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gumified · 7 months ago

Text

KILLSHOT !

pairing: mafia boss!toji x spy fem!reader

summary: you're tasked with the mission of spying and killing toji fushiguro so why now are you being fucked stupid in some dirty bathroom?

content: 6.3k, smut, big dick!toji, degradation, praise, dirty talk, overstimulation, orgasm control, orgasm denial, humiliation kink, creampie, dumbification, sucking on fingers (no clue if that's a thing), dacryphilia, oral (male. receiving), fingering, squirting, public sex (it's in a club bathroom)

note: i hate all of you who decided to suddenly make frat boy!gojo take the lead when i basically finished this fic TT (i don't really i'm gonna start on that one as soon as i post this) but here you have mafia boss!toji, enjoy my lovesss (not proof read at all rip)

When you step into the club the first thing that hits you is the heat followed closely by the cacophony of music and voices. The bass reverberates through your body, each thud matching the pounding of your heart. The air is thick with a mix of sweat, perfume, and the faint scent of alcohol. You weave through the throngs of people, your senses on high alert. Every so often, you catch a glimpse of a couple locked in a passionate embrace, or friends shouting to be heard over the deafening music. It's a sea of movement, a blur of colours and shadows that makes it almost impossible to focus.

The music is still pounding and it infiltrates your ears making it near impossible to focus. Your eyes search the crowd for your target: Toji Fushiguro. The intel said he’d be here tonight, but pinpointing one man in this chaos feels like a near-impossible task. You had been tasked to go undercover and take out one of the most notorious crime lords in the country. It had started simple really - tailing him during the day, intercepting any letters or parcels - but now was when it all went done. Today is the day you will finally finish off Toji Fushiguro.

You edge closer to the bar hoping to catch a clearer view. The bartender is a blur of motion, pouring drinks and exchanging money with patrons who shout their orders over the deafening music. You stand on your toes, craning your neck to get a better look across the room. Still nothing. A group of obviously drunk men jostles past you and in doing so trudging on your feet. You force yourself to bite back a curse, keeping your cool. You can’t afford to draw attention to yourself. Not here, not now.

“So many fucking people.” You mutter under your breath as your eyes still search the crowd. You’re hyper aware of the weapon you have by your side, cunningly concealed. You continue to look around, pushing through the crowd as you try desperately not to get swallowed up by the swarms of people. Then, you catch a glimpse – tall, broad-shouldered, a flash of a sharp jawline in the dim light. As quickly as you see him he disappears again. “Is that him?” You whisper to yourself as you crane your neck to try and look for your target once more.

You’re more forceful now, pushing through the crowd as you struggle to move through the pack. Almost there. You just need to get a little closer, verify that it's him. It’s hard to even breathe in the club but once you make your way out of the throngs of people you see him - Toji Fushiguro.

There were always rumours surrounding the dangerous man but they didn’t do him justice. He was even more imposing in person, his rugged appearance making him stand out in any crowd. His dark hair is tousled just so, falling across his forehead in a way that frames his sharp, chiselled features perfectly. His eyes are piercing, a deep smouldering gaze that seems to see right through you. His jawline is strong and his lips are set in a slight smirk.

He's dressed in a fitted black shirt that hugs his muscular frame, the fabric straining slightly against his broad chest and shoulders. He isn’t sporting anything too flashy and if no one knew his reputation they would’ve assumed he was a normal man. You watch as he crosses his arms and the shirt pulls taut against his muscles. There’s a sliver of his chest that you manage to see and a hint of his tattoos peek through. It’s ridiculous but just looking at him has your panties soaking and you know it’s so wrong but you can’t help it. Through the weeks of trailing after him you never thought you would finally see him so up close.

Your heart skips a beat. Target acquired. Now, the real challenge begins.

You approach him, weaving through the last few bodies that separate you. He hasn't noticed you yet. But you know you have to play this carefully. One wrong move, and it could all fall apart.

As you draw closer to him you try your best to put on the best smile you could, one that exuded innocence. You relaxed your own muscles and tried to calm your beating heart. "Fancy seeing you here." You lean in slightly, enough to make it seem intimate, but not desperate.

Toji's eyes snap to you, and for a moment, there's a flicker of surprise. Then his expression smooths into one of casual interest. "Is that so?" He replies, his voice a deep velvety rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes look you up and down, assessing your frame carefully before he settles on your face. "And who might you be?"

You see the smirk playing at his lips and you’re not quite sure what he’s hinting at. It’s impossible to read Toji Fushiguro and it’s even harder to do it when it’s dark and loud. You finally step closer, closing the distance between the both of you.

"Just a girl looking for a good time." Your fingers brush against his arm. "And you seem like just the man to show me one."

He raises an eyebrow, a slow deliberate smile spreading across his face. “Is that right? His hand comes up, fingers trailing lightly along your arm sending sparks of electricity through your skin. You let out a soft involuntary gasp, your heart racing faster. He leans in, lips just inches from your ear. “But surely a little spy like yourself shouldn’t be wandering around a stuffy club and asking people like me to fuck them?”

You freeze. Your blood runs cold at his words. Silence envelops you and you can’t do anything but stay rooted in the spot. Toji’s grip on your arm tightens and it feels like you’re being burnt by scalding hot iron.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You know it’s stupid to even deny it, not when you’ve so obviously given yourself away, not when you’re not even able to look him in the eye. “I’m not a spy.”

"Oh, don't play dumb." His tone shifts into something much more sinister, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something much darker. "I've known you were watching me since the moment you walked in. So tell me, what do you want with me?"

Panic bubbles up inside you but you force it down. You can't afford to lose your nerve now. You have to stay calm, have to find a way to turn this around. You swallow hard, trying to keep your mind composed. “Like I said, I don't know what you’re talking about.”

Toji's eyes flicker with something that might be amusement but it's hard to tell. His eyes darken with a predatory gleam. “You’re a stubborn one you are. Never met a little spy like you most would have been cowering at my feet by now but you’re still here denying everything.” His fingers trail up to your face and you instinctively flinch when he touches your cheek and Toji smirks. “But doll you’re forgetting just how often I deal with people like you so don’t bother denying it anymore okay? I've been in this business too long to fall for such weak games.”

It’s so stupid how the man in front of you is able to instil fear in everyone yet as you stand in front of him all you can think about is how his grip would feel around your neck and how his fingers would feel buried in your pussy. It’s so wrong and so unprofessional but seeing Toji up close was something else. He was insanely attractive and there was something exciting about the way he looked at you as if he was going to devour you whole.

“Unless you want your pretty little head to be blown off you better answer my question.” All playfulness was gone in his stare instead what replaced it was cold hard emptiness. His expression is long gone and he only looks at you with a blankness that you’re unable to pinpoint. “So I’m gonna ask you again, what do you want with me?”

You feel your breath stuck in your throat and you know it’s no use denying it anymore but you’re unwilling to give up. “How did you find out?” The tremor in your voice is obvious despite your best efforts to keep it at bay.

Toji smirks. "You gave yourself away the moment you walked in. Your eyes. They were too focused, too calculating. Not the eyes of someone here to have a good time." You blink, processing his words, your mind racing. "And the way you moved." He continues, his voice a low seductive purr. "Too precise, too careful. Like a hunter. Or a spy."

Your heart sinks as his words hit home. You had been so careful but clearly not careful enough. "So, what now?"

Toji's smile widens and he leans even closer, his breath hot against your skin. "Now, we play a different game." He says softly. "One where you try to convince me to let you go. And I decide just how much I want to make you squirm."

You feel yourself grow even hotter at his words and you catch the sight of his lips and oh how badly you want to grab his face and smash your mouth to his. Fuck it’s a bad idea but it’s all you can think about in this moment. And then it happens, you’re grabbing his shirt, pulling him down as you crash your lips to his and Toji’s eyes widen in surprise. You take a second to realise what you've done but just as you pull away Toji’s already tugging you to somewhere else. You can barely keep up as he leads you, weaving expertly through the sea of bodies.

"Where are we going?" You manage to gasp out, struggling to be heard over the pounding bass.

"Somewhere more private."

You don't have time to protest or question further as he drags you down a dimly lit hallway away from the main floor. The noise of the club dims slightly and the music becomes a muted throb behind the walls. You barely notice the curious glances from a few stragglers in the hallway as Toji pushes open a door with a bold "Restrooms" sign hanging on it. The moment you step inside he slams the door shut, the sound echoing in the small tiled space. His lips are on yours in an instant, the kiss fierce and demanding. It’s as if all the raw tension explodes right there and then.

He pushes you against the cold, tiled wall, his body pressed firmly against yours. His hands roam over your body, rough and possessive. You respond just as eagerly, tongues tangling with each other as you reach your hands into his hair. You moan into his mouth and the sound is swallowed by the relentless kiss. His hands are everywhere, sliding up your thighs, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt.

"Tell me you want this." He murmurs against your lips.

"I want this." You breathe as your hands clutch at his shoulders pulling him closer. "I want you."

Suddenly you’re ripping each others’ clothes off at light speed. The buttons on his shirt fall off as you try your best to unbutton the first few before giving up and deciding to just rip it off. Toji chuckles at your fast pace, a smirk making its way onto his face. You put a hand over his mouth, already annoyed by the sound of his laughter and you didn’t want to hear what was going to come out of his mouth next. He reaches a hand up to wrestle yours away from his face.

“You’re awfully eager for someone who was just trying to kill me?” He locks his eyes with yours and you swear you feel your pussy clench around thin air. “I’d say you’re desperate for a good fucking aren’t you doll?”

“Shut the fuck up Fushiguro.”

Toji grins at your response, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Your gaze drifts downward. The dim lighting accentuates the tight muscles that ripple beneath his skin. You can see the faint sheen of sweat, highlighting the contours of his abs, the hard lines of his chest. He takes advantage of your momentary distraction, flipping you around and pressing you against the wall with a thud. His hands are everywhere at once, rough and demanding, as if he's trying to imprint himself onto your very skin. You arch into his touch as a moan escapes your lips despite yourself.

"See, I knew you wanted this." He murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "You’re practically begging for it."

His words send a shiver down your spine and you grind back against him, eliciting a low groan from his throat. "Don’t flatter yourself." You manage to gasp out.

He laughs, a deep rumbling sound that you can feel reverberate through his chest. "You can't lie to me, doll." One of his hands slips beneath your waistband, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin there. "Your body knows exactly what it wants."

Your breath hitches, and you bite your lip, trying to suppress the sounds threatening to spill out. It’s beyond humiliating how he has you pressed up against the way but you can’t deny how much you want the man in front of you. His touch is electrifying and he inches closer and closer to the heat between your legs. You whine when he cups your pussy and Toji simply smirks at the reaction you give him. His hand stays there for a moment and you can feel the warmth he radiates.

“Think you can handle me Fushiguro?” You glare at him although there’s a hint of desire beneath your angry gaze. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Toji grin, his face leaning close to yours. He’s too close and you have to resist the urge to pull him in for a kiss. “Good thing I love danger then.”

Before you can even respond he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. It’s rough and messy and far from sweet but you don’t mind. You feel his tongue pry open your mouth and you let him in easily. He tastes like whiskey and you find that you don’t mind the sharp taste of alcohol he has on him. You moan as he rubs small circles on your clit, his fingers inching dangerously closer to your pussyhole. He presses his hips against yours and you can feel his cock hard against your thigh. The both of you kiss for what seems like forever. Your eyes constantly shut as you enjoy the taste of him, the touch of him, the scent of him. Everything is so intoxicating that you can’t refuse to want more. Toji is too much to handle but you’ve always liked a challenge.

His fingers finally reach to pull aside your panties, plunging his wet digits into your heat. You moan loudly at the contact. It felt so different to the hours you spent trying to please yourself during the night, the fruitless attempts at trying to make yourself cum. Toji did it so easily, too easily. He smirks as he watches you squirm in his grasp, clutching onto his shoulders as if they were your lifeline. You feel your pussy squeeze around his fingers and he groans.

“Fuck you’re so tight. Why have you been neglecting this pretty thing for so long, hm doll?” You let out another breathy moan at his words. In truth you haven’t had the time to have hookups and your job didn’t exactly give you lots of free time. Most nights were spent on your own, in your bed. “Don’t worry I’ll give her a good fucking today.” He purrs in your ear and you feel your own body melt to his touch.

“F-Fushiguro you’re such a-ahh!” Your sentence is cut short as you feel him curl his fingers and he prods at that spot that has you jolting forward with a long moan. Toji grins wickedly at your reaction. He loves the way you give him such innocent but lewd expressions that he can’t help but want to ravish you entirely. “You’re such a t-tease.”

You give him another glare but this time it’s telling him to hurry up and fuck you because you’re impatient. You’ve never been good at biding your time well and all you want right now is his cock inside you. Toji’s other hand makes its way up your chest, he cups one of your tits and you whimper as he squeezes it hard. You’re sensitive beyond belief and his touch only stimulates you more. You let out a strangled cry when he pinches your nipple, playing with it cruelly with his rough fingers. You feel every crack, every line on his fingertips and it makes you go crazy.

“Tell me what you want doll.”

Toji whispers as he leans in to place hot-mouthed kisses across your neck. You mewl at his touch as you feel his lips move along your body as he kisses and licks your smooth skin. You feel his breath against you and it’s weirdly comforting in a way. He’s so close to you that it sends you into a frenzy. Your hands reach up to knot into his hair, pushing him impossibly closer towards you. His fingers never stop their movements, each thrust causing a jolt of pleasure to sing through your body. You can do nothing but moan as he scissors you open, adding more fingers in as you indulge him in your noises.

“Be a good girl and tell me what you want from me.”

His voice is deep and oh so seductive. You’re sure he’s an incubus in disguise by the sheer aura he exudes. His confidence in himself and his abilities irritate you beyond belief but you know it’s not misplaced by the way he’s making you fall apart on his fingers alone. Your eyes rake over his muscled body, the darky inky tattoos that littler his skin. You feel your fingertips trace each individual art piece and then suddenly you’re falling into his chest.

“F-Fuck off.” You manage to stutter out.

Toji smirks when he feels your pussy throb and drip. The wet sounds of your sopping cunt fill his ears and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard something so addictive in forever. Paired with your desperate moans he can’t help but want more of you. Your pussy tightens around his digits and you try to keep yourself up but it proves difficult. You’re gasping for air, feeling light-headed. Toji notices and he grins at your cuteness.

“You’re so adorable when you want to be.” He sighs as he twirls a strand of your hair. You’re embarrassingly close and all you need is for another curl of Toji’s deliciously thick fingers to bring you closer to the edge. You feel yourself clenching around him, your gummy walls begging for your orgasm but you refuse to beg, not to him of all people. Toji grins at your determined expression, it really is cute how you think you have some sort of power in this situation.

Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his thumb rub your clit harshly, bringing you so close to your release. “T-Toji I’m so, nghhh, I’m s-so close! Oh my goddd-” Your words are cut off as yet another lewd moan escapes your lips. You’re so close and you can feel it. You feel your pussy tighten and your body starts shaking with pleasure. You just need one more push, one final push.

And then without any warning it’s all gone. Your eyes shoot open and you see the smug face of Toji Fushiguro, fingers in his mouth as he sucks them sensually. You see the way your arousal coats his digits as he places them in his mouth, tongue swirling over them. Your thighs clench together as you watch him. He’s way too sexy for his own good. Toji’s smirking at you widely and you would have found it hot if he hadn’t just ripped your orgasm away from you. You glare at him, ready to pounce.

“Why the fuck would you even-”

“Shame you’re a brat most of the time.” He interrupts you, fingers still in his mouth. You scowl at his comment despite having him just inside you. “We need to learn how to shut you up don’t you think?”

It’s so fucking hot how he’s able to get you on your knees so quickly. The floor might be dirty but you couldn’t care less. You don’t know what overcomes you but your mouth is already open when he’s unbuckling his belt and when you see his cock you only salivate more. Toji’s big, that's undeniable. His cock is so pretty, the prettiest you’ve ever seen. He’s so thick and the tip’s flushed pink and there’s pre cum oozing out. He smirks at your awe, bringing his length closer to your face as you watch, pussy pulsating at the sight.

“You look like such a desperate slut. What would the higher ups say if they say you like this huh doll?” His tone is teasing and he inches his cock towards your open mouth and you take him slowly. It’s almost as if you’re in a trance as you feel him fill your mouth. You look up at him and Toji moans as he feels your tongue swirl around his top. “There we go, such a good girl f’me.”

His praise sings through your ears and you feel yourself grow hot just at his words. Your hands reach up to wrap around the base of his cock as you take the first few inches. Toji brushes a hand through your hair and you lean into his grasp before squealing when he tugs harshly. Pain shoots through your head as he pulls your face up to meet his eyes. You see the dark dangerous glint that’s in them.

“You’re gonna suck like you mean it doll.” He growls before thrusting into your mouth causing you to gag as his length hits the back of your throat. Tears pool at the corners of your eyes as you struggle to breathe through your nose. His scent fills your senses and it’s poisonous how much you want him. “Go on then, what’s taking you so long?”

You whimper as you feel his tight grasp on your hair tighten and you get to work. You bob your head up and down, sucking him dry as you moan around his length repeatedly. Toji smirks when he sees you choking on him. He watches as you try your best to take all of him while looking at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. He loves the way you’re so obviously struggling with drool dripping out of your mouth yet you’re still so determined. It’s pathetic but he loves it so much.

“Just a nasty cockslut aren’t you?” Toji snarls as he buries you full of him. You whine in retaliation, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you do so. “Came here to kill me but you’re sucking me off instead, god what a filthy whore.”

It’s humiliating and you feel yourself burn with embarrassment. If anyone were to walk in and find the both of you like this that would be horrifying. But you know that won’t happen since Toji probably has his men positioned outside the bathroom denying anyone access as he fucks you silly then again he might not.

“Nghh- T-Toji can’t, hnngh, breathe-” You manage to say despite your best efforts the phrase comes out more like a jumbled mess of words rather than a coherent sentence. If Toji understands you he ignores you completely. He coos as you try your ebay to take all of him. You look so cute on your knees sucking him off that he could get used to seeing you like this.

You feel your mind turn foggy as your throat starts to feel bruised from the sheer force he is thrusting into you with. Your knees have been hurting from kneeling for so long that you have resorted to sitting down fully as you take his cock. Saliva drips from your chin and you know it’s messy and you know it’s disgusting but you feel so horny. Your thighs clench as you watch the man above you fuck your mouth. Toji’s abs glisten with sweat and your eyes trail his toned body. His thighs are thick and your imagination runs wild as you think about what you can do sitting on them. Your pussy throbs at the thought.

“You’re thinking dirty thoughts aren’t you doll?” Toji catches your wandering eyes and his hand comes down to grip your chin. You whimper. “C’mon now why don’t you focus on one thing at a time.”

You nod your head as the tears spill from your eyes. Toji only grins as he lets you get him off. He watches as you let him fuck your mouth quicker as you moan like a slut beneath him. He sees the way your expression twists into one of pure pleasure every time he pulls on your hair and he relishes in the fact he can make you feel so good. He moans every time he feels your cute little tongue swipe against his cockhead, teasing him further to his release. You look up to him with those seemingly innocent eyes and it has him edging closer and closer.

“You’re gonna make me, f-ffuckk, cum if you’re not careful doll.”

Toji watches as your eyes light up at the mention of him filling your mouth and it only spurs him on. You’re so cute and he wants to - no needs to - ruin you. You suck harder trying your hardest to bring him to his orgasm and Toji lets out a mix of curses as his cock twitches in your mouth. You feel his cock throb before he bursts inside of you. His thick cum coats your tongue and you feel the hot sensation spread throughout your body. Toji doesn’t taste horrible and it isn’t the bitter or sour taste that you’re used to.

He pulls out of your mouth once he’s done spurting all of his cum into your mouth and he grins when you open showing him you've swallowed it all. He brushes his thumb over your lips and you feel him swipe the mixture of liquid over your chin. You would feel embarrassed of the mess you’ve made but the sheer neediness of your pussy distracts you from everything else.

“Please…” You whisper, your voice hoarse. You’ve long abandoned any self respect or dignity you have. All you need now is his cock buried in your heat, fucking you senseless. You couldn’t care for rules or procedures. You need Toji Fushiguro and you need him now. “Please fuck me Toji.”

The man in question smirks at your demand. He stares at you, dark eyes boring into your soul. “See it’s not so hard, all you had to do was ask nicely.”

Toji picks you up before you have a chance to respond. His strong arms carry you up from the floor and you squeak when he places you on the edge of the sink. The hard porcelain digs into your thighs, but the discomfort is drowned out by the overwhelming desire coursing through your veins. Your back is pressed against the mirror and Toji’s right in front of you, hair mused because of you. His fingers find their way to your pussy again and his smirk widens when he feels just how wet you are.

“Look how wet she’s gotten.” He coos, flicking your clit a little. “Did you get turned on from sucking me off doll?” His voice drops deeper and you whimper as he plunged two fingers inside, stretching you open. You gasp when he curls his digits, hitting that familiar spot again. “Did you imagine my cock pounding this pretty little pussy until it’s broken?” You can’t seem to say anything, mind blank from the pleasure you’re receiving. Toji’s fingers still and you watch as his expression darkens. “Answer me brat.”

Your lips tremble as you feel your body squirm. Everything feels too good and all your senses feel overstimulated. Your mouth opens yet nothing comes out. Toji refuses to move but your pussy still clenches around him pathetically.

“I-I did…” You breathe out, chest heaving up and down as you try to hold in your noises.

“There it is.” He starts to move again, slowly but surely. “You gotta make sure you answer my questions doll, I hate it when people ignore me.”

You nod your head helplessly, whimpering as you do so. His fingers curl inside you and you squeal at the movement, collapsing onto his chest as you feel your lower half tense up. You’re so close and Toji knows what he’s doing when he teases you like that. It’s so fucking annoying but god does it feel so good. You whine his name over and over again begging for more like a desperate bitch in heat. All dignity has left your body as you become putty in his hands.

“Toji Toji Tojiiii! P-Please I need m-more, please just need to - nghhh - feels good…” You moan out as your hands find their place on hsi broad shoulders, digging your nails into his skin as you feel your hips raise higher. Toji hisses at the pain before leaning in to kiss you. It’s hot and searing as both your lips move against each other. He’s not gentle at all and it only makes you clench around him tighter. “Gonna cum gonna cum gonna cummm-”

Toji pulls away from you, moving his fingers faster as his other hand goes to rub your sensitive clit. “C’mon doll, cum all over my fingers, show me how dirty you are, let me see you make a mess of yourself like a good girl.” He purrs and it’s all you need before you’re spasming around his digits. You feel a gush of liquid spray from your pussy and you gasp when you realise you squirted all over the man you were supposed to kill. You feel your body ache as you orgasm, each bone in your body rattles with pleasure as you moan continuously.

Toji smirks at the mess you’ve made, sliding his fingers out and gathering all your liquid before pushing it back into you. “Such a pretty pussy, listen to how she speaks doll.” His fingers push into you and you simper when you hear the lewd squelching of your spent pussy. He purposefully moves slowly, letting your mouth hang open as you savour every inch he pushes inside of you. Your chest heaves up and down, your lungs burn from the breath you’ve lost. Toji looks up at you, his eyes no longer transfixed on your pussy. ��Oh you didn’t think we were finished did you?”

Your eyes widen when you feel his cock prod your entrance. Your eyes lock with his and Toji has a cocky glint in his eye and that’s all you see before your eyes are rolling to the back of your head as you feel him bottom out. His cock stretches you out and he’s just so thick. His cock practically forces you open, prying your insides apart as he bullies his way into you. Tears gather at your eyes once more and they become misty as they fall freely down your face. You feel as though your own sanity has left you as all you can think about is his cock.

“S-So big- oh! T-Toji feels too-”

“Fuck- y’sure you’re not a virgin? Why the fuck is she so tight then? Have you been neglecting this pretty thing?” He grunts as his hands grip your hips. You can only reply in broken whines and it’s no use because none of it makes sense. “Tch, from now on this pussy belongs to me and it’s gonna remember the shape of my cock because I’m gonna fuck you stupid daily, got that?”

His words barely register in your mind but the idea is pleasing enough for you to nod your head frantically. You don’t care anymore what your supervisor would think, what anyone would think? You didn’t care. You’re too cockdrunk to even fathom the punishment you might face once you return to headquarters but all you need right now is Toji to fuck you like the slut you are.

“I said got that?” His hips snap to yours hardly, eliciting a low moan.

“Y-Yes!”

Your head flings back as his cock fucks into you. Each thrust is merciless and he’s unrelenting with his fucking. Toji’s only thought is your sweet hot pussy and how pretty it looks sucking in his thick cock. He wants the sight ingrained in his memory, to constantly stare at the way it looks so mesmerising. He’s pounding into you roughly, dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat and he reaches his hand up to push his locks out of his eyes.

Your eyes flit to his fingers, the fingers that look so hot and Toji notices. He smirks as he pops them into his mouth, sucking them in front of you, eyes looking directly at yours. You feel your pussy squeeze his cock and he moans and you catch a glimpse at his saliva-coated digits. Your mouth falls open once more and he seizes the opportunity to shove the same fingers into your mouth and you moan too.

You feel the rough fingertips press down on your tongue and you suck. It feels so good. You feel your thighs tremble as his cock pushes in and out of your gummy walls. They have him in a tight hold, one unwilling to let go and all you can do is gasp and whine. Toji adjusts the way you sit and at once you feel his cock hit at a different angle causing you to tumblr forward with a squeal. He grins and buries his head into your shoulder, fucking you even harder than before.

“C’mon doll, you gotta sit up nice and straight f’me, spread those legs and let me fuckin’ ruin you.” His words are enough to have you wanting to cum right there and then but you know it won’t end well. He tugs you to meet his hips and your hands fly to his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath your hands. “Such a slutty pussy…f-fuckk, you’re gonna be my personal cum dump aren’t you? Gonna let me fuck this pussy whenever I want, my hole to use?”

“Mhmm- y-yes yes yes! Yours T-Toji, I’m y-yours-”

It’s so fucking filthy the way your lips are wrapped around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin. Your moans only get louder and louder as Toji buries himself balls deep into your cute little cunt. His cock stuffs you so full and his hand reaches down to press against your stomach to make sure you know exactly how deep he is. You gasp when you feel the faint outline of just what’s splitting you open so deliciously. You shiver from his touch as you feel your desire shoot through your body. Your knuckles turn white at how hard you’re clenching your fists as you sob out moans and cries. Toji groans at your pretty noises, fucking you deeper as he desperately tries to make you moan louder for him.

“Make a mess doll, know y’wanna cum so badly.” His breath is hot on your ear and you feel yourself melt as your pussy finally gives in. You’re gushing all over him, body throttling as you feel strangled sobs leave your throat. Toji keeps pounding into you, cock brushing against your velvety walls as he chases his own orgasm. “Such a good fuckin’ girl- fuck! Keep squeezing me like that doll.”

You feel his cock twitch inside of you and suddenly you feel heat seep into your cunt. You grip onto him tighter, pulling him impossibly closer as your hips raise to capture more of his cum. He floods your walls, painting them a delicious shade of white. It’s a sticky gooey mess between your thighs but Toji keeps his cock plugged inside of you to make sure nothing leaks out. Your body’s exhausted and you’re still breathing heavily and Toji’s still tucked into the crook of your neck.

“That…that felt amazing.” You mumble under your breath.

Toji lifts his head and there’s already his signature cocky grin on his face. He presses his forehead to yours. “I meant what I said, you’re now mine and I don’t care who I’ve pissed off but tonight you’re leaving with me and I’m gonna fuck you until the sun rises.” Your pussy clenches around his cock unintentionally from his words and Toji groans. “You gonna let me do that doll?”

You glance up at him and though you’re already so fucked-out you still want more and you couldn’t care less about what anyone else thought. “Yes please.”

Toji smirks before he slowly pulls out, cock dripping from the nasty mess the both of you have made. It drips on the floor but neither of you care too much. You reach for your clothes, hastily putting them back on. He grabs your hand and the both of you stumble towards the door, pushing it open and the loud bass enters your ears once more. You see him whisper to a man by the wall and then he’s pulling you out of the club. Your heart pounds as you watch the muscled man drag you along and you feel your pussy grow wet at the thought of what the both of you were gonna do tonight.

You know you’ll have to face the consequences sooner or later but you much prefer the latter option.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro x you #toji x y/n #toji imagine #toji headcanons #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen

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barbieaemond · 7 months ago

Text

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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gyuuberryy · 1 month ago

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no doubt !

loser!enhypen's reaction to your confession + their down bad behaviour

genre: completely fluff, slight crack

warnings: self doubt, very little stuttering

note: live, laugh, love hot loser men

word count: 2.3k

i love reading your comments and reblogs, so please do so if you liked reading this<3

HEESEUNG

heeseung was the guy who always sat in the back of the library, oversized hoodie pulled up and earbuds blasting lo-fi playlists. not because he was trying to look cool and aloof—he just didn’t know how to talk to people. heeseung’s whole vibe screamed ‘leave me alone’, and yet, you were drawn to him. maybe it was the way his big glasses always slid down his nose or how he’d stammer when the librarian asked if he needed help. there was a sweetness to his awkwardness, a genuine quality that made him stand out(not to mention how devastatingly handsome he was).

you started leaving him little sticky notes on the library desk when he wasn’t looking, simple messages like “nice doodles!” or “your handwriting is cute<3” the day he caught you in the act, his face turned the color of a ripe tomato.

“you think my handwriting’s c-cute?” he stuttered, practically vibrating with nervous energy.

a bit nervous, you laughed and nodded. “yeah, i do. and i think you’re cute too.”

heeseung froze, his pen dropping to the table. “wait, you… you think i’m cute?” he sounded so disbelieving it was almost funny.

when you confessed that you liked him, he spent two weeks in disbelief, constantly asking if you were joking. but after you assured him that no, you weren’t pulling some cruel prank, he became utterly devoted. he’d text you good morning every day, walk you to your classes while carrying your books (even when you insisted you could manage), and write you poetry—the kind of cringe, over-the-top poetry that made your heart melt anyway.

heeseung was the kind of boyfriend who’d get embarrassingly jealous but try to hide it. if someone so much as glanced at you for too long, he’d fidget nervously and mumble something about how they were probably just admiring how amazing you were. and if you hugged him in public? forget it. he’d be grinning like an idiot for the rest of the day.

when he wasn’t nervously doting on you, he was daydreaming about your future together. he’d scribble little sketches of the two of you in his notebook, complete with hearts and statements like “me + you = forever.” if you teased him about it, he’d turn beet red and try to deny it, but you could see the tiny smile playing on his lips.

rest is under the cut!

JAY

jay was the guy in your science class who thought he could blend in by keeping his head down. what he didn’t realize was that his nervous habits were endearing: the way he’d mumble answers to himself during group work or adjust his glasses every 30 seconds. he was always sketching random diagrams in his notebook—half for class, half because he was too awkward to make conversation.

you had a crush on him because, despite his shyness, there was something magnetic about the way he focused—his brows furrowing as he sketched diagrams in his notebook, the faintest pout forming on his lips when he was deep in concentration. one time, you caught him organizing the classroom supplies, his long fingers deftly sorting through tape dispensers and markers while muttering something about order.

when you mentioned you liked him, jay blinked at you like he couldn’t comprehend the words. “me? like me, me?” he asked, pointing to himself.

you nodded, trying not to giggle at how wide his eyes had gotten. “yes, you. i think you’re really sweet.”

jay’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he immediately started rambling. “i mean, i… uh, wow, okay, i didn’t expect this. are you sure? like, really sure? because i’m kind of a mess, and—”

once it clicked, though, he was all in. he’d send you paragraphs of text apologizing if he thought he said something wrong, shower you with small, thoughtful gifts (like your favorite snacks or a plant he’d researched how to care for), and eventually worked up the courage to hold your hand—though he’d sweat buckets the entire time.

jay would also start making lists—actual, physical lists—of things he could do to make you happy. “compliment her at least once a day,” “remember her favorite coffee order!,” and “learn how to not be a complete dork >:(” were scrawled on a sticky note tucked into his notebook. and when he wasn’t nervously doting on you, he was daydreaming about you, doodling your initials in the margins of his notes.

very soon, he was down-bad for you, which was evident through his real life and his social media activities. he’d post the cheesiest captions about you, like “can’t believe i’m dating the most amazing person in the world” with a blurry photo of the two of you. his friends teased him mercilessly, but he didn’t care. to him, you were worth every bit of embarrassment. late at night, he’d re-read your old texts and smile like an idiot, convinced he was the luckiest person alive.

JAKE

jake was a lovable mess. he wore mismatched socks, always seemed to forget his pencil, and somehow managed to trip over air at least once a day. his “plan” to talk to you involved him awkwardly hovering near your desk and pretending to need help with math problems he already knew how to solve. you knew from the start he was a bit of a loser—but that’s exactly why you liked him along with you finding everything he did adorable.

“wait, wait,” he said when you told him you were into him. “you like me? like, romantically? or is this a ‘pity me’ situation?”

after realizing you genuinely liked him, jake became a golden retriever in human form. he’d facetime you at random hours just to say hi, take you on chaotic “dates” that involved him occasionally tripping over things in public, nervously ordering food for you both and all silly fun activities like arcade games and amusement parks. it was never a dull day with him! after your first kiss, he couldn’t stop grinning for hours, texting his friends in all caps: “GUYS I JUST KISSED THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AAHJKHSSSK”

jake’s down-bad behavior reached new levels when he started making playlists for every possible mood you might have: “songs to cheer you up,” “songs that remind me of you<3,” and even “songs to study to (but only if you want to study with me):3” he’d even text you mid-class to tell you he missed you, even if you’d just seen each other that morning.

jake was also the kind of boyfriend who’d insist on carrying your bag even when it was clear it was too heavy for him. “i’ve got this!” he’d say, wincing slightly but refusing to let you take it back. and if you ever mentioned feeling sad or stressed, he’d immediately panic, asking, “what can i do? tell me, and i’ll do it!” he’d even write you little notes with nerdy jokes or doodles to make you smile, slipping them into your locker or bag for you to find later.

SUNGHOON

sunghoon thought he was slick, but his ‘cool guy’ act was so transparent it was almost cute. he’d lean against the lockers during breaks, pretending not to notice you, but the way his ears turned red every time you walked by gave him away. despite his awkward attempts at being aloof, you found his loser tendencies adorable: like how he’d secretly google pickup lines but chicken out before using them.

when you confessed your feelings, he genuinely choked. “wait, you like me? oh wow… you have bad- I MEAN great taste ahem.” he spent a solid week trying to act nonchalant, but once you started dating, his loser side came out full force. he’d ask you to “rate his outfits” before dates, send you selfies captioned “just thinking about you bbg,” and blush furiously every time you complimented him. sunghoon may have tried to act smooth, but deep down, he was utterly whipped.

sunghoon would also start practicing ways to compliment you in the mirror—only to mess it up completely when the time came. “y-you look… uh, very… beautiful? no, wait, gorgeous! that’s the word i meant!” and everytime you smiled at him, he’d be texting his friends, “she smiled at me again!!!!! i’m gonna pass out.”

his devotion extended to doing the smallest things for you, like bringing you your favorite drink or snacks without you asking. he’d even memorise your schedule so he could “accidentally” bump into you between classes, claiming it was coincidence even though the timing was suspiciously perfect. at night, he’d lay awake replaying your conversations, smiling at the ceiling like the lovesick fool he was.

SUNOO

you had noticed sunoo always sitting at the edge of friend groups, laughing along but never quite joining in. he was bubbly and fun but had an air of self-doubt that made him endearing. you started noticing how he’d always bring extra snacks to share with classmates or go out of his way to compliment people—little acts of kindness that made your heart flutter. not to mention his angelic beauty, that had you look twice the first time you had seen him standing near the water cooler awkwardly.

it was hard not to develop a crush and when you told sunoo you liked him, he’d blink in disbelief. “no way. you’re joking, right?” but after realising you were serious, he’d giggle nervously and hide his face in his hands. once you started dating, he became the most attentive boyfriend ever, remembering every small detail about you and hyping you up like you were the main character. he’d also send you cheesy tiktoks at 2 a.m. with captions like, “this is so us babe ><”

sunoo was head over heels for you, the literal epitome of “she fell first but he fell harder”. he did adorable things like creating a secret pinterest board filled with date ideas and texting you pictures of cute animals with captions like, “look, it’s us in 50 years!” he also started learning how to bake just so he could surprise you with your favorite treats—though most of his attempts ended in chaotic, flour-covered disasters.

if you ever seemed upset, sunoo would go into full panic mode, showering you with compliments and doing everything in his power to cheer you up. “you’re the most amazing person i’ve ever met,” he’d say earnestly, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. he even kept a list on his phone of all the things you’d mentioned liking, just so he could surprise you when you least expected it.

JUNGWON

jungwon was the class president who seemed to have it all together—but his close friends knew better. he was the guy who’d trip over his words during speeches, carry five planners because he kept losing them, and stress over things like forgetting to bring tape for a poster project. you liked him because, despite his loser-ish tendencies, he had a heart of gold and worked hard to make everyone feel included.

when you told him you had a crush on him, jungwon’s first reaction was to nervously laugh. “wait, me? are you sure? why would you do that to yourself!?” once he accepted that you really liked him, he became the sweetest boyfriend imaginable. he’d plan thoughtful dates (that inevitably went slightly wrong but ended up being more fun because of it), leave you encouraging notes in your locker, and get adorably flustered every time you kissed him.

jungwon also started creating “motivational speeches” for you, writing them out on notecards and practicing in the mirror before giving them. “i believe in you,” he’d say earnestly, fumbling to hand you a little note that said, “you’re amazing, and don’t you forget it.” if you teased him about it, he’d bury his face in his hands and mumble, “stop, you’re embarrassing me…”

his love didn’t stop there. he’d stay up late researching ways to make your life easier, like creating color-coded study guides or finding fun new spots to take you on dates. and if anyone dared to speak poorly of you, jungwon would step up, surprising everyone with his sudden fierceness. “they don’t know what they’re talking about,” he’d say, his tone protective and unwavering.

NI-KI

ni-ki was the quiet gamer boy who’d rather blend into the background than be noticed. he wore the same hoodie every other day and constantly had earbuds in, even when they weren’t playing anything. you liked him because of how unpretentious he was—and how his eyes lit up whenever he talked about something he loved, like a new game or a random meme he found hilarious.

when you told him you were into him, ni-ki almost dropped his controller. his eyes narrowed into a glare, “are you sure you’re not messing with me? did jake tell you about my crush?” after he realised what he had said, he immediately scampered away leaving you standing there confused. once he got over his initial shock, he became your biggest simp. he’d send you memes that reminded him of you, let you beat him at games (even though he’d deny it), and randomly text you “you’re so pretty” at the most unexpected times. around his friends, he’d brag about you non-stop, showing off pictures of you with a proud grin.

once he was down bad for you, he became hell bent on learning how to cook your favorite meals—even though he’d never cooked before in his life. “how hard can it be?” he’d say, only to panic five minutes in and call you for help. he also started staying up late to design matching gamer tags for the two of you, insisting that everyone online needed to know you were his.

in quiet moments, ni-ki would open up about how much you meant to him, his voice soft and a little shaky. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m not letting go.” and if you ever showed up to surprise him during his gaming sessions, he’d immediately log off, saying, “sorry, guys, my priority is here,” as he turned his full attention to you.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @soobnuuy @senascoooop @moafloribunda @lunalovesstories

@firstclassjaylee @levandright @fancypeacepersona @mirouie

@gaonashi @firstclassjaylee @kkamismom12 @evandsolo

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currently-becoming-potatoes · 6 months ago

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List of words for the computer:

LONG POST- more under the cut

STANFORD- Pulls up a file on Stanford Pines, written by an unknown scientist. It discusses his extra finger and praises his intelligence, as well as calling him the “next evolution in the human species”.

BILL CIPHER- Takes you to the Wikipedia page for the Eye of Providence. Also took me to a Sesame Street video about a Jazzy Triangle and a Square. Not sure what prompted the change.

STANLEY PINES: Takes you to a list of EBay listings for brass knuckles.

FIDDLEFORD: Takes you to the music video for Cotton Eye Joe by Rednex.

SHERMIE: Nothing. I sure do wish we got some lore about Grandpa Pines.

GRAVITY FALLS: The text on the computer reads “never heard of it” and the red light on the bottom turns green.

ALEX HIRSCH: Leads to Google Images for “flannel”. Huh.

WEIRDMAGEDDON: Pulls up an article from the Gravity Falls Gossiper about how nothing happened at all and there was no apocalypse.

DISNEY: Screen reads “rat.gif censored for your protection”

SOOS: Leads to a page of writing from Soos himself, referencing many things (including Tad Strange being gay and madly in love with Woodpecker Guy. Love wins!!!)

DIPPER: Leads to a creepy yellow parchment with a message from Bill Cipher himself trying to trick Dipper into blinding himself by staring at the sun for 13 hours straight! Silly! (Also if you keep clicking on it, the page gets darker and blurrier until it implies we've gone blind)

MABEL: Causes stickers to appear on every available surface. Clicking it enough times leads to message “lab now fully Mabelized”.

WENDY: Leads to a note from Wendy that mentions a way to ward off evil triangles written in the bottom corner of the book.

GIDEON: Makes a web recording of Gideon scatting play. It ends with “I love you forever Mabel”. Please shut the fuck up you little creep.

TAD STRANGE: Plays a video of bread with smooth jazz in the background.

TOBY DETERMINED: Leads to a Google search for a restraining order. Holyyyyy shittttttt

WHO ARE YOU: “I could ask you the same question”

SEASON 3: “Season Two”. I guess that’s that lol

This was about all I could find. Please reblog with anything else you can discover! Thank you, fellow Gravity Falls enjoyers!

And make sure to give some love to all the wonderful folks down in the comments! Many of these answers and tips come from what they've found. I can't list everyone, unfortunately- I didn't expect this post to get popular- but, to everyone who's helped out, THANK YOU.

FURTHER EDITS:

BLIND EYE: Pulls up an optometrist’s eye exam. Each line reads “WKHBOOVHH”. Too lazy to translate atm.

PIÑATA: Bill Cipher getting beaten to death /hj

MASON: A note from Dipper listing several anagrams of Gravity Falls characters’ names. You can check in the comments for the answers.

AXOLOTL: “You ask alotl questions”. Thanks for the pun, Alex, but I’m kind of losing my mind rn

MYSTERY SHACK: Leads to a Google search for Confusion Hill, the real-life Mystery Shack!

MYSTERY: “?”

MONSTER: Leads to several YouTube videos for “There’s a Monster at the End of this Book.”

VALLIS CINERIS: Leads to an analog-horror-esque video of Baby Bill and his parents, who have been blotted out by static, and a voice repeating “WHY DID YOU DO IT” over and over again until you stop the video.

PORTAL: “Portal.exe has been deleted. I bet you could build a new one.”

GIFFANY: You need to put it in multiple times. Several warnings about breaching firewall, followed by a message from GIFFANY saying “SOOS! I still love you!” or smth like that, and then GIFFANY herself briefly appearing onscreen. Trying again after that summons her more. Also lets you download some ZIP files.

DORITO: Summons an image of a spinning Dorito, followed by the most cursed image of Bill Cipher I have ever seen.

GOD: A short video of an axolotl in a tank with a Bill Cipher statue plays. This is Alex’s axolotl, shown in the Book of Bill countdown.

REALITY: “Is an illusion”

FILBRICK: “I’m not impressed”

CARYN: “I knew you were gonna write that”

GLASS SHARD BEACH: Leads to an image of the New Jersey Hell Hole.

ANY CUSS WORD: Pulls up a paper reading “NOT S&P APPROVED. WASH YOUR MOUTH OUT WITH SOAP” with an image of soap below.

MATPAT: Leads to a video of MatPat next to a conspiracy board, holding the Book of Bill. He tells us we’re on our own.

BABBA: Plays an audio recording of Dipper singing BABBA. Not Disco Girl, a different song.

CRAZ: Leads to the Jem and the Holograms theme.

XYLER: See above.

AD ASTRA PER ASPERA: Shows us two new journal pages from Ford and Mabel, studying the Cipher statue. They’re definitely worth the read, I teared up looking at them.

ANSWER: “Question”

QUESTION: “Answer”

SEASON ONE: “Season -1: Antigravity Falls”

SEASON TWO: “Season 1” …maybe scratch what I said about Season 3. Or don’t. Things are starting to damage my brain.

CURSED (got from @slimslamflimflam decoding the candle! Thanks!): Shows two pages talking about the dangers of drawing triangles, with the bottom of the second page showing several drawings of Bill and the words “HE IS COMING, RUN”

THE UNIVERSE: “Hologram”

RIZZ: “Life privileges revoked. Now releasing poison gas.” This response is repeated if you type in SKIBIDI or FORTNITE.

BABY: Shows an ultrasound of a fetus Bill Cipher, captioned “Look at what’s growing inside you! See you in nine months, papa!”

JOURNAL 3: “The Journal for Me”

PACIFICA: Leads to a note from Pacifica calling Bill Cipher “ick” and telling us to follow her on social media under “Platinum Paz”

PLATINUM PAZ: Pulls up an image of Northwest Manor with the llama symbol overlaid and a “NW” logo beneath. There's also a short story beneath!

LOVE: Leads to an audiobook of “The Love Triangle”. Need to read later.

BLENDIN: “The time agent lost and presumed incompetent”. Uh…?

SCARY: Leads to another audiobook of a cheesy Goosebumps-esque horror novel written by Bill himself, apparently.

DIVORCE: Shows you the logo of the bar Bill went to after his fight with Ford… Billford bitter exes confirmed

ROBBIE: Leads to the cringiest messages ever. He’s such a failure I love him

CONSPIRACY: Leads to a video of a man losing his mind over the countdown counting up. I feel so seen. (I have been informed that his name is Charlie Day, he's an actor from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and that one meme, he had a quote on the back of the Book of Bill, thanks to everyone who explained that to me, I'm sorry, I'm uncultured)

RAT: “Thurburt’s number?”

BLANCHIN: Leads to a YouTube video on how to blanch vegetables.

TJ ECKLEBURG: “Never mention that name again.”

NOTHING: “Something”

SOMETHING: “Nothing”

BURNSIDE: “Burned inside.” Well… at least we know what happened…

WADDLES: Leads to the pig placement network!

THERAPRISM: Pulls up a sign from the theraprism regarding an emergency situation. The code reads "THE OLD ONE".

SHAPE: Pulls up an article on Plato, triangles, and Ancient Greece. This article is presumably written by Bill.

LLIB and BILL: THIS leads to the Sesame Street video every time.

WEIRD: Shows a video of a frightened Weird Al panicking about being trapped in a computer. Sorry, man...

CLONE: Pulls up an image of Paper Jam Dipper, a warning about not getting him too close to liquids, and an option to print.

TRIANGLE: ")" or "Tri harder."

THEYLLSEE: "Is seeing believing?"

DEER TEETH: "For you, kid!"

LIFE: "Life: 72% complete. Now loading: death."

DEATH: "Life's goth cousin."

PINES: "A good family tree."

OWL TROWEL: A slab of hieroglyphs, translating to an ancient ad for an owl trowel.

SCALENE: "Life form not found." EUCLID has the same outcome.

WELL WELL WELL BEING: Some assorted notes from Bill's Theraprism file. These include his greatest love and fear, his art therapy notes, and notes on his phobias. Three clicks is required to read them all.

BOO BERRY: Offers a poem on the meaning of life! Wow! I feel so enlightened!

LOVE YA BRO: Shows us a doodle from Stan of one of his and Ford's Sea Grunks adventures, and another code on the back. It translates to "Kings of New Jersey." I've been told it lets you download the code as a font.

SORRY: Reveals the repaired Backupsmore photo, with a note from Fiddleford about his and Ford's growing friendship. Fiddauthor fans, we are eating well tonight!

HORROR: Pulls up an image and report on The Always Garden, which is essentially a cheap Italian restaurant hidden in the backrooms.

HOLOGRAM: "Universe."

NAITSUAF: Pulls up a page that looks like it would be from the Book of Bill, in which Bill tries to convince us to sell us his soul. Clicking "ARE YOU READY?" pulls up a contract where we can sell our soul to Bill (with an alarming amount of coded fine print. Will need to translate later). You can print this document out, back out, or sign it right there on the web. Hitting "SIGN" causes the words "PLEASURE DOING BUSINESS WITH YOU!" to appear, and the document to close. In other words, I no longer have a soul.

IMSTILLONYOURMIND: Plays a recording of the ocean, with Stan faintly talking in the background. Poor Ford ain't quite over the divorce yet...

HOTXOLOTL: Pulls up a "MOST WANTED" doc on the henchmaniacs.

SEVENEYES: Pulls up a faded polaroid of The Oracle with text on the back that reads "LEAVE HIM. Escape to dimension *blurred out*. It's against the rules but it's the only reality where you'll be safe from him." The code at the bottom (once again decoded by the powerhouse that is @slimslamflimflam) reads "Set a course for Dimension: R34LITY." Is another Cipher Hunt in the makes? Only time will tell, hehehe.

JUST FIT IN: Plays an old commercial with a few moments of speech in the glitches at the end.

EVEN HIS LIES ARE LIES: Shows a transcript from a therapy session at the Theraprism. Bill discusses his relationship with Ford and cuts off the session when someone brings up his parents.

NOT A PHASE: Shows a Google search for "black hair dye stained an entire bathroom."

PAPER IS BOOK SKIN: Instantly downloads a page of fleshy pink paper with the word "ENJOY" written on it!

SHAVE YOUR GRANDMA: Pulls up a few more pages about the human life cycle.

LIES: Pulls up an image of "The Game of Lies" board game, with a long stretch of text from (I assume) Bill, ending with "LIE UNTIL YOU ARE NOT LYING ANYMORE." Someone has some issues...

SAY BAAAA: Pulls up a neat little rhyme about being Bill Cipher's obedient flock of sheep. The code at the end translates to "Black Sheep."

ONE EYED KING: Plays a video of a hypnotist's spiral, with Bill proclaiming "YOU WANT TO PLEDGE YOUR SOUL TO BILL CIPHER" in the background. There is also morse code that translates to "NAITSUAF", leading to a previous discovery- the soul contract.

TANTRUM: Pulls up a transcript of a spat between Bill and Time Baby.

TITANS BLOOD: "HOOT HOOT! Password please!"

CURSE WITTEBANE: Pulls up an image of a Bill Cipher ouija board.

FORDTRAMARINE: Pulls up several rejected files from Ford trying to convince us Fordtramarine exists.

SUCK IT MERLIN: Pulls up a tapestry of Bill riding a unicorn. The code at the top reads "DAY MARE VS NIGHTMARE."

HEY NERD: Plays a commercial advertising things such as a Bill Cipher calendar, the Scrubba-Bill, a severed hand, and the entire Cygnus-XIII galaxy. Half of the image can be found in the Book of Bill.

DESTRUCTION IS THE FORM OF CREATION: Pulls up a frantic page of notes from post-portal-shit Fiddleford. A sticky note at the bottom has a code that reads "Unreality."

RUBBERHOSE: Plays "The World is Small Ever After for All."

IRREGULAR: Shows us Bill's mugshot in color. The code below reads "No prison or attention span can hold him."

UNREALITY: Offers a guide by Bill on how to become immortal.

GUN: "Oh yes oh yes oh yes they both."

ABUELITA: Leads to a video on vacuuming the walls.

YES: "What's McGucket's favorite soda?"

NO: "Your loss..."

REPEATEDLY CLICKING STAN: This stuff deserves a section of its own, away from the OG Stan stuff. It takes you through several Ebay listings on various Stan-ish items until you get to a page written by Bill about Stan's secret shames. "Ex-wives" further confirms our theory on Stan and Eda's relationship, as well as revealing many other bits of lore. "Fears" is somewhat goofy to be honest. "Secret Shames" reveals that Stan is a fanfiction writer and that his mother is the only member of his family who truly loves him outside of Ford and the kids. "Unreported Crimes" is somewhat goofy as well. "Failed Products" basically confirms that Stan is that world's Alex. "Lowest Moments" is genuinely depressing, and "Darkest Thought". Well. I'm not spoiling it lol. And the bit on "How He Beat Me" causes Bill to get more and more frantic/angry the more you click it! Comedy GOLD!

DIPPY FRESH: Leads to a Reddit post of the Burger King Kids Club.

MEOW: Leads to a TikTok of a man playing the Gravity Falls theme on that cap keyboard.

HELP ME: Pulls up another video of Alex's axolotl and the tiny statue. Rip Bill ig :/

R34LITY: Pulls up several photos of the henchmaniacs in live-action, captioned "They found a new home."

JOURNAL 1: "The journal of fun."

JOURNAL 2: "The journal for you."

FBI: "Your webcam is on. We are watching."

BURNED INSIDE: Shows an image of a charred Oregon Parks badge and nametag on the ground.

HECTORING: Plays a silly little country song!

OROBOROUS: Pulls up two journal pages about Fiddleford buying Ford an axolotl to keep him company, and Bill subsequently telling Ford to get rid of him. There's also some code on the first page that reads "CHONKY BOY." Ford, you wonderful dork.

#the book of bill #gravity falls #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #bill cipher #stanford pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #soos ramirez #wendy corduroy #gideon gleeful #(please help I don’t know what’s going on)

3K notes · View notes

tbaluver · 26 days ago

Text

"Where Do Babies Come From?" - The Love And DeepSpace Men

pairings in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader genre: fluff fluff + silly + scenario summary: your child(ren) ask you and your lover where babies come from requested: anonnie ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა a/n: hihi lovelies ! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)♡ posting this before the livestream that's in a couple hours ! i hope you all enjoy reading and i hope to have a couple more posts out this week ! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

“Papa, where do babies come frwom?” The question was simple yet it struck him like a lightning bolt. His son’s innocent eyes stared up at him, waiting for an answer but he was left frozen at his spot, his mind completely blank. How could he possibly explain this? He was never prepared for this question, it was never in the parenting books he’s read when you were pregnant.

In your shared bedroom, you sat on the bed, scrolling through your phone when Xavier and your son walked in, hand in hand. Xavier held a small notebook in the other but your son darting towards you with open arms distracts you. “Mommy!” He squeals as you scoop him up and plant a sweet kiss at the top of his head.

“Mommy, me and daddy want to know where babies come from!” You blink, glancing at Xavier who sits at the edge of the bed, nodding along to his son as he opens up the notebook, ready to take notes

“You and daddy?” You ask, darting your gaze at your son and back to Xavier. “Well..when mommy and daddy love each other very much..” You trail off, choosing your words carefully. You wanted to keep it as innocent and simple as possible and it seems that your son believed you as he nodded along.

When your son ran off the play, you sighed in relief, glad to know that the topic didn’t go any more awkward than that. “So Xavier...why did you need to know?” You quirk a brow at him, as if he wasn’t also the reason you both have a son who you both love very much.

“So next time, when we have another child I’ll know what to say.”

Zayne:

Small footsteps padded across the floor making their way towards Zayne’s home office. He sat at his desk, reviewing the slides for his upcoming conference, absorbing all the details. Zayne usually lets her play around in his office if she wants to, but if there is anything bothering her, he can always ask her.

“Daddy?” She peeks at the side of his desk, stretching up on her tippy toes so she can see him. Zayne’s attention shifts, the sound of his office chair turning so she knows his focus was fully on her. He reached out, scooping her up and settled her comfortably in his lap.

“What’s wrong dear?” He asks softly.

She tilts her, “Since you’re a doctor where do babies come from?” The question caught him off guard for a moment but it quickly softened into a smile. It’s impossible for him not to find her adorable to be so curious at this age. It reminded him of his own childhood where he would always ask his parents questions.

He clears his throat, “They come from their mother’s stomach.” A simple answer his own mother had given him when he was around her age. It was enough for him even if he hadn’t fully understood it at the time.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she processed the information, her finger tapping her lip as she thought. “But..how did the baby get there?”

Zayne chuckles softly, his heart melting at the sight of her little mind trying to piece things together. Gently, he pinches her cheek. “I promise I’ll explain it to you when you’re older, alright ?After I’m finished with this, we can go play”” He kisses the top of her head before setting her down, hoping she’ll forget about it for now.

Rafayel:

Small feets padded their way toward their father who sat at the couch, balancing a pencil between the bridge of his nose as he concentrated on a sketch. The moment he heard their playful shrieks come closer to him, his attention shifts as he sets the sketchbook down. With arms opened wide, the children dove into his embrace, their tiny bodies crashing into him playfully.

“Daddy daddy!” One of your sons bounce up and down in excitement, his voice bubbling with curiosity.

He chuckles softly, pulling them away. “Yes my little glub glubs?” He asks as all the children snuggle closer to him. They exchange glances, deciding on who would speak first. Rafayel raises a brow, a smile tugging at his lips as he watches his children in curiosity

“Where do babies come from?” One of them suddenly asks, the other two nodded in unison, their eyes wide as they wait for their lemurian father to speak. He froze in his spot, leaving him momentarily speechless.

“Oh!” He stammered, scratching the back of his hair, smiling sheepishly. “How about you ask mommy? Y'know she’s very experienced with that.” Yes, yes he’s a genius. He dodged the question for now.

“Mommy told us to ask you!”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Another chimes in.

“She said you’re the reason we’re here!” They nodded eagerly, waiting for him to provide an answer.

“Does that make you our mommy then daddy?” The youngest asks, innocence in their eyes as well as confusion. However, the question hit him like a brick, leaving him frozen in his spot again. They completely misunderstood what you said and now his children are looking at him as if he was a male seahorse.

He blinks, “No, no I’m still daddy,” He clarifies, chuckling nervously. “What mommy means is...when me and her kiss.. in the sea, we make a seagull come and deliver you to us one by one! It’s a realllyyyy long process.”

You’re definitely going to pay him back after this.

Sylus:

You and Sylus were nestled in the living room couch, your hand resting gently on your baby bump. While you watched a show/ movie, Sylus sat beside you, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose as he flipped through pages. Your little girl sat at the coffee table, creating little scenarios in her world of dolls and toys, the tiny figurines making soft clicking noises as she moved them across the table.

With a curious expression, she picked up the two dolls in each hand, one she often associated them as ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’, studying both of them. Her crimson eyes flicked between the two figures and then over to their small family of children she had arranged in the playset. Her gaze shifts to your grown belly, curiosity of hers growing.

“Mommy, Daddy?” she asks, her cute little voice gaining both of your attention. She walks over to you both, her white hair tied up slightly bouncing with each step.

“What is it sweetie?” Sylus asks, lowering the papers, his crimson eyes meeting hers. She hesitates for a moment, still holding the dolls before shifting her gaze back between you both.

“Where do babies come from?” She asks innocently. The question hung in the air for a moment, catching you both off guard. It wasn’t just the question itself, but it just felt so sudden. Sylus knew that this would eventually come but he didn’t expect it to be quite so soon. Maybe he shouldn’t have bought her a room full of dolls.

“Well sweetie they come from your mother’s v-”

“AHEM.”

Looks like you’ll handle this for now and Sylus gets to sit this one out

1K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 10 months ago

Text

Too Sweet

Toto Wolff x Reader

Max Verstappen x ex!Reader

Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)

I take my whiskеy neat

The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”

“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.

The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. “Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.

Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.

4K notes · View notes

ultralightpoe · 2 months ago

Text

JUNO - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Gah, here we go again with the bucky fics since he looked so damn good in that trailer! Enjoy!

Word Count: 4215

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT.....and more smut.

Requests: OPEN

Main Masterlist ~ ~ Halloween 2024 Event

[Thank you for the gif @ayo-edebiri ]

Enjoy!

“Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing

Oh yeah, you just get it

Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit

God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh”

You were a terrible terrible person, this was a fact. It would be put on whatever wikipedia page they made for villains as soon as people figured it out, which considering the rage building in your body would be any moment now. Why were you a terrible person? That’s easy to explain.

There was a time where everyone avoided your boyfriend like the plague, when the Winter Soldier cliche had been stuck to his image like a nail in a tire and everyone treated him like crap. And who stayed by his side? You. Not that it was ever about keeping score because you just wanted what was best for him. But now that people are all about kissing his ass since he had some new found fame? You wished things would go back to the way they were. And that made you a terrible person.

Who would want things to go back when your love was treated terribly?

But then you see girls like Montana clinging to his side and that little green monster in the pit of your stomach begins growing and growing until it leads to moments like now, with you standing at the bar clutching your glass like it was the only thing tethering you to this earth.

Yet another gala was being thrown, this time it was ‘Rockstars for Schooling Funds’ and Bucky was required to attend for PR. And attend your man did. The jacket, the tie, the pushed back hair and the hot ass glare.

From the second you saw him ready for tonight you were ready to pull him into the bedroom and never leave, your skin grew hot just remembering the feeling of his hands roaming your body as you tried to lead him into the bedroom. He obviously didn’t fall for it and now you were here watching Montana hold onto his arm as she laughed at something he said.

As if sensing your glare he turns to catch your eye, and you know that he was surveying your safety by the sharp look in his eyes and all you can think was ‘God bless your dads genetics’. But you refuse to break for him, so you shrug and turn back to the bar ready to order yourself another drink.

Best thing about wearing a dress like the one you were wearing tonight? Attention. Within seconds the men at the bar were clamoring to buy you a drink, crooked smiles and lame pick up lines. The prized contender? The southern man with kind eyes wearing his very own black cowboy hat.

This could be fun.

“What’ll it be?” He drawls and you have to fight off the blush filling your cheeks just at the sound of it.

“Hmm, I haven't decided yet.” You flirt, batting your lashes for a second. “Think you can help a girl out?”

“There’s the ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’.” He reads off the little menu, looking up to you from under his hat, giving a smooth wink and you huff out a small laugh.

“Would it be worth my time?”

“It’s the best on the menu from what I can see.” As if on cue you both look out to the crowd around you at the gala, with loud music and cheesy rockstar costumes, and whilst he is trying to make a point your eyes roam for a familiar head of hair. But the group that Bucky had been sitting with for the past 30 minutes was now short a member, your man. “Who would want to waste time with any of these cruds when you could have a real drink sugar?”

But the words were lost on you as your eyes traced over the room in a hurried panic. Where did he go?

But then your nose fills with a familiar woodsy scent as a familiar arm wraps around your waist in a tight grip that has the cowboy standing straight up in his own panic.

“Yeah Doll, how bout a real drink?”

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Oh, I hear you knockin', baby, come on up”

That little green monster building in your stomach? Now she had a fire pal burning straight through your skin at the image of the icy glare Bucky managed to send in the cowboys direction, the fingers on your waist tightening and digging into your skin.

“I was just talking to my friend here about drinks.” You hum out, watching his jaw tighten as he continues to glare. “What do you know about drinks?”

The cowboy, who you now knew to be a foolish man since he still stood in that spot, lets out a smooth chuckle. “Considering he’s holding an old fashioned I would say not much, Sugar.”

“Really? I always thought that the old fashioned ways worked in seduction. At least they did for me.” Bucky all but growls out, pulling you closer to him. “Now how bout we ask the gal. Do my old fashioned ways work?”

As if to prove his point he presses his thigh between your legs just a notch and squeezed at your waist, you were lost.

“No words? Hmm? Interesting.” He smiles, “Think you need a break from the crowd?”

He doesn’t waste time waiting for an answer, rather he keeps his grip on your waist as he leads you through the large gala, keeping the glare on his features that has people backing away to avoid his anger. You however basked in it, and as he lead you into the bathroom with the slam of the door and an easy movement to lock the door.

You got right to work, hopping onto the counter and wiggling a bit as he turns back to you.

You look up at him through you lashes, kicking one foot out a bit to expose your leg to him. “I mean not that I don’t love this vibe, we didn’t pack the handcuffs baby.”

“Oh so the pretty girl thinks she’s funny.” He chuckles, stepping forward and moving his hands to the top of your thighs to squeeze before pulling you forward harshly. “In case you haven’t realized it, this is the moment where you start giving me reasons to give you what you so badly want.”

Words failed you as his palms roamed your skin, rubbing soft circles to begin pushing up your dress.

“Oh, I’m the one in trouble here?” You huff, leaning back as he pushed his way in between your thighs. “Funny, here I was thinking of granting you mercy.”

“Oh that’s how we are playing it, huh?” And just like that he is pressing the pad of his flesh thumb right onto your core, pulling a sharp gasp from you as you tried to close your legs out of instinct only for him to press you down with his metal hand. “You were saying, sugar?”

“Oh…” You moan, back arching as he circles his thumb with a smug smile, leaning into you to pull your lips into a fervent kiss. It draws your breath until your gasping into him for air, your hands woven into his hair to keep him there and save you all in the same go while he teases at pulling your panties down only to pull back in a matter of seconds leaving you there to try and catch your breath.

Seconds away from achieving your high only to be left stranded leaves you whining and leaning forward to get him back into your arms.

He tsks at you, pushing you back gently as you continue whining.

“What will you give me?”

“Anything.” You gasp out, kissing at the wrist of the hand holding you back, nipping at the flesh of it as you reach for him metal arm to pull you back in. He gives in a little, allowing you to press your hips into his so release some of the pressure. “Please baby.”

“Then how about you behave for the last hour, and we’ll go home and get you sorted. Yeah?”

“Fine,” You snip out, tracing your hand up his metal arm before making it to his collarbone and pressing your hips further into his. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might”

And you feel like a fool for making that promise as he leads you through the crowd once more, this time with a pressure begging to be released in your lower belly as he keeps his metal hand on your lower back. The chill of the metal while your body is ablaze has you reeling, reaching a hand back to keep a hold on him.

You think of all the things he can do to you as he talks with the Galas president, digging your nails into the sleeve of his tux as you push your thighs together a bit, leaning your nose into him to inhale his scent as he talks with a bold presence.

When that Montana girl comes back you learn that she is an assistant for the program and that little green monster leads you to nip at his ear in front of her before kissing at his neck to leave a lipstick mark.

He looks at you for a moment, leaning in to give you a peck on the lips before turning to talk to her some more but it’s too late, you’re already in a haze. The green monster and the red flame have mixed to make their very own monster.

So you pull him in by his tie, pressing your lips to his ear and whispering the words you knew would break him. “Gimme me a baby.”

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love (Oh)”

It was the one secret weapon you’ve never used, but have always known about.

Back in the beginning of the relationship while you were learning the ins and outs of eachother you noticed how much he loved the pill since it hadn’t been too popular back in his day. He loved the freedom it gave him to mark you as his, but you also noticed the lingering gaze on your stomach and or the intent look he gave when you took the pill.

But you had never been ready for a kid, you wanted to save that for that someone special who you could raise them with. But you knew that Bucky was it, you knew that he was your touch for life. Why not give in?

And the thrill of giving in the second his eyes meet yours makes it worth it, seeing the heat as he pulls you in so tight you might as well be one person.

“Come on baby, one of me is cute but two though?” You whisper, leaning up to bite at his lip before his hands come up to pull you into a feral kiss as he begins to lead you out the doors.

“I showed my friends, then we high-fived (Ah-ah)

Sorry if you feel objеctified (Ah-ah)

Can't help myself, hormonеs are high

Give me more than just some butterflies”

“Easy there.” He grunts out the second you press him into the seats of the limo, straddling him with ease as your nails rake down his chest to begin tracing the buttons of his shirt. “I might feel objectified.”

“I don’t give a shit,” You gasp, ripping his shirt open before attacking his chest with kisses. You take to kissing his chest, dragging your lips from spot to spot in order to mark him as much as you can as he pulls you down to move his hips into your with a groan.

Your eyes flutter closed at the heat that crosses through your body at the sound, whining out a bit as he begins to grind into you, pulling you up from his chest with a swift pull to lock your lips together as the limo makes a turn.

The kiss was feral, teeth gnashing, thigh clenching kiss that has you gripping his shoulders and pushing your hips into his a little quicker. Biting down onto his lip when he stills your hips with his hands before pulling back.

“You gonna let me lock you down?” He whispers, rubbing your hip as he moves you with ease until your legs are splayed over his lap and he can reach between them to pull more moans from you. “Gonna let me keep you forever?”

“Yes….” You whine out the second he begins rubbing at your core once more, this time with the metal hand. The chill of the metal over the fabric is driving you crazy and you press your hips up for more pressure and as a sign you want the panties off.

He is quick to oblige, pulling his hand to the waistband of them and ripping them off in one easy movement before pushing his fingers back to ease one into your center. “I’ll give you anything you want. But you already knew that when you said I could give you a baby. Didn’t you?”

And just like that he pushes two more fingers in, curling them in a fluid motion as his lips press into the pressure point of your throat. He works his fingers in a fast paced motion as you close your eyes and give into the feeling, letting him suck and bite at your neck as much as he wanted to.

And once you reach your high he merely speeds up his movements until your shaking in his lap.

“Atta girl.” He grunts, pulling his fingers up to suck on while you blink at him, still shaking from that orgasm.

“I love you.” You murmur to him, leaning on for a gentle kiss. He laughs into it, rubbing at the back of your neck in a sweet gesture before putting your torn panties in his pocket and looking to see how close you are to home.

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out some freaky positions?

Have you ever tried this one?”

The calm ease he had built up for the rest of the limo ride was quick to vanish the second the limo pulled up to the curb, pushing the door open and pulling you out so quickly your legs swing until he pulls you up so you can wrap them around his waist. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You giggle, letting him carry you inside until the front door closes and he can set you down to lock it. Even in the mix of all this he can never slack on your safety, and you were sure that once he spent all your energy he would come down here for one last safety check.

You let him do what he needed to do, walking to the kitchen with a fleeting look to him before grabbing a glass of water to sip on while you waited, legs still a little shaky. But you don’t have much time since he comes around the corner into the kitchen, leaning on the fridge with a small smile as he watches you every movement.

“Everything locked up and safe?” You ask, moving one step closer to him.

“Yes.” He responds, the deep voice causing a shiver to move down your spine as he takes a step similar to yours without taking his eyes off you.

“I think it’s so hot you know.” One of his eyebrows raise at your words, the small smile turning into a smirk. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone in this world as protective as you.”

He merely hums back, taking another step closer as his eyes roam over your body. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. And I was thinking that you deserved an award.”

“I do?” You almost laugh at how innocent the question comes out, but you don’t have time since your already turning to press yourself into the counter, pushing your hips out and pulling your dress up to expose yourself to him as he audibly growls. “Have we every tried this before?”

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might”

His hands are upon you in an instant, rubbing at your hips as his body presses into yours to kiss at the back of your neck, and you realize that he is still wearing his undershirt and pants. The metal of the belt buckle digs into your back as you reach back to undo his belt.

You hear him undo it and get ready, pressing your forehead into the tile of the counter as he grabs your hands and begins wrapping your hands together with the leather belt. And you should be embarrassed at the moan that fills the air once you realize what he is doing before he undoes his pants and you feel him press at your center.

He’s quick to press in, and you both your moans fill the air as he presses his forehead into the exposed skin of your back before beginning to rut himself up into you. With every aggressive push of his hips into yours the doors of the cabinet on the counter shake, the cold tile of the counter hitting your hip over and over and over as he claims you for his own.

With one hand holding the belt that is biting into the flesh of your wrists and the other holding the counter to keep you both stable he stands straight and lets free. Every harsh threat is followed by his grunts and your moans, the sound of skin slapping filling the room before the hand from the counter comes to hold your hair.

It’s feral, and hot. And the feeling of his flesh hand pulling at your hair has you tightening around him enough that he can’t fight his own moan.

And the second you hear it you are coming undone around him, shaking harshly as he keeps you held up before you collapse, continuing his thrusts until you reach the peak of the high once more and spasm around him.

Once you come down, panting heavily and keeping your forehead pressed into the cold tile, he works on undoing his belt to release you as he pulls himself out of you and pulls his pants up.

You are quick to turn on him, tears in your eyes partly due to the intense orgasm and the fact that you still haven’t gotten what you wanted. “Baby please….”

“Easy doll.” He whispers, pulling you into his arms to wrap himself around you, picking you up easily. “You’ll get it. Don’t you fret.”

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

He carries you into the bedroom bridal style, setting you down at the foot of the bed before leaning down to grab the end of your dress and pull it over your head, kissing his way up your body so slowly you feel like you might just die. By the time the fabric is over your head he throws it to the side, his gaze meeting yours in a tense blaze.

You knew within an instant that he had gotten serious, and as you kept your gaze on his he let your hands roam until you begin pulling his undershirt off before you reach to undo his waistband. “What’s that look for?”

“Did you know….” He keeps his voice to a whisper as he kicks off his shoes and shucks off his pants, pulling off his socks and throwing everything to the side before moving his hands to either side of your cheeks. “That it’s not actually proven that the amount of orgasms a women has is connected to their ability to conceive.”

“Yeah?” You smile, waiting for him to get to the point

“I did a lot of research.” He says proudly, “So though the amount of orgasms I give you don’t end up mattering in the end…..they sure are fun.”

And you can’t fight the loud laugh that escapes when he gently tackles you onto the bed, making it bounce a bit as he pushes your thighs open with his hands and pressing them into you by the backs of them.

“You ready doll?”

“Always for you sergeant.”

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me

Mark your territory (Ah-ah)

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one (Ah-ah)”

He keeps the eye contact, soft and open, as he slides himself between your folds to use your past orgasms as his lubricant before pressing into your center and moaning a bit as he pushes himself in. Whereas the romp downstairs had been feral and fast this one started slow, allowing him to kiss at your face as you adjusted to his size this time.

His weight presses you into the bed, and your hands find purchase at his back so he can pull himself back before pushing his hips back into yours. Slow and precise, every pull he left a kiss and every push has just enough friction on your core that has you arching your back.

It had been years of him learning your body and by this point he knew how to play it like the back of his hand. It was his and he liked keeping what's his cared for. When you arched a little more he knew he should speed up, and when you closed your eyes he reached a hand down to grip at the fat of your ass, fingers digging in as he readjusted you both for more pleasure.

And once you came around him, spasming and moaning loudly, all bets were off.

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me (Ah-ah)

I'm so fuckin' horny

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one”

His entire weight comes down, crushing you beneath him not that your complaining. Between the warmth of his skin and the mix of your sweat with his you both have traction to move as his thrusts turn wild.

Over and over at a speed he hadn’t reached with you before, his eyes are clenched shut as he ruts into you, overstimulating you as you begin to sob from the pleasure. Your entire body shakes with every intense hump.

Between his thrusts you meet your peak once more, screaming out as his own thrusts become erratic and harsher.

By the time he finishes he leans down to your ear so you can hear the heavy moan that escapes him as he fills you to the brim, shaking and pinching you with his metal arm. And his release seems never ending as he continues to thrust, until you are both completely spent and collapse into the cool sheets.

“(Oh, I) I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might (Might)”

You had managed to fall asleep and only woke up at the realization that he wasn’t near you, vision blurry as you looked around. He had cleaned you up and tucked you in with a glass of water on the nightstand, but his side of the bed was empty.

So you sit up, ready to go check on him, until you realize how sore you were and stay on the bed to listen for him. You hear the sound of him shuffling around downstairs to check all the locks before he begins climbing up the stairs.

You know he makes the noise for you, otherwise he would be as stealthy as an assassin.

By the time he enters the doorway there is a small smile playing at his lips while you open your arms and pull him in to lay with you.

“Goodnight.” You whisper.

“Goodnight, Doll.”

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

The waiting was the most dreadful feeling.

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub with the test sitting on the counter between where you sat and where your husband sat in the hallway with the back of his head laid against the door.

It was silent but not in a malicious way, more of a calming way as his metal hand whirred before the alarm on your phone goes off and you both shoot up to look.

“Is it…”

“I….”

And you both lean to look at the same time to see just how well those new positions took.

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