is, “we’ve met. he was with luke when he was showing me around”

you’re cheeks heated at the mention of his name; looking around to see if you can spot the familiar tan skin and soft eyes that belong to your luke.

“oh! luke! yeah, he’s around here somewhere. he’s sly like that, wandering and then popping up the next second.”

a voice pipes up behind you suddenly, “y/n, already telling percy everything about me?”

you whirl around and there he stands in all his glory with the curls you love and the sun in his eyes. your golden boy.

“just telling him the truth, castellan. you’re hard to get a hold of sometimes.”

a hue of pink covers his cheeks, “i’m never far from you.”

both of you oblivious to percy and chris who seem to be conversing about you both and the tip-toe dance you play.

percy just wonders what’s happening here: firstly, luke is looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars and that’s saying something because he has shit observation skills–his analysis essays can attest to that. secondly, he swears he can see hearts in his eyes from where he’s standing and is that…is that a blush?

he turns to chris, who is just staring at the two like it's not out of the normal for what’s happening, “what’s happening here? is he blushing?”

chris just nods, “yeah. luke’s kinda–very obviously to everyone–in love with y/n. if i didn’t know better i’d say she’s gotten him insane in love. very likely as her dad’s the god of insanity.”

he turns back to the two who are laughing and standing closer than before, “like super, super in love. if there was a word for love, luke’s found it”

“huh.”

chris says it like it’s common knowledge like how the best food is blue jelly beans, “i mean i ship it, y/n’s the sweetest person around here–the type of person people write songs about. she’s like a sister to us older ones and a mother to the younger ones. the whole camp is waiting for him to just man up and ask y/n. they make each other happy, you know?”

“yeah, i think i do.”

percy thinks it’s something the poets would write about.

✩ ‧₊˚

fridays are capture the flag days.

you’re not the type of person to engage in these types of games all that often but you suppose there’s a first time for everything. someone’s got to show the percy boy how it’s played.

“okay, percy. remember, keep your senses open and make sure that no one gets close enough to engage. once they engage, it’s hard to fight them off.”

all around you two, people have begun to don their armor and raise arms. the sun has just reached its height and you’re huddled together discussing your gameplan. even though your cabin house is pretty small, you’ve joined athena and hermes for this game.

percy’s voice rises a little high as he tries swinging his sword around only to drop it, “yeah, okay. i’ll just try not to die, i guess. that’s not like hard or anything.”

“just follow my lead and if i’m not here find luke.”

you're not exactly excited about percy’s odds. the kid is lanky as is and his sassiness doesn’t help him out much when others target him for it.

that’s exactly why you’re gone to his rescue when he nearly gets hit in the face by a spear after he insulted one of the boys from house ares.

your heel nearly buckles under a sharp hit after you block the attack that’s directed to percy. you manage to reset your heel and push the sword off before you drop down into a crouch and sweep the legs of the warrior in front of you.

unfortunately you're slightly too focused on what’s in front of you and protecting percy you don’t realize that someones charging toward you from the side.

fortunately, a block from a familiar sword stops any attack that might meet you head on. no sooner do you hear the block that luke’s got the other guy on the floor and surrendering.

you grin at him, “i had that handled.”

giving you that grin that makes you feel like your future's right in front of you, he replies: “i’m sure you did. but why let you deal with him when i can save you the trouble.”

“why don’t you go and help annabeth win the games, romeo.”

he gives you a wink, throwing a quick ‘yes ma’am’ before he’s already running off again.

no sooner than later, a quick gong resounds throughout the camp, concluding the games. you’re standing slightly battered while percy walks behind you pointing out all the flowers he’s found. you definitely need to teach him how to defend himself.

the players are just trickling in for the woods they’ve been fighting in to reband together and in the distance you see a figure running toward you.

holding onto the flag, he continues to look at you like you’re everything he’s ever needed to breathe. he’s taken his helmet off and you can finally see him fully: brown eyes and all dimples.

“see you’ve found the flag.”

he takes a couple of steps closer to you until only two steps separate him and you, “yeah, someone told me to go win the game so I did just that for her”.

“really now?”

he whispers, “yeah.”

his eyes twinkle and you’ve never wanted anything more than to continue to stare at them.

you hope he’ll make the next move but luke castellan, the boy you’ve fallen for in every lifetime, is always content to admire you.

so, you take those two next steps, grab him by his neck, and press your lips to his.

he stands shocked for a minute, wondering if what’s happening is really happening. but no sooner, he’s dropped the flag on the grass and holds you like your the greatest treasure he’s ever had.

there’s a certain type of tragedy that your golden boy tastes like, fire and freedom all in this moment. it’s the price of redemption and damnation that you’re willing to pay.

to him, it’s the stars aligning like you’d will them to–the power you held and every thing he’s ever needed. your his past, future, and present: the threads in his life giving him the one thing he’s ever wanted. something he’s only ever dreamed of.

he pulls back slightly before murmuring, “in every lifetime or the next, i am yours. i don’t know what i did to deserve you. you’re something only out of my dreams, y/n.”

"you sap"

you just kiss him again, ignoring all the campers and those still trickling in.

✩ ‧₊˚

“definitely a child of dionysius. she’s reduced him to insanity,” pipes up percy as he tears off the petals of the flower he holds in his hand.

chris just grabs a flower and continues to rip the petals off like the boy beside him.

“damn straight!” shouts luke toward the two.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo fandom #pjo series #luke x reader #percy jackson show #percy jackson x reader #luke pjo #pjo x reader #pjo x you #pjo #ignore the cringe

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akpaley · 4 months ago

Text

Made smooth and slick of seas and strands Tides that turn at your commands A heartbeat held by heavy hands

More Kaijja character writing. Roughly 1200 words on the beginning of her romantic relationship with the flesh god.

---

He does not mind solitude, but when you lack other obligations he does not mind your intrusion either. It is perhaps not usual, but it is natural to be fascinated with a god. You intrude often. You call it an extension of work, and the two of you do work through problems together. He was surprised, once upon a time, when he inflicted experience on you to demonstrate the severity of his edicts and you, not unshaken but still engaged, asked if he felt such detail in the experience of every person he faced. He had not been asked to use his power as a tool of empathy, not after imposing such suffering, not in centuries, but it is commonplace between you now. You wonder to what extent he can feel you enjoy it, even when it is excruciating. And the intellectual exercise is useful. Many times simulation of similar encounters has helped you watch for signs of tension, has made you more perceptive to the way your interlocutors conduct themselves and react to you. It is practical, and there is a quiet selfish pleasure in understanding the way he sees and feels the world.

Mirjat tells you it is unusual for Iokhar's Advocate to be his friend, or even to like the man, and you understand that but you do not relate. He is beautiful when he attempts to be terrifying, he is rational when he cannot intimidate, he is deeply intensely perceptive, and in his own stoic way he is oddly soft. Perhaps kind is a better word. He cares much more deeply than he shows. There is a selfish little thrill in that as well, knowing that you have brought out in him qualities most others never see. Knowing that you surprise him, a man who can feel everything but your thoughts just standing across from you. You accomplish a great deal in your tenure, but it is this that most often produces that quiet sense of pride.

He shows you change. In theory this is to make a point, but the point is unnecessary. You are not asking about something of immediate importance. It is after hours and you are asking about a story, about old scripture, from a primary source. This is not uncommon, and alongside speaking in words he chooses to sate a curiosity he knows you will have. When he has pulled you back together into the right shape you grin up at him. He studies you, near expressionless, and says "This is inappropriate." It is the strangest declaration of love you will ever receive, and you see it for what it is immediately. It should shock you, but somehow it does not. You agree. The evening ends with a veneer of stoic professionalism.

You will talk about it the next day. You will talk about it for the next week. You will see a degree of begrudging openness from him that you will not realize has been kept from you until you see it for the first time. You seek counsel, as is the responsible thing to do, but find that there is very little doubt as to the choice you will make. Mirjat appeals to your career, to the work that you've done, to the work that you might still do, and you find the arguments that have driven you all your life unconvincing.

You split your evenings between discussions with Iokhar and your own private consideration. You know the thrill of new intimacy will cloud your judgment, and he does too, but you both recognize that no matter what decision the two of you make your relationship will change. The idea of a purely professional relationship absent discussions of philosophy, history, art and other work feels galling, having experienced a relationship that is mutually irreplaceable. Later the idea of being irreplaceable to him will raise warmth in your chest and bring a smile to your face, but in that week while you assess it is simply a fact to be weighed. You are problem solving. Your feelings are data, but you do not have time to feel them fully. Only that they tell you what you want. You will resign with two weeks left in the season and half a term unfinished. It will take you most of the remaining two weeks working with your Clericy to choose Devadas as a successor, swear him in as Kalidas, and get him up to speed.

You already spend a great deal of time working during the on season, but for the better part of two weeks private time is practically nonexistent. This is a major adjustment, expected by no one, and by the time Iokhar leaves Kalidas must be prepared to represent him fully in the Council of Advocates. Anything you knew, anything you were working on, must be written down in such detail that it can be picked up where you left off. While you will join the Clericy of Iokhar, thus becoming available as a resource, it will take another month for the Clericy of the Petitioner Saints to determine this is the appropriate course of action and you must prepare for the contingency in which your full abdication from governance is determined necessary. It is not until the final night that you and your god finally have proper time together again. You sit quietly for much of it. He holds you and seems unpracticed, which to be fair you are as well. A decade is not a short time. A century and a half is longer. Yet, for all that, the mere ten months in front of you suddenly seems very long indeed.

"I would hear your voice when I am gone," he tells you, and it is less vulnerability than simple truth.

"I'd love to hear yours too," you say with irony, "but I suppose one of us will have to wait."

"I will not shirk my duties," he says, "But--"

"I would not ask you to." He pauses and then drops the apology. "Come back next season with stories for me." You smile as if this is a usual farewell, a friendship set aside to be picked up where it left off upon his return.

Very calmly, he takes your hand in his and matches his gaze to yours. For the first time you can feel the sensation of his own body mapped to yours, and you feel his quiet simmering hunger for you, individual fibers of his being humming beneath his skin for touch that a human lover could never even pretend. You feel it in the strands of your own muscles, suddenly yearning to rise up from beneath your skin and embrace the man in front of you. It is nearly overwhelming. Your breath catches and you do not dare break his gaze for fear it might stop. His voice is a low rumble in his chest. "I will."

It is a greater promise than you asked for. It will stick with you during the long months of his absence, haunting your prayers and quiet moments and intruding on your activities unprompted.

Upon his return, he will admit that this was the point.

#d&d character #d&d #artists on tumblr #body horror #digital art #Inland Sea Campaign #kaijja #iokhar #writing

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notafunkiller · 1 year ago

Text

out of style

Summary: A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.

Pairing: ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, fingering, oral séx, no condom (but f is on birth control), language, a little alcohol, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 7.2K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I really hope you'll enjoy it!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

What an ass... He has no shame at all. And the worst part? You’re still somehow surprised by it. As if you haven’t known him for years.

You look away, making sure to take a sip from your wine before focusing on the conversation again. It’s Nat’s big day, and you’re so happy for her, but listening to this story for the seventh time is exhausting. Same reactions, too: “Wow, he’s so well trained.” or “The wedding bands didn’t fall even once. Enzo is fantastic.” He’s a trained dog, you don’t get why they’re so fucking impressed.

You give Nat a smile before you excuse yourself to go to the bar. Maybe you should get a cocktail, the wine tastes terrible. On the way, you notice Steve talking to Miss Sunshine in the right corner, and you just nod toward him politely, trying to look unbothered. It’s his best friend’s girlfriend after all. What did you expect? Plus, maybe it’s just a polite conversation.

“A Sex on the Beach, please,” you murmur to the bartender.

“Vodka so early?”

You turn your head with a sigh just to see a guy you recognize from Nat’s engagement party. A fresh haircut, a simple suit and wandering eyes.

“Is there a time limit for a cocktail?” you respond, rolling your eyes when you notice he is still fixated on your chest.

He immediately raises his hands in defense as he takes a seat next to you.

God, if you hate one thing about being single besides the lack of sex is this… needing to deal with those men. It was perfect when Bucky used to take care of them.

“I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart.” You scrunch your nose instantly. God no!

“Here you go!” The bartender places the glass gently in front of you, and you’ve never been more grateful to see her.

“Thank you!” You smile before taking a huge sip, hoping it will turn him off and make him get away.

“A vodka tonic for me.” His tone is commanding, and you try not to roll your eyes again as he leans in closer. “We’re matching.”

“Huh?” You choke.

“Vodka lovers.”

Alright, time to get out of here!

You quickly grab your glass and stand up, making sure to fix your dress just in case, but his eyes are already on your breasts again. For fuck’s sake! How is he Steve’s cousin?

And talking about Steve, you almost jump when you hear him saying your name.

“Hey.” You’ve never been happier to see him.

You can’t say the same thing about his friend, who’s right next to him, looking the creepy blondie up and down.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks with obvious concern. “Do you feel okay?”

“Hey, man! The food is great and the company even better. Look at her, such an eye candy, am I right?” He chuckles at his own disgusting comment. “I mean, you’re married. Don’t answer that, I don’t want Romanoff on my back.” And after all of this, he has the audacity to wink at Steve. But before you can throw your cocktail over his shirt and make a scene, Bucky’s already getting in front of you, blocking your view with his huge back.

“If you want to keep your teeth, get the fuck out of here and never, ever get even within three feet of my wife. Am I fucking clear?”

His tone is so cold, harsh, and arrogant at the same time, but also so possessive. It surprises both: you and Steve, because he immediately looks at you confused before dropping his eyes on your hand.

He must be looking for a ring.

God, you never hated Bucky more than when you see blondie standing up and going straight outside just like that. It makes you even angrier because it’s always a man who has to explain the obvious signs to these assholes so they leave. You say no? You are playing hard to get. You are with a man? Then it’s all off-limits.

You sip your cocktail with frustration, the taste of vodka lingering on your tongue.

Then, you take a step toward Bucky, grabbing his arm and turning him so he can face you. “Listen and listen good, I’m not your wife and I don’t need you to play the macho hero! I can handle myself, so back off!” You wanted to leave after saying this, but the way he looks at you makes you change your mind. His eyes softened, showing a trace of your old Bucky, and it only pisses you off more. He labeled you just like that... “I divorced you for a reason, I’m not your property or responsibility. Stay out of my fucking business or I’ll show you exactly how well I can take care of myself!”

You hand him your half-full glass and storm out, seeing red. Or well, blue.

You anticipated that he’d come after you, of course you did. You know him, as much as you hate to admit. You still know him well. Too well.

And when you hear his sigh behind you, you don’t jump.

“You can handle yourself, but he was all over you. Sorry for being a gentleman.” He apologizes sarcastically. “I guess old habits die hard.”

“Too bad, Barnes! I am not your little wife. I am not your girlfriend. I am not even your friend.” You turn your head to look at him as he’s standing on the other side of the balcony. “And I am not that flavor of the month of yours, you have to kill these habits.”

He raises his head. “Flavor of the month?”

“Yeah, your plus one. You know, you should take care of her instead of trying to play hero and calling me your wife.”

“Keeping an eye on me? He smirks. “Thought you divorced me for a reason.”

Fuck him! He thinks he got you... “I did! You couldn’t open your mouth to say what bothers you, remember?”

“Well, I opened my mouth to do something else, far more exciting.”

You gasp, incredulous at his audacity.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream, walking toward him. “Seriously!”

“What is wrong with me? You tell me! You divorced me for a reason.”

“Don’t you have someone else to bother? Fuck off already, Bucky!”

“You got angrier with me now than back there with him. Unbelievable!” He shakes his head.

You take a deep breath, trying not to have a crisis. You are not gonna let him get to you. “Look, can you just pretend this didn’t happen?”

He instantly looks at you shocked as he leans in. “This as in,” he waves between you two. “Our marriage? You think I can pretend our marriage never happened?” His voice grew louder, his words punctuated by sharp, angry inflections. “You think just because we divorced, you get to ask me that? How can you...”

You’re taken completely aback by his whole attitude, and it’s like you’re back in time at your wedding as he made you sneak out so he can make you come on his tongue after saying all sorts of things.

You don’t know why you suddenly remembered that, but you need to snap out of it.

“I meant the whole interaction, you annoying man!”

“How was I supposed to know?” He looks much more relaxed now, though, and before you can think about it, you’re poking his chest.

“Why would I tell you to forget about our marriage, Bucky?” You smile. “You are more than free to think about me as you fuck your little flavor of the month. I am not gonna stop that.”

You see his eyebrows raise instantly as his gaze drops to your finger. “My little flavor of the month? How many times did you think about me fucking her?” His hand finds your wrist. “Did you wonder if I’m fucking her from behind as I choke her? Did you imagine me coming all over her tits? Did you-”

You grab his cheeks, just the way he likes it, to stop him.

“You think I have nothing better to think about? I have my own dicks that occupy my thoughts,” you lie through your teeth, and he knows it. God, he knows it as he chuckles right away.

“What’s so funny, Barnes?” You let go, expecting him to do the same, but he’s still holding your other wrist.

“You have no dick to think about. I know you broke up with your last flavor of the month, honey.”

He knows how much you hate being mocked with the word honey, but you bite the inside of your cheeks. “It’s funny really,” you fake giggle, looking up at him. “You assume I don’t have someone already. Maybe I’m just enjoying my life after our divorce... new dick every month since I am a free woman. I don’t even need something serious. You know how much I love sex.”

His smile immediately drops, his face reddening.

“You are absolutely infuriating!” Even his tone carries a sense of irritation.

“Aww, what happened?”

It’s his turn to grab your face, making you gasp. You don’t remember the last time he touched you, and you’re shivering.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, and you know it!”

“I don’t play games, Bucky, that is your specialty.” You smile, trying to maintain your composure. “Now let me go and get back to your little girlfriend. You can be mad about how many dicks she thinks about.”

“You can’t do the whole non-attachment shit. I know you well, don’t forget that. You’re my...” He talks so fast you’re surprised he stopped. You know what he was gonna say, of course you know. The audacity!

“I am not your wife, Bucky. You literally have a woman with you here tonight. We divorced, we live in separate places, and we fuck different people.”

“Who are you fucking, huh?” He almost spits the last words. “Tell me! Nat said you’re single.”

“You’ve been asking Nat about my personal life?” And she is spilling to him? No way.

“Fuck...” he frowns, dropping his hand from your face. “No.”

“Steve!” You realize. “God, this is pathetic! Why do you keep tabs on me, huh? Can’t you just mind your own business? Is your life goal to piss me off?”

“I’m not the one calling Jessica the flavor of the month.”

“Ha!” You laugh in his face. “Well, you have no success in getting a girlfriend. And they all look pretty familiar.” You can’t hide the venom in your voice. “The differences are they’re just taller and with less in the chest department. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”

“So you’re keeping tabs on me too!”

“You flatter yourself. It’s quite obvious, look at Jessica. Does she know you were married to me? Does she beg you to fuck her mouth? Does she...” You take a deep breath. “Does she call you daddy, James? Does she ride you until you lose control and turn her on her back so you can pound her?” You don’t care anymore. Right or wrong, you’re gonna let it all out. “Do you praise her? Tell her how wet she is for you? How your cock is made for her? Do you... do you tell her you love her while she’s coming? Do you fucking call her your good girl?”

“Jesus-” You don’t let him continue his sentence, interrupting him.

“Does she take you like I did? Does she beg for you because she feels empty, James? Does she? Did any of them?”

“Stop. It.”

“Why? You didn’t stop!”

He sighs, reaching out to grab your cheeks gently. “No one does, are you happy? I don’t even fucking try. I don’t let anyone call me daddy, I don’t choke anyone and I definitely don’t fuck anyone like I fucked you. Are you happy? Seeing me miserable and pathetic? Are you enjoying it?”

You can’t deny the satisfaction and relief you feel when you hear that. Dating post-him was a very bad experience overall, so him not upgrading, indeed, in any way, makes you feel victorious. At least, you’re both suffering.

“Yeah, I actually enjoy that.”

“What about you?” He snaps. “Do you do all of that?”

“I don’t want to be called daddy, James.”

“You know exactly what I meant! You call those losers daddy? You choke around their cocks? Do you beg for their small dicks to go deeper and finish yourself off after it?”

“Like I begged for your small dick?” You ask annoyed, knowing how dumb this lie is, but what else can you say? No one compares to him and never will.

His response shocks you as he reaches down to the zipper of his worn jeans and pulls it down.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“Wanted to, you know… give you more mocking material in case you forgot how small it is.”

You have to think twice about what to say because the first thought was: I have enough videos, thanks. But you can’t. You can’t expose yourself like that.

“James, what the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to hurt me?”

“With my small dick?”

You look away for a few seconds, not wanting him to read you. “Why are you doing this? We divorced, you’re seeing someone, I’m good by myself... just let it go.”

He smiles at that, and you realize you indirectly told him you are indeed not fucking anyone.

“Why would I let go of my wife?”

You’re slapping his chest before you realize what you’re doing. “Stop this, Bucky! Just fucking stop.”

He’s hurting you, how can he not see that?

“You said you divorced me for a reason. You said...” he pauses. “You ordered me to leave you alone. Well, what if I don’t want to?”

“What are you, a fucking stalker?”

“No!” He almost screams. “I am fucking in love with you, you infuriating woman!”

“W-what?”

He can’t be joking about this, can he? He is not cruel. He is not vile. This isn’t a game.

“I’m in love with you. I love you. You own me... you fucking control me.”

“How?”

He laughs hysterically, running his hands through his hair before pulling. “I am fucking obsessed with you: how you are, if you’re doing well, if you miss me, if you’re fucking someone else, if your date went great, if you regret being with me, if someone else makes you smile wider. I dream about you, I am so miserable I couldn’t be with anyone. With Mia it lasted a month. I wasn’t... I wasn’t okay. I am not okay.”

You look at him, waiting for more. “Go on and zip your jeans, we’re in public.” You watch him quickly do what you demand before you continue. “And what about Jessica tonight? Or Alexa a month ago? Why are you lying to me?”

“It’s not real. Jessica... I was just trying to make you jealous, okay? I was sneaking looks all night, have you not noticed at all?”

You don’t smile, despite your huge instinct to. Instead, you cross your arms, watching him drop his gaze straight to your boobs.

“Why would I notice, James?”

“Well, how did you notice Jessica looking a little like you, that she’s with me here?”

Fair point...

“Just...” You’re suddenly gripped by this crazy urge to just fuck him right here. You even regret telling him to zip back up. You could have just lifted your dress as he lowered his briefs and took out his cock. And just like that, you could have just fucked against the wall or something. You would have let him rip off your panties too. You just need his cock so badly! “Shut the fuck up!” You snap, grabbing him by his neck so he can lean in enough for you to be able to kiss him. And oh, you kiss him!

You don’t have to fight to dominate the kiss, surprisingly, because he lets you. He lets you bite his lip and almost draw blood, he lets you unzip his pants again and push down his unfit-for-a-wedding jacket, and most importantly, he lets you be his again, as pathetic as that might sound. You feel him emotionally, not just physically.

Without wasting more time, you drop to your knees, making sure only your dress and shoes touch the floor directly. You drag down his pants and briefs at the same time from your position, and he looks at you surprised.

“I thought we’re in public and you were fucking some-” his words die as you bring your tongue to the head of his cock, tasting the precum, but not sucking even a little bit.

“Weren’t you saying something?” You tuck your hair strands behind your ears as you mock him. You love being on your knees for Bucky. He has this dominant energy, but he always makes you feel in power even when he fuck your mouth. And you enjoy it, you feed on it. One of the reasons you missed him so much. And he can take mocking. “Please go on. I am all ears.” You breathe out on his dick. “And tongue.”

“Oh god,” Bucky’s voice is a moan at this point, and you laugh. So easy...

“I’m your god now? Aww! Come on, do I have to do everything tonight?”

He looks down at you confused. His blue eyes are almost grey, and you know he’s on cloud nine already just because you’re there.

“What?”

“Oh, you need translation. Well,” it’s all you say before wrapping your lips around his dick and using both of your hands to push him as deep as he can go inside your mouth. He moans at the same time you gag, and his balls slap you in the face. He instinctively looks at you to ask if you’re okay, but you are more than okay. You are fucking alive. You encourage him to fuck your throat at this point by squeezing his ass cheeks and touching his balls.

“God, look at you! That pretty black dress…” He pulls out and back in not as forcefully as he can, but enough to make you start tearing up quickly. “On your knees for your man. That mouth!”

You find yourself moaning at the feel of his fingers grasping and tugging at your hair. Jesus, how you missed this...

“You have the sweetest mouth.” Does he even realize what he’s mumbling? “I could die right here. Right now,” he says and thrusts harder, which makes you close your eyes. You can barely see anything because of the tears, and he’s already close. “My pretty baby, my fucking girl.”

You’re getting wetter and wetter the more he talks, and it’s crazy. You’re cold and your jaw is hurting, yet you love this.

“Not caring if someone can catch us, just making sure you mark me again. God, I'm gonna come, baby. Gonna... should I p-pull-”

You don’t let him finish his sentence as you grab his ass to make sure you keep him there, in your throat, as he comes while moaning your name.

When he finishes, he immediately helps you stand up, before he kisses you desperately, his tongue immediately licking your bottom lip to get access. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly. You moan in the middle of the kiss because his semi-hard cock is right where you need it, and it’s like torture...

“Need to taste you, okay, baby?” He asks with so much need in his voice. He sounds so whipped. “Need my pussy. Can I take you to my room?”

That is perfect, a dream at this point. But you need to make him a little more desperate.

“But the wedding… They would kill us.”

“I am sure you care sooooo much about this wedding and Nat’s stories. More than about getting my tongue on that pretty clit of yours and making you come all over my face.”

You can’t hold back your laughter.

“Fair point, Mr. Barnes. I deserve my orgasms, especially after listening to you pathetically trying to seduce me by admitting how desperate you are.”

“You dropped to your knees on this balcony just to mark my cock as yours.”

You pull his hair a little. “You said it yourself, it's already mine. Now get that ugly jacket and carry me.”

Bucky snorts, kissing your cheek. “You bought me that ugly jacket.”

“I know.”

You don’t know where you left your phone and even though you should feel panicked, you don’t. All you can focus on is Bucky taking off your dress and groaning at the sight of your cups. You couldn’t wear a full bra, so you improvised. They could barely hold your breasts, but no nipples showing? Win.

“Hurry up!”

“Jesus,” he moans and reaches for your cups. Desperate man... you roll your eyes, but let him uncover your breasts and grab them into his hands eagerly. He’s not just holding them, he looks and touches them as if he’s never seen boobs in his entire life, let alone yours.

“James...” You sigh, throwing your head back in pleasure when he finally gets your nipple into his mouth. Your hand finds his hair instantly, and you watch him suck happily while playing with your other nipple.

“You’re quite hungry,” you say with a smile, stroking his hair. You missed this so much. His need to always touch or sleep on your boobs, the way he grabs them while he’s pounding you... You shiver in anticipation when he switches to the other tit.

“Fucking shit, I missed them so much.”

You snort. “My boobs?”

“Mine.” He’s not sucking anymore, he’s eating them, shocking you.

“H-hold on a second, Bucky. They’re breasts, not my clit.”

“It’s been a year, love. Let me get my fill. I died without them. Died!”

As much as you wanted to think only about the part he missed your boobs, you can’t help the jealousy that clouds your mind. You were divorced, yet the image of him sucking someone else’s tits makes you want to hit a wall. Mia all over him... You pull his hair angrily. “You surely had other tits in your mouth, Bucky, for the past year. Don’t pretend this is any different.”

He immediately stops sucking. “You... you can’t believe this. Tell me you don’t believe this.”

You look away, too proud to face him. “What am I supposed to believe, huh? It’s been one fucking year.”

“I’ve been yours this whole year. I’ve been thinking about you, fucking my fist while watching... our videos, as fucked up as it might be. I tried to date, but I failed, and trust me, it has nothing to do with the size of my dick and my age. No one is you. No one smells like you or talks like you. No one is my brat with the god complex.”

“God complex?” You raise your eyebrow, keeping your face straight. “Fuck you.”

“I will fuck it out of you as I usually do, don’t worry.”

“Then why does it keep coming back?”

He chuckles. “Because you want to get fucked all the goddamn time.”

“Like you don’t!” You puff. “Come on, I breathe in your direction and you get hard, Bucky.”

“Did you see yourself? Did you have sex with yourself? You cannot judge me!” He grabs your breasts again. “There is no comparison, okay? You have no rival. Never did, never will.”

“That’s all?” You puff, amused. “My looks?”

“Do I even have to say… Your god complex exists for a fucking reason. You’re the smartest, most sarcastic, and feistiest person I’ll ever meet. One mocking comment, and you know how I get.”

“Pathetic?” You mock him on purpose just to get the reaction he is talking about. You love it when he compliments you.

“Is this why you divorced me? Cause I am a pathetic son of a bitch?”

You take a deep breath. “I divorced you because you refused to communicate properly with me anymore, and you know it.”

“So not because of my small dick, either,” he remarks, making you roll your eyes.

“No, your small dick is one of the reasons I am here.”

Bucky dramatically touches his heart. “So you’re using me for my sex skills!”

“As if you don’t beg me to use you. Come on, put that mouth to good use before Nat comes after us.”

He doesn’t disappoint as he finally rips your underwear off, just like you fantasized about, and you use this as the perfect opportunity to fish for more.

“What happened, Jamie? So eager. Aren’t you a little good-”

The word boy comes out as a moan when you feel his index finger curled up inside you suddenly.

“What happened, honey? Too big for you?”

“Dick!”

“You’ll get that. I just need to erase the memories of having little pencils in here. That must have been traumatic.”

“You’re such a jerk!” You snort, but he’s right. It was really bad.

Bucky shrugs, finally kneeling properly between your legs before lifting them on his shoulders. God, yes!

“Gonna give my pussy some loving.”

“D-didn’t know you have a pussy, James.”

He smiles against your inner thigh. “I certainly keep what I lick.”

“Eww, what the fuck.”

He snorts, kissing your slit. “I am joking, baby. Tried to imitate one of those dicks you thought you could replace me with.”

Petty fucking bitch! You grab him by his hair and push him closer to your pussy.

“Shut the fuck up and eat!”

His tongue feels like heaven, indeed, on your clit. You’ve lost count of how many times you remembered him eating you out so you can come this year. He's just so good at eating your pussy.

You let out a satisfied sigh when he adds a second finger. You start to feel like before… like you and Bucky are still married and with no problem. Like you're happy. He makes you so happy. Made.

So you stare at his hair and stroke it as he sucks on your clit, completely squashed between your thighs, and try to hold back your tears.

When he adds his third finger and starts tracing eight figures on your clit with his tongue before he flattens it, you know you’re about to come.

There is something about the way he always manages to make you vulnerable even if it’s not intentional, to cut you open and get in... and you don’t want it to be over. You can’t let him go again after tonight. You’d suffocate.

Your efforts to delay your orgasm and not tear up are futile because when he sucks a little harder, you come and start sobbing somehow. The orgasm is strong and even though you’d want to watch Bucky, you close your eyes, letting yourself go, and shut your mind down for a second. Everything feels so overwhelming. So amplified…

You’re grateful he doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers, either, even though you felt him hesitating when he heard you crying. You really needed this.

As soon as you finish, you drop your legs, furiously trying to wipe your face. He knows the difference between crying because of a crazy orgasm and you being emotional. He instantly gets back on the bed next to you and pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve had in two years.

“God, I’m...” You don’t know how to continue this phrase. You should not feel sorry for crying and you’re not pathetic for it. “I m-missed you so much, Bucky. Why did you give up?”

You feel his warm breath on your forehead. “I never gave up, baby, I swear.”

“B-but you did. You didn’t even try for more than six months. When I told you...” You take a deep breath. “That I want a divorce, you didn’t even look at me. Once, Bucky! Not even once…” You show him your index finger. “You simply agreed. You gave up on us. I was waiting for you to say: no, let’s try. No, I’ll communicate. Your words...” You sob. “Your words would have been enough for me. You should know that.”

“Oh my god, baby, please, breathe!” He kisses your forehead over and over again. “I never gave up, I swear. I wanted to say no, I wanted to tell you all of that, but you asked me for divorce. It felt like you wanted out. You were tired of fighting... you were tired of me. And I didn’t want to tell you to stay just so you could either stay with me out of pity or reject me. I would have died... To look at you and beg, and to see you detached.”

You shake your head into the crook of his neck. He cannot...

“How would I be detached if I tried for six months? How would I get tired of you?”

“Exactly. You tried for six months. I thought you snapped out of it...”

“Out of what?” You whisper, scared to say it louder, but he hears you anyway.

“Out of love.”

You immediately lift your head to look at him. He’s crying, too. “Bucky...” You bring your fingers to his cheeks and start to caress them.

“I just couldn’t remember us like this. I couldn’t look into your eyes and see you staring at me like I’m a stranger.”

“Jesus Christ, when did we fail to communicate this much?”

He knows you don’t expect an actual answer, so instead of speaking, he holds you, and kisses you, and makes you giggle.

The more you move into his lap, the better you feel his erection pressing against your pussy. So close, yet so far.

He groans, placing his hands on your hips. “Careful.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be careful. I want you to fuck me raw right now.”

“Right now? He snorts, using his position to his advantage and moving. And just like that, you’re suddenly pressed with your back against the bed, and his mouth covers the valley between your breasts. That didn’t take a lot of convincing.

“Did you fuck anyone else without protection?” You ask unsure how to formulate it without it sounding a little weird. You’re not even sure you want to know the answer if it’s positive, but still.

“No. Only condoms and well... to be honest more my fist,” he chuckles, helping you get on your back again by bringing a pillow under your head. “I tested myself, of course.”

You nod, trying to hide your happiness. You selfishly wanted this: no one but you to feel him without any barrier.

“Good.”

“What about you?”

“No one for me, either.”

You would laugh at his proud face if you didn’t know he might use it to tease you later. You can use it too, though.

“Come on, baby, spread your legs for me. Daddy’s home.”

You laugh surprised, but you do what he says. You really missed having him between your legs.

Needy, you reach for his T-shirt, that for some reason is still on, and you tug it down, showing him you want it off.

He hesitates for a couple of seconds too long before grabbing his T-shirt by the neck.

“Come on, what did you do? Got a tattoo?”

You get your answer as soon as he’s finally naked.

“Oh, God!” You instantly lift your hand so you can grab his necklace. “What the fuck, James...”

“I told you I never gave up on us.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve been keeping it on since we divorced?”

He blushes, looking away. “Yeah.”

“Even when you were with other girls?”

Your heart is racing.

“Never took it off.”

You giggle, touching the surface of the ring over and over again.

“No wonder why nothing worked.”

“I had no intention to make it work.”

You say nothing, just looking into his eyes and letting him see how fucking much you love him, how he could never be a stranger, and you kiss him, wrapping your legs around his ass to show him what you need.

“I want you to pound me, okay? I want to feel you for days, do you hear me? I am so wet and ready. Please, just fuck me!”

You shiver a little when you feel the back of his hand brushing against your clit while he brings his cock to your entrance.

“Gonna make you mine again, alright? Gonna make you forget this year and everyone who,” He finally thrusts inside you. “Tried to get you.”

He’s thick. Really thick, and you can’t believe how you managed to survive without this stretched-out feeling for a whole fucking year.

“I hate you so much!’

He snorts. “I am pretty sure you love me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my cock inside you after one year.”

“This is the problem!” You hiss when he pulls almost completely out. “One year, Bucky!”

“Aww!” He says a bit mockingly before thrusting all the way in again. Oh my God... you close your eyes. “Is this your bratty way of telling me you missed my small dick?”

“Bratty? You think this is bratty?” You ask him sarcastically before bringing a hand to his ass. “Harder!”

“Harder, huh?” He quickly unwraps your legs and turns you on your belly before you can react.

You gasp, shocked by how fast he is and hating the emptiness, but he ignores it, bringing a pillow under your pussy.

“Ass in the air, come on.”

You comply immediately, staring at his face from the side. He looks like he’s on a mission, with his hair already in all directions and the wedding band hanging around his neck.

The first thing you feel is his mouth on your ass cheek, licking on a spot before biting.

You hiss. “James!” It hurts, not more than a spanking, but you weren’t ready for that.

“Mine.”

You snort, wiggling your ass. “Yeah, yeah. Now gimme my cock.”

And he does. He so does, he’s not slowly entering you, no. He pushes in almost fully with only one thrust, making you bite into your pillow.

“You missed that, didn’t you? The way I fill you up is so good. The way...” He slaps your ass. “No one can make you feel so good. No one can fuck you like the desperate whore you are for my cock.”

You moan loudly into the pillow. You love being called a whore like this. Because he is right and he is obsessed with it, anyway. “B-Bucky...”

“Tell me whose cock you love? Tell me.”

He’s thrusting so fast at this point that you can barely even hear him.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, no. That is not what you call me like this.”

“James...”

He suddenly stops thrusting, and you whine, lifting your spinning head to look at him over your shoulder. No matter how much you try to tilt your hips to make him move, you fail.

“If you want to get fucked, baby, you gotta call me the right-”

“Daddy. Daddy, daddy. Happy now?”

He rolls his eyes, obviously not that happy with your tone.

You smirk.

“I see you need a lot of battiness fucked out of you.”

“Then why are you not fucking me, daddy?”

“Oh, goddamn it!” He’s not holding back now, moving like he used to. “Tell me, baby. Tell me you love me... that no one, fuck- no one is like me!”

His voice tinges with a hint of neediness... maybe even urge. His vulnerability takes you a little aback because it’s stronger than his mocking. He’s genuinely seeking for reassurance as he gazes at you with a mixture of desire, desperation and longing. He’s searching for validation in your eyes the way you were earlier, so you give it to him.

“You’re the only one for me, J-James. I love you forever. I never... I n-never stopped!” You can’t keep your head up a second longer as you drop it on your pillow, moaning.

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

You half-snort, half-moan. “W-we can’t.”

“We can.” The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy almost covers the sound of his voice.

“We... we have to apply first.”

He spanks your ass again, and you scream, the sudden pain making you feel so good.

“So wet for me. They stood no chance. T-they don’t know how hard you want it.”

“Daddy, please... Please!” You’re a moaning mess. You just need a little harder. Just a little.

You’re not sure if you’re gonna have a voice after this. He’s pounding you so hard.

“My good, good girl.” He’s squeezing your hips, and the sound of your skin slapping is echoing. “God, gonna come for me? Jesus, wanna fill you up with my come too. Please, baby.”

You don’t know when or how he manages to do it, but he sneaks one of his hands under your body and pinches your nipple. You gasp, the wave of pleasure hitting you as he keeps fucking you. You feel your body weakening when he says your name over andl over again, but you don’t open your eyes for a while, letting him fuck you desperately while playing with your breast.

“Gonna- fuck, take my come, wife! Take me!”

He’s coming so much... surprisingly much even for him. You can feel him dripping down your thighs even when he slows down, then stops his movements before he falls on top of you as soon as he finishes.

“James...” You groan. “You’re heavy.”

He places a small kiss on your back, and you giggle.

“I love you.”

You melt, but he moves to the side before you can reach for his cheeks.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him. “So much that I let you drag me out of my best friend’s wedding reception.”

Bucky snorts, brushing his nose against your face. “Pretend all you want, I know you were bored as fuck.” You feel him slowly pulling out of you, and you whine. It’s a little uncomfortable. “Sorry, wifey.”

“I’m not your wife yet.”

“Yet, but you were and you will be again this week.” He takes your ring finger into his mouth.

“Bucky!”

“What? We need new rings.”

You try to pull out your finger. “No, we don’t. I have mine.”

“We need...”

“How about we use all that money for a vacation instead?”

“Neah, honeymoon is honeymoon.”

He finally lets your finger go. “We are not buying other wedding bands.”

“I am not debating a new engagement ring, though.”

You roll your eyes, but you know it’s the best deal you can get.

“Fine, a new engagement ring,” you agree while rolling ro his side and placing your head on his chest. “I don’t wanna move.”

“Don’t want to or can’t?”

You decide to surprise him by biting a spot right above his nipple. He groans while you simply laugh.

“You just can’t be subtle, can you?”

“If you’d wanted subtle you’d have gone for someone like Steve.”

“Eww, Bucky. I have your come dripping out of me and you bring up Steve?”

“You literally talked about Nat a sec ago.”

Then, as if a switch was flipped, your eyes widen. “Oh shit, my phone!”

“Where did you forget it?” Bucky asks casually, so used to gathering your things for you. You really missed that, too.

“Table. God... Do you think they know?”

“Know what?” He giggles, raising both of you until your backs touch the headboard. “That you dropped on your knees in the middle of the wedding to suck my cock? Or how I fucked you raw until you cried.” A sudden realization crosses his face. “You asked me to fuck you raw. Are you... still on the pill?”

You roll your eyes. “You think I’d let you fuck me like this for the first time we talked to each other properly since we divorced if there was a big chance to get pregnant?”

“I assume you are still on the pill, don’t be patronizing!” He kisses your nose, which he knows tickles you.

Ass...

“You are asking a dumb question instead of getting your ass downstairs to bring me my phone.”

“How is that dumb? I wanted to know if I should get you a pill or something.”

“So you don’t want babies with me!” You try not to laugh as you say it, biting your lip to keep your face serious.

“Why do you act as if I told you I don’t want a baby with you?” He chuckles when he sees you pouting. “We’re just getting back together and no way you’d want a baby now. But if I am wrong, let’s go for it. I can give you a baby, just get off the pills.”

“You don’t give me a baby, James. We have a baby together!”

He sighs, getting off the bed to get his clothes back on. “Obviously, but I am the one coming inside you. This is what I meant. I am all in. But we need some adapting time at least.”

You should stop this whole teasing-testing thing. You both have the same opinion after all. You might have a baby, and you know he’d be involved one hundred percent, but not now. Absolutely not.

“I know. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re such a tease.” He snorts, putting on his pants. “Before I go, do you want me to run you a bath or should I bring you a towel?”

“Do you plan on staying there?”

He turns his head to you instantly. “Yeah, sure. I am gonna eat some steak and brag about fucking my wife.”

“Alright, alright. Bring me a snack and we can take a bath together. Actually,” you think about it better. “I’m gonna clean up and wait for you.”

“You want me to fuck you again, don’t you?” He asks as he fixes his jacket.

“Why? Is this all you could give me?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Sure.” You spread your legs at the same time you grab your own breasts, making him groan. It’s so easy to get to him. And it’s hilarious.

“Jesus, you’re planning to kill me.”

“Not you acting as if it’s the first time this happened.”

“It is the first time in over a year, baby.”

You feel yourself softening again. “True. Now, please, please, please, don’t give them any details and bring me a snack.”

“What snack?”

“Anything, make me a plate, I don’t care.” He nods before reaching for the keys. “Oh, and Bucky? Tell your flavor of the month you don’t need her anymore.”

“I told you she is not-”

“And tell Nat I’ll make it up to her!” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. You don’t need him to defend a random girl’s honor.

“You’re so jealous.”

“Lock the door!”

You giggle satisfied when he closes the door and let yourself scream out of happiness while staring at the bite he left on your ring finger. Mrs. Barnes never got out of style.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #ex-husband!bucky barnes #divorced!bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluf #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #my fanfics #my stories

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